Main Street, soon to become Whitehead Street, as Adele said at breakfast, appeared to be the main drag in 1825 Key West. At this stage it was only a barren avenue lined by four or five clapboard houses. As Ella looked at them—simple, handcrafted houses that looked part Bahamian, part New England—she couldn’t help but call to mind the hurricane that would wipe them all out in 1839.
Can it be? Can it really be that I’m here?
She tried again to think of the last thing she could remember before she awoke on the streets of 1825 Key West, but all she could bring to mind was an image of her father and stepmother waving goodbye to her as she got onto an airplane. Where was I going? Was that years ago or last month?
“Papa said it’s probably best not to think too much,” Adele said, breaking into Ella’s thoughts. Ella turned to her. She looked as fresh as springtime in muslin and lace. Her waist was small and the girl accentuated that with a thin belt of white leather cinched tight.
She had dressed her hair and tucked it efficiently up into a large bonnet, but the lack of hair framing her face played up her pretty features to her benefit. Adele had a large and full mouth. She was clearly used to filling in the role of hostess for her father. Ella detected a strong vein of competency and strength under the girlish affectations and manners.
“I know,” Ella said. “I can’t help it. Until I can remember more of how I came to be here…”
Adele nodded sympathetically. She had lent Ella a dress that belonged to her mother, and although Adele bemoaned the fact it was tragically out of date for today’s fashions, Ella couldn’t tell the difference.
“Just try not to worry about it,” Adele said, shading her eyes to see past the glare of the midday sun as it brutalized all in its path. Ella assumed she was looking for Lawrence, who was giving their driver directions.
“Do I have any money?” Ella blurted.
Adele frowned and looked around as if Ella had said something obscene. She answered in a whisper. “Do you mean a dowry?”
“I mean, how will I pay for…anything I see today in the shops?”
Instantly, Adele’s face cleared. “Oh! Lawrence handles your money.”
“Even though we’re not married?”
“That’s right.”
“And he…do I have to ask him for it?”
“Well, of course. If he believes it to be a foolish purchase, he won’t allow it. He is going to be your husband, Ella. He is protecting you.”
“I see.”
“But he won’t deny you anything today, I can assure you. And if he does, you do know how to stick that bottom lip out to get what you want, don’t you? I do it with Papa all the time and plan on managing my own husband the same way.”
“You…pout?”
Adele shrugged and twisted the blonde curls peeking out from her bonnet. “Or you could try kisses. I’m sure Lawrence would deny you nothing if you were to sit on his lap and beg him sweetly.”
Oh, Jesus.
Lawrence appeared and quickly jumped into the carriage with them. “Ready, ladies?” he said breathlessly. Ella tried to imagine kissing him and felt a sensation in the pit of her stomach that suggested she’d eaten a bad oyster.
The journey into town could have gone faster, Ella noted, if they’d all just walked. In fact, it occurred to her that Lawrence was using the outing as an opportunity to show Ella her new home. As they rode the island’s perimeter, Ella tried to hold the picture in her mind of the Key West she knew from her last visit in 2004 against the one she was seeing now. As the horses carried them through the dusty island lanes and streets, the sounds of their hooves in a staccato rhythm that seemed to echo tribal drumbeats, Ella found herself more bewildered, not less.
The few homes that dotted the streets looked like they could have been lifted directly from New England. They were, Ella noted, in general, well-proportioned houses featuring double hung sash windows, wide porch columns, and widow’s walks. Some homes showcased the small balconies that spoke of a Bahamas influence. She was reminded by both Lawrence and Adele that Thompson’s Island had no natural water source, so she wasn’t surprised to see gutters styled to funnel rainwater through downspouts into cisterns on many homes.
Whether it was Hemingway’s house in 1935 or Judge Morton’s 1820 residence on Main street, Ella noted that the famous Key West louvered shutters were everywhere, filtering out the aggressive sun and heat while permitting the few wisps of summer breeze to circulate through. Backed up with central air, she thought, fanning herself with her hand, shutters were romantic and quaint. In 1825, they’re like a flea trying to take down an elephant. Grossly ineffective.
She watched Lawrence throughout the ride. Not unattractive really, but she wouldn’t have said he was her type. She usually liked an athletic build and preferably tall. While Lawrence was easily six foot, he was slim and she noticed he crossed his ankles when he sat which she had never seen a man do before.
Perhaps it’s an 1800s thing?
He was extremely solicitous, and if it weren’t for the fact Ella was starving for information and details, might possibly have even been borderline obnoxious.
“You see the gates just there, my dear?” he said pointing out the metal Presidential Gates that led to the Naval Station. “Built a scant two years ago in 1823 when Porter first came to the island.” He leaned over from where he sat across from her in the carriage and Ella fought the impulse to lean away from him.
“You need not worry a tick about your safety from marauding bandits on the high seas now that Commodore Porter is here,” he said. “Isn’t that right, Adele?”
Adele’s head bobbed an affirmative. Ella thought she looked tired this morning. Her ebullient affect from the day before seemed to be missing, or at least a shadow of what it was. She wondered if there was something bothering her.
“He has established his West India Anti-Piracy Squadron, or Mosquito Fleet, as his men call it. Damn amusing that. And he’s vowed to wipe out piracy in the West Indies, particularly the Florida Straits, in a matter of months.”
“He appears to be doing it, too,” Adele offered, smiling pleasantly at Ella before looking back to the street view.
“Yes, indeedy,” Lawrence said. He picked up Ella’s hand from her lap and she started but forced herself not to pull away. “He has eight shoal-draft Chesapeake Bay schooners that are as fast as they come. And the names! You will be enchanted with the names, Ella. Won’t she, my dear?” Lawrence said to Adele.
Ella noticed that Adele’s eyes flicked down to where Lawrence held her hand and she wondered if they were being improper. She slid her fingers free of his grip. Her hand felt sweaty.
Without waiting for a response from Adele, Lawrence began to recite the names of the ships. “Fox, Greyhound, Jackal, Beagle, Terrier, Weasel, Wild Cat and Ferret,” he said. “Each armed with three guns and manned by a crew of thirty-one men.”
“My,” Ella said. “That’s impressive.”
“Then there are the barges that can creep up into the most shallow ports, each armed with a crew of thirty men—the Gnat, Mosquito, Midge, Sandfly and Gallinipper.”
“My, you certainly know a lot of boat names,” Ella said, already tired of the sound of his voice.
“I knew you’d be impressed,” Lawrence said, leaning back into his seat and surveying the streets as they passed with the pride as if he had personally designed them.
Ella watched his face and decided there was no way she could kiss it—let alone climb into his lap and beg for anything short of her life or the life of her child.
She caught herself. Why did I say that? I don’t have a kid. Where did that thought come from?
The “shopping” that Adele alluded to amounted to two dress shops and a bookstore—all well away from the harbor and the omnipresent smell of fish, not to mention the rougher element that Ella wasn’t surprised existed during this time. She assumed it wasn’t just New England natives responsible for creating Key West, but Cuban fisherm
en and wreckers from the Bahamas. And if the historians were honest, Ella thought, noting a particularly grubby clutch of men trading punches outside what looked like a warehouse, probably pirates from the West Indies, too.
“Avert your eyes, ladies,” Lawrence instructed as the carriage sailed past the melee of three men scuffling on the sidewalk. “I say, Henley, I gave strict instructions not to go near the harbor!”
Ella leaned over the sill of the carriage to get a better look at the altercation and was able to see that it was not a brawl so much as two men ganging up on a third. The third was very tall with thick brown hair and a beard. Something about him made her heart beat faster. Although she caught only a bare glimpse of his face she could see his eyes flashing like glittering sapphires. Her stomach lurched at the sight of his powerfully built shoulders as he threw one of his attackers against a wall and turned to face the other.
She sucked in a breath.
Do I know him?
“Ella?” Lawrence asked, tapping her knee to get her attention. “Are you all right, my dear?”
She dragged her eyes from the men as the carriage hurried away and stared, unseeing, into Lawrence’s bland, smiling face. “I…I thought I knew one of those men,” she said in a low voice.
“But that’s not possible,” Adele said matter-of-factly, smoothing out a crease in her muslin skirt.
“Absolutely not,” Lawrence said, but Ella noticed his eyes flitted back to the site of the contretemps before resting on her. “Positively not.”
After another circuit of the island—this time with little in the way of activity or drama to reveal—Ella and Lawrence opted to walk home from a few blocks away while the carriage driver took Adele back home with the day’s purchases.
Whatever she had going on with Lawrence, Ella thought, clearly it wasn’t an arranged marriage. The man hadn’t taken his eyes off her all day. They walked slowly, her hand on his arm. She enjoyed the sound of her silk skirts swishing as she walked, but the weight of them in the relentless heat was nearly unendurable. The only benefit was that they gave her some protection from the blasted mosquitoes.
As she walked, she glanced at Lawrence. He was roughly six foot tall with a pale complexion that burned easily. His teeth weren’t wonderful, but he rarely showed them when he smiled, and everything else about him was…fine.
“Tell me how we met,” she said.
“You really don’t remember?”
“I’m sorry. I wish I did. Have we known each other a long time?”
Lawrence smiled at her as he said, “We’ve been engaged nearly two years, but I have to say we hadn’t known each other very long before we became betrothed.”
“Wow. Long engagement,” Ella murmured frowning. “Why so long?”
“It was your wish. We never spoke of why.”
Does that sound like me?
“Where did we meet?”
“Casablanca.”
“What the hell was I doing in Casablanca?”
Lawrence stopped walking and Ella looked at him questioning.
“Dearest,” he said sternly. “I must ask you to refrain from using coarse language.”
He tucked her hand over his arm again and resumed walking. “I understand you had some singular experiences before we met and I’ve never pressed you as to what those were. But I must forbid you to use that kind of language.”
Ella thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. Well, this is 1825 after all.
“Sure,” she said. “I’ll try, Lawrence.”
“Very good, petal,” he said, patting her hand on his arm.
“So you’re a lord back in England.”
She noticed he hesitated before speaking. “That’s right.”
As they were walking, Ella noticed a stout woman pushing a baby carriage coming at them on the same sidewalk. The woman was dressed in black with a long flapping white apron that instantly identified her as a servant. Ella assumed she was a nanny. When they passed the woman, Lawrence nodded in greeting and Ella craned to see the charge in the carriage.
It was a little boy, about two years of age. His hair was brown and his blue eyes sparkled with mischief and good humor. He waved to Ella and she felt a rush of longing and sadness that made her stumble.
“What is it, my dear?” Lawrence held her arm firmly until she got her bearings again. “Are you alright? We shouldn’t have walked. That doctor is an idiot. You need to rest. Shall I carry you?”
Ella put her hand out to stop him from swinging her up into his arms and shook her head. “I’m fine,” she croaked.
The pain of seeing the baby was so intense and so inexplicable, that she leaned against Lawrence for a moment and tried to steady her nerves.
What is the matter with me? Seeing a baby makes me want to cry?
Lawrence stood by her quietly and leaned his head down to hers. “I blame myself for allowing you out so early after your ordeal,” he said. “It’s hot tea and bed for you, my girl, when we get back.”
“Thanks, Lawrence,” she said wearily. Under her breath, she said, “Make it a Long Island iced tea with the AC cranked up full bore.”
Ella spent the rest of the afternoon in bed. Adele brought up tea and her dinner tray and Lawrence visited briefly—never stepping into the bedroom, but clearly worried and concerned about her reaction on the walk home. She assured him she was fine, but it had been a hard day for her in many ways.
Would she ever adjust to what had happened to her? And what about finding her way back? Was that even possible?
“Go to bed early like a good girl,” Lawrence said, “and then perhaps tomorrow we might visit the Geiger gardens. I think you’ll like that. They are truly impressive.”
“Sure,” she said. “That sounds nice.”
While she couldn’t remember, or even imagine what possessed her to say yes to the Honorary Lawrence Bingham, she felt grateful to have someone intent on making sure no harm came to her. At least until she figured out what to do.
Which is why she was so surprised to awaken in the middle of the night with his distinctive scent of citrus and anise clinging to the air surrounding her bed, and the warm feel of his thigh as it pressed against her on the bed.
“Oh!” She shot to a sitting position and clapped a hand to her mouth. “Jesus, Lawrence, you scared me to death!”
“I am sorry, my love,” he said. She could smell the alcohol on his breath and wondered if he’d been drinking in the house, or out at one of the many taverns that lined Front Street. “I wanted to make sure you rested well.”
“Well, I was resting fine until you showed up. Should you be in here?”
“No, petal,” he giggled. “Which is why we need to keep our voices down.”
Ella pulled back the duvet from her bed and swung her legs out. She wasn’t sure how she was going to get him out of the bedroom but she knew him being here was going to seriously blot her copybook in Adele’s eyes.
He lifted the hem of her nightgown and snaked a hand up between her legs. She clamped her knees together to stop its progression. “Lawrence, no,” she said
“Ella, we have been engaged for two years,” he said, admonishingly. “And in that time, we have happily progressed to the point where we are able to completely satisfy each other on a physical level.”
“I didn’t think people did that back…during these times.”
“Dearest, I didn’t want to say it for I know how you blush when I do, but I’ve had you beneath me, giving me pleasure, many, many times. Don’t you think it’s heartless to deny me when we’ve already done it so often in the past?”
“It’s just that I have no memory of ever having—”
“Two years,” he said as he began unbuttoning the top of her nightgown. “You have given yourself to me, dearest, because you want to please me so much.” Ella’s hesitancy was just enough time to allow Lawrence to jerk open the top to her nightgown. Her breasts fell into his warm hands and he instantly rubbed the nipples be
tween the callouses of his thumb and fingers. She gasped involuntarily.
He nuzzled her naked breasts with his lips and groaned, “Oh, my God, they’re just as I’d imagined.”
Ella jumped off the bed and wrenched her nightgown to cover herself. “Knock it off,” she hissed. “I told you, I don’t know you.”
“Ella, my dove—”
“Get out. I’m serious. Leave now or leave wearing my chamber pot.”
“Sweetheart, you’re just upset—”
Ella turned to the window and snatched up the regretfully empty chamber pot. When she turned back to the bed, Lawrence staggered to the door. “Well, as long as you’re sure you’re alright, my dear, I—”
“Out!” She watched him open the door and stumble into the hallway. “And don’t come back!”
After she watched him disappear down the hall, she turned to close the door, and heard a distinct creak that sounded like it came from the shadows down the hall.
It was the telltale sound of a light tread on a loose board. Of someone hiding.
18
The taller of the two bodyguards was hardened and muscular. His face was deformed by multiple brandings and punitive mutilations that he now wore with leering pride as he grabbed Rowan by the shirtfront and drove a fist like a driving piston into Rowan’s midsection. Rowan doubled over, and before he could catch his breath the other man behind him grabbed Rowan’s long hair and jerked him back up in time for his face to slam full force into the iron fist of the scarred man.
Rowan heard the cartilage in his nose crunch as his head erupted in agony but he swiveled around, unseeing, with blood gushing down his face, and caught the neck of the man behind him and wrenched as hard as he could with both hands. The man screamed and, without looking, Rowan swung his head around and smashed it into his face. The fire of Rowan’s broken ribs was just registering with him when he felt strong hands clamp down on his shoulders. And then many more hands.
Race to World's End (Rowan and Ella Book 3) Page 16