by Robyn Carr
“A baptism will be your next order of business with me, I imagine,” Reverend Jody said to Marguerite.
“We should have a yearly date selected for such an event,” Marguerite suggested.
“I would guess an investment of a thousand pounds would cover the cost of rebuilding the ships...” came from the other side of the table.
“And the cost of transporting them to Virginia?” was Wesley’s question.
“That would be additional, I’m sure…”
“Would the bank be willing to invest in a partnership in a mill?” Bryson was asking.
“Better that you find an investor the likes of Tilden,” the banker replied. “He wouldn’t scoff at another mill in the family.”
“Just such a proposal was on my mind…”
“A letter of marque from the king is what this family is needing most,” Preston said. And Alicia’s head came up as she listened to her brother.
“Aye, it wouldn’t hurt,” Wesley replied. “Our ships are often attacked for their goods, and taking their remains is illegal without royal permission. But I doubt heartily that the Tildens have enough influence at court to get privy attention.”
“Pirating goes against the Good Book,” the Reverend added.
“Getting attacked without preparation goes against good sense,” Wesley argued. “Aye, a letter of marque would at least turn the fight into profit.”
The visiting captain laughed loudly. “I swear I can’t believe the Tildens suffered unduly from attacks by Spanish and Dutch vessels. Tell me, Tilden, that you don’t counterattack and strip the ships and keep the booty.”
“I won’t tell you a damn thing, Pelt, except that pirating without the consent of the king and a letter of marque is against the law. We defend ourselves against pirates— and some of them have been English.”
“I have friends at court,” said Preston. “A couple of close friends with just such papers from Charles. I care not to return to London, with plague and war in her town and waters, but I could send letters.”
Alicia gulped at the thought of letters being sent to Geoffrey. Preston would not hesitate to summon his help in getting royal permission for better shipping conditions.
“Shouldn’t amount to much trouble once we get around to it. The Tilden ships have been lent to war before and will be again. The booty would have to be shared with the crown.”
“London’s our port as it is.”
“If you could persuade your daughter to marry a decent pirate it would make things easier,” Captain Pelt laughed.
“And after the baptism...” Reverend Jody was saying, “..perhaps there will be a wedding to perform.”
“We haven’t discussed weddings of late, Reverend.”
Alicia felt her head begin to swim and took a small sip of her wine. Her stomach was jumping and queasy. She didn’t know if it was the discussion of privateering; the notion that perhaps Geoffrey would come to be involved in this family, just when she thought she was through with him; or this idea that, now that there was an unmarried Tilden woman available, a wedding was the next topic of concern.
She rubbed her abdomen under her napkin and hoped she wouldn’t be sick.
“You can joke about weddings to pirates all evening,” Bryson said in good humor. “But I insist on being consulted before any such plans are made. I’ve a right to my bid.”
Several people chuckled. Alicia took another sip of her wine and tried to laugh with the rest, but her smile was strained and nervous.
“You’ll have to bring more to the bargaining table than a farm and half a mill,” Carlisle suggested. “These Tildens are damned hard to please when it comes to business.”
“Will you be at the church on Sunday afternoon?” Reverend Jody was asking Marguerite, in a separate conversation.
“Of course, I’ll be there. Harlan Townsend has been a friend of the family for years. His son’s wedding is of personal interest to us.”
“Pitiful affair. Lacks decorum, if you understand what I mean.”
“I don’t think I do,” Marguerite responded coolly.
Beatrice Jody snorted. “There’s a lot going around about the bride. No one knows her family and she’s got that brat hanging on her skirts. Claims she’s been married, but who’s to know? And young Townsend says he’ll adopt the child. But a sailor from up north says the girl supported that child serving in a common tavern.”
“I think the fact that Jim Townsend loves the young woman is as far as our concern should go,” Marguerite exclaimed.
“Decent marriages don’t seem important to our young people anymore,” Beatrice went on. “The lad’s embarrassed his father and his friends by bringing home a common tramp with a bastard child and trying to pass her off as—”
“I met the young woman at church,” Marguerite interrupted emphatically, “and the only thing she can be passed off as is a very kind and lovely young woman.”
Beatrice huffed, and picked at the food on her plate. Reverend Jody recognized the disapproval of his largest tithing member. “I’m pleased you’ll be there on Sunday.”
Those at the other end of the table still talked ships and mills, oblivious to the gossip about the upcoming wedding. “We’ll break out some of my private blend and come to a better price on those ships,” Wesley was saying.
“If it’s your stock, I think the terms will be more pleasing,” the captain replied.
Alicia thought the room would close in on her. She was grateful to notice the men standing and excusing themselves. The women would follow shortly.
“Bryson?” Wesley invited.
“Thank you, sir. Yes.” And he, too, moved in the direction of the study. Reverend Jody stayed abstemiously with the women, but from the look on his face even Alicia could see the liquor beckoned, and if he could find a good excuse, he would join the men.
“Madam, may I be excused?” Alicia asked.
Marguerite nodded and frowned slightly at her daughter’s pallor.
Alicia sat on the veranda and let the cool night air relieve the heat on her cheeks. Her stomach settled and the sound of the men laughing in the study relaxed her somewhat. She had damned those lonely dinners in London when Geoffrey was too busy for her, but she had to admit that the loud and confusing conversations at the Tilden dinner table were almost more difficult to bear.
She was quickly learning the order of things here and it did not differ greatly from in England. Marriage was the topic of concern for any maid over fifteen years of age, virginity was still the second most sought after commodity, closely following the size of the dowry and the best financial arrangement. And women who had not been closely guarded by their parents were assumed to be of a low and suspect class of people. She wondered how Beatrice Jody would feel if she knew that as she criticized the young bride of Jim Townsend for serving in a tavern, she might as well have applied all those unkind words to Alicia.
And if there had ever been any temptation to bare all the truth to her family, it had been removed. Whether or not her parents could sustain the burden, it was certain the community could not. The Tildens would have to accept shame if they accepted her true accounts.
She stood to say proper farewells to Reverend and Mrs. Jody, feeling a little sorry for the preacher. The tightness of his jaw indicated he had not found a way to get to the study to sample the liquors.
As she stood with her mother on the porch, Bryson was the next to appear.
“I have to say my farewells, ladies. My work won’t let me lie abed in the morning.”
“I’m glad you could join us, Bryson,” Marguerite said.
“And thank you, madam, for your superb hospitality.” He turned to Alicia and reached for her hand. “I have a great deal to accomplish before Sunday, Alicia, but I think I can leave my work for at least that afternoon. With your permission, I’d like to call on you then.”
Alicia quickly took a sidelong glance toward her mother for some answer, but found that she had tactful
ly moved to the door to leave Alicia and Bryson alone.
“I heard my mother say we are committed to the wedding on Sunday, Bryson,” she said, trying to stall.
“It’s a small affair. I doubt you would be missed.”
“I think I should join my family.”
“I could meet you at the church, then. And drive you home. I only like to talk to you.”
She pitied him somewhat. He was clearly afraid to make his moves too dramatically because of the vast Tilden protection surrounding her. But she knew her parents approved of Bryson. And the thought had crossed her mind that he would not be too quick to judge her, given the family ties he would acquire if she were to find him to be a favorable groom sometime in the future.
“Very well. I think you may.”
His face broke into a grateful grin; a boyish and toothy smile that told her he was ecstatic with her permission. He squeezed her hands tightly.
“Most country girls and especially tavern maids can find ways to better their lot,” Geoffrey’s voice intruded.
“I’ll live for Sunday,” Bryson told her.
She laughed lightly. “Bryson, you’re a dear, but just a Sunday drive can’t possibly mean so much to you.”
“I think, Alicia, that it is only the beginning of something more permanent between us. I haven’t asked you about your past, you know, but in your eyes I see your need for a man to love and take care of you.”
“I think I see the bruise of your last beating,” Geoffrey had said with affection. “Your broken heart.”
Alicia felt herself stiffen at Bryson’s words. “Be careful that you don’t mistake what you want for what you think you see in my eyes, Bryson. I feel no such need.”
“I’m not worried, Alicia. I think in time we’ll become closer.”
“Perhaps. Until Sunday, Bryson.”
“Alicia,” he began haltingly. “Alicia—may I—I wouldn’t want to offend you again, darling—may I kiss you?”
“Bryson, I—”
“Alicia, if you let yourself, you may come to feel as strongly for me as I feel for you.”
“Don’t deny me, Alicia. Don’t deny yourself. Love me.”
She sighed and tried to relax her tense shoulders. She let her head drop back slightly to look up at him, and her eyes gently closed. Bryson’s arms went around her waist and, taking great care, he pulled her nearer and gently kissed her lips, moving over her mouth with delicacy and caution. And then, ever so gently, he withdrew his lips and kept his face close to hers.
“Alicia,” he breathed. “Oh, Alicia...”
“Alicia. Alicia...”
Without warning, Bryson covered her mouth again and kissed her more fiercely, his lips opening over hers and his tongue attempting to thrust within her mouth. His body pressed hers tightly and she could feel the tensed muscles in his thighs and a growing thickness in his pelvis. She groaned and struggled against him, pushing him away. He released her reluctantly and she could see him struggling to control his emotions.
“I had better reconsider the drive...” she began, brushing at her hair.
“Again I must apologize, Alicia. It is most difficult to remember my honorable intent when faced with your beauty. Forgive me.”
“I’m not certain I can trust you to remember the next time,” she said a little impatiently.
“You have my word,” he said with a slight bow. “And should I fail you, you have every right to refuse to see me. But I shall count on Sunday, darling. It means everything to me.”
“And I’ll count on your honorable intent, Bryson. It means everything to my father.” She felt her stomach lurch at her own words. Inwardly she knew she had no right to use Wesley Tilden’s leverage on this young man—she was not exactly a virtuous maid. But the Tilden name controlled Bryson better than she could.
He clicked his heels together and lifted her hand to his lips, placing a respectable kiss on the back of it. And she returned to the chair on the veranda to watch him as he rode away from the house.
For a long while the sounds of the men’s voices from the study, and the pots and pans in the kitchen—the distant laughter and clanging—consoled her. She mulled over Bryson’s kiss and the way Geoffrey’s words flew into her mind at the most inopportune moments, causing her chest to tighten.
A decent and honest young man sought her love, and Geoffrey had spoiled even that. Here was her chance to fulfill her plan and marry well, and nothing inside of her would support that ideal. She had felt a gnawing emptiness when Bryson touched her, and the thought of a lifetime with him did not seem hopeful.
The night was clear and the stars sparkled as her thoughts wandered and she struggled to drive Lord Seavers, pirate, liar, thief, from her mind. But the harder she tried, the more clearly she could see him.
She could see him upon the rocking ship, and as she sank farther into a dream state, the scene changed and she was walking through a cloud toward a garden. The mist cleared and her beloved stood waiting for her, his tall frame exquisitely garbed in tight-fitting breeches and blue satin surcoat. The ruffles at his throat and wrists accentuated the dark tan of his face—the tan he’d earned by strutting half naked on shipboard while he worked.
His arms were outstretched to her, and with a glad cry she was in them, falling with him to the soft earth, feeling the strength of him holding her, loving her, his whispers coming softly into her mind. “I cannot ever be without you…”
She sighed, rolling her head from side to side as her lover possessed her in fantasy. She softly moaned as he touched her, tempted her, teased her. And then she was alone. She sat up on the bed of grass and looked around this mystical garden but saw no one. She could hear the sound of guns in the distance, but she could see nothing beyond her cloud-filled garden.
“Geoffrey,” she called, her heart wrenched and aching for a sight of him. “Geoffrey.”
There was no sea, but he stood on shipboard, his sword strapped to his belt and his hair blowing in the wind. She called to him again and again, but he turned his back on her. “Don’t go. Please, there is a child, Geoffrey... your child... please...” But he turned only to wave her off with his hand. And as she watched, she saw his body jolt and blood stain his coat as he slowly began to fall toward her.
Screams threatened to escape her but she only trembled and brought herself quickly back to the reality of the sparkling stars and the cool night air. She was alone on the veranda in Virginia, and he was miles away—possibly dead.
“I hate him,” she whispered. “I hate him for what he makes me feel. I cannot drive him out of my mind, no matter how I try. Even in my sleep I—”
“Hate who, darling?” Preston’s voice interrupted her.
She turned to notice Preston drawing nearer to her. A look of sympathy and understanding was etched into his features.
“You shouldn’t creep up on me, Preston.” She impatiently wiped a tear from her cheek.
He knelt beside her chair and touched her hand.
“It sounds as if you must have loved him very much,” he soothed. “Very, very much.”
She rose and looked down at him. She thought about talking this over with her brother and then simply sighed and went into the house.
Preston took her place in the chair, swirling the liquor around in his glass. He looked out at the velvet sky and began to whistle a melancholy tune.
Alicia found that her drive with Bryson was exactly the battle she had expected it to be. He stopped his carriage in the countryside, prompted her to walk with him for a while, and proceeded to beg kisses. She feared to consent; she feared not to. Of the gentlemen she had met, Bryson was the most desirable, and, in fact, most of the young ladies turned their heads his way as he passed. His deceased parents had left him a considerable estate and he was well-mannered and handsome.
But his kisses were either bland or overzealous. She knew by the time they finally returned to the Tilden home that she would either have to refuse to see him apart from cha
perones, or else consent to marry him. Of course, he had not proposed, but every syllable of his dialogue led her to believe that was all he wanted in the world: to marry her—and the Tildens.
Her parents had returned from the church hours before, and Marguerite was seated on the veranda snapping beans into a pot when Bryson drove her up. He said a few passing words to Lady Tilden, tipped his hat, and was on his way.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Marguerite asked.
Alicia sighed, unsure. “Yes, madam,” she replied, going past her mother into the house.
She was moving listlessly up the stairs when her father called to her. “Alicia. Do you have a moment?”
“Of course,” she answered, turning around and walking toward him.
“Come into my study. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”
She followed him and was a little surprised, at a loss, when he closed the study door behind her. He didn’t mince words.
“The subject of your marriage has arisen, Alicia.”
“Why?” she asked quickly.
Wesley laughed a little. “Because of the amount of time you’re spending with young Bryson. Is he your choice?”
“I plan to lessen that time. No, he is not.”
“Whom do you prefer?” he asked bluntly.
“I prefer things as they are,” she insisted, her mouth becoming dry and twitchy.
“I don’t want you to feel that just a short time after we’ve finally got you home we’re pushing you out, but you’re eighteen and marriage is inevitable.”
“Inevitable, perhaps...but, sir, I haven’t had time to consider it at all.”
“Bryson is a fine man and would take good care of you.”
“I’ve taken care of myself all these years!” she heard herself nearly shout.
“I regret that you have,” he said softly.
“I can manage a few more,” she insisted tersely.
“You must bear in mind that people here expect a woman to marry when she’s matured, and people will begin to wonder why you delay.”
“I don’t delay.” She felt the sting of tears reach her eyes. “I simply don’t love anyone...”