She couldn’t bear the thought that he may be on his ship right this moment despising her. She pressed her forehead against her knees, wishing she could make the pain go away.
At the sound of the door behind her, she looked up.
Marchand and Gabrielle came outside and joined her on the steps.
“Bonsoir, Charlie,” Gabrielle said.
Charlotte tried to force a smile, but one wouldn’t come. “Bonsoir.”
“Charlie.” Marchand shook his head, speaking in a quiet voice. “This cannot go on. You do not eat; you do not sleep. I know you miss Captain Thatcher.” He leaned forward to catch her gaze. “I know you love him.”
She didn’t even have the energy to blush or act demure. “I do,” she said miserably.
Marchand scooted down a step to sit next to her. “Charlie, you cannot only do for others. You must think of yourself too.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “You give away your food and go hungry, you settle arguments and take on more work, you help everyone around you . . .” He sighed. “But you must think of yourself too. If you give and give, you will have nothing left.”
Charlotte knew his advice came from concern. “I can’t leave Will, Marchand. He lost everything; I can’t—”
“Will is not alone.”
“Charlie?”
At the sound of Will’s voice, the others turned.
“Oh, dearest. What are you doing awake?” Charlotte held out her arm, and her brother came to sit on the step, cuddling up against her.
Gabrielle scooted down to sit on the other side of Marchand. She slipped her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder.
“Are you going to marry the captain, Charlie?” Will asked.
Charlie’s stomach sank. “I don’t think so.”
“If you do, can I visit you on the ship?”
She held him closer, and the four sat in silence, listening to the sounds of the swamp. The night was peaceful, and Charlotte felt love surrounding her like a warm embrace. But still, she was unsettled. Alden hovered at the edge of her thoughts, and . . . she ached for him.
After a long moment, Will lay heavily against her, asleep, and she moved his head to rest on her lap.
“I’m afraid, Marchand,” Charlotte whispered. “I may have ruined everything.”
“Ze captain is in love, Charlie. Such a strong emotion does not fade overnight.” He glanced at Gabrielle and smiled warmly. “Whatever happens, your family is here for you.” He put an arm around Charlotte and kissed her forehead.
A flame lit inside her, a flicker of hope, but it terrified her. “But I am a girl now. New Orleans is two days away; what if the Belladonna has already sailed for India?” Her hands were shaking.
“The Charlie Bower I know wouldn’t let any of those things stop her.” Marchand smiled.
“Will you—”
“Bien sûr, Charlie. You are not alone.” He glanced at Gabrielle, who nodded. “We will all go.”
***
Two days later Charlotte held Will’s hand, leaning back to gaze up at the Belladonna. She remembered her apprehension the first time she’d seen the ship and hoped to join the crew. That worry was nothing compared to the misgiving she felt now.
Seeing Alden walk out of one of the dock offices, she gathered her courage, left Will with Gabrielle and Marchand, and stepped forward.
Alden folded a paper and slipped it into his breast pocket. He started toward the ship but paused when his gaze lit on her. His brows rose in question, but his expression did not soften as he met her at the bottom of the gangplank.
Charlotte curtsied. “Captain Thatcher.”
“Charlie, what are you doing here?”
She winced at the lack of warmth in his tone. “I . . .” She shook her head. She’d thought of so many things to say when she saw him again, but they all felt wrong now. “I’m sorry.”
He watched her, his expression not changing.
Charlotte took a breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt you; I was afraid. Afraid to leave Will and afraid . . .” She shook her head again. “This is not at all what I wanted to say.”
He continued to watch her, and she wished she knew what he was thinking. She could read nothing in his expression.
She steeled her nerves and blurted, “I love you.” Once she started, the words tumbled out like she’d broken a hole in a levee. “I want to be with you, Captain—Alden.” Her face burst with heat, but she didn’t stop. “I’m in love with you, and I have been for so long I didn’t dare let myself hope you might feel the same. All this time I thought you thought I was a boy, and it all feels so complicated . . .” She stared at her hands, not daring to see his reaction to her jumbled outburst. “I love being with Will and Marchand and Gabrielle, but without you . . .” She glanced up beneath the rim of her hat, grimacing at the fool she was making of herself. “What I want to say is, I was running away too, Alden, and I found you.”
He held her gaze, stepping closer. A light glimmered in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment earlier, and a hint of a smile played on his lips. “A week ago I planned to leave New Orleans behind for good. This city had brought me nothing but heartache.” He put an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. “But I shall have to change that assessment.” He flicked the brim of her hat, sending it falling behind, cupped her face with one hand, and kissed her.
Alden’s lips were hot and his whiskers scratchy. This kiss was different than the first. Instead of a hesitant, questioning touch, it was a promise of love, of hope, and forever. Charlotte’s heart beat faster and faster, as joy threatened to lift her off her feet. She clung around his neck, returning the kiss with every last bit of her heart.
From the Belladonna’s deck, the crew broke out into a cheer.
Alden drew back, but he didn’t release her. He grinned. “What do you think, Dobson?” he called. “Could this voyage use an arbitrator?”
“Aye, Captain!” Mr. Dobson yelled from the rail.
The crew cheered louder, and this time Marchand, Gabrielle, and Will joined in. Charlotte blushed, but she didn’t pull away when Alden kissed her again, snuggling into his embrace.
Will ran forward and threw his arms around both of them. His young face shone with a smile. “I knew you would marry the captain, Charlie!”
Charlotte bent and kissed her brother’s cheek.
Alden rubbed the boy’s head.
Marchand and Gabrielle came forward and embraced each of them.
“Can we go on the ship now?” Will asked. “Captain Thatcher, do you have a spy glass? Can I shoot a cannon?”
Alden smiled at the boy and gave a curt nod. “I think you will fit right in with the crew.”
Will’s eyes went round. “Am I going on the voyage too?”
Giving Will a wink, Alden turned to Marchand. “How much preparation will you need to leave for Annapolis?”
Charlotte looked between the men, not understanding. Did Alden believe Marchand was returning to the crew?
Marchand lifted the bag of clothes and provisions they’d brought for the trip. “We can leave now.”
“Alden,” Charlotte said. “What . . . ?”
He slid an arm around her and started toward the gangplank. “I would not expect them to miss the wedding, Charlie.”
Not bothering to be a lady, she kissed him again.
The ship set sail, and much to Will’s delight, he helped raise the anchor. Charlotte changed into her trousers and put her shoes and dress in her cupboard, glad to be rid of them.
Alden showed Will how to hold the ship’s wheel, explained the workings of the compass in the binnacle box, and pulled him at least five times from the rigging, complaining with a roll of his eyes that the boy was exactly like his sister.
Gabrielle found the galley and set to work straightaway, and Turley was de
lighted to have a new assistant.
In the evening, once the chaos had calmed, Will was safely asleep in his berth, and everyone was settled into their duties, Alden found Charlotte at the portside rail. He drew her to him, kissing her soundly. He brushed kisses over her cheek and pushed aside her hair to kiss her temple.
“Charlie, I think we shall have to establish some rules concerning displays of affection between the captain and swabbie on the ship.”
She grimaced, and her skin heated. “Of course, I understand. It is hardly appropriate for . . . Yes. There should be no kissing on the deck.”
He smirked, tightening his arms around her. “I was thinking exactly the opposite. If anything, I think there should be more kissing on the deck.”
Before she could argue, he set his decree in place, and Charlotte thought the captain had made a very good rule indeed. She settled against him, feeling like the space between his arms was made just for her. He held her tight, and she sighed.
In Alden’s arms she was no longer a frightened girl searching for her family. She was safe and whole and loved and exactly where she belonged.
Epilogue
Six weeks later
Spring was beautiful in Annapolis. The days were warm but not too hot, and the evenings were pleasant. But on this particular spring day, Charlotte didn’t care one fig about the weather.
She sat still on the dressing table chair while Lydia’s maid, Francine, wove flowers into her hair. The smell of roses wafted through the guest room window beside her and mingled with the aromas coming from the kitchen below. In just under an hour, she and Alden were to be married, and Charlotte’s cheeks ached from smiling.
The door opened, and a group of women entered, led by the mistress of the house, Lydia Steele.
Lydia was a beautiful southern belle with blonde curls and the largest blue eyes Charlotte had ever seen. She was married to Alden’s adopted brother, Jacob, and the couple lived in this stately brick house. When Charlotte and Alden had arrived and declared their intention to be married, Lydia had immediately taken over the wedding preparations and had done an expert job, as she was used to throwing elaborate parties.
“Oh.” Lydia touched her fingers to her breastbone. “You are just the loveliest bride, Charlotte.” She inspected the hairstyle. “Francine, this is perfect.” Up close, Charlotte could see the hint of a scar on Lydia’s cheek, and at times she noticed that her smile bunched strangely on one side. Alden had told her Lydia had been injured in an English raid on her father’s plantation.
Elnora Hathaway, Alden’s adopted mother, came up beside them. Elnora moved slowly, and Charlotte suspected was recovering from an illness. She was slender and tall, with sleek white hair, and her movements were very elegant. “Your gown is pressed and ready, dear.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte said. Her heart started to flutter nervously. She wondered what Alden would think of the dress. It was much fancier than anything she’d ever seen in Bay Minette. But Lydia had insisted it was just the thing, and Elnora, Gabrielle, and Abigail had agreed.
Abigail Prescott was married to Lydia’s brother Emmett. She was much more reserved than her sister-in-law and very intelligent. Charlotte noticed she always wore a necklace with a fascinating gemstone. When she’d asked about it, Abigail told her it was an opal.
Abigail’s husband, a major in the American army, had been stationed in Canada, and apparently Abigail had worked as a surgeon with the battalion. Charlotte had thought it strange for a woman to have such a job but then remembered she herself worked as a deckhand on a merchant crew.
Once her hair was finished Charlotte turned her head from side to side, examining the arrangement in the mirror. “I love it.” She blushed and fidgeted with her ring.
“And your heart is still set on wearing that bird charm?” Lydia rolled her eyes, teasing. She had been horrified at the thought of Charlotte wearing the leather string and tooth pendant with her gown, but Charlotte couldn’t bear not to have Tom’s gift with her. They had finally reached a compromise, with the leather string tied around Charlotte’s wrist instead of her neck.
Gabrielle and Francine slid the gown over Charlotte’s head, and Francine started on the buttons in the back. Charlotte swished the skirts, delighted with the rose-colored chiffon. The gown was embroidered at the waist with an ivy pattern and trimmed at the sleeves and neck with delicate lace.
“Ah, ma chérie.” Gabrielle handed Charlotte a bouquet of roses and dabbed her eyes.
“Hair, gown, bouquet.” Lydia counted the items off on her fingers. “Yes, it is all in order. Excuse me. I must see to the dinner.” Lydia kissed Charlotte’s cheek and swept from the room.
“Charlotte.” Abigail handed her a small box. “Emmett and I thought you might . . .” She gave a shy shrug and motioned to the box.
Charlotte opened the box and took out a delicate silver chain from which hung a single pearl. She gasped. “It is beautiful.”
“You don’t have to wear it today if you don’t wish to. I just thought, since you met Alden at sea . . .”
Charlotte stared at the pearl, enchanted by the lustrous white color and unable to believe a woman she had just met a few days earlier would give her such a treasure. She pulled Abigail into an embrace, making Gabrielle, Elnora, and Francine all suck in a breath, likely worried she might wrinkle her gown.
“Thank you, Abigail. It is so very beautiful.” She turned. “Will you attach the clasp?”
Abigail attached the necklace and then left to find her husband.
“I should leave as well,” Elnora said. “It is nearly time. My dear, I have never seen Alden so happy. I worry about that boy—that man—you know. He is so impulsive and brash and puts on a show of overconfidence. But inside he is still a boy who needs love.” She kissed both of Charlotte’s cheeks. “I am so delighted he found you.”
Elnora left, leaning on Gabrielle’s arm.
Charlotte thanked Francine again. She lifted the bouquet, inhaling the scent of the roses. When she stepped into the upstairs passageway, Marchand stood there waiting to escort her.
His eyes were shiny. “Are you ready, Charlie?”
Her throat clogged, and she could only nod.
Marchand cupped her cheek. “I know I am not your real father, Charlie, but thank you for allowing me to know what it is to love a daughter.”
Charlotte wept, leaning against his shoulder as he held her. She loved this soft-spoken man. He had been a protector and a confidant and a friend, and if it weren’t for him . . . She hugged him close, knowing no words could ever tell him what her heart felt.
“No more tears, Charlie.” He used a red kerchief to wipe her cheeks. “Today is for celebration.”
Charlotte kissed his cheek and took his arm. When they reached the top of the staircase, she caught her breath. Ribbons and bouquets and tulle were strung down the banisters, and vases of hothouse flowers adorned the entire foyer. In the dining room beyond, she could see tables set for a feast, but while all of those things were lovely, the decorations paled to the sight of the upturned faces smiling at her.
Her crewmates gathered on one side of the aisle. The men wore their finest clothing and had combed their hair and shaved. Alden’s family, Elnora, the Prescotts, and the Steeles were on the other side with Gabrielle.
Will waved, and her heart melted at how adorable he looked in his neckcloth and jacket.
But it was the man standing beside the minister whose gaze made her heart turn over in a slow roll and her knees go weak. Alden’s smile was soft, and the tender look in his eyes made her heart fill until she thought it would burst in a wave of tears.
They descended the stairs and walked through the aisle to where Alden waited. He accepted her hand from Marchand, and the minister began the ceremony.
Looking at Charlotte’s face, Alden’s brow furrowed, and he must have realized
his bride was nearly overcome with emotion. He glanced at the minister then back to her and gave a wink. Leaning close to her ear, he whispered, “Did you arrange all of this just to get out of swabbing the deck?”
Charlotte squeezed his fingers, pretending to be offended, but she couldn’t prevent a smirk. “Perhaps,” she whispered back.
He gave an exaggerated sigh. “I should have known.”
Charlie glanced up at him. She widened her eyes and looked pointedly at the minister, telling Alden silently to pay attention.
Alden leaned close again. “You have made me so happy, Swabbie,” he whispered. The tease was gone from his voice.
Charlotte held his hand tightly, and her heart overflowed. “I love you, Captain.”
Author’s Notes
I included mention of David Sanders on page 172 because he’s my fifth great-grandfather. He was a Tennessee rifleman who fought and died at New Orleans.
One of the most consistent criticisms I hear about the Battle of New Orleans is that it was fought unnecessarily since a peace treaty was signed before the battle began and news just hadn’t reached the troops in Louisiana. This is not entirely true. A treaty was drawn up between American and English representatives on December 24, fifteen days before General Pakenham’s troops marched against Andrew Jackson’s defensive line. But the treaty specifically stated that it did not go into effect until fully “ratified,” which meant it needed to be signed by both the King of England and the President of the United States and approved by the U.S. Senate, which would take weeks.
And why was the battle even important? What was at stake? New Orleans was more than a swampy town at the mouth of the Mississippi that was perpetually flooded by hurricanes or burning with a city-wide fire. The city was the gateway to and from the heart of America. The Ohio, Missouri, and numerous other rivers emptied into the Mississippi, providing livelihood for lumbermen, farmers, trappers, and manufacturers from Pennsylvania, the Ohio Valley, the Cumberland Gap, and the Great Smoky Mountains. The goods were sent from New Orleans to ports around the world.
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