Mr. Finch gave her a doting smile. “You wouldn’t want your lovely gown to get dusty, would you? The hall is a goodly distance from here.”
“The hall.” Elizabeth quickly pieced together that she had just agreed to attend the Harvest Ball with Mr. Finch.
“Dearest Elizabeth.” Finch laughed. “Where else would a ball take place but at the hall? There isn’t another room large enough.”
“Nor is there a better place to announce your engagement,” Father added.
Engagement? Panic rose like a storm tide. When had she agreed to an engagement? One of those polite nods must have been mistaken for agreement. “You misunderstand.”
“Not to fret, my dear.” Finch smiled. “We all make mistakes from time to time.”
“Mistake. Yes, that’s it. This is all a big mistake.” The blood pounded in her ears. What had she done to make him think she would ever approve his suit? Had she not refused him outright twice already? “I can’t. I won’t.” She pushed back from the table.
“Elizabeth.” Father’s gray eyes pinned her in place. “This is what we agreed upon.”
No, it wasn’t. This was what Father and Mr. Finch agreed upon. Not her. She could not abandon Rourke for a pale substitute, even if she must wait a year.
“No,” she croaked.
The men ignored her words. The air thickened. She could not breathe, could not think, could not hear. Her hands shook. She had to leave. Now.
She rose.
“Are you all right, dearest?” Mr. Finch hopped to his feet and took her arm.
His hovering presence and heavy perfume only made her feel worse.
“I-I can’t.” She pulled her arm from his grasp and ran from the room. How, she did not know. She could not feel her limbs. Her ears buzzed. The furniture blurred as if underwater. She grabbed the staircase railing. Her room. She must get to the safety of her room.
“Elizabeth?” Finch’s voice shot through her like a bolt of lightning. “Dearest?”
“No,” she gasped, struggling to gather her wits. “No. I’m not. I can’t.”
“Take her to the parlor,” Father instructed, his disdain at her feminine weakness evident.
Finch reached for her.
She pulled away. If only she could climb the stairs, but she could not summon the strength to lift a foot.
“Come with me,” Finch demanded, this time tugging on her arm.
His grasping recalled the last time, when he had gripped her arms so tightly that they’d bruised. If she hadn’t insisted upon strict Christian morals, he would have forced a kiss upon her. His lips had been so close that she’d reeled from his fetid breath. She could not do this. She could not. The eddy was swallowing her. Soon she would be lost, and she hadn’t the strength to fight. Her lips formed words, but nothing came out.
Then she felt a tug on her skirt.
“I want to talk to my sister,” Charlie said. “She’s coming with me.”
To her shock, Finch stepped away. Father acquiesced. Aunt Virginia stayed silent. In that moment, Elizabeth saw who ruled the house. Her brother, who had seemed so weak, was in truth the strongest of them all.
“Wheel me to my room, Lizzie.”
Elizabeth gratefully obeyed.
After sailing east-northeast until well past sundown, Rourke doubled back and nestled the Windsprite into a quiet mangrove cut within rowing distance of Key West. The waxing half moon offered enough light for Worthington to find the vessel, yet as the hours passed without one sign of the lad, Rourke regretted sending the least experienced of his crew on such an important mission. He should have been here by now.
Rourke paced the deck. At every about-face, he pulled out the spyglass and scanned the moonlit channel entrance.
“He come,” John said. “He see de mast.”
That was true. No nearby cove could completely hide a vessel the size of the Windsprite. Rourke had expected John to be the only crew member to make the crossing with him, yet all had remained. Good men. Loyal men. Men who deserved to know the full truth. If Worthington returned.
“He should have been here by now. If Benjamin catches him prowling about, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”
“Tom not tell secrets.”
Rourke wished he could believe that. Charles Benjamin had a way of forcing information out of a grown man, not to mention someone Tom’s age. Whether by threat or enticements, Benjamin could pry open the deepest recesses of a man’s heart.
“God will be with him,” Rourke said, mostly to convince himself. “He has to be.”
Surely God would aid a man acting in righteousness. The Bible was filled with examples. He had directed Gideon into battle against the Midianites. He had protected David from King Saul’s jealous wrath. Rourke’s small act would not change a nation, but it would save two precious souls. He hoped that would be enough to attract God’s protection.
The moon sat atop the mangroves now. Not a breath of breeze rustled the leaves. Soon the moon would slip behind the trees, casting their cove in darkness. Rourke took one last look at the channel mouth.
Nothing.
No boat. No splash of oars. No croak of an egret, their agreed-upon signal.
Rourke collapsed the spyglass and stuck it in his coat pocket. “God be with you, Tom Worthington.”
As if in response, the splash of oars sounded across the still waters.
Rourke motioned for John to stand still. He held his breath, every muscle taut.
There it was again. Splash. Splash. Splash. The regular rhythm could only belong to a strong and experienced rower.
He listened for the egret call but heard only silence. Even the splashing had stopped.
Was it Worthington or had the young crewman been intercepted? If the latter, the Windsprite was trapped. The cut had only one way out. Rourke should have known better than to choose a cut over a channel, but he’d thought the unconventional choice would throw off the curious or the vengeful.
He might have thought wrong. Rourke instinctively reached for his cutlass. It would do him no good against firepower, but he might stand a chance in hand-to-hand combat.
The whites of John’s eyes vanished when Rourke shuttered the lantern. His chief mate crouched behind the deckhouse, also with cutlass in hand.
Rourke did not move a muscle. Every sense was trained on the entrance to the channel, where the splashing sound drew closer.
Soon they would know if they’d been betrayed. Rourke tightened his grip and lifted the blade.
Kaw-roak.
The deep croak of the great egret sounded across the water.
Worthington. Rourke relaxed. John, however, stayed crouched behind the deckhouse. This could still prove a trap. Rourke raised the cutlass again.
By now, the mangroves cast the Windsprite in complete darkness. The moonlight spread a silver veil across the sea outside the channel entrance. A foe would cling to the shadows. Worthington would push into the light to announce his presence. Unless he’d been followed.
Again came the call of the egret. Rourke echoed it this time. The splashing increased in frequency, and soon a dinghy bearing a single man popped into the light outside the channel mouth.
Tom. Rourke set down his cutlass and hurried to the ship’s side to help the lad aboard. As the boat drew near, he whistled and drew an answering whistle.
“Hey-ho,” Worthington called out. “One to board.”
Even John dropped his cutlass.
“You weren’t seen or followed?” Rourke asked as he opened the shutter on the lantern.
“Nay, Captain.” Worthington scurried up the rope ladder. “No one saw me leave town or the island.”
“De message?” John asked eagerly. “She get it?”
Even in the dim light of the lantern, Rourke could see Tom’s shoulders droop.
“I couldn’t get to her. I waited, like you said, until the servants retired to quarters, but Anabelle never went near the gate. I waited until the last light went
out in the house and the servants’ quarters got quiet. That’s why I was late. It took a long time for their guest to leave.”
“Guest?” Rourke asked.
“Red-faced man with a pointed nose and a green waistcoat. He didn’t leave Miss Elizabeth’s side.”
Finch. Charles Benjamin had wasted no time setting the man on Elizabeth. “Did she respond to his attentions?”
Tom shrugged. “She looked at her plate mostly, though she didn’t eat much. She left the table first, and they all went somewhere I couldn’t see.”
That did not bode well.
“But she didn’t join him on the porch when he left,” Tom added.
Rourke clung to that shred of hope, foolish though it was. How could he expect Elizabeth to fend off a full year of pressure from her father and Finch? “Were you able to get the letter to her?”
Worthington brightened. “Aye, Captain. Saw her in town with her friend Miss Brown earlier in the day and gave it to her then.”
Rourke breathed in with relief. Maybe there was hope after all. “Did she open it?”
“I didn’t stay. I figured she wouldn’t read it until she was alone.”
“You’re probably right.” He wished he could have known if his few words had given her hope.
“How we reach Anabelle?” John’s voice trembled.
Rourke chastised himself for dwelling on Elizabeth when greater troubles lay ahead. “Anabelle is shrewd. She knows where to go. She’ll be there as planned. We have to believe that.”
John’s worried expression eased slightly.
Not Tom’s. “There might be a problem with that. The back gate is locked, and I thought I saw a man lurking in the alley behind the house.”
“A man?” Rourke did not like the sound of that. “Did you recognize him?”
“Not in the dark. He wasn’t very big, though. I could have taken him down, but he took off before I got close. Since you wanted me to talk to Anabelle, I figured I’d better not chase after him.”
“A small man shouldn’t be a problem,” Rourke mused.
“No, Captain, but that fence is. If the back gate’s locked, I’d guess the one between the backyard and front is too. That fence is tall. No one is going to climb over it, especially a woman.”
Rourke ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it off his forehead. Their task had just gotten a lot more difficult. “Then we’ll have to find a way to get her out.”
Poppinclerk’s offer of help came to mind. He’d claimed to have information that would give Rourke what he wanted most. Maybe he knew who was guarding the back gate. Maybe he had a key to enter the Benjamin property. On the other hand, Rourke’s first instincts might be right, and Poppinclerk would walk him straight into a trap.
By the time Elizabeth shut the door to her brother’s room, she had regained her senses. No one could force her to marry. If Mr. Finch had the audacity to announce an engagement, she would counter with a denial. She must.
“Where would you like me to wheel your chair?” she asked Charlie.
“To the desk.”
Now that she had been admitted to Charlie’s domain, she took a good look around. A large desk dominated the front half of the room, while bookshelves lined the wall.
“It looks just like Father’s study,” she said. “I had no idea you were so interested in your studies.”
“There’s not much else to do when confined to a room.”
The truth stung. “I-I’m sorry.”
“It’s a fact.”
This was neither the timid boy of years ago nor the young man who had joked with Rourke. Charles Benjamin II wielded power, even over Father. If not for the withered legs hidden beneath a blanket, his brilliant blue eyes and engaging wit would have captured many a girl’s heart. But the legs made all the difference, and he knew it. Sarcasm tinged his replies, as if he dared her to fight. She could not, for he was stuck in this state because of her mistakes.
The rest of the room served as his bedchamber. A chair and small table sat beside his bed. A pair of crutches leaned against the wall.
“Crutches? You can walk?”
“One of Father’s ideas.” His frown carried into his voice. “He wants to make me whole, but nothing can do that.”
Elizabeth shivered and wrapped her arms around her midsection. “I’m sorry.” How many times must she say it before it made any difference?
“You should be. Why would you agree to marry that fool?”
It took her a moment to grasp what he’d just said. “Mr. Finch.”
“Of course Mr. Finch. I’ve never seen a more pompous idiot, and yet you agreed to marry him.”
“I didn’t. At least not knowingly. I wasn’t paying the slightest attention. He must have thought I was nodding in agreement, but I wasn’t.”
“As I thought.” A faint smile curled his lips. “Hold the chair still.” He lifted himself onto the desk chair, then opened one of the dozen volumes stacked on the expansive desk. “I don’t like Percival Finch.”
“Neither do I.”
He lifted his head. “Then why entertain him at all?”
“Father insists.”
“And you obey everything Father says.”
“You tried the crutches, didn’t you?”
Charlie ignored the jab. “I’m not the one getting married.”
“Maybe you can get away with flaunting Father’s commands, but daughters are expected to obey and to marry.”
“Then you would marry a bore just to please him?”
It didn’t sound so noble put that way. “Not to please him.”
“Then why?”
She couldn’t mention the inheritance, for Charlie could claim no share of it. Neither would she allow security to dictate her future. “I will not marry such a man.”
He grinned. “Then you still like Rourke?”
The bald question sent heat rushing to her cheeks. She did. Oh, how she did, but he was gone. He had left her alone to fend off the pressure to marry her father’s choice of suitor. Just like Mother. The similarity hurt. “How I feel doesn’t matter.”
“That sounds like Father speaking.”
She turned away.
“Avoiding the truth won’t make it disappear,” he said.
“Rourke is leaving. Perhaps you did not hear. He is returning home for as much as a year.”
That silenced him. She felt his hurt. Rourke was the only person who visited Charlie, his sole friend. Elizabeth had received a note from Rourke. Apparently Charlie had gotten no word.
“I thought you would know,” she whispered.
He shook his head, putting on a brave front. “What Captain O’Malley does is none of my concern.” He turned the page of his book, pretending to study, but his eyes did not move.
“I’m sorry. If I hadn’t dragged you to the harbor that day, your life would be normal.”
Charlie stared down at the book, his curly locks hiding his expression.
“I’m sorry.” Each word took enormous effort. “I-I know you’ll never forgive me. I accept that. It’s my fault. I wish I could change things, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Still the bowed head. Still the silence.
Elizabeth backed away, sick at heart. If he would not accept her apology, what could ever bring them together again?
The answer came in an instant. “I will wait for Rourke.”
Charlie finally looked up. “Do what you want, Lizzie. You always have.”
The truth of the accusation struck harder than the tallest wave. Her selfish desire had cost Charlie the use of his legs. Then she had let Rourke take the blame. Now they were both lost to her. A sob rose up her throat. She could not let it out. She could not let Charlie know how deeply the guilt hurt. Blinded by conscience, she yanked open the door and ran.
15
Elizabeth pored over the diary, looking for something that could mend her relationship with Charlie. The next entries consumed the weeks leading to her birth. Her mothe
r had turned her anguish into busyness. She oversaw every detail of the new nursery, made baby clothing, and followed every directive of the midwife.
Still, the question lingered. Who was the other child? Finally, a month before Elizabeth was born, Mother wrote just one line in the diary.
I asked Charles, and he did not deny it.
Elizabeth clutched the diary to her chest and wept. She had a half sibling. Mother had married her parents’ choice only to discover her husband loved someone else. Such pain. How her mother must have hurt during what should have been a joyous time.
Who was this illegitimate child? The offspring of a newcomer, certainly. Mother had lamented the woman’s arrival in town. She must also have become a friend of the family, someone who brought her baby to the house often enough that Mother couldn’t imagine raising Elizabeth with the other child so near. The association had been close enough that Mother could not even write her name in her private diary. In such a small town, everyone knew each other.
Maybe the baby had died. Mother had never hinted at another child. Elizabeth knew it was wrong to wish for anyone’s death, but she couldn’t suppress the hope.
She read on, seeking the answer.
The diary bounced between notes of commonplace occurrences to prayers for strength to deal with “the situation.” Then came a conspicuous break in the dates. From March until May of 1830, Mother wrote nothing. Elizabeth had been born on the first day of spring.
Mother had always called Elizabeth her “little light of hope” because of her birth date. The dark days of winter were gone. Spring had arrived. In Mother’s native South Carolina, that meant the planting of crops and the hope for a good growing season. Here in Key West, it meant the return of abundant fishing as the waters warmed.
Elizabeth’s birth also seemed to usher in new confidence for Helen Benjamin. In the first entry after the gap, she wrote:
What a treasure this perfect baby girl is. Charles wanted a son, of course, but God has blessed me with a daughter, as if an answer to my pain. A son would have pleased Charles, but beautiful Lizzie’s smile wipes away every fear and jealousy of the past months. No other girl can compare.
Love's Rescue (Keys Of Promise Book 1) (Historical Romance) Page 17