Lucky's Lady (The Caversham Chronicles Book 4)

by Raven, Sandy

  When he realized he could never have that home with Mary, his heart ached with a pain unlike anything he'd ever known before.

  "Penny for your thoughts?" She gazed at him, propped up on a pillow, her straight auburn hair attractively mussed.

  "Thinking about how good you feel under me, with your legs wrapped around me." He didn't want to think about anything else. Because nothing could change what was, and what had to be, for them. Mary was married, and he had a duty to a title. It was as simple as that. Wishing couldn't change what was.

  She smiled an invitation to him and he accepted. Again.

  Afterward he rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed. Sleep eluded him, even tired as he was, and his heart raced. What was wrong with him? He'd never felt like this with any of his other lovers. He cared about Mary in a way he'd never cared about a woman before.

  Dear God, could he be in love with a married woman? Suddenly the room felt excessively overheated and an enormous pressure bore down upon his chest. He strode to the window and hung his head out for some fresh air. He needed several deep breaths before he could turn around and face Mary. God only knew what she was thinking. He didn't know what to think himself.

  "Is everything all right?" She came to stand beside him near the window. "For a minute there, you looked pale and almost sick."

  "It's the moonlight," he said. "I'm fine. I just needed to catch a breath of air."

  "Not that I'm worried that anyone would see you at this early hour, but keep your eyes glued to the house across the street. Those women hate me for some reason. I wouldn't put it past them to watch my window when we should all be sleeping."

  He hated having to hide. A twinge of guilt came over him for putting her in a position to fear gossipy neighbors. He was the one who insisted on having this affair. It was because of his desires that she worried. "Nothing has moved over there. There was movement down the street." Sudden alarm jumped to her expression and he hurried to soothe her. "It's fine. Just someone walking a good distance away, headed in the opposite direction." He had to be careful when he left because he wouldn't be around to protect her should someone witness his departure.

  She relaxed and after several minutes of silence, she asked, "You eased my worries earlier. Let me help you now. Please talk to me."

  He shook his head and they were silent for more long minutes. He could fall in love with her, so easily. But he still had those two issues. She was married, though would be widowed soon—that was obvious. But even if he returned next year to find Mary free, there was still the fact that she'd be unable to bear his children.

  Even if he didn't have the title to pass down to a son, he wanted children. Lots of them.

  "Lucky, is there anything in particular you want me to put in the mast step when we step the mast?" She was trying to distract him, he thought, and he didn't mind it. It seemed to him talking about business was also Mary's way of keeping their relationship in a tidy box.

  "Most owners put a gold coin," she said, "to pay the fare to Charon for crossing the river Styx in case of a disaster at sea. Those less superstitious might place a lock of hair of a loved one. One customer purchased a wedding band to place under the main. He said his wife left him because she thought he was married to the sea more than he was to her. So, in a way, I suppose he married his clipper."

  He chuckled at her tale, appreciating the joke and her effort to distract him. "I am not a superstitious man. But, let me think on it and I shall have something for you before I leave." He kissed her again, deeply and thoroughly. "I assure you, Mary-Michael Watkins, when I wed, it will not be to a boat."

  "I would hope not." She leaned into him and kissed him back.

  They spent the last few hours before he had to go lying in each other's arms. And it was a long time before Mary fell into that rhythmic breathing that told him she slept.

  When Mary-Michael woke in the morning, she was alone. Lucky's departure left her bedroom—and her heart—empty, and started more tears falling. God help her, but she was a weepy mess. She had to get over it before going into the office. Padding down to the kitchen, she started a pot of water to wash with, and ate a piece of hard bread left from the night before. When the water neared a boil, she scooped a cup from her pot, sprinkled dried tea leaves on top, added a spoonful of sugar, and stirred. Granted, it wasn't the ideal way to steep tea, but she was in a hurry and she didn't think it ruined the taste of the tea as Cadence said. After four minutes, she spooned out the steeped leaves and took the cup up to the table. She needed whatever pick-me-up she could get to make it through the day. A sleepless night of crying, talking, and making love, while good for the soul, was wreaking havoc on her concentration.

  Forty-five minutes later, she'd dressed and readied herself for a day at the office. She stopped in the study on her way out to pick up the list and drawings she'd been working on the day before and came across two folded sheets of paper with her name on it. The bold script was clearly the captain's handwriting, and she wondered what he'd forgotten to tell her that he'd borrowed paper and ink from her husband's desk. When she lifted the first one, a gold coin fell to the table. She unfolded the sheet and read the first note.

  For the keystone of the Lady S, place this gold coin.

  She picked it up and looked at it, a British coin, gold, minted this year. Perfect, he'd taken her advice. Mary-Michael was curious as to why there was only one coin. She picked up the next note and saw a smaller note inside the larger one. The first note read,

  For the keystone of the Lady M, place this note.

  She held it up to the window and thought perhaps she shouldn't read it. Maybe it was personal, a wish, a prayer, or poem. In the end, she gave it only a moment's consideration and decided if he didn't wish for her to read it, he would have sealed it, which he did not. That meant he didn't have a preference of whether or not she read his note. Mary-Michael ran her thumb along the bottom of the page and opened it. The words brought about another fresh bout of tears.

  My Lady M, I am yours.

  Surely he meant his new clipper. Even though Lucky had called her My Lady on more than one occasion, as though she were a noblewoman, or precious to him. But he made no promise to her, other than to return for his boats next year. Besides, she was not in the position to accept any such promises anyway.

  Her husband, the man she owed her future to, a man she respected more than any other, still lived. And for as long as he lived, she would honor that commitment made to him on their wedding day.

  Chapter Ten

  November 1836, Baltimore

  The cold mist threatened to cancel the small ceremony, but Mary-Michael would not let the weather slow the progress of her men. If they felt safe enough continuing, she was going to allow them to do their job. She wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, wishing Lucky was here to witness this momentous event. The mast swayed as it lifted from the ground while the team of horses was coaxed forward. Lads from the shipyard kept the lines from tangling while they got taut. This was a traditional mast-raising, and she smiled at her brother, excited he was here to participate and bless the boat, just as he had the boat's twin several days earlier.

  Today, with the stepping of her mainmast, the Lady M truly became a ship and no longer just a boat under construction. The mast rose slowly, swaying slightly. Once it cleared the deck joists the crew chief got in place, ready to guide the bottom into place. Mary-Michael kept back out of the way as the men placed the butt of the mast into the seat made for it in the keelson, where she had already placed the note Lucky gave her and the American gold eagle coin she placed with it. Theoretically, seating the mast would bind it to the keel forever, much like a man and woman are bound together in their promise to love each other before God when saying marriage vows.

  She thought of her husband at home on his sickbed. Mr. Watkins wanted to help with the stepping of the mast but hadn't been feeling well lately. He stubbornly insisted the doctor was not necessary and made certain Mary
-Michael kept him informed of the activity at the yard each evening. He also had begun to discuss the future, asking if she had considered the financial benefits of selling the shipyard while he still lived.

  Just the fact that Mr. Watkins was admitting to feeling less than his usual robust self started speculation in the local village regarding his health and fate of the shipyard in the event of his demise. No one in the community, it seemed, had faith she could run the shipyard profitably after Mr. Watkins' death. This led to another offer to purchase the yard from their neighbor on the point, Barlowe Marine.

  "Lass," Mr. Watkins had said just that morning, "you need only tell me if you want the yard or not. One day I'm going to be in the ground. I would understand if ye thought it too much for one woman alone. All I care about is that you are happy after I am gone."

  Mary-Michael promised Mr. Watkins she would give the matter some thought during the day, and have a reply for him that evening when she returned home.

  As she stood there in the cold wind, with a mist blowing in off the bay, watching the mast get fixed in place, she knew there was only one thing that could make her happy now. With her hands shoved into the pockets of her rain slicker, she touched her flat belly in a nervous gesture, confident no one could see what she was doing. In the absence of having her own children, designing and building these ships which would sail the oceans long after she was gone, was going to have to make her happy.

  Not that she hadn't tried to get pregnant. She'd had two wonderful nights with her captain, and had failed to conceive. As a woman, it tore at her soul. There was one reason God made woman different from a man, and that was to bear children.

  And she hadn't done it.

  Obviously she was too wicked to be worthy of being blessed with a child. She was a sinner of the worst sort because she willfully broke her marriage vows. Not only that, she'd taken pleasure in every moment she'd spent in her captain's arms. Those first few weeks after the captain had gone, Mary-Michael would smile to herself when she was alone, as she remembered their passionate weekend.

  That was why she was worse than wicked. She'd behaved as a wanton, and was now paying the price.

  Every single day she'd prayed for forgiveness for having that affair. She also prayed for God to forgive Mr. Watkins as well because he'd given her permission. She couldn't bear it for Mr. Watkins to pass away with that sin on his soul. Truly, it had been her decision to proceed with the weekend tryst, and she begged the Lord to let her pay the price for the sin—not her husband.

  If God wanted her to have children He would have seen fit to give her an opportunity to be a mother. Sinner that she was, she wasn't fit to be a mother. And to make matters worse, she'd yet to confess all this to a priest. She couldn't when her only options for confessors were her brother and her husband's oldest friend.

  Thus, the guilt was slowly eating away at her. Each day she worked until she was exhausted, slept a while, then worked more. It was how she lived since the day she got her monthly flux after the captain had gone. She was an adulterous, barren woman. The only thing for her to do now was to design and build. This she could do. This she was good at.

  She thought about Lucky's note. The one she'd read so many times that the words were permanently engraved on her brain. My Lady M, I am yours. So every day as she prayed for her forgiveness, also prayed for Lucky's safety, and that of his crew. She folded her hands over her barren womb as she watched her brother say the Latin prayers blessing the ship, and wondered where her captain was right then, on this cold, drizzly November morning.

  When she arrived home later that day, she would ask her husband to again refuse the offer from Barlowe, saying Watkins Shipyard was not for sale, and never would be for sale.

  April 2, 1837, London

  Lucky grinned as he watched his business partner and good friend, Ian Ross-Mackeever throw a leg over the railing of his ship Avenger just minutes after dropping anchor at the harbor in the Thames. The Customs agent had yet to come aboard and give clearance to unload their cargo, so Lucky couldn't leave the ship yet.

  "How was it?" Ian asked. "Good winds?"

  "Excellent," Lucky replied. "Is there any word from Baltimore?" He hoped his curiosity would be perceived as interest in their two new ships, and not his interest in the yard owner's wife.

  "None at all. Which is normal. They wouldn't contact us unless there were problems or unforeseen delays."

  Lucky couldn't yet tell his friend the real reason he wanted to hear from the American shipbuilder. No one knew of his brief affair with the old man's wife because he knew what they would think of him, and of her. His friend's voice snapped him back to the present.

  "So?" Ian prompted with a grin. "Aren't you going to ask?"

  His friend's enormous smile told him that he was forgetting something important, but he just couldn't place what it might be. His blank stare gave him away, for Ian prompted, "About Sarah?"

  Lucky could only shake his head, hoping to clear the fog and remind him of something obviously of great importance with regard to his sister.

  "I have to say," Ian stated, "I am both surprised and disappointed. Surprised because there is only one thing that could have you so distracted, and knowing you just arrived—"

  Ian made for the gangway and the cabin, Lucky behind him. "Unless you have her here on board." He opened the door to Lucky's cabin and went inside. Obviously not finding what he'd suspected, he turned to his friend and jammed his fists onto his hips. "And I am very disappointed because you didn't even remember that Sarah was carrying again when you left."

  If the floor of his cabin spontaneously opened a hole and swallowed him, Lucky would deserve it. "Good God, man, I'm so sorry! How is Sarah? Do you have a son, or another daughter? And Maura? Is she happy to be a big sister?"

  "We have a son." Ian beamed. "Ian Hamish Ross-Mackeever. Born in February. He's a fine, strapping, healthy lad. And Sarah is fine and beautiful and happily in her element. Though I think she might be frustrated with me hovering around."

  "Then you should come with me to Baltimore. I leave as soon as I find a cargo to carry uphill."

  "It would be nice to see Watkins again. Especially to thank him for the trust he held all those years. I never knew he was looking for me." He shook his sandy blond head. "My grandfather is dead, so I cannot ask him his reasons for doing the things he did. Besides, what's done is done."

  Lucky looked through the porthole and down river, spying a familiar ship on the horizon. Even though he could not make out their company flag with the schooner coming in under topsail and jib, he knew the graceful lines of Ian's Revenge as she rounded the bend in the river. He should recognize it, as it was almost twin to his. "There's Cully. I knew he was within hours of my time, I spotted him in my glass when I entered the river."

  "Hope all your paperwork is in order, because I see the agent coming out. Oh, and they've increased the fines to thirty pounds if you haven't crossed your T's and dotted your I's."

  He grumbled at the thought of spending the next several hours with the Customs agent. "I had a thought about that. We should contract that out. Find a broker or create a brokerage to handle the paperwork. Pay the man or the company a fee for problem-free import and export clearances. We pay the broker, and the brokerage pays any penalties should the paperwork not be done right. They then have to stay current on these constant changes in the laws. And not us."

  Ian nodded. "Good idea. Let's discuss that with Michael and Ren."

  "I'm tired of coming home to find something has changed and I either don't have the right paperwork or a section that was before unnecessary to fill out is now required and I have to pay another penalty."

  The agent boarded and Lucky then had to begin the process of clearance. Truly, if he didn't love sailing so much, he might actually consider starting a brokerage just to help others avoid this trying ordeal of clearing their cargo through customs.

  When it was finally done and Lucky managed to depart the shi
p, he soaked in his tub at the home of his sister and brother-in-law on Upper Brook Street. Nothing in the world felt as good as a hot bath after several long months at sea. Nothing except one.

  Having that auburn-haired temptress in his arms. That could compare. No, that would be preferable. Of course, even better would be having her under him while he slaked his desire in her willing, responsive body.

  If he kept this up, these thoughts were going to lead to serious discomfort. The type he could do nothing about until he was alone. He had to stop thinking of her in various states of undress, or wearing his shirt as they sat in his cabin. He had to quit imagining doing things to her, and with her, that would cause a grizzled old salt to blush.

  He had to remind himself that Mary was so much more than an attractive, willing lover. She was the most intelligent, resilient and brave woman he'd ever met. She cared about people. Her family and friends, even her employees all respected and adored her. Her smile alone lit the room whenever she walked in, and he found himself thinking about her almost the entire day. Every single day.

  He wondered what she was doing and how she was feeling. Was she supervising the construction of his clippers as she said she would?

  A couple of times during the weekend they'd spent together, he got the impression she fought showing him her true emotions. Or she was keeping him at a distance. Then at other times she clung to him as though he was the only lifeline available to save her from her uncommon life. She was difficult to read at times, but he knew one fact deep in his heart.

  She was going to be his one day. Maybe even his wife. He'd been giving her condition some thought, and decided it didn't matter. Just like with Maura, there were so many children that needed parents, and he and Mary would make wonderful parents. If she would have him.