by Kit Tunstall
He frowned. “But, m'lady, that is Stokes's position.”
She nodded. “As of today, Stokes will no longer be with Stanhope, and most of the other crew will be dismissed as well. I am charging you with the duty of finding a reliable crew who will respect the fact that a lady is on board. They should be prepared to accept direction from me.”
He folded the wool hat in his hands. “Begging yer pardon, miss, but what will the men do?”
Rebecca forced back a niggle of pity. “I do not know, but I cannot tolerate their behavior and wagging tongues.” She looked past his shoulder. “It is not just that they know about the attack on our ship and subsequent matters. The men have treated me with an appalling lack of courtesy and decorum these past two weeks.” She shook her head. “I have feared for my safety.”
His worried expression faded a little. “I see. Why are ye retaining me?”
“You have been the most loyal of the crew and deserve the recognition.”
He nodded his head. “I shall see to it. Do ye want me to speak with Stokes?”
“Nay, I shall do so on my way off the ship.”
“Yes, m'lady.” He bowed awkwardly at the waist. “I shan't let you down.”
She waved him away, sagging against the chair as soon as he closed the door behind him. “Well, Nora, what do you think?”
Nora hesitated. “I understand, m'lady, but I fear Stokes shan't take it well.”
A hard laugh escaped Rebecca. “No, I suspect he will not.” She slipped on the gloves. “Come, Nora. Let us enjoy solid land for a few days before we return to this cursed ship.” She scooped the parasol from the bed before exiting the cabin.
When they emerged on the deck, she saw Stokes standing near the wheel, pointing to the main sail, and yelling at two men hanging from the pole. She mustered her courage and strode toward him. “Stokes.”
He barely turned in her direction, ignoring the politeness of a greeting completely.
She spoke his name more formally, finally getting him to turn. He wore a look of irritation, and something else. She barely restrained a shudder as his lewd eyes slid over her. “Your employment with Stanhope has ended.”
His mouth dropped open. “What?”
“Your services are no longer required.” She held out her hand for the list she had made last night. Nora handed it to her quickly. She read the other names, then looked up at Stokes again. “These men are all terminated, as well. You shall see to the duty before vacating the ship.” She attempted to hand him the list.
“I cannot read.”
“Very well. You are to dismiss all but the second mate and cabin boy.”
“Ye cannot fire me. I am first mate. Practically cap'n of this vessel.”
She glared at him. “All but Johnson and Hews are to go with you. Now, clear off my ship.”
He took a step toward her, with his fists balled up.
Rebecca forced her spine to remain straight. “Shall I call for the port authority?” She gestured to a group of men wearing the militia uniform. “I am certain they would be pleased to escort you off the Margaret.”
He backed off, but his eyes bored into hers. “This ain't over, m'lady.”
She curled a lip at him, but didn't deign to respond. Nora tapped her arm, pointing to her sister's carriage, and they left the ship.
When she set foot upon the busy Boston Harbor, Rebecca's head spun for a moment. Her legs seemed to be made of jelly, and it took her awhile to adjust. She gripped Nora's arm, smiling as she realized her companion was in much the same state. By the time they had acclimated to ground that didn't rock under them, Elizabeth was hurrying toward them, followed by a burly man.
She embraced her blond-haired sister, frowning when she felt her sister's rounded stomach. “You have gained weight.”
Elizabeth blushed. “You are so impolite, sister.” She leaned closer, whispering, “I am with child.”
“Oh, Betsy.” She hugged her sister again.
“Shhh, do not call me that,” Elizabeth said as she pulled away. “That silly childhood name is best left in childhood.”
Rebecca giggled. “Now that you are a mature lady, of course.”
Elizabeth hugged Nora before she grasped her sister's hand. “Come on. Philip is waiting at home.”
Rebecca followed her sister through the busy docks, as Elizabeth's guard and driver shadowed them. She tried to conjure a mental picture of Philip, but their acquaintance had been brief. She had met him the day he married her sister, and once more on the day of their departure for Boston, three years ago. Mama did not approve of him, so he had not been a frequent visitor. Nor had Elizabeth been after their hasty marriage.
They climbed into the carriage with the man's assistance and held on while they jostled through the streets of Boston. Rebecca couldn't keep her eyes from the buildings sprouting up all over the port city. “I never imagined it would be so like London.”
Elizabeth nodded. “A great deal is different, but there are many similarities. For example, Hardwick's Shoe Emporium is two blocks over.”
Rebecca shook her head. “How can that be? Mr. Hardwick is back in London.”
“His cousin runs the business, silly.”
“Oh.”
“How was the voyage? Was it simply awful?”
She shrugged. “It is over now. I can assure you I am not looking forward to the voyage home.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Perhaps you will not return to England.”
Rebecca's eyebrows arched. “Not go home?”
Her sister laughed. “Surely you knew Mama wished for me to find you a husband? Why else would she have allowed you to captain Father's ship?”
She blinked. “Mama wants you to play matchmaker?”
Elizabeth nodded. “She says you have exhausted the supply of suitable men in London with your callous attitude.”
“I am not callous. Merely uninterested in their boring prattle, inane chit-chat, and clumsy attempts to steal kisses.” She fought down a blush as she remembered Christoph's lips on hers. No. She mustn't think about him.
“I shall endeavor to find you less boring suitors during your stay.”
“It shall only be a few days, so you are welcome to try.” Rebecca yawned, not bothering to hide it behind her glove.
Elizabeth shook her head. “I have Mama's missive at home. I am to keep you throughout the remainder of the year.”
“Four months?” She frowned at her sister's phrasing. “Am I a lost puppy that you are to keep me?”
Her sister sighed heavily. “Do not be so prickly, Rebecca. Men find it unbecoming.”
“Not all men.”
Elizabeth laughed again. “What do you know of men? Only what I have told you in confidence, and you refused to believe me.”
Rebecca subsided into a grumpy silence as the carriage drew to a halt on a street lined with tall, sleek homes rising three stories in the air. The one they were parked before was plain white, but ornate etchings in the wood and moldings gave it personality. The front door swung open, and a man strode toward them.
Elizabeth hurried from the coach to meet him halfway, throwing her arms around him. He could only be Philip.
“They must still be very much in love,” she said quietly.
“Aye, m'lady.”
She sighed. “To have love like that must be most wonderful.”
Nora gave a wistful sigh too. “Yes, m'lady.”
They exited the carriage with the driver's assistance and hurried forward to be reintroduced to Philip.
He had grown somewhat plump, if her memory served, but otherwise looked the same. His brown eyes still twinkled, and his long, black hair was still worn caught back in a black bow. There was a pleasant flush to his cheeks, and his hands were soft when he grasped Rebecca's between them. “What happened to little Rebecca?”
She blushed. “I have grown up.”
“It cannot be that only three years have passed.” He eyed her from the top of her head to
the tip of her pink slipper. “You were a gangly child when I last saw you, but now you are a lady.”
Her blush intensified.
Elizabeth laughed. “She was a child, dear.” She threaded her arm through his. “Rebecca is seventeen now.”
He blinked, giving him an owlish look. “I say, has that much time truly passed?”
“Yes, darling.” She turned from her husband. “Come inside and see your quarters. You will rest tonight, and tomorrow we shop.”
Philip groaned. “I say, Elizabeth, if you keep up this ghastly habit of spending money like water, I shall prove your mother's prediction true.”
She giggled. “I shan't spend you into the poor house, Philip.”
He patted her hand where it lay on his arm. “It would be worth the poor house to ensure your happiness.”
Rebecca watched their exchange with an uncomfortable pricking at her eyes. Normally, she had no patience for tender sentiments, often expressed so eloquently by fops who had nothing better to do with their days than compose sonnets. However, the affection between her sister and brother-in-law was palpable. Would she ever find a man like that, one she could truly love?
Chapter 6
“You are doing it on purpose,” Elizabeth said as she plopped onto the sofa in the parlor. “You deliberately foil their advances.”
Rebecca took the cup of tea Nora offered, hoping to fortify her nerves. If only she could sneak a nip of whiskey from Philip's supply. Alas, it was too early in the day. “I do nothing deliberately.”
“Exactly. You do nothing when they speak with you, invite you to dance, or compliment your beauty. It has been eight days already, and six social occasions, but you have not let one man call on you.”
She sipped the tea, grimacing at the bitter flavor. “None have caught my attention, sister.” She leaned forward to add cream to her tea, looking up in time to see Nora frown at her. “What?”
“You do not normally weaken your tea, m'lady.”
“It is bitter today.”
Elizabeth interrupted their discussion with a wave of her hands. “You must make an effort, Rebecca. You do not wish to be a spinster like Aunt Maude, do you?”
“Of course not. Nor do I wish to be the financier of some blackguard's gaming habit, or prize for some egotist.” She shook her head. “I have heard of the wager, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth appeared to suddenly find the cabbage rose pattern of the sofa compelling. “I do not know of what you speak.”
“Several of the men in your acquaintance have wagered on who will be the one to get through my cold shell.” She bit her lip, suddenly recalling Christoph's very similar words. “I counter their wager and say none.”
Her sister sighed. “Some men have nothing better to do than make sport of everything.”
“Like Father. I shan't marry a wastrel like him.”
She sighed again. “I understand, but you cannot dismiss every man.”
“Introduce me to someone of interest, and perhaps I will not.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Tonight is Alexander Hanover's ball to celebrate his homecoming.”
“Who?”
“He is a wealthy merchant with many ships and a lucrative import business.” Elizabeth's look turned speculative. “Somehow, I think you will find him interesting. He intimidates most of the young ladies, but you are not like most.”
Rebecca sighed. “We shall see.”
“You must wear the lavender tonight.”
She set her cup on the table. “I am quite capable of dressing myself.”
“I know, but it is the most stunning of the gowns Madam Brovay completed for you, and you have not worn it in public yet.”
She inclined her head. “If it makes you happy.” She lifted her cup again and looked at Nora. “Would you see if there are any remaining lemon biscuits from yesterday's tea?”
Nora's eyebrow shot up. “But you do not like lemon, m'lady.”
She shrugged. “I have a craving for one.”
With a sigh, Nora left the room, returning shortly with a plate of lemon biscuits. Rebecca found the scent off-putting, but the tartness made up for her initial reaction. She couldn't imagine why she hadn't liked lemons in the past.
Chapter 7
The lavender evening gown was indeed lovely. A white, ruffled petticoat showed through where the lavender slim, silk overskirt was caught up with bows. Puffed sleeves nearly touched her ears, and tiny seed pearls had been sewn to make rosettes on the sides of each sleeve. The bodice dipped too low for her taste, exposing an alarming swell of bosom, but she trusted that Elizabeth and the modiste were up-to-date on the very latest styles. The hem ended three inches above her ankle—the absolute highest she had been willing to go.
Nora curled her hair and pinned it loosely on her head. Finally, she tucked a single white lily behind her ear and secured it with a pin. White gloves and slippers completed the ensemble. Rebecca eyed herself in the looking glass, satisfied she wouldn't embarrass her sister—at least not by her state of dress.
“Your cape, m'lady.”
Rebecca took the silk cloak, lined with mink, and draped it around her shoulders. She rolled her eyes at Nora. “Wish me luck in snaring a husband.”
“I do, and hope it is quickly,” Nora said softly.
“What?”
“Nothing, m'lady.”
She left the suite and swept down the wide staircase. She found Philip and Elizabeth already waiting for her in the sitting room. The empire waist of her sister's white gown hid the bulk of her stomach. She looked innocent until Philip ruined the image by kissing her, making Elizabeth giggle. When she became aware of Rebecca in the doorway, she cleared her throat. “You look stunning.”
“Thank you.”
“Shall we go fishing, ladies?” Philip offered his arm to Elizabeth, then Rebecca as they neared.
“You are impossible, dear.” Elizabeth rapped her fan across his forearm gently.
“It is naught but the truth,” he said, and winked at Rebecca. “Are we not fishing for a husband for your sister?”
Rebecca couldn't hold back a laugh. “Elizabeth and Mama are fishing, but never asked me if I wished to be bait.”
Philip had a sympathetic expression on his face. “It has been my experience that you seldom realize you are bait until someone reels you in.” He patted his wife's hand again. “It is not an unhappy circumstance, so take heart, Rebecca.”
She forced a smile for him, but did not voice her thoughts. She had no wish to be reeled in by any of the gentlemen in her acquaintance. She doubted any of the men her sister knew would change her mind. Only one man consumed her thoughts, and he was unattainable.
The carriage ride to the Hanover townhouse took nearly an hour because of the surrounding traffic. At one point, Rebecca asked, “Why not simply walk the six blocks?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Part of an evening of socializing is seeing and being seen.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Much like riding through the park at five in London.”
Her sister nodded before she turned her attention back to Philip.
She leaned back against the seat, battling a yawn. It wasn't nine yet, but she felt ready to retire. She gave in to the yawn and hid it behind her white lace fan. To her relief, they finally arrived at their destination.
Mr. Hanover's home was considerably more expensive than Philip and Elizabeth's. It stood alone on the block, surrounded by lush green lots on each side. A metal fence encompassed the entire block. The three-story home was fashioned of brick and wood, with a steep roof and marble stairs. A man wearing a tuxedo stood outside the entrance, accepting invitations and opening the doors for the crush of guests.
Once they had entered the home, Rebecca bit back a gasp. Marble had also been used for the entryway, but someone had ruined its splendor by laying down a long red carpet that led from the entrance to the ballroom.
The doors stood open, and she could see a large number of people milling
about the room. She followed her sister and Philip inside. Her nose wrinkled at the mingled odors of perfumes, cigar and pipe smoke, and food displayed on long tables against the far wall.
“Would not you love to be mistress of this home?” Elizabeth whispered behind her fan.
Rebecca shrugged. “I suppose.” It would take more than a spacious home and an adoring assemblage to impress her. “Where is this Mr. Hanover?”
“Lord.”
“Hmm?”
“He inherited a bankrupt Viscount title from his mother’s great-uncle, or distant cousin, I’ve heard,” Philip said. His voice lowered. “Although, I have also heard that when his elder half-brother, The Earl of Hanover, inherited the title, he sent his brother packing. Apparently, Hanover has a murky past.”
She ignored the tidbit of gossip. “I thought Americans did not give a whit for titles?”
He nodded. “That is true. Hanover will be the first to tell you to dispense with such nonsense.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Titles are not nonsense, my dear.”
Philip took her hand. “You are speaking to an American, Elizabeth. I shall never understand the point of them.”
“Perhaps because you were not born with one?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. Titles are not important to you either, or you would not have refused that Viscount to accept my indecently hasty proposal.”
“Must you always mock Mama?” She sounded aggrieved, but her lips twitched with suppressed laughter.
“Shall we dance, m'lady?”
She curtsied to him. “Of course, sir.”
Rebecca watched them glide away to join the minuet, feeling a dart of envy. It was quickly squelched as she saw William Bradleaf making his way to her.
He was tall and lean, with carefully arranged brown curls and strange golden eyes. His navy jacket was the latest in style, with reproduced family crests on each of the real gold buttons. His cravat was intricately tied, and white gloves encased his large hands. He had never been anything other than polite and respectful, but she was wary of him just the same.