Lucky's Lady (The Caversham Chronicles Book 4)

by Raven, Sandy

  "Another new fee?" Lucky gave Ian a frustrated sigh. His friend just shrugged in reply.

  "May I have your class, tonnage, and type?" said the young representative from the buying agent.

  "Class four vessel," Lucky said, "and I have fourteen hundred and sixty tonnes, minimal green, mostly pekoe and some bohea. I will provide paperwork when we begin unloading."

  The young man turned to Ian, who echoed his partner. "Same class, approximate tonnage, and content."

  "Wonderful. Someone from our firm will be on hand to oversee unloading, beginning tomorrow at daybreak." He finished making his notations and said, "Again, congratulations, Captains."

  Lucky smoothed his dark month-long growth of beard as he began walking toward town. "I'm for a hot bath and shave. What about you?"

  "Something to eat besides salted pork or beef." Ian stopped, as though suddenly remembering something. "Also, get me the address to that winery in Spain. I'll send for the brandy."

  "You sailed a good race, in both directions. Let's call it a tie."

  "No, no. I lost fair and square," Ian said, "and now owe you two cases. So don't worry, I'll pay my debt." They continued walking. "Next year you'll lose and you'll have to buy my American whiskey."

  "I look forward to it, Captain."

  Lucky rode into the paddock at Haldenwood and a groom rushed forward to take the reins of his horse. Following behind the groom he recognized his nephew, Christopher, coated in dust and what looked like horse hair. In his hands were a brush and curry comb.

  "Good afternoon Christopher, does your tutor know you're out here? Or your mother?"

  His nephew dropped the grooming implements and wiped his hands on his breeches and held out one for Lucky to shake. "Ho there, Uncle Lucky. Glad y'er back," Lucky smiled. The lad looked to be mimicking the grooms' speech. Lucky remembered doing the same when he was that age, talking like the sailors when he himself was a boy. "Mr. Trevethicke is off 'is feed today, so he didn't come out."

  "He's what?"

  "You know, sick to his stomach," the lad said, as though Lucky was supposed to know these things. "Or he could have the trots." The looked up at him as though he was sharing a secret. "That's sick on the other end, y'know."

  "Yes, yes. I do know."

  "Anyways, mama told me to find something useful to do. I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell her I was in the barn. Y'see, I'm supposed to be punished from riding, because I disobeyed ol' Toothpick Trevethicke."

  "Toothpick..." Now Lucky laughed.

  "And Isabutt has everyone inside in a tizzy. Y'see they're getting ready to go to Town for the season. I wish she'd just find a husband and go away. She's a pain in the arse, she is."

  He would not laugh. Though he could remember times when he thought Lia was being a pain in his rear end as well. "You're not supposed to say such things about your sister."

  "You know I'm right," the lad said, defensively. "She's a snot-headed brat."

  Lucky would not laugh. To do so would tell the boy, without speaking the words, that it was fine to say these things about his sibling. He cleared his throat to keep his composure. "Um, where's your father?"

  "In his office with his secretary, as usual." The boy picked up his grooming tools. "No one cares what I do."

  "That's not true, Christopher. I care what you do. What do you say we play draughts later?"

  "I'd rather play billiards. I could use the practice. Marcus won't play with me."

  "Fine. We'll play billiards after dinner." Lucky just shook his head and continued toward the house. They were growing up too quickly.

  After greeting the family, and putting off their questions until after his bath and shave, Lucky went to his room. Everything looked the same as it had when he'd left here last September to sail to China. The curtains were open, flooding the room with light, and Lucky looked over at the stack of mail waiting for him. Likely more invitations and notices of some sort. One envelope looked a little different. Not the usual quality of paper he was used to seeing from his friends. This was course paper—the envelope looking as though it had been shoved into a pocket more than once.

  The handwriting was flawless, from an educated hand. It was the way the envelope was addressed that caused the sensation of a lead ball slamming into his gut. To Captain Lucky Gualtiero.

  He dropped the thing back onto the desk as though burned by the contents. It wasn't feminine script, which was good. Or disappointing. He wasn't sure.

  What makes you think it's from her? It might not be, he thought, but for some reason he knew it was about her.

  He took a deep breath, then poured himself a glass of water and took a swallow before allowing himself to touch it again. Why did he get the feeling that the news within the letter wasn't going to be good? Spenser had been very ill when he'd left. Likely he'd died, and someone was sending him the news.

  That was it. This wasn't Mary's handwriting. She didn't send the note, so she wasn't asking him to come back to her. This was likely her brother informing him of Spenser's passing.

  That had to be it. He lifted the folded envelope and broke the plain wax seal on the back. He took another deep breath then unfolded the page within.

  January 13, 1838

  Captain Lucky Gualtiero

  Caversham House

  London, England

  Dear Sir,

  I pray you are safe aboard your ship out on God's high seas, and that you receive this missive in time to be of some help to my sister.

  Mary-Michael is currently under house arrest, charged with adultery, which is still a capital crime in Maryland. I believe the judge wishes to make an example of my sister, as a trial is soon to come. Her accuser is none other than the constable whose advances she has rebuffed since girlhood.

  But, that is not the worst of it, Captain.

  You see, my sister is with child, and this man is claiming to be the child's father. We believe he, or another man that he is working for, is attempting to take control of Mary-Michael's fortune, and her child's inheritance, as Spenser left my sister everything, including the shipyard. Father Douglas and I asked the judge to allow us to keep Mary-Michael safe as we await the birth of her child in one month's time. For now she is safe at the Children's Home, under the care of Sister Euphrenia, a trained midwife. My sister has of course been under a great deal of stress and this is affecting her condition.

  She does not know that I am writing to you. As is her way in everything, my sister is determined to see this through on her own. Mary-Michael confided in us that you are her babe's father and that there could be no other. We believe her. I know that Spenser was happy for Mary-Michael when he heard her news. Unfortunately, he passed into eternity in July, for if he were still here none of this would be taking place.

  I am not sure about the laws in your country, sir, but here, it is still possible for people to hang after being found guilty of adultery. I would hate to see this man win his claim of paternity at the expense of my sister's life in order to take your child's inheritance which is what we believe his goal is. He is much despised, and I fear what he might do to the babe after taking custody of it and the fortune should my sister die.

  Mr. Baxter and Father Douglas have both asked that I notify you of these events so that you can help us if you are of a mind to.

  If you are not, please know that I will continue to pray for your good fortune and fair sailing on our Lord's oceans.

  Yours in Christ,

  Rev. George Albright

  Mary Star of the Sea Church

  Indian Point, Maryland

  Lucky dropped the letter, heart pounding, and grabbed the edge of the desk in his sitting room in the suite of rooms he kept at Haldenwood. Dizziness threatened to knock him over. He tried to remember the day's date and could not. The month? April. It was April and this missive was dated January. His head spun and his stomach lurched as dread twisted his gut. Lucky fell to his knees and from somewhere within him a guttural howl came forth. His
entire body began to burn as though someone ripped the flesh from him, then carved his very soul from his chest. He didn't remember much after that.

  Voices registered in the blackness that surrounded him. His sister knelt on the floor next to him, his brother-in-law, and others of the family stood around him, crowding him with their curiosity, making the room feel small, airless. He struggled to breathe. He coughed and attempted to drag a breath inward. Mary. He needed to get to Mary. And their babe. He had a child.

  They were all talking at once, someone issued orders as though he needed a physician. He attempted to speak to let them all know he was fine, but it turned into a groan. Lucky opened his eyes, as awareness slowly returned.

  The letter! He attempted to push up from his reclining position on the settee—had he been on the settee? Dizziness overwhelmed him again and he fell back. He looked around the familiar room, unable to rise yet, as everything was still a bit unsteady. The room was filled with his relatives, and he tried to spot which of his family held the letter from George.

  Or was there really a letter? Could he have been dreaming? Please God, let that be a dream. That notion was negated when his brother-in-law, the duke, stepped forward, holding the folded sheet of paper.

  "Lucky, are you fully aware?" Ren stepped around Lia, his hand trailed across Lia's back as he did.

  Lucky tried to speak, but nothing would come from his throat, so he nodded instead.

  "I read the note. I hope you don't mind." The sympathy in Ren's voice had Lucky fighting tears. The gigantic boulder in his throat still making it impossible to even think about speaking. He shook his head, surveying the room to see all who were witness to his upset. Only his sister, his brother-in-law, and friend Ian. Lucky could have sworn there had been dozens of people in here only moments ago. Hundreds even.

  Willing his voice to return, he forced a hoarse reply, "I have to go."

  "We can sail in two days," Ian said.

  Lucky lifted himself to a seated position, the dizziness abating slowly. He didn't know how much time he had until she was tried, or sentenced. Their child would have been born by now, and he couldn't let some stranger take Mary's babe. It was his child!

  "No," he countered. "To—morrow. Morning tide."

  Ian's voice was full of sympathy and determination. "We don't have a crew or provisions. A back haul would be nice but in absence of that we need to add significant ballast. I'll do what I can, but I can't promise less than forty-eight hours."

  Lucky exhaled heavily. Finding his strength again after collapsing, he realized Ian was right. "All right then. As soon as possible."

  A tea cart arrived and his sister nodded to the maid who poured a cup and handed it to him. He cocked a black brow wondering if she dosed his cup with laudanum. "I need my wits about me, sister."

  "I promise, it's black," Lia replied, "just the way you like it. And because of the circumstance, I will not take offense to your inference." She then held up two fingers, cuing the maid to add two sugars to her cup. "As though I would give you a sleeping draught at a time like this."

  Ren handed Lucky the letter, and he reread the words George had written. Mary was imprisoned, and they had a babe. A babe! Their babe.

  God, let him get to them in time. His vision blurred, and he cleared his throat of the knot that filled it. He stood on unsteady legs. "I must go to Mary."

  He looked at Ian, knowing he'd understand. "Who is this man Potts? How could this have happened?"

  His knees threatened to buckle once more as fear struck yet again. Nothing could happen to his Mary. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to her. "Oh, God," he groaned out another prayer, "I have to get to her."

  Lia set the letter down on the desk, everyone in the room having read it at least once. "Lucky," she said, "can you tell us what did happen? And who is Mary-Michael?"

  "Lia, I love her. Anything else will have to wait for later. Right now, I leave for London." He swallowed the warm tea in two swigs, setting the cup down with a little more force than intended, having not quite recovered his control. "Are there more letters?" he asked.

  "Not here," Ren said, "Perhaps in London?"

  Lucky shook his head. "I didn't see any and I spent two nights there before coming here."

  "I'm coming with you," his sister said.

  He stared at her, wondering why she would come with him to Baltimore.

  "I read the letter as well," she replied. "If there's a babe involved, you will need a woman to care for it, if the mother—" She must have realized what she'd said, breaking off. "I'm sorry, I meant..."

  "That's fine," Lucky said, "and you're right. But I'm not thinking the worst yet. I refuse to."

  "Good, I shall have my trunk packed. And you can explain it all as we travel."

  "We both go," the duke said. "We will do what we can to right this wrong. I'll see if Michael can come along as well. He knows Fox better than I." Ren said, referring to the British Ambassador in Washington. "This is the same Henry Fox, the former Chargé de Affaires in Naples who helped us settle the matter of your title when your cousin died all those years ago."

  Lucky just nodded. He really didn't care who was in Washington, or anywhere else. He was going to get Mary with or without the political influence of the ambassador. No one was going to stand in his way.

  "Get Michael if you must, but I'm not waiting," Lucky stressed. "I'm in a hurry, and I am not waiting on anyone. I only need to gather a crew, ballast, and supplies." He turned to Ian. "Please tell Sarah that I am sorry, but I must miss her birthday celebration yet again."

  He asked the footman to order a horse brought around as soon as possible, while he gathered a few belongings and shoved them in his satchel. Before leaving the room, he kissed his sister's cheek. "I will see you and Ren tomorrow. And give my apologies to Christopher as well. I'd promised him a game of billiards after dinner."

  When he reached the bottom of the staircase, the same footman brought his greatcoat and hat. The new housekeeper at Haldenwood handed him a linen-wrapped package of food to eat on the road.

  "Here's a piece of the meat pie Cook made for the staff earlier today," the plump woman said. "Cook said she knows how much you like it so, she packed it for you. It should hold you until you reach Town tonight." She gave him a large flask he slipped into the pocket of his greatcoat. "Here's black coffee to drink."

  "Thank you, ma'am," Lucky said. He felt his voice crack, so choked up was he by the depth of concern for him, Mary and their child, displayed by not just his family, but the staff as well.

  The sound of horses' hooves on the macadamized drive came from around the side of the house. When he was handed the reins, Lucky placed the food in his saddle bag. With his heart still in his throat, he was soon mounted and racing back to London, every step of the horse bringing him closer to Mary.

  Chapter Nineteen

  On the ninth day of May, three weeks and three days after leaving London, the Lady M dropped her anchor on a foggy, partially-moonlit night in Curtis Bay. She blended in with all the other boats near the dry dock yard of Watkins Shipyard.

  As soon as the watch came on duty, Lucky took the gig to the dock with Ian, Ren and Michael, Lucky's third brother-in-law. Since they didn't know what their reception would be, they left Marcus and Lia aboard ship, while they went into the village proper to see what they could learn. From the moment he'd read the letter he'd been sick with worry wondering what was happening with Mary's case, and with each breath he whispered a prayer that he could make it in time.

  His footsteps beat in time with his heart, as he set a quick pace leading the group of men toward Becky's Tavern. Fear grew with each stride he took, and Lucky hoped he wasn't too late to save them. Mary and his child.

  His son or daughter, he didn't care which. He hated thinking of it, but if he was too late to save Mary, he wanted his child—and by damn he was going to take what was his. A glow of light from within the tavern spilled onto the wooden footpath
as the door opened and several patrons left, glancing in his direction as they turned to go the opposite way.

  "It may be closing at this late hour." Lucky wondered if Becky would even want to talk to him after the way he acted when he was last here. Raucous laughter within the tavern grew louder as their party neared the establishment. He wished to see Mary in the tavern when he opened the door. Holding their child. With a welcoming smile on her face. A pain gripped his chest as he reached the door.

  He grabbed the latch in his hand and glanced back at his family. Whatever he learned this night, he needed their support. Their nods of agreement strengthened him, and knowing they stood with him, he lifted his chin, and pushed through the entry and into the common room.

  About eight men clung to the bar as they nursed their mugs of ale, the room going silent when their party entered. The barmaid behind the counter lifted her gaze from her task of wiping the counter. He felt as though all eyes in the public room were on him, though it was likely his imagination. Lucky wend his way to a table in the back of the public taproom, where the four men took seats. He had to keep in mind that this tiny village saw a great number of seamen come to their town for their specialty—dry dock services.

  Before he had to call for a barmaid, one of the women he remembered from the year before appeared. Her eyes widened with shock—she recognized him—and she glanced back to the bar as though frightened. They had to know he was here to help. He wasn't going harm anyone unless they stood between him and his child.

  "Oh, Lord 'ave mercy," she whispered, holding a hand to her chest. "It's a miracle, it is. As I live and breathe, it's a God-given miracle." The woman fanned herself furiously with that same hand. "Quick before anyone else recognizes ye, get on over t'the rectory." She stole a glance at the bar when the door to the kitchen opened and a beefy man carried in an empty wooden crate for the dirty mugs and plates.