by Howe, Cheryl
THE PIRATE AND THE PURITAN
by
Cheryl Howe
First Printing, September 2003
Copyright 2003 © by Cheryl Howe
First Kindle Edition, March 2013
Copyright 2013 © by Cheryl Howe
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover art by Kimberly Killion, The Killion Group
To Cid and Orlando Stephenson and Ella Fleming, my first fans. Thank you for loving my books and always wanting to read the next manuscript.
And to Lorelle Marinello, my friend, critique partner and shoulder to cry on. Thank you for your genuine support and encouragement.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter One
Barbados, British West Indies, 1721
Felicity Kendall fumbled beneath her collar to unbutton the high neck of her wool bodice, the tropical warmth overriding her sense of decorum. Today’s welcome escape from the floating torture chamber that had carried her from Boston hadn’t eased her discomfort in the least. The solid ground now beneath her feet amazingly continued to lurch. She used the flat of her hand to shield her eyes against the unrelenting sun, feeling as vulnerable as if she’d been set down in the center of Babylon instead of the British West Indies.
Desperation forced Felicity to trudge on, despite the fact the ground still swayed with each step as though she were still on the ship. No one had ever mentioned that seasickness lasted beyond the confines of the sea. With faltering steps on the weathered dock, she carefully rounded the growing pile of her father’s unloaded cargo.
A sailor she recognized from her voyage hoisted another large crate onto the stack. He’d removed his shirt, and Felicity turned away. That she’d greatly underestimated the ease with which she’d fit into her new home unsettled her stomach all over again.
“Excuse me, sir,” she called to the sailor over her shoulder, her face averted. “Is my father’s bookkeeper about?” Someone should be recording the stock and he’d certainly be able to escort her to her father.
The sailor stepped onto a crate and scanned the crowd, then pointed. “Over there. Captain McCulla, he works for your father. He’ll help ya.”
After taking a deep breath and clutching her black leather valise close to her body, Felicity plowed past half-dressed natives selling fruit, equally disrobed women selling themselves, and a horde of unwashed sailors. Under the eaves of a brick warehouse, she found a portly man asleep in a barrel-backed chair. A boy crouched at his feet, his arms and legs caked with layers of dust and dirt.
“Captain McCulla?” She tapped her foot as she waited. Explaining why she’d traveled across an ocean uninvited appeared less of a problem by the moment. With no bookkeeper in sight and an inattentive captain, it seemed more and more obvious her father needed her organizational skills desperately. She’d made the right decision.
“Captain McCulla!” she said, unable to mask her impatience.
The boy jumped to his feet. “Can I help you, miss?”
“I’m Benjamin Kendall’s daughter and I’m looking for my father.”
The boy’s hazel eyes widened. “Did one of your kin die, Miss Felicity?”
“Oh, no, that’s not why I’m here.” The boy’s comment gave Felicity renewed hope her father might also assume her unexpected arrival was spurred by tragedy. Perhaps he’d be so relieved to discover all was well in Boston he’d be happy to see her after all. At least it appeared he’d spoken of her since the child knew her name.
“Then why are you dressed all in black? You don’t have to lie to me just ’cause I’m a kid. I know a lot about dying.” The boy’s red brows drew together in an expression much too old for his age. She couldn’t help wonder what else this young boy had been forced to endure in his short life.
Felicity offered a smile, one she’d normally never give to a stranger, not even a child. “I’m of the Puritan faith,” she explained, “and we don’t believe in excess of dress or mannerisms. It’s godly to be somber, but I’m not in mourning. Truly.”
The furrows in the boy’s brow grew deeper, assuring Felicity she’d only confused him further. The truth was, she didn’t fool him any more than she did herself.
“Perhaps you should take me to find my father,” she said with a subtle nod of her head, wondering what else she could do to persuade him.
“Yes, miss. This way.” The barefoot boy turned toward the street. “I'm Tanner,” he said over his shoulder.
Felicity hesitated, happy he’d so easily granted her request but she couldn’t help turning back to the captain, wondering if it was wise to leave him. “Tanner, wait—does this man need help?” She scanned the red-faced man, still slumped in the chair, for signs of life. An enormous black fly landed on his bulbous nose and he reflexively slapped it away.
“He’s always like that. Come on.”
Deciding to trust the child’s judgment, Felicity followed Tanner up the cobblestoned road marked Broad Street. Rows of planked buildings painted bright pink and greenish-blue shaded their way. The fragrance of magnolias drifted on a soft breeze, mercifully diminishing the stink from the dock. Felicity took a deep breath through her nose. Babylon or not, she hoped she could finally find peace in this strange, vibrant place.
Tanner suddenly turned and walked back toward her. “My folks were Scottish. I'm glad they weren’t Puritan, because you look awful hot. Is your father a Puritan?”
“No. Definitely not.” Felicity grinned again at the boy’s bold response. Though her father had always supported her mother in thrusting the children into the Puritan faith, no one had ever maintained the notion of bringing jovial Benjamin Kendall into the fold. As affable as he was, the man had never been prudent, pious, or thrifty a day in his life.
“I didn’t think so. Your father’s a fine man. He gave Captain McCulla work ’cause nobody else would. The captain’s not my papa. He just takes care of me ’cause I don’t have nobody else, neither.”
Felicity gazed over the boy’s head. A team of horses pulling an overstuffed wagon careened onto the narrow street. “Look where you’re going before you get hurt,” she warned.
Tanner blushed at her concern, as if she had just paid him a compliment. “Aw, I’m fine.” He pranced forward a few feet, then stopped and turned to face her again. “Your father gives me boiled sweets whenever I want. And Lord Christian’s gonna give me one of his coats when I’m big enough. He’s got one in every color. Even orange.”
Felicity herded Tanner to the side of the street
before the wagon rattled past. “Who might this Lord Christian be?”
“He’s one of them haughty nobles. That’s what Captain McCulla says. Lord Christian and the captain don’t like each other much on account of Lord Christian wanting to give the captain the boot and find me another place to live. For my own good, he says. But I told Lord Christian I didn’t want to have to live with somebody new again, so he gave up. We’re still friends, though.”
“And Master Marley, how is he faring?” Felicity had expected to see her father’s longtime business partner at the docks and a pang of concern lingered still.
Tanner’s grin slid from his face along with its color. His freckles stood out in bold contrast. He abruptly turned and ran ahead, forcing Felicity to raise the hem of her skirts to keep up. What was the child not telling her? The pang of concern blossomed into apprehension.
No doubt her father and Marley had had another falling out over her father’s impulsive business practices. That had to be it. Whoever this Lord Christian might be, she had a feeling he’d have to go. Her father’s tendency to trust the wrong sort had obviously flared again. Once again she knew it had been right to come. Her father needed her.
They reached a tall white building with NEW ENGLAND TRADING COMPANY carved into a wood plaque overhead, and Tanner burst through the door. Felicity paused just long enough to retrieve a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from her brow. She needed to be calm and confident when she faced her father, not wilted and slightly unnerved. This would be an important encounter, and one she didn’t have the luxury to repeat. Her entire future rested upon convincing her father that her arrival was an unexpected blessing rather than an unpleasant surprise. She drew her lips into what she hoped was a self-assured smile before stepping inside.
Her father stood near a paper-strewn desk, frozen in the motion of handing Tanner something wrapped in pink-and-gold paper. Seeing the way her father’s plump figure had swelled, Felicity would have guessed it was a sugar plum—his own favorite—even if Tanner hadn’t already given him away.
Tanner glanced at her, then back to her father. “I forgot to tell you I brought Miss Felicity.”
The expression of sheer horror on her father’s face told her she’d obviously beaten the Queen Elizabeth’s captain with news of her arrival. Even so, her father seemed indisputably and instantly displeased. Felicity strained to keep her smile in place, reaching deep inside for the poise that now seemed so elusive. The fact that he didn’t want her either, hurt more than she dared dwell on at the moment.
Heavy boots dropping to the wood floor drew Felicity’s attention to a man seated behind an adjacent desk. Immediately she knew he must be the flamboyant nobleman Tanner had mentioned earlier. His taste for Europe’s latest fashion bordered on the extreme. His excessively powdered face and hair only emphasized his angular male features, calling attention to his ruggedness rather than taming it. Hastily smeared rouge on his contoured cheeks and full lips spoke of aggression instead of refinement. To the further detriment of his appearance, he sported a finely made and surely expensive suit of vibrant blue satin of a shade that would force even a peacock to blush. He seemed more a caricature of an aristocrat than an aristocrat. There was most definitely something contrary about him, something she couldn’t quite place. One question surfaced, though. How could her father be taken in by this garish man?
The stranger stalked in her direction. He was too large, too tall, to be wearing such effeminate dress. It was as though he were hiding beneath a disguise. But why would he? She stiffened, holding her chin up, not about to be intimidated by him.
He smiled, but to her it seemed as though he were mocking her, or even that he was about to make fun of her. She most certainly didn’t like the fact that she couldn’t interpret him or his intentions.
“Lord Christian Andrews at your service. May I be of assistance?” He bowed at the waist, then stood up as he stared at her, offering a tiny glimpse of the real man beneath the paint and silk. All she knew was that this man was definitely not what he appeared to be.
His sea-green gaze snared hers in a most surprising way. It was nothing she would have expected and she found herself drawn to them. She had the physical sensation of being touched despite the fact that neither of them had moved. Something simmered beneath the man’s now neutral expression. Of that she was certain, but of what, well, she had no clear idea.
“Dear God!”
Felicity’s attention returned to her father in time to see him barrel around the desk.
“Felicity, what are you doing here?”
“Father, hold your tongue. The door is wide open. Someone could overhear.” No wonder Master Marley hid himself. He would most definitely not approve. A man who’d publicly taken the Lord’s name in vain had had a hot poker plunged through his tongue the week before she’d left Boston. If her father continued on this path, she feared he’d have more than the damnation of his eternal soul to fear.
“You’re no longer in New England,” her father said in his defense, walking to her and taking her hands in his. Despite the midday heat, they were cold. “There are worse things that can happen on Barbados. You shouldn’t be here, Daughter.”
She looked pointedly at Lord Christian, then met her father’s frightened eyes. “Well, I am here, and I can help you.” She lowered her voice. “Are you in debt to him?” Was that the relationship?
“It’s nothing like that. You’re the one I’m concerned about.”
“Ben, are you going to introduce us?” Lord Christian’s tone was mild, unworried, almost curious.
No doubt the man must have swindled her father in some way and thought he’d gotten away with his misdeeds. He seemed much too confident, much too at home. Well, her father was no longer alone here, and she must get to the bottom of their connection first thing.
“Lord Christian, this is my daughter Felicity. Felicity, my business partner, Lord Christian Andrews.”
Lord Christian bowed again. In response, Felicity folded her arms over her chest and begrudgingly offered a nod of acknowledgment rather than her hand or a polite curtsy. He probably expected some ceremonial pomp due his aristocratic birth, but he wouldn’t get it from her.
Ignoring Lord Christian, she faced her father. “What happened to Master Marley?”
“Tanner,” called Lord Christian, before her father could answer.
The boy jumped to his feet in a shower of candy wrappers. Both cheeks swelled with sugar plums.
Lord Christian smiled as he tossed the boy a coin, a Spanish piece of eight judging by its size. “Go find yourself something solid to eat. Don’t show McCulla what I gave you. And don’t tell anyone about Ben’s daughter, either. All right?”
Felicity withheld any approval for his display of generosity. Besides, she couldn’t help assuming the coin probably belonged to her father.
The boy’s enthusiastic nod sent a hank of copper hair into his eyes. “Thank you, milord,” he said, his reaction one of pleasure and something else…respect? He brushed past and ran from the room like a gust off the ocean.
Lord Christian turned his commanding gaze on her. Apparently he wasn’t finished giving orders. She braced herself, once again stretching her frame as tall as possible and lifting her chin, readying herself as best she could.
“How did you get here and who else did you speak to?” he asked.
“Father!” She hoped her father would put an end to any interrogation by the man whose dress made him appear an overgrown fop even though his eyes and voice said otherwise.
Her father ran his fingers through the tufts of his thinning white hair. “It’s no use. She undoubtedly arrived on our ship. The Queen Elizabeth docked well over an hour ago. Her crew’s probably overrun every tavern along Carlisle Bay. We can’t keep her a secret.”
“Why would you want to keep me a secret? Am I something to be ashamed of?” Heat rose to Felicity’s cheeks. She suspected her father might be upset with her uninvited arrival, but to be trea
ted like a cargo of blankets infected with yellow fever was too much.
Her father reached to her and gently squeezed her shoulders, then studied her as if seeing her for the first time. “How could I be ashamed? Look how you’ve become a woman. You look so much like your mother did when—”
“We might not be able to keep her a secret, but we can return her to Boston before anyone can do anything about it.” Lord Christian strode toward the door. “Ben, you keep her here while I arrange safe passage for her on the next ship raising anchor. It’s the best thing.”
Felicity jerked from her father’s grasp and raced across the room, her objective to block the aristocrat’s exit. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re not ridding yourself of me.”
He easily beat her to the door with his long strides and she had to come to a stumbling halt or risk collision. But that didn’t mean she had any intention of giving up. She had to stay on Barbados.
“I don’t know how you worked your way into my father’s interests, but it won’t continue,” she told him.
Lord Christian gripped the front doorknob with enough force to turn his knuckles as white as his powdered hair. The man seemed truly determined, even a little shaken by her arrival. His behavior grew more curious by the moment.
“Miss Kendall, you’ll do as we say,” he said, his voice becoming almost gentle. “Truly, we only have your welfare at heart.”
“You have your own welfare at heart, sir. Don’t think I don’t see that.” She resisted giving in to his seemingly heartfelt plea and instead turned to her father to assert herself. “I’ve traveled a great distance, Father, and I’d like to lie down. Please take me home.”
Her father frowned. “You look like you’ve lost weight, Daughter. Was your voyage unpleasant?”
“She doesn’t leave this office, Ben. Keep her here while I see to her passage to Boston.”
“I’m sorry, Felicity. You have to stay here.”