The Blue Enchantress

by Marylu Tyndall

  Hope’s anger cooled. So Arthur hadn’t abandoned her, after all. He gave her a conciliatory smile, and Hope waited for her heart to leap as it always did at the sight of him. But then a vision of Lady Falkland—Arthur’s wife—lifting her pert little nose in the air blasted through Hope’s mind, and Hope’s anger returned, deflating her heart. “And what would you have done if your plan had worked?”

  “Why, send you home safely on one of my ships, of course.” He furrowed his brow in concern. “Do you think I would ever do anything to harm you? I love you, sweet one. I always have.”

  Hope’s knees turned to pudding, and she sank into her chair. He loves me still. “What of your wife?”

  Lord Falkland knelt beside her and reached for her hands, but she snatched them away. “I meant to tell you about her, I truly did.” He sighed and looked down. “But there was never a proper time.”

  “A proper time?” Hope shouted, drawing the gaze of Falkland’s two men sitting at the next table. “You promised to marry me,” she whispered, seething.

  “And I still intend to, my dear. All in good time.” He placed a hand on her leg, and Hope shot to her feet, knocking her chair over behind her. Not long ago, his touch would have sent waves of heated pleasure through her, but now his hands felt as cold as ice.

  A look of genuine pain sparked in his eyes. “My wife is quite ill. The doctors do not expect her to live much longer.”

  “She looked quite well to me,” Hope snapped.

  “’Tis an insidious disease that does not manifest itself in obvious ways.” He flattened his lips and sent her a look of appeal. “I cannot tell you how taxing it has been.”

  Hope rubbed her brow, unsure whether to believe a word this man said. “Taxing? How taxing can it be when your wife lies near death and you are bedding another woman?”

  “Can I help that I fell madly in love with you?” He stepped toward her again “It was not my intention.”

  Hope eyed him, searching her heart for any scrap of affection, any spark of tenderness remaining for this man. His expression beamed with a charming appeal that normally sent her heart fluttering, but now all she felt was confusion and doubt.

  “So you see,” he continued, “I have been ardently searching for you for months, until I discovered Mr. Mason had a ship berthed in Kingstown and came straightaway.”

  “And as I have already inquired, for what purpose? You have a wife.”

  “Nothing has changed between us, my sweet. Nothing. We are still betrothed. I still intend to marry you.” He inched toward her, sweeping his gaze over her hair, her lips. “I have a ship. I can take you back to Charles Towne post haste, and we can carry on as if none of this nightmare had ever occurred.” He waved a hand through the air as if to dismiss the agony she had suffered over the past months.

  He still loved her. He still wanted to marry her. Wasn’t that what she had longed for? Wasn’t that what she had endlessly cried for after he’d abandoned her? Hope’s heart wrenched. She glanced at Nathaniel and back at Arthur. That Nathaniel had rejected her proved no honorable man would ever want her. If she didn’t accept Arthur’s proposal, she would most likely spend the rest of her days alone and unloved.

  Never alone and always loved. The soft voice filtered through Hope, soothing her and lifting her spirits.

  Falkland’s scent of lavender crept over her, but instead of setting her senses aflame as it used to, nausea brewed within her belly. How could she ever go back to this man? Not only was he married, but his love paled in comparison to the love of God. Hope gazed into his green eyes. And she knew. She knew she no longer loved him, no longer needed him. She wondered why she ever had.

  Thank You, Lord.

  Hope clasped her hands before her and thrust out her chin. “But this nightmare did occur, your lordship, and you are right, I have changed. I find I no longer have a shred of affection for you. Indeed”—she could feel Nathaniel’s piercing eyes upon her from across the gloomy room—“my affections lie with God, and with another.”

  “God, bah.” Lord Falkland glared at Nathaniel. His brow crinkled. “I see.” He faced her. “But what would I have expected from a woman who so freely offers her wares to any man with interest.”

  “How dare you!” Hope slapped his face, and his head snapped to the side. Fingering his jaw, he grinned. “I have learned much about Mr. Nathaniel Mason over this past month. I would hate to see the young merchantman’s business ruined before it has begun.”

  Fear spiked through Hope, and she stepped back. Her bare foot landed in something almost as cool and slimy as the man before her. “What are you saying?”

  “Shall I spell it out for you, my sweet one? Either you come with me willingly and remain my mistress, or I will ruin your lover. Mark my words, I will ruin his business, I will ruin his reputation, and Mr. Nathaniel Mason will end up a beggar on the streets.”

  ***

  Nathaniel took up another pace across the sticky floor. He crossed his arms over his chest, scratched the back of his neck, then crossed his arms again. Why did Hope give that pig Falkland an audience after what he had done to her? And the odd look on her face when she first saw Falkland. Shock ... anger ... love? The chaotic spin of his own emotions made it impossible to tell.

  Hope had committed her life to Jesus, yet since then, she had betrayed Nathaniel’s trust, thrown herself at Gavin, and now appeared to be falling back into the trap of that charlatan, Lord Falkland. And after Nathaniel had rescued her from near slavery, had given up his ship, had endured over a month of starvation, discomfort, and danger. He didn’t know whether to be angry at his losses, at her betrayal, or be sorry for her quick slip away from the Lord back into her old ways.

  Regardless of the pain she’d caused him, Nathaniel longed for her to remain true to her faith. O Lord, please help her to do the right thing.

  Gavin’s whistling began to chafe over Nathaniel. The man had not said a word or even looked at Nathaniel. Instead, he spent his time kicking a piece of stale bread across the floor.

  Across the tavern, Lord Falkland advanced toward Hope. She backed away, and it took all of Nathaniel’s resolve to stop himself from charging toward them and pummeling the man to the floor. Nathaniel peered through the shadows and craned his neck, but he could not make out Hope’s expression or hear her words. Two things were sure. Lord Falkland made a heartfelt appeal, perhaps even begging for her forgiveness. And Hope was listening. Though she seemed to resist at first, now her shoulders slumped, and she sank back into her chair.

  Falkland snapped his fingers, and his two men leapt to their feet and flanked Hope. Nathaniel started toward them, wondering how he and Gavin were going to take on three armed men. Turning, he gestured for Gavin to follow, but the man’s attention remained riveted on the floor. “Take heed, Gavin.” But still his friend ignored him. When Nathaniel faced forward, it was to an advancing Lord Falkland. Hope shuffled at his heels.

  Falkland held up his hand. “Calm yourself, Mr. Mason. Your lady is unharmed. Or should I say, my lady.” He chuckled.

  Nathaniel’s heated blood stormed through him.

  The pompous fop halted and tapped his cane on the wooden floor, the sound as hollow as Nathaniel’s heart. Behind Falkland, Hope’s head remained bowed.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Nathaniel asked.

  “I’ll make it simple for you, Mason, since you are a simple man.” Falkland gave him a malicious grin. “Miss Hope and I have reconciled our differences, and she has agreed to set sail with me this evening for Charles Towne.”

  Nathaniel’s throat went dry. His heart seemed to collapse in on itself. It couldn’t be true. Not after all they’d been through. Not after her encounter with God. “Hope?” He peered around Falkland. He must hear it from her lips. “Is this true?”

  Hope lifted her head, then quickly looked down again. Her eyes pooled with tears. For him? For Falkland? For her shame? Fire and thunder, he was weary of trying to figure her out.


  Falkland cleared his throat and looked at her.

  “’Tis true,” she muttered.

  Falkland brushed invisible dirt from his satin coat. “But I do wish to thank you, Mason, for keeping her safe thus far.” He turned toward Gavin. “And I believe I owe you five pounds, Mr. Keese.”

  Gavin shuffled forward, and confusion rattled through Nathaniel.

  Plucking out his money pouch, Falkland counted the amount into Gavin’s outstretched hand.

  “Gavin?” Nathaniel’s voice came out like sludge from the bilge.

  “I’m sorry, Nathaniel.” Gavin pocketed the coins, their clank piercing Nathaniel like arrows.

  Hope gasped, and a sob escaped her lips.

  Falkland’s brows shot up. “Oh, of course—you didn’t know. Mr. Keese is the first mate aboard my ship. After you purchased Miss Hope, I offered him five pounds to follow her, both to ensure her safety and keep her from, shall we say, any liaisons.” He shot a quick glance at Hope, then leaned toward Nathaniel with a grin. “I know how enchanting she can be, and I wouldn’t want her sullied before she was returned to me.”

  Hope’s shoulders fell beneath Falkland’s insinuations.

  Nathaniel shook his head, the fangs of yet another betrayal sinking deep into his gut. “You work for him?”

  Gavin gave a half smile. “You know me, Nathaniel. I love an adventure, especially one that pays. How could I resist?” He lowered his gaze, but not before Nathaniel thought he saw a spark of remorse.

  “Enough of this frivolity.” Falkland tapped his cane as if that put an end to things. “I shall bid you adieu, Mr. Mason.” He nodded toward Nathaniel, then faced Gavin. “Are you coming?”

  In a flourish of satin and lace, Falkland swerved about, grabbed Hope’s arm, and escorted her from the tavern, his men and Gavin following on their heels.

  Nathaniel stumbled backward into his chair. Hope did not spare him a backward glance.

  CHAPTER 35

  The rising sun cast glittering lights of gold and white onto the sleepy waves of Kingstown Bay, caressing them to life around Nathaniel’s ship. He wished it were so easy to breathe life back into his own body. For he felt as dead as if a cannonball had blasted through his chest. All that remained was to toss his carcass into a watery grave.

  Ships of all shapes and sizes rocked in the bay. Beyond their bare masts, the mountains of Jamaica rose in a glistening mound of green that normally inspired Nathaniel with the beauty of God’s creation. But this day, he found no pleasure in the sight.

  Activity in the port drew his gaze to the slaves and dock workers scrambling across Harbor Street, crates and barrels hoisted on their heads and shoulders as the rising heat of the day shoved aside the shroud of slumber—that sweet repose of the night that had eluded Nathaniel yet again.

  Lord, what is wrong with me? He should be happy to be rid of Miss Hope. She had brought him naught but hardship and heartache. He had been spared not only the trouble of escorting her to Charles Towne, but also the vexation of her company. Then why did the vision of her walking out of the tavern and out of his life make his heart feel as though it had been ripped from his chest?

  He paced across the floor, his boots thumping over the wooden planks. At least he had connected with his first mate and was once again aboard his ship, the Illusive Hope. He gave a sorrowful chuckle. He had named the ship after Miss Hope, a condition he intended to rectify as soon as he returned to Charles Towne. For once again, she had proved to be as illusive as ever, not only to him, but to God as well. Perhaps she’d had no real encounter with the Almighty, after all. Perhaps it had all been an act to win Nathaniel’s affections. But why then did she run into Gavin’s arms after she had procured it? Nathaniel would never understand women. Especially those like Miss Hope—those like his mother.

  He sank into the chair behind his desk. Lord, take this pain from me. I fear I cannot bear it.

  Taking in a deep breath, he allowed the familiar smells of his ship—tar, wood, and oakum—to ease through him. He glanced over his desk: charts, books, a quill pen, his hourglass, logbook, and quadrant spread haphazardly across the wooden slab. He let out a final sigh, expelling his sorrow, and stood. He had one ship left and one being built in the dockyard at Charles Towne. He had pocketed some coin from the cargo his first mate had sold in Kingstown. Now he would put Miss Hope and the past few months out of his mind and continue with his plans to build a merchant fleet, a fortune, and a name.

  “ I want you to preach. I want you to lead others to Me.” The gentle words pierced his heart.

  Nathaniel bowed his head. I cannot, Lord.

  Yes, Nathaniel’s preaching may have influenced a few pirates. But not the most important person. I failed You. She is back with the enemy. Do not ask this of me.

  A knock on the door jolted Nathaniel from his thoughts. “Enter.”

  Mr. Timmons, his steward, appeared in the doorway, his face twisted in confusion. “A note for you, sir.” He approached and held out a piece of paper. “And a child arrived with it.”

  “A child?” Nathaniel grabbed the note and tore off the wax seal:

  ***

  Mr. Mason,

  I deeply regret the course of my present actions, but I find I have no other recourse. As you must imagine, I am a man of enormous responsibilities and cannot possibly care properly for a child. I am rarely home and would be constantly afflicted by guilt should I assign Elise to the care of a governess who would possess no real affection for the girl. Hence, I am handing her over to Miss Hope.

  Having seen the attachment formed between Miss Hope and Elise, and Miss Hope’s reluctance to bid farewell to my daughter, I believe this is the right course of action. I trust Miss Hope will be pleased with the arrangements and both she and Elise will be better off for it. It is the kindness of my heart which prompts me to this action.

  Truth be told, I am unsure whether I am the girl’s father.

  Your humble servant,

  Mr. William Hendrick

  ***

  Humble indeed. Nathaniel dropped the letter, allowing it to flutter to his desk, and stormed from the room, shoving past Timmons. “Is he still here?”

  “Who, sir?” Timmons’s footsteps pounded after him.

  “The man who left this note.”

  “Nay, sir. He handed me the letter and the girl and shoved off before I could speak a word.”

  Nathaniel leapt onto the deck, spotted Elise trembling beside Haines, one of his sailors, then dashed to the railing and scanned the bay. A small boat manned by two rowers made its way toward the dock. A third man sat in the midst of her, but even at a distance, Nathaniel could tell it was not Mr. Hendrick.

  Timmons halted beside Nathaniel. “He did say to tell ye Mr. Hendrick had already left the island. Last night, he said.”

  “Fire and thunder!” Nathaniel swerved about. Elise’s wide blue eyes stared up at him, her tiny face contorted in fright. “Where is your wife, Mr. Timmons?”

  “In the galley, Cap’n.”

  “Please ask her to come on deck.” Nathaniel raked a hand through his hair and knelt beside Elise. He dismissed Haines and took a deep breath, trying to calm his fury. “You remember me, Miss Elise?”

  She nodded, sending her red curls shimmering like rubies in the rising sun. Her bottom lip quivered. Nathaniel clenched his fists. What sort of man abandoned his daughter? And in the pretense of being kind—of doing the right thing.

  “Where is Miss Hope?” she squeaked.

  He took her hand in his. “She is not here.”

  Her blue eyes swam with tears that spilled through her dark fringe of lashes, and Nathaniel’s gut coiled into a knot. He knew how she felt. Pushing aside his anguish, he forced a smile.

  “But I am here. And I’m going to take good care of you.”

  “Where is my father?” Elise whimpered, the quiver in her lip radiating throughout her body.

  “Your father had to go on a trip. But you’ll be safe here with me.”<
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  “Father always goes away.” Her face took on a haunted look.

  Nathaniel gripped her shoulders, not knowing what to say to bring her comfort.

  Mrs. Timmons emerged from below deck, a portly woman in her forties. She huffed from the exertion of climbing the companionway stairs, but when her eyes landed on Miss Elise, she rushed to her side. “What ’ave we ’ere?” She stooped and gave Elise such a huge smile that the fear from only a moment ago faded from the little girl’s face.

  Nathaniel stood. “Mrs. Timmons. It seems we have a special guest on board, Miss Elise Hendrick. Would you be so kind as to escort her to your chambers and look after her? Make her as comfortable as a princess.”

  Elise’s eyes swept to his, sparkling even amidst the tears.

  “I would at that.” Mrs. Timmons opened her arms, and without hesitation, Elise flew into them. “Oh, you poor dear. Nothin’ to be afraid of.” She patted her back and looked up at Nathaniel. “What o’ me duties, Cap’n?”

  “I’ll have Mills take over the galley.”

  Grumbles flung his way from all around, no doubt due to Mills’s lack of culinary skills.

  “A boat approaches, Cap’n.” A shout from the foredeck brought Nathaniel’s attention to the harbor, where a small craft manned by one person made its way toward them. Now what? He faced Mrs. Timmons and Elise.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Timmons.”

  With effort, the woman rose. Elise’s arms clung to her neck like barnacles to a ship’s keel. “Come now, little one.” She headed toward the ladder, and Elise waved at Nathaniel over her shoulder. He smiled. What in heaven’s name was he going to do with a little girl? He couldn’t give her to Hope, who most likely was already cavorting about the Caribbean with Falkland.

  Nathaniel faced the incoming vessel. “Mr. Ackon, spyglass, if you please.”