Charity's Cross

by Marylu Tyndall

  Nelson scanned the surroundings to ensure no one was listening. “How would you like to cause Captain Dutton a bit of pain?”

  Ballard snorted and adjusted his neckerchief. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Listen, I knows ye don’t harbor no affection for the man. I heard about yer parents and then about Miss Westcott.”

  Ballard’s eyes narrowed. “Only a fool listens to rumors.”

  “I heard she turned ye away.” Nelson withheld a laugh.

  Ballard’s face reddened. “Then you heard wrong! ’Twas I who denied her. An admiral’s daughter? Posh! She’s too far beneath my station. Now, what is it you want? I have duties to perform.”

  “What if I told ye I knows a way t’ have Miss Westcott taken away from the Captain, break his heart as he’s broken yers?”

  Ballard shot him a fiery gaze. “I would say you’d better intend the lady no harm.”

  “No harm from me, Sir, I assure ye.” He leaned closer to Ballard’s ear. “All I needs is for ye t’ tell me the location o’ the Cap’n’s sister’s plantation.” Nelson had been unable to determine even the lady’s married name, otherwise, he could inquire around town for the information he needed. But that would delay his reward. And chances were, Lord Charles Villemont was already in Barbados waiting for him.

  Chapter 22

  Of the three harbors Charity had sailed into since arriving in the Caribbean, Kingston was still by far the most gorgeous, yet Carlisle Bay definitely came in a close second. She hadn’t thought ’twas possible for water to become a deeper, more vibrant shade of turquoise than what she’d already seen. But there it was, purling against the Restoration’s hull, ribbons of sapphire blue and emerald green, capped in sparkling sunlit diamonds. As they entered the narrow bay, the smells of the city swept over her: smoked meat, horses, tar, wood, and a hint of fragrant flowers. The sounds of bells clanging, horses clomping, wagons squealing, and people chattering soon followed. Several docks jutted into the water where ships—from tiny dories to a large East Indiamen—rocked in the incoming waves.

  However beautiful the scenery, it did naught to cheer the dour mood shrouding her ever since she awoke and realized that, after today, she would never see Elias again. Forcing down her sorrow, and the tears that came with it, she’d dressed, pinned up her unruly hair, and went to stand on the deck as he and his men navigated the ship into the bay. No longer concerned with hiding her interest in him, she watched his every move, the way he balanced on the deck with ease, the breadth of his shoulders beneath his shirt, the strength and tenor of his voice shouting orders, and the smiles he offered those standing nearby. A sword blinked at his side, and she wondered why he wore it. Perhaps he expected trouble at his sister’s plantation straightaway. Such a gallant rescuer, this brave, wondrous man—every woman’s dream of a chivalrous knight. Someday he would find a lady worthy of him.

  It just wouldn’t be her.

  An hour later, with sails furled, anchor tossed, and nearly everyone brought ashore, Charity took Elias’ outstretched hand and allowed him to assist her onto the wobbling dock. He gazed at her oddly for a moment, no doubt feeling the tremble in her hand as she tugged it back. Her throat burned and tears threatened to fill her eyes at the thought of bidding him farewell. Nay, she couldn’t do it. Not without becoming a puddle at his feet. So, when he turned to speak to Ballard, she clutched her skirts and darted down the wharf, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

  The thump of his boots gave chase. His grip on her arm halted her.

  “Where are you going?” Stark blue eyes met hers, unusual uncertainty flooding them. “Why are you crying?” He lowered his grip to squeeze her hand.

  She turned her face away. “I’m not crying. Why would I be crying?” She waved her other hand in the air. “And, if you must know, I’m going to find passage to Charles Towne.” Jerking yet again from his grip, she started forward.

  “If I must know.” Elias groaned and appeared beside her. “Aren’t we past being mere acquaintances and keeping secrets?”

  When she didn’t answer, he continued, “Woman, why do you insist on romping around dangerous cities on your own? Every port we land in sends you off on a dangerous adventure.”

  Charity wove around a group of sailors and headed toward what looked like the dock master’s shed. “Because I am not part of your family and have no right to impose on your sister.”

  “Ah, that’s it.” He raked his hair back and sighed. “Forgive me. I thought you understood you were welcome. Ballard, Josiah, and Gage are imposing, why shouldn’t you?” He smiled, that boyish mischievous smile of his that did funny things to her insides. “Charity, you know you wouldn’t be imposing. Rose will adore you, I’m sure. Besides, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  “I must get to Charles Towne.” She continued forward, but he stepped in front of her, all six-foot-plus of him—a shield of manhood, protection, and care so strong it began to crumble her defenses.

  “And I intend to take you there just as soon as I ensure my sister’s safety. Besides, you have no money, little mermaid. And I’m not giving you any.” He arched a single brow above a devilish grin. “Come.” He proffered his arm. “Our carriage awaits, milady. If I know my sister, she will prepare a feast to celebrate our arrival. If that doesn’t entice you, mayhap a hot bath, clean attire, and a proper bed will.” Sunlight twinkled in his eyes.

  Charity felt her resolve weaken. She glanced from the coach Ballard and Gage waited beside back to Elias’ expectant smile. To willingly spend more time with this man—knowing she must leave him—was akin to tearing out one’s heart, tying it to an anchor, and casting it into the sea. Her stomach rumbled, and she knew she must nourish her wee one soon. And although she’d found no further blood on her chemise, she didn’t want to risk harming her babe with another frightening journey so soon. She needed rest. She needed peace. Her child came first.

  “Very well, I will join you, but on one condition.”

  “Anything.”

  “You lend me money to travel to Charles Towne—money I will repay—and do not take me yourself. You have enough to deal with here.”

  “I can’t promise that.” He took her hand and pressed it in the crook of his elbow.

  “You said anything!”

  “A woman traveling alone is a target. Are you so anxious to be rid of me?” He led her toward the coach.

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she took her place in the carriage beside him, facing Ballard, who refused to look at her, Gage, who smiled, and Josiah, who stared out the window.

  Elias tapped the roof, and the driver snapped the reigns. Charity busied herself glancing out the window at the mobs crowding the streets of Bridgetown. Shops, taverns, and boarding houses in every color of the rainbow sped past as they rumbled down the narrow avenue. Soon, large buildings gave way to smaller ones spread farther apart, until finally naught but lush greenery filled the window. Barely a breeze entered the coach, bringing with it the heavy scent of earth and tropical flowers.

  Charity dabbed the perspiration on her neck as Ballard and Gage began a heated argument about whether the large tree they passed was a Spanish Cedar or Kapok.

  She sensed Elias tense beside her. He shifted in his seat, glanced out the window, then back inside the carriage, before finally leaning toward her. “I fear there’s something you don’t know about me, Charity, that might shock you.”

  She nearly laughed at the irony. “I can’t imagine.”

  “It will destroy any good opinion you have of me.”

  “Nothing could do that.”

  Chuckling, he took her hand. “Baffling little mermaid. You say something kind like that but then do all in your power to leave me.”

  She looked away. “I’m most anxious to see my family.”

  “I understand. And you will.”

  The passage grew bumpy, jostling the carriage back and forth, making further conversation difficult, though Elias continued to squeeze her
hand as if afraid whatever secret he held would cause her to bolt. Against her better judgment, she allowed his touch, much to the dismay of Mr. Ballard, who cast them disdainful glances.

  Sunlight speared the carriage, and Charity leaned her head out the window for a better view. Trees lined a dirt road from which manicured lawns extended on either side, while in the distance a two-story white house rose out of the jungle. Within minutes, they halted before the doorway, and Elias leapt out and assisted her from the coach.

  “What a lovely estate.” Begonia and gardenia bushes surrounded a grand two-story home, complete with pillars supporting a portico that wrapped around the front and sides. Fields of sugar cane extended from the left as far as the eye could see, while an orchestra of birds, accompanied by the chattering of some kind of animal, joined the crash of waves in the distance.

  A comely woman with hair of spun-gold emerged from the house, followed by a bevy of servants. Upon seeing Elias, she waddled forward, hand on her back, doing her best to navigate the stairs, all the while gleefully exclaiming, “Elias! Elias!”

  The pirate-preacher dashed toward her and took her in his arms, laughing and showering her with kisses. “Look at you! I’ve never seen you so fat!”

  She slapped his arm. “Any day now, brother. Any day, and you shall be an uncle.”

  Charity couldn’t help but smile at the exchange.

  Elias led his sister down the rest of the steps. “Miss Charity Westcott, may I introduce my sister, Rose Bennet.”

  “A pleasure, Miss Westcott.” The lovely woman smiled. “How utterly delightful! My brother brings home a lady. Pray tell, Elias, where on earth did you find such a beauty?” She winked at Charity.

  Beauty? The lady was clearly mad. With no comb, brush, bath, or decent attire in months. Charity knew she looked like a washerwoman from a hovel.

  Elias gestured toward his friends. “And you remember Mr. Gage, Mr. Ballard, and Josiah.”

  “I do, gentlemen. Welcome! Please come in. You must be exhausted from your journey. Banes,” she addressed a man in a butler’s livery behind her. “Tell Mrs. Woodhouse we are to have a party tonight, a feast and dancing.” She clapped her hands together. “I haven’t had a party since before Duncan left.”

  “Have you heard from him?” Elias asked.

  “His last post said he should be home by Christmas.” She leaned against him. “I’m so glad you are here, Elias. I’m sorry you had to miss Emmaline’s wedding.”

  Elias extended one arm for Charity and one for his sister and led them up the stairs. “I saw she was happy and that was all I needed. You know I will always come when you call, dear sister.”

  Two ornately-carved mahogany doors opened, and Charity entered a marble tiled foyer with a curved stairway to the right and double-arched openings on the left that led to galleries overlooking the gardens. A bronze chandelier hung overhead, its light joined by flickering sconces lining the walls. A man and two women dressed in service attire hurried forward.

  “Winston, will you show these gentlemen to their rooms? And Miss Westcott, I hope my brother has been treating you well.” She cast a look of censure his way. “I can’t wait to hear how you came to be on his brig.”

  Charity exchanged a look with Elias that must have conveyed more than friendship, for Rose smiled even wider. “Now I am even more anxious to hear the tale.” She scanned the foyer, then glanced out the door toward the coach. “But have you no luggage, Miss Westcott?”

  “A long story, Mrs. Bennet,” Charity said.

  “Please call me Rose.” She drew an arm through Charity’s. “I’ve got just the room for you. Mable and Sally will draw you a hot bath, and I’ll have some clothing sent up.” She leaned back and studied Charity. “Yes, indeed. My gowns should fit you nicely.”

  Charity liked this woman already. Her kindness and generosity reminded Charity of her sister Grace.

  Two maids approached, dipped curtsies at Charity, and started leading her up the stairs when she glanced at Elias to ensure he was still pleased to have her here. But his focus was down a hall beyond the foyer. Odd, he seemed quite agitated about something. “Where is he?” he turned to ask Rose.

  Before she could answer, the patter of little feet echoed down the hallway, and a young boy no older than three ambled into the room and leapt into Elias’ waiting arms.

  Charity could only stare astounded at the love and affection passing between them—the way Elias kissed him over and over and then held him back to examine every inch of him as if to ensure he bore no injuries. Vapors, were those tears in the preacher’s eyes?

  The boy, equally excited, kept hugging Elias. But it was the words that proceeded out of the lad’s mouth that sent Charity’s mind tumbling down a dark hole. “Papa! Papa! Home!”

  Chapter 23

  Elias didn’t have a chance to explain to Charity before the maids whisked her upstairs. He did, however, have time to see the horror on her face before she turned to leave. Horror! But what did he expect? The revelation he had a son ’twas not only a shock, but spoke to a lack of character on his part that he was sure a lady like her wouldn’t tolerate.

  Which was why he hadn’t told her, why he wanted her to see that he was a different man now. He longed to run after her, but the lad in his arms needed him more at the moment.

  As much as Elias needed him. Two months was far too long to spend apart from his son. Kneeling, he tousled the boy’s dark hair and drew in his sweet, innocent scent.

  “She doesn’t know,” Rose said, staring after Charity.

  Elias gazed up at his sister. “I should have told her, I know. But she tends to run away. A lot. And I didn’t want to give her more reason.”

  “But there’s obviously an understanding between you.”

  “Nothing spoken yet.” Elias scooped Edmund up in his arms and kissed the lad again. “I didn’t want to ask for a formal courtship until she knew the truth.”

  Rose put a hand on her hip. “Really, Elias, could you not have thought of a better way to inform her?” She shook her head. “You always were so theatrical.”

  “Horses? Papa?” Edmund asked, saving Elias from yet another lecture from his sister.

  Rose rubbed the boy’s back. “He’s been asking to go riding for weeks.”

  “Yes, of course, Edmund.” Elias squeezed him. “Just as soon as I’m settled.” He’d been taking the boy for horse rides ever since the lad could sit without falling. ’Twas one of the special things they did together as father and son.

  Rose led them down a hall and through a door into the parlor. “Forgive me, but I need to sit.” She slid onto a flowered settee and rang a bell.

  Setting the boy down, Elias sat across from her. “Tis I who should apologize. How are you feeling?”

  “Good…well.” Plucking a fan from the table, she opened it and swept it over a face that looked much too pink to be a mere healthy glow.

  “We should leave you to rest, Rose.” Elias took his son’s hand and started to rise.

  “You will do no such thing!” She swatted him playfully with her fan.

  A maid entered with a tray of tea.

  “Biscuits! Biscuits!” Edmund squealed and reached for one, and Elias drew him into his lap before he sent the platter crashing to the floor.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Woodhouse.” Rose poured tea and handed Edmund a biscuit, which the boy immediately chomped into. “I must hear more about Miss Westcott. Though I fear you’ve ruined whatever is between you. Women hate to be lied to, Elias.”

  “Men too.” He took the cup she handed him. “And I didn’t lie. I simply omitted the truth.” He cringed at the ridiculous statement. “She’s a decent lady, Rose. Kind, honorable, pure. She’s been through a very difficult time.”

  “And of course you came to the rescue.” She smiled and leaned to touch his hand. “You don’t have to be everyone’s hero, you know.”

  “I don’t?” He winked at her.

  “Papa is a hero.” Edmun
d grabbed another biscuit, crumbs flying from his mouth.

  “No more after that, Edmund.” Elias set him down and the boy ran off, half a biscuit hanging from his mouth. Rose and Elias laughed.

  “You love her.” Rose’s declaration shifted his attention back to her.

  Elias huffed. Rose, always the intuitive one. “I do. I want to marry her.”

  “But you have yet to ask her.”

  “Nay. She keeps trying to run away from me.” He chuckled.

  “Hmm. I can see where that would give you pause.” Rose’s eyes twinkled. “Yet she’s here, isn’t she?”

  “Indeed. And I thank God for that. Now, if she’ll only understand.”

  “If she loves you, she will.”

  Elias nodded, unusual uncertainty brewing in his gut. “However, more importantly.” He reached to take her hand in his. “What news of your troubles here?”

  Rose sipped her tea and gazed at Edmund playing with a fringed cord attached to the curtains. “More sugarcane burned, one of our mills destroyed, and two horses stolen last week. Oh, my.” Eyes widening, she set down her cup with a clang. “I nearly forgot. Caleb is here!”

  Elias could hardly believe it. His cousin, his good friend, the lad he’d grown up with—the two of them engaging in all sorts of boyish mischief together. Caleb was Alex and Juliana’s son and grandson to Edmund Merrick, in line to be the Earl of Clarendon someday. “I thought he was chasing Barbary pirates off the coast of Africa? When did he arrive?”

  “Two days ago. He’s already had one altercation with the vigilantes. He and Banes chased them off. Though my butler was none too happy about engaging in such violence.”

  Elias chuckled, trying to picture the proper Englishman wielding a sword.