To think of all the time she’d wasted missing his dazzling smile, missing the way his eyes seemed to devour her, missing his diverting if sometimes irritating conversation and even missing his starchy military sternness. Pining over such a man was the height of foolishness and only added more stress to an already dangerous journey.
Well, she would have to put it out of her head. A tremendous amount of money, effort and time had been expended. Their bargain had been to deliver her, medicine, food and other ‘hardware’ to Wilmington, North Carolina. When Captain Tollier fulfilled their agreement she would pay him and they would part, business done.
“Ooooh,” she clutched her stomach and pitched toward the basin. A series of dry heaves nearly incapacitated her. “This infernal heat.” She needed air. Trudging over to the double hung, floor-to-ceiling windows, she pulled back the shades and raised the lower windows that led out onto the wide promenade deck. A balmy breeze blew into her room.
Never had she felt so poorly. She shambled back to her mahogany four-poster bed and wavered. It had taken forever to get dressed. Napping would ruin all her careful grooming. Surely a minute or two wouldn’t hurt. She lay down on her bed and closed her eyes. “Just a short rest.”
It seemed but a moment before a little hand jiggled her arm and slipped something into her palm: Captain Tollier’s card. On the back flowed curling purple script, “Two o’clock, hotel dining room.”
“Scoundrel,” she muttered. “At least he hasn’t lost my purple pen.”
She handed the boy a coin and vaguely heard him patter out as she drifted back to sleep.
At a few minutes past two o’clock, she finally rolled off the bed and staggered over to the mirror on the large armoire. She groaned at the sight. Her hair now hung in stringy clumps, damp with perspiration. Wrinkles covered her gown. Her disheveled appearance went against years of her mother’s strict lessons in proper grooming.
With no time for anything else, she raked her hair back and tied it in a ribbon. The captain had only been back a matter of hours before he had a doxy on his lap. If he lacked the decency to send word of his arrival, she needn’t spend an ounce of energy primping. After weeks apart, her wild imaginings of a passionate reunion never included her feeling so miserable or looking like a worn out scullery maid. Things did not bode well for ‘hello’ either.
***
Beau sat at a small table in the hotel dining room, scraping trails in the white tablecloth with his fork tine. C.C. was a quarter hour late. No doubt she intended to punish him for not sending word as soon as he’d put into port. The Redemption had made better time than expected and they’d arrived ahead of schedule. Technically he’d not been late in contacting C.C., he’d been early in arriving.
He checked his pocket watch again. Where was she? Each minute that passed made his pulse drum louder in his ears. Her discussion with that despicable villain last night indicated one or both of them knew Rives. Beau now simmered with questions.
“Good afternoon, Captain,” C.C. croaked, startling him out of his ruminations.
He jumped to his feet and bowed. “Good afternoon, Miss Collins.”
The maître d’ seated her and motioned to the waiter.
Everything in the lavish dining room faded when he gazed into C.C.’s countenance. Anticipation quickly turned to concern. He could not help staring as he assessed the change in her. A deep flush smudged her cheeks and forehead. Perspiration glistened on her upper lip and brow. The most disturbing changes—dark circles around her bloodshot eyes—revealed the telltale signs of illness.
“I trust your voyage was successful with a minimum of difficulties,” she said in a soft, hoarse voice.
Beau’s heart began to thud. The Bahamas were beautiful. Many considered them heaven on earth. But diseases like yellow fever, typhoid and others ran rampant. He had lost many a stout friend and foe to island fevers.
Had this thorny, rare flower succumbed to one of the most virulent? Something inside him sank into that hollow, watchful place he knew for dread. Things like this could go either way. It might be a mere inconvenience or a death sentence.
“Tell me how you feel.” He watched her closely.
She exhaled a puff of air. Her eyes closed and opened only halfway. “I sleep, but get no rest. The heat is stifling.”
“Yet you shiver. What have you eaten today?”
“Eaten?” She slowly shook her head and slumped back into her chair. “It is too hot to eat.”
“Drink?”
“Maybe some water.” She unfolded a little ivory fan and began waving it about her face. “We are not here to talk about the tediums of island life. When do we sail?”
As long as C.C. was sick, he would not attempt to take her through the blockade. “Not for several weeks.” He waited for the words to sink in. When she said nothing, he continued. “I am told the Union has added a great many ships to the blockade. Speculation is circulating about a buildup for a major assault against the forts on the Cape Fear River and Wilmington. Our best course is to wait for a moonless night and hope for a squall.”
The words finally hit their mark.
“Several weeks!” She said the words as if it took all her strength. “But we must leave NOW! It’s taken us forever to get this far. If what you say is true, this may be our last chance. My family cannot wait another day. One or all may be dying as we speak!”
“You are paying me handsomely for my experience, madam.”
“Yes, but—” She mopped her brow, placed her elbow on the table and propped her forehead on her palm.
“Are you all right?”
“My back, and this atrocious headache!” She shoved herself out of her chair and leaned heavily on the table, tipping it. Elegant glasses and dinnerware toppled to the floor.
Other diners turned to stare.
Beau launched from his chair and caught her as she began to fall.
She weakly pushed against him. “I’m all right… My toe caught on something… I stumbled, that’s all.” Her eyes rolled back in her head as she sank against him. This time he lifted her into his arms.
The waiter immediately appeared at Beau’s side. “Is your wife ill, sir?”
“I’m afraid so. Be a good man and send for a doctor.”
C.C.’s eyes fluttered open. She squirmed in his arms. “We must discuss…put me down!”
“I think not, madam.”
“Why is everything always a fight with you? You stubborn scapegrace.” Her words were sharp but her voice faded.
“Is she raving, sir?” the waiter asked, worried.
“Yes. Quite. Do see about the doctor, would you please? There will be a nice reward if he is here within the hour.”
***
C.C. gradually became aware of her surroundings. She was in her room, fully clothed and reclining in her bed.
A strong arm held her upright. “Drink, my dear, or there’ll be nothing for you.” Captain Tollier’s words rumbled in her ear as he pressed a cool glass to her lips.
Even as sick as she was, she savored the compassionate timbre of his voice. But her stomach rolled at the thought of swallowing anything.
“Let me be,” she groaned.
“The doctor left medicine. It goes down much easier with water, believe me. Even better if you could take it with some broth.”
“I’m not sick. Need rest, is all.”
Sitting next to her, he wound a hand under her arm and grasped her jaw, squeezing lightly at first. The pressure increased until she allowed her mouth to fall open. Liquid flowed across her tongue. She choked and coughed, but some of it drained down her throat.
“There now. Not as bad as all that.” He sounded quite pleased with himself.
“Insufferable scoundrel,” she sputtered. “Why are you tormenting me? We should be at sea. Why haven’t we sailed?”
Holding her against him, he set the glass on the bedside table and grasped her hand. “My dear, you are not seaworthy. Such a dangerous v
oyage requires everyone to be in prime health.
Over the next four days C.C. weathered the fever with the captain and maid looking in on her. On the fifth day she felt well enough to take a short walk around her floor’s promenade deck on the captain’s arm. When they returned to her room, her patience finally ran out. “It appears I’m on the mend. Now, when do we sail?”
He gazed at her appraisingly. “There are some things needing attention on the ship. A few more days should see to their completion.”
The next morning, knocking at her door woke her from a fevered haze. Her stomach, back and legs pained her horribly.
“Miss Collins, are you in there?” Captain Tollier sounded like he was miles away.
“That insufferable man,” she groaned. It took all her strength to put on her wrapper and make her way to the door. She pulled it open and braced herself against the doorjamb. “What is it, Captain?” She grasped her mouth, barely able to hold her stomach down.
His handsome features tightened with alarm. “You’re sick again?”
This time she didn’t argue. She could barely stand and feared she would retch all over him.
“Let’s get you back to bed.” He practically carried her and managed to bring her the basin just in time.
Embarrassment at casting up her accounts would have consumed her had she not collapsed against the pillows into a fevered sleep. A few hours later she awoke to excruciating pain all over her body.
Captain Tollier sat at her bedside. “You’re awake, my dear?”
“I fear I may need a doctor this time,” she croaked.
“He’s already been here and confirmed what I suspected. You have yellow fever.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in. Yellow fever frequently killed. “No, you’re mistaken. I have the grippe. I’ll be better in a day or two. Is the ship ready to sail?” She refused to believe she had anything more than a fever. It had to be the heat. Since she’d arrived in Nassau, people continually remarked on the islands’ unusual warmth this year.
“You’re in the next phase of what hopefully will be a mild case.”
“More like plucked, quartered and boiled.”
“If you’re a good girl and follow my instructions, we should have you better in no time.”
Even in her weakened state his commanding tone irked. “What gives you such authority? And why have I not a proper nurse?”
He stood to fluff her pillows and arrange the sheets. After wringing a cloth in the basin, he dabbed it around her face and arms. “My dear. I am your nurse. Believe me, I’ve tried to find someone more suitable—a lady’s maid, even a washer woman—but, alas, none were brave enough.”
“I am not difficult with servants.”
He cleared his throat. “Of course not. People have little desire to catch your illness. You and your rooms are now under quarantine.”
“Then why are you risking your life to help me?”
“I had yellow jack three years ago. Once the war has been fought and won, the illness seldom strikes again. Now let’s see to your medicine and get some fluids into you.”
***
C.C. was burning up, then freezing, then roasting again. Memories surfaced, then receded. Unbidden, a long-buried remembrance emerged and unfurled.
Her sweet little dog lay in her arms, gazing up at her as if he too felt her distress. She hugged him closer while her knees continued to shake. Unable to contain her agitation, she launched into another zigzagged path around the elegant parlor of her parent’s Madison Avenue mansion. Beyond the velvet draped windows, blustery winds and dark clouds threatened snow.
A warm fire smoldered in the grate behind the polished brass screen. Flickers of candlelight reflected in the room’s gold and crystal. Delia, her mother, lit another tall candle and announced brightly, “I always like cold weather. It lends an enchanting, romantic ambiance. The honey-bee candles have a pleasant fragrance, don’t you think?”
She watched her mother smooth down the material around her bodice. Her exquisite gown emphasized her tiny waist and enviable bosom. Truly, she was beautiful. Some said C.C. resembled her. With delicate features, luxuriant sable hair and large dark eyes, she often found men staring at…her mother.
Delia’s gaze settled admiringly on her. “Your gown’s delicate violet tiers give you the look of an angel rising from the clouds. You are a vision, my dear.”
C.C.’s lady’s maid had worked on her since daybreak creating that vision—bathing, lacing, primping, applying an artful amount of powder and rouge about her face and shaping a glamorous crown of ringlets.
“I knew the lamps’ rosy glow would complement your complexion,” Delia cooed. A hint of her southern roots added sultry melody to her words. “It never hurts to set the stage for intimacy.”
“Mother, I don’t want—”
Delia cut her off with a huff. Her lips drew into a taut line. “After what you did, do you see any of your beaux cluttering up my parlor now? I don’t know how much clearer your father and I can make it.”
“But you won’t—”
“Enough! You are a lucky girl to have such a worthy, steadfast young man. He has loved you since you were children.”
“If he truly loved me—”
“We’ve been over this. He only teases you because he likes you! That’s what some men do. A smart woman would figure out how to turn it to her advantage.”
A gilded bird sprang out the mantel clock’s door and chirped twice before snapping back into its cage.
Delia’s head whipped toward the sound. “He’ll be here any minute.” Suddenly all business, she strode over to C.C. “Your father coddles you too much. He shouldn’t have given you that little hound.” With a final stern glare, she lectured, “Remember your promise.” Grabbing the dog, she swished out of the parlor, and closed the doors behind her.
Silence now pervaded the room save for the occasional pop in the grate and the ticking of the bird clock on the mantel. Perspiration gathered on C.C.’s forehead. How had her world spun so horribly out of control? She dabbed at her face with her handkerchief, fidgeted with a ringlet and resumed pacing.
Voices echoed off the cold marble in the outside corridor. She could hear her mother’s high, tinkling laughter and animated words, “Oh, Jacob, you are such a joy.”
Both heavy paneled doors swung open. Jake stood in the doorway wearing a richly tailored dark suit. Her ever-beautiful mother stood at his side in her lavish green gown. Together they appeared a fashion plate of elegance.
Delia’s hand clutched his elbow as she gazed up at him admiringly. Without tearing her eyes from his face, her mother nearly broke into raptures. “Calista Caroline, look who’s come to call!”
Jake dipped his head ever so slightly in C.C.’s direction. He always took great pride in his appearance. His thick, dark waves curled perfectly around a countenance she’d heard some women call disconcertingly handsome. His new, abundant sideburns would probably light the eyes of a north woods fur trapper.
She’d known him since they were children, probably knew him better than any man of her acquaintance. And what she knew, she didn’t like. Behind that polished exterior an arrogant, spoiled boy thrived in a man’s body.
Jake would go to great lengths to get what he wanted. Sometimes, he made scenes. The only surviving son and youngest child of a wealthy family, his parents frequently gave in to him. It infuriated her to think of all the times her parents made her defer to such a tyrant.
Delia pulled her hand from his arm and chuckled lightheartedly, “I’ll let you two talk. I’m sure you have much to discuss.” She turned and glided from the room, nodding to the butler to close both doors.
C.C. couldn’t move as she watched Jake slowly enter.
He gazed about the parlor, smirking as if appraising the quality of wares in a second-hand curio shop and finding them lacking.
“Please come in and make yourself comfortable.” She motioned to a settee. “How have you been?�
�
Instead, he stopped where the plush carpet met the custom hardwood and proceeded no further. Placing his cane on the floor in front of him, he leaned on its silver handle. “My mother delivered the message that you wish to speak with me?” he said airily.
His refusal to enter the room had never been part of how she’d envisioned this meeting.
While her stomach churned uncomfortably, she squared her shoulders and swallowed hard. “I wish to respond to your proposal.”
“Ah. My proposal. And which one might that be?”
Did he mean to annoy her, or was this his feeble attempt at levity? He knew very well which proposal. The one he’d been making over and over since she’d turned fifteen. A nervous laugh escaped. Jake liked to play games. He could be ruthless when in a mood. She decided to overlook his last remark and forge ahead.
“We have known since childhood that our parents and probably everyone in New York City have expected us to wed. Now that I’m nineteen I wish to put the rumors to rest and accept your offer of marriage.”
He pressed an index finger to his lower lip. “Ah yes, rumors. Your name has been linked quite securely to rumors of an upcoming marriage. I must say I was surprised to discover my name didn’t appear to be the groom’s.”
Her face heated uncomfortably as she realized, too late, her poor choice of words. “Yes, well, the rumor mill seems to be working overtime manufacturing tomes about me.”
His lips pulled thin with the barest upward curve at their edges. “I’m not one to put much stock in gossip, so I decided to conduct my own investigation. Do you know what I discovered?”
C.C.’s shoulders slumped. She knew what was coming. If he’d read even one of the newspapers over the last week he’d have seen the incredible fabrications about her plotting the destruction of a certain beautiful young woman. “They are lies, Jake.”
“Lies? Maybe your friends at the autumn Broadway ball were all mistaken,” he said in cool, mocking tones. “At least five of them thought you’d announced that Captain Merinus Sterling held your highest regards. Apparently he’d been calling at your parents’ parlor for weeks.”
The Trouble With Misbehaving Page 11