Love's Rescue (Keys Of Promise Book 1) (Historical Romance)

by Christine Johnson

  Elizabeth swallowed hard. “But I thought you had business with Mr. Finch.”

  Father waved off her concern. “Nothing that can’t wait until morning.” He bowed slightly. “Good evening, Mr. Finch. Nathan!”

  The groom appeared.

  “Please take Master Charles to his room.”

  “But I haven’t finished dessert,” Charlie protested.

  Father’s tone softened. “You may take it with you. I will follow. Perhaps we can discuss some of my current cases.”

  That mollified Charlie, though he cast Elizabeth a sympathetic look. Apparently their elders had conspired in this matter, for Aunt Virginia did not raise a single objection.

  Though Finch dug into the custard with relish, Elizabeth stared at hers. How could she wriggle out of this? She picked at the custard, spooning off the rich caramel and nibbling at the pale interior. Father had made his intentions perfectly clear. She was expected to entertain Mr. Finch. When Aunt Virginia yawned and suggested they retire to the parlor, Finch seized the bait.

  “Do let us.” He hopped up to assist Aunt Virginia first.

  Elizabeth would not wait for his return. Instead she pushed out her chair, drawing a scowl from her aunt.

  “It is rather warm tonight.” Finch offered Elizabeth his arm. “Your father’s idea sounds splendid. Would you care to join us, Miss Dobbins?”

  Naturally Aunt did not, instead retiring to the parlor with its floor-length windows opening on the veranda. Ah yes, Father’s plan had worked to perfection thus far, but it could not proceed in the direction that Elizabeth suspected Finch would try to go.

  “Would you care to rest, Miss Elizabeth?” The man gestured to the very chair she had sat in this morning before Rourke gave her the oleander.

  “All I have done is rest. If I sit one minute more, I shall scream.” She strode to the railing.

  “What a fine sense of humor you have developed.” Finch joined her. “I don’t recall such wit in our encounters in Charleston. Where did you acquire it?”

  The man’s empty compliments did not impress her. “I found it the only means to endure the endless flatteries of would-be suitors.” Society would consider that response rude. That was Elizabeth’s aim. If Mr. Finch found her repulsive, perhaps he would leave.

  “How trying it must have been for you.” He edged a little closer. “At least here you won’t be subjected to such nonsense. From what I have seen, I am the only gentleman on this godforsaken island suited to a woman of your stature.”

  Elizabeth stepped away. “I happen to love this island, Mr. Finch, and it has certainly not been forsaken by God. It is my home and always will be.”

  He looked momentarily shocked. “You cannot favorably compare this wilderness to the society of Charleston.”

  “I not only hold Key West in higher regard, but I pray I never see another city the rest of my life.”

  Finch’s jaw dropped. Clearly he had not anticipated such frankness.

  “My future is set,” she said. “My brother and father need me. I shall dedicate my life to their care.”

  His lips twitched. “A noble sentiment, but your father and brother might not agree. Your father has confided his deep desire to see you married well.”

  Elizabeth spun away. How quickly he’d managed to bring the conversation back to the last topic she wished to address. “I intend to mourn my mother properly.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Six months of full mourning and another three of half-mourning. I can’t imagine considering the joys of courtship for at least a year.”

  “A year?” he choked out. “But that is beyond reason, especially here.”

  She faced him so he might see her determination. “I care not for what others think. I have lost my dear mother. On this I will not bend.” She had to fight back the twinge of guilt, for she would indeed bend the rules for the right man.

  “Naturally.” He bowed slightly. “Forgive me for presuming otherwise. I can only account it to being dazzled by your beauty.”

  Elizabeth gagged on the fine words. More likely he was dazzled by the inheritance she would receive upon marrying. “Sir, I am wearing my everyday gown and took no great care with my toilette.”

  He caught her hand and clasped it in both of his. “Your beauty transcends all. It is such that I have thought of you often since leaving Charleston. Your father tells me you are disposed to consider my suit. In fact, he encourages it. If he is willing to dispense with the usual period of mourning, surely you can also.”

  After all she’d said, he would still pursue her?

  Elizabeth yanked her hand from his grasp, turned from him, and gulped the somewhat cooler night air. “It is not possible.”

  “It is possible.” He moved close again. “In fact, your father has already approved my suit. I will grant you the requisite period of mourning, but at the end—”

  “No!” She broke from him and backed toward the window that opened into the parlor. “I cannot accept.”

  “But your father—”

  “My father presumes too much. I made my feelings clear in Charleston. They have not changed.”

  Mr. Finch started for her.

  She held up her hands. “Please, do not persist or I shall be forced to call for help. My aunt is in the parlor.”

  “Your aunt is asleep.”

  Startled, Elizabeth turned to see if that was indeed true, and in that moment of inattention, Mr. Finch took her in his arms.

  “Elizabeth.” His fetid breath made her recoil. “I adore you. I always have. Please make me the happiest man in Key West and marry me.” His hands gripped her upper arms so tightly that they ached.

  Elizabeth fought panic and gathered every ounce of regal courage she had. “Release me, sir. Such behavior is not worthy of a gentleman.”

  He did not let go. “A gentleman in love will stop at nothing to claim the object of his affection.”

  A chill ran through her. Would he dare to do the unspeakable?

  She steeled her voice. “When the time of mourning has passed, I will only consider a Christian man with impeccable morals.”

  “You will need to search long and far to find such a man,” he said. “This world does not reward the sort of perfection you demand.”

  “Rourke O’Malley is just such a man.” Never had Elizabeth been so certain.

  Finch laughed as he released her. “O’Malley? He’s been charged with theft and conspiring to wreck the Victory.”

  Elizabeth reeled backward, landing with a thud against an open shutter. “Impossible.”

  “Not only possible but true. Statements from key witnesses have been filed, and Mr. Buetsch has pressed charges.”

  She wanted to slap the smirk from his lips. “It’s a lie. The evidence will prove it.”

  “On the contrary. The evidence is irrefutable. I fear, Miss Benjamin, your model of perfection will soon be tarnished beyond repair. Perhaps then you will recognize the value of a true gentleman.”

  Elizabeth raised a shaking hand to her throat. “Leave me.”

  “As you wish.” Finch bowed stiffly. “Good evening, Miss Benjamin.”

  Long after he had vanished into the darkness, Elizabeth still trembled. Collusion and conspiracy? Rourke? Never. Theft? Of what? She couldn’t help but recall the mystery of their locked trunks. Had Aunt Virginia noticed something missing after assuring Elizabeth that all was there? Was this all because of a mistake? But Aunt had said nothing to her. She would have delighted in pointing out any defect in Rourke. No, it must be something else. Nothing had been amiss in her own trunk. Nothing had been lost at all, not even Aunt’s pearls.

  Elizabeth gasped.

  The brooch! She’d forgotten to return it to the mate.

  10

  The crape mourning dress that Elizabeth had worn on the voyage hung precisely where Florie had put it after laundering and pressing. Elizabeth hadn’t worn it since her arrival, favoring the more comfortable cotton gown. />
  She reached into the watch pocket.

  The brooch wasn’t there. Neither was Mother’s miniature.

  But they had been there before Florie laundered the dress. At least she’d had them aboard the Dinah Hale, when she’d locked her trunk. She supposed it was possible to lose them between the ship and home, but there was no hole in the pocket and she couldn’t remember any unusual jostling.

  That meant they were here somewhere. Elizabeth looked under the bed, wardrobe, and dressing table in case they had fallen out when Anabelle stripped off the dress.

  Nothing, of course, but the room had been cleaned several times since then. Aunt Virginia would insist that one of the servants had stolen them, but that was preposterous. A Negro could never sell the brooch in Key West without raising alarms, and the miniature had only sentimental value. Still, if Florie had found them, she would have said something, wouldn’t she? Either way, an unpleasant interview could not be avoided.

  Anabelle slipped into the room. “Your father wishes to see you in his study.”

  “And I him.”

  Anabelle looked surprised, but Elizabeth didn’t have time to explain. No doubt Aunt Virginia had only pretended to sleep while Mr. Finch was pressing his suit and had gone straight to Father when Elizabeth dismissed the man.

  “Please send Florie here and tell Father to wait,” Elizabeth commanded as she opened wide the wardrobe doors to check if the brooch had landed there.

  “He will not be pleased,” Anabelle said.

  Elizabeth squared her shoulders. “That can’t be helped. Send Florie.”

  Anabelle dipped into a brief curtsey, the mode of acknowledgment expected at Aunt Virginia’s house. “Yes, miss. At once.”

  Anabelle’s stiff, almost contentious formality struck a raw note, but Elizabeth had too much on her mind to delve into the reasons at the moment. Theft was serious. Father would turn the servants’ quarters inside out looking for the pieces. When they were found, the thief would be whipped. Elizabeth cringed at the memory of the strap against flesh that she’d witnessed in Charleston. She hoped Florie had an answer.

  Mr. Finch presented an even greater problem, for she doubted he would accept her refusal, not with Father pushing him forward. She rubbed her forehead, which had begun to ache. Why would he be so persistent? Father must have promised him Mother’s inheritance, but that was intended for her, not for a man she did not love.

  After thoroughly checking the wardrobe, she crossed to the side window for fresh air. The wild tamarind’s fine leaves, born on arching fronds, waved in the slight breeze. She could still reach the limb she’d crawled down as a girl. Back then she’d run to the harbor to see Rourke. Lamplight revealed the ground far below. Could she make that climb today?

  “Miss?”

  Florie had arrived. Elizabeth gathered her nerve and faced the girl.

  Florie cast her gaze down. Her fingers worked the hem of her apron. “You ask fo’ me?”

  Several years younger than Elizabeth, Florie had worked in the cookhouse from a tender age. Unlike Anabelle, Florie was dark as night with a shorter and sturdier frame. Her stride bore none of the elegance of Anabelle’s, and she did everything with a marked deference that Anabelle had never displayed.

  “Miss?” Florie asked again, a bit more anxiously.

  Elizabeth took a deep breath. She did not want to accuse but to extend grace like her mother had. She smiled to ease Florie’s discomfort. “I fear I may have lost my mother’s miniature and a golden brooch. I had tucked them in the watch pocket of the dress I wore on the voyage here, but now I can’t find them. Did you happen to see either of them when you did the laundering?”

  “Yes, miss. I seen dem. I puts dem in dere.” She pointed to Elizabeth’s keepsake chest.

  Relief rushed in like the tide. “I never thought to look there. Thank you, Florie. I’m sorry I brought you up here for nothing.”

  The girl looked surprised. Something akin to respect flickered across her face before she curtseyed and departed. Perhaps Elizabeth could become like her mother after all.

  She opened the small rosewood chest. After depositing her trunk key into it upon arrival, she hadn’t looked inside once. As Florie indicated, the brooch sat atop the bits of pearly shell she’d collected as a child and alongside the miniature. She fingered the brooch. It was heavy for its size, perhaps made of gold. Bits of glass or rubies spelled out the letter H. Interesting. The mate’s name was Mr. Buetsch, if she remembered correctly. Perhaps it belonged to his mother’s family. Regardless, this brooch must be returned to him so the charges would be dropped against Rourke.

  Father could do that.

  She descended the steps and knocked on the study door.

  “Come in.” Father sounded tired.

  Elizabeth cracked the door. “It’s me.”

  “Elizabeth.” He closed the folio on his desk and rose to greet her. “Please sit.”

  She shook her head. “I wanted to ask a favor.”

  He rounded the desk to lead her to one of the twin chairs. “I understand tonight did not go well. Mr. Finch is perhaps a bit too eager, but I believe his affections are genuine.”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with Mr. Finch.”

  His eyebrows jerked upward. “Then what is troubling you?”

  “This brooch.” Elizabeth opened her hand to reveal the golden pin. “I found it in our cabin on the Victory and forgot to return it.”

  Father took the brooch and examined it in the light of the oil lamp. “You found it lying about the cabin, you say?”

  “Not exactly. I was looking for footing after the ship grounded and pulled out the bottom desk drawer to use as a step. The brooch was on the floor under the drawer.”

  “I see.” He turned it over and over, appearing deep in thought. “It bears your mother’s initial.”

  The melancholy in his voice brought a lump to her throat, but she could not let emotion deter her, not when she could clear Rourke’s name. “I believe Mr. Buetsch gave up his cabin to us. This must belong to him. Could you please return it?”

  “Dear, honest Elizabeth. You always think of others before yourself. That is how I know you will make the right choice concerning Mr. Finch.” He closed his fingers around the brooch. “I’m not certain if Mr. Buetsch is still here.”

  “Mr. Finch led me to believe he was.”

  Father frowned. “Percival mentioned the man? Perhaps he saw him about town.”

  This did not fit with Mr. Finch’s account. Surely Father would know that Rourke had been charged with theft. Unless Mr. Finch was lying. She could believe that, but he’d had a look of earnestness about him, as if eager to pass along information that he believed would dispel her interest in Rourke.

  “You still look troubled,” Father said.

  Elizabeth could not speak ill of Mr. Finch. Father would never believe his clerk capable of deceit. Yet Rourke’s innocence must be assured. “Please locate Mr. Buetsch and show him the brooch.”

  “Certainly.” Father pocketed the piece. “Though I suspect it’s only a trinket of glass and polished brass.”

  “But Mr. Finch said Captain O’Malley has been accused of theft. I thought perhaps it concerned this brooch.”

  He laughed and encircled her shoulders with his arm. “Dear Elizabeth. Don’t fret over what happens in court. I will take care of everything.”

  She breathed a bit easier. “Thank you. I cannot believe any ill of Captain O’Malley. He saved my life. He saved all our lives.”

  “Many men worked to bring you home.” He tweaked her chin. “I’m glad to have you here, sunshine.”

  “You are?” Elizabeth warmed in the glow of his seldom-bestowed smile. Father had not called her by that pet name in years.

  “Of course. You’re my only daughter. If I sometimes seem gruff or demanding, it’s only because I want the best for you. Always remember that.” He enveloped her in an embrace.

  Elizabeth soaked up the familiar sc
ents of wool and pipe tobacco. She had finally come home.

  Rourke did not care to cross paths with Charles Benjamin just yet. When he saw the man headed toward him, his first instinct was to turn around. This part of town did not lie on the route between Benjamin’s home and either his office or the courthouse. The man must have business to attend to, and judging from the way he’d homed in on Rourke, that business was with him.

  “Captain O’Malley.” Benjamin planted himself in front of Rourke.

  “Mr. Benjamin.” Rourke nodded curtly, wishing he’d worn his Sunday clothes rather than sailors’ garb. “I’m headed to my ship.”

  “A fine sloop she is, fastest in the Florida Straits, I’ve heard.”

  Rourke’s guard went up. Benjamin did not give compliments. “That she is.”

  “How long does the crossing to Harbour Island take?”

  “Depends on the wind, sir.” Rourke hedged, uncertain where this discussion was headed. “With a stiff breeze off her forward quarter, she’ll make the crossing in two or three days. Why?”

  “Curiosity.”

  The man’s smile did not ease the worry gnawing at Rourke’s gut. Did Benjamin know Rourke’s plan? Had Anabelle told her mistress? Before the other night, Rourke would have trusted Elizabeth. Now he couldn’t be sure. Hadn’t he seen her entertaining that clerk of her father’s, a fact she’d failed to mention mere hours before?

  “You make the trip what, once or twice a year?” Benjamin asked.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I simply wondered when you last saw your family.”

  Benjamin’s placid smile could not hide his fangs. Rourke had no doubt the attorney was deftly leading him into a snare. Unfortunately, he couldn’t figure out how. “My visits are not public record.”

  If Benjamin caught the legal reference, he didn’t say so. “Of course.” He stepped aside. “Since I’m headed to the harbor, why don’t I join you?”

  All sorts of warnings fired off in Rourke’s head, but he couldn’t think of a way to shake the man. He settled for setting a brisk pace. If Benjamin wanted to follow, he’d have to keep up.