“Ah, my Cassie girl.” She envisioned her father, pipe in hand, looking up from his chair in the library. “I’ve always been proud of you.” He smiled and gestured her forward and Cassandra closed her eyes and imagined his beefy arms engulfing her in strength and warmth. Tears burned in her eyes, but she forced them back. Today was not a day for mourning. Today was a day of celebration.
After counting out enough bills to cover her errands, she tucked the rest into the bottom of the chest beneath the stack of her father’s letters. Then after one more whiff of his pipe, she placed it atop the missives, closed the lid, locked it, and slipped the key into her pocket.
Stretching, Luke entered the dining room and tousled John’s hair as the boy sat slopping down a bowl of oatmeal. “I smell coffee.”
John beamed up at him then spooned more of the creamy cereal into his mouth.
Mrs. Barnes strode into the room from the kitchen, carrying a tray of biscuits, sausage, and cheese, their decadent scents ambling in with her. “Finally you’re awake.”
Luke yawned. “Never thought I’d miss my lumpy old mattress.” Pulling out a chair, he sat and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“It’s good to have you back.” Mrs. Barnes slid the platters onto the table.
Finishing his oatmeal, John pushed the bowl away and turned to face Luke. “Tell us how you captured that merchantman again.”
Luke sipped his coffee. “I already told you, you little scamp.” Several times, if he recalled. In fact, Luke had spent the entire day yesterday with John and Mrs. Barnes, regaling them with his adventurous tale. All the while John had sat mesmerized, gazing at Luke with admiration—the same admiration on his face now.
“Quite the story.” Mrs. Barnes’s eyes crinkled. “Praise God He kept you safe.”
“Praise God for the money I gave you, Mrs. Barnes.” Luke retorted. “Now you can pay off our debts and buy yourself a new gown.”
“Oh my.” Mrs. Barnes laid a hand on her wrinkled cheek.
John giggled.
Luke glanced down at John’s leg. “And we can afford that new brace for your leg.”
“And then I can go with you on your ship,” the boy stated as if there would be no argument.
Mrs. Barnes’s hawklike gaze scoured Luke from above a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles.
He rubbed the stubble on his chin and looked back into John’s expectant gray eyes. John was ten years old. A good age to learn how to sail. It was time Luke stopped babying him.
Take care of him, Luke. His mother’s last admonition echoed in Luke’s mind. Take care of him.
But that didn’t mean to hide the boy from the world. Luke wouldn’t always be around, and John needed to grow up. Needed to learn how to fend for himself.
Luke sipped his coffee and set the cup down with a clank. “I don’t see why not.”
John leapt from his seat and stood at attention before Luke, reminding him of Samuel. “I’ll be real good, you’ll see. I learn things fast.”
“I know you will. You’re my brother, after all.” Luke swallowed a burst of pride.
“You can’t be serious?” Mrs. Barnes’s red cheeks swelled. “He’s just a boy. And we are at war.”
“There are many boys his age out at sea. Besides, we encountered relatively little danger on my last trip.”
“But you can’t be sure that the next trip will go so well.”
“I can’t be sure of anything in this life.” Luke grabbed a biscuit from the pile and took a bite. His parents’ murder had taught him that. There were no assurances of safety, no guarantees that people wouldn’t get sick—he glanced down at John’s deformed leg. That money wouldn’t run out. That he wouldn’t be dealt another bad hand.
That loved ones wouldn’t burn to death.
Pain throbbed in his right ear, and he lifted a hand to rub it. No, life was nothing but a chaotic matrix of haphazard events. And it was only how a man dealt with those events, good or bad, that defined his success. Success that Luke had only just begun to taste.
Mrs. Barnes clasped her hands before her smock. “But that is no license for carelessness, Luke.”
“Is it careless or prudent to teach the boy to sail?”
“Sail, yes, but privateer … You could be shot at.”
John’s eyes bounced between Luke and Mrs. Barnes. “Truly?” Excitement raised his voice.
Mrs. Barnes let out an exasperated sigh.
Luke stood. “Never fear, Mrs. Barnes. I have no plans to engage a British warship.” He gave her a mischievous smile and leaned to kiss her cheek.
She shook her head.
“Now, if you’ll both excuse me,” Luke said. “I have business in town.”
“Do you have to go?” John slunk back into his chair.
“Yes. You listen to Mrs. Barnes and do your studies. I’m your captain now. If you disobey me”—Luke hunched over and narrowed his eyes, doing his best pirate impression—“I will make ye walk the plank.”
John giggled. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Luke headed for the front door, the slip-tap of Mrs. Barnes’s slippers following him.
“What business do you have?” she demanded.
Luke swept the door open and stepped outside. “I’m not gambling, sweet lady, if that’s what you fear. I’m helping Noah bring cannons to the fort.” He headed down the pathway. “Although I may attempt my hand at cards this evening,” he shouted over his shoulders with a wink.
With an exasperated snort, she waved him off. “You are incorrigible.” Then chuckling, she closed the door.
Cassandra stepped out from the mercantile, her mother, Darlene, and Mr. Dayle following behind her. She lifted her face to the hot sun. Summer’s warm abundance was at full swing. Not just in the weather, but in Cassandra’s family, in her life, in her heart. Until now, Cassandra hadn’t believed in fresh starts. She hadn’t believed in miracles. But today, anything seemed possible. The scent of sweet ferns drifted by her nose. A bell rang in the distance accompanied by the clip clop of horses’ hooves over the cobblestones.
“Where are we going now, dear?” her mother asked as Darlene slipped her hand within Cassandra’s.
Cassandra glanced down at her list. “Let’s see. We’ve paid the mercantile, the chandler, blacksmith, millinery, cobbler, and the seamstress. Now all we’ve got to do is pay the butcher and then buy something delicious for dinner. Perhaps a chicken to make some soup for Hannah. And also some cinnamon to settle her stomach.”
Turning, she glanced at Mr. Dayle who was already loaded down with packages and sacks. “Just a few more stops, Mr. Dayle.”
“No bother, miss.”
Her mother patted her tight golden curls. “Oh, I would so love some new fabric for a gown. I haven’t had one in months.”
“Can we wait on that, Mother?” Cassandra headed down the brick pathway. “I don’t want to spend money on luxuries just yet.”
“But we have so much money.” Her mother tugged at her white gloves with a whine.
For now. But it would be gone in a flash if Cassandra allowed her mother full rein to buy whatever she wished. Why, the entire amount would be gone within the year. And if Cassandra’s brothers never returned, and Mr. Heaton never captured another prize …
And Cassandra never married—which appeared to be a greater possibility with each passing year.
“We must make it last, Mother. You don’t want us to end up destitute again, do you?”
“No, of course not, dear. But we should enjoy our success.” She furrowed her brows at Cassandra. “What has happened to you? You used to live life so vivaciously, with reckless abandon.”
“I seem to recall that you detest that about me.”
“Well, I did. I do,” she mumbled. “I simply do not see why you must change now.”
Halting, Cassandra gave her mother an incredulous look. “I took on the support of the family, Mother. I had to grow up.”
“Oh, pish.” Her mother plucked out a handkerchief and bega
n dabbing her neck. “You are so much like your father. He never let me buy anything.”
“Father took good care of us.” Cassandra proceeded down the walkway.
Friends and acquaintances waved at them as they made their way through the crowds. A few stopped to stare, their heads dipping in conversation as they passed. No doubt discussing Cassandra’s recent privateering success. Baltimore kept few secrets. But Cassandra didn’t care. Whether they approved of her business venture or of whom she had chosen to align with, she had done what few women had. She had provided for her family. More than provided, in fact.
With her head held high, her list and reticule in one hand, and Darlene holding the other, Cassandra sauntered down Baltimore Street.
“Mr. Heaton!” Darlene slipped away from Cassandra and dashed down the street.
“Darlene, ladies do not run!” her mother yelled after her, but to no avail.
“Oh, bother.” Holding her hat down against a blast of hot wind, Cassandra stormed after the girl, weaving in between people, horses, carriages, and wagons, leaving a trail of angry rebukes in her wake. “Pardon me.” Cassandra attempted to placate one angry footman who sat atop a fancy phaeton as he jerked his horse out of her way. She continued onward.
Then she saw him.
Dressed in his usual black breeches, white shirt, and black waistcoat, Mr. Heaton was perched on the seat of a wagon beside Noah and Marianne. Spotting Darlene, he yanked on the reins and leapt to the ground just as the little girl halted before him. He leaned down and laid a finger on her nose, giving her one of those smiles that would melt any female heart. Then straightening his back, his eyes met Cassandra’s and an odd moment of understanding stretched between them before he graced her with the same smile. Only this one held a hint of desire that made her stomach spin.
“You’re looking lovely today, Miss Channing,” he said when she approached.
Cassandra tugged her sister away from him, remembering the ease with which this swaggering rake thought he could procure a kiss from her. “Save your flattery, sir. I am not a woman easily swayed by idle words.”
“Then pray tell, miss, what does sway you?” He cocked his head with a smile.
Noah cleared his throat.
“Forgive me, Noah.” Cassandra gazed up at her friends. “Marianne, so good to see you.”
“And you.” She dipped her head, a knowing grin on her lips.
“Darlene, how many times have I told you to not run off like that?” Her mother’s shrill voice blasted over them from behind. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she greeted Marianne and Noah.
“Good day, Mrs. Channing. Mr. Dayle,” Marianne said.
“Congratulations on your privateering success, Cassandra.” Noah took the reins and stilled the horse.
“I believe it is Mr. Heaton you should congratulate,” Cassandra said.
“Indeed,” Noah replied. “But the credit goes to you for choosing a good captain.”
Luke rubbed his palms and looked away as if embarrassed by the compliment. Sunlight turned his hair into liquid obsidian.
“Do forgive us for not getting down,” Marianne offered, “but we must be on our way.”
“Where are you heading?” Cassandra peered in the back of the wagon where thick sheets of canvas covered up whatever they were hauling.
“Naval guns.” Mr. Heaton flipped an errant strand of hair from his face and squinted in the sunlight.
Noah tipped his hat up and glanced toward the bay. “Major Armistead and General Smith asked us to strip them from any idle ships in order to reinforce the fort.”
Cassandra’s mother plucked out her fan. “Oh my, he doesn’t expect an attack on Baltimore, does he?”
“Just a precaution, I’m sure, Mrs. Channing,” Noah said.
Cassandra turned to Mr. Heaton. “I had no idea you were so patriotic.”
His eyes smiled. “There is much you don’t know about me.”
Darlene tugged on Cassandra’s skirt. “Can Mr. Heaton come for dinner?” She looked up at him. “We’re having a celebration tonight.”
Cassandra’s mother groaned. “I’m sure Mr. Heaton has far more”—she scanned him with disdain—“interesting things with which to entertain himself.”
Mr. Heaton’s shoulders seemed to sag.
Embarrassed by her mother’s impudence, Cassandra took a step toward him. She owed him a great deal. Certainly the least she could do was offer him a decent supper. As a bachelor, he no doubt rarely partook of a home-cooked meal. Besides, the prospect of getting to know him better was not completely without appeal.
Though why she dared not ponder overmuch.
“What could be more interesting than a fine meal?” Cassandra asked. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Heaton?” Yet even as she said it, Cassandra could not in good conscience apply the description to Miss Thain’s cooking. “I insist you join us.”
Darlene smiled up at Luke and grabbed his hand.
“That’s quite impossible, dear.” Cassandra’s mother snapped her fan shut. “I’ve already invited Mr. Crane for supper tonight.”
Cassandra’s stomach soured. “You did? When?”
“Why yesterday, dear. He came to call on you, but you were busy attending to Hannah.”
“Oh, bother.” Cassandra tapped her foot. It would never do to have them both to dinner. Especially after Mr. Heaton had all but pushed Mr. Crane into the bay.
By the look of amusement on his face, Mr. Heaton was no doubt enjoying the same memory.
“How is your sister faring?” His tone sobered to one of true concern.
“Much better, thank you.” Cassandra eyed him curiously.
Marianne grabbed her husband’s arm. “We’re very happy to hear it.”
A breeze swirled around Cassandra, cooling the perspiration on her neck. Laughter shot from a group of men across the way. Oh, what did it matter if Mr. Crane was coming? It should be up to Mr. Heaton to decide if he wished to endure the man’s presence or not. She wished she had the same choice. Besides, Mr. Heaton would offer a pleasant diversion from Mr. Crane’s annoying ways. “Do say you’ll come to dinner, Mr. Heaton.”
His pointed gaze shifted from Cassandra to her mother and back to Cassandra as if considering the genuineness of the invitation. He must have decided the offer was sincere—at least on Cassandra’s part—for he dipped his head and said, “I’d be happy to accept.”
Ignoring her mother’s groan and shrugging off the odd delight that drifted through her, Cassandra gazed up at her friends still seated on the wagon. “And you must come too, Marianne and Noah. We have much to celebrate.”
The couple exchanged a loving glance. “Some other time perhaps.” A pink hue blossomed on Marianne’s cheeks. “This is Noah’s last night in town before he sails out again.”
“Oh, I see.” Cassandra’s face heated, and she shifted her gaze, noting a twinkle in Mr. Heaton’s eyes.
“Very well, then.” Cassandra cleared her throat, suddenly anxious to leave the awkward scene. “I should allow you to attend your business. Good day to you all.” Tugging Darlene away from Mr. Heaton, she turned and headed down the street. “Seven o’clock sharp, Mr. Heaton,” she shot over her shoulder.
“See you tonight,” Darlene shouted as they made their way once again across the street.
Cassandra bit her lip. Mr. Crane, Mr. Heaton, and Cassandra’s mother all eating at the same table. Yes, this would be a very interesting evening, indeed.
CHAPTER 15
Luke waited for the ladies to take their seats before sinking into his chair around the oblong table covered in white linen. Pewter dishes, crystal goblets, and silver platters glowed beneath the light of several candles perched at the center. From her spot at the head of the table, Mrs. Channing glared at him with the same disapproving scowl she’d worn since Luke had first entered the house and been led into the parlor. Where he’d been curtly reintroduced to Mr. Milton Crane, the foppish cur who now took a seat beside him. The man ha
d grunted that he’d already had the pleasure of Luke’s acquaintance, but both his spiteful tone, and the way he assessed Luke as if he were a spoiled piece of meat, spoke otherwise. Thankfully, Crane’s pride forbade him to mention his swim in Baltimore Bay for Luke doubted he could apologize for something that still brought a smile to his lips.
And though Miss Channing had attempted to include Luke in the pre-dinner conversation—an action that endeared her to him even more—the banter between her mother and Mr. Crane would not permit a word.
Luke cared not a whit that Mrs. Channing did not approve of his presence in her home. It was a chance to see Miss Channing and get to know her better. And for that, he’d happily tuck his pride away for the evening.
As it was, Luke had been content to stand by the hearth and gaze upon Miss Channing seated on the settee, her cream-colored gown spread around her, her delicate curls the color of fine wine lingering about her neck, and her green eyes sparkling as she politely listened to the boorish discourse. Not an ounce of powder or rouge marred her glowing complexion, which always seemed to redden when her eyes met his.
When the housekeeper announced dinner, Luke was fast to Miss Channing’s side to offer her his arm. After glancing toward Mr. Crane, she took it and even graced Luke with a small smile in reward. However, Mr. Crane’s face twisted in irritation as he spun around and offered his arm to Mrs. Channing while Darlene sped up on Luke’s other side and slipped her hand in his.
“Seems you have an admirer.” Miss Channing laughed. “One of many, I’m sure.”
Darlene gazed up at Luke, and he squeezed her hand. “He’s just my friend, Cassie.” Her tone of admonishment brought a smile to Luke’s lips.
Now, as the housekeeper and another woman of slight figure entered the dining hall and filled the table with steaming platters, Luke dared a glance at Darlene and Miss Channing, who both sat across from him. He promised himself to don his best behavior and prove to them—and to Cassandra’s mother—that he was not the cad the town thought he was.
The rumble in his stomach was quickly silenced by a strange smell, emanating from the cuisine, that Luke could not quite place. But he could be sure of one thing—it bore no resemblance to anything edible. Mrs. Channing bowed her head and blessed the dinner with a prayer that, by her tone, sounded more like the recitation of marching orders for God than an offering of thanks.
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