by Lorri Dudley
Nathan aided her out of the dingy onto the sandy shore. She inhaled the scent of the sun-warmed sand. Her boots shifted through its softness as he guided her up the path lined with seagrass towards the wharf. Small shells sprinkled the beach, and a larger one the size of her palm caught her eye. She bent down and picked it up.
“Look at this.” She rubbed her fingers over the white grooved outside and flipped it over to admire the pinkish lavender color on the inside. “I’ve never held a shell before. It’s beautiful.” She raised it for Nathan to see. “How fortunate to find one in such perfect condition.”
He stared at her with a strange smile. His eyes twinkled as if holding in his laughter. Heat rose in her cheeks, which were probably turning as pink as the inside of the shell. When she lowered the shell with an exasperated sigh, he opened his palm, asking to see it.
She placed it in his hand, but he barely looked at it. Instead, he continued to watch her.
Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, she turned to continue up the path.
“Look, another.” She picked a similar shell with the bone-white bumpy side and a smooth pink inside. Down the path a bit, she discovered another and another. She swallowed her embarrassment at her earlier enthusiasm. “You must think me a veritable green. These are obviously common on the island.”
He stepped closer, and the amusement in his eyes turned contemplative. “No.” He held the shell up in the air. “You’re right about this one.” He pocketed it. “It is unique.”
His tone made the words sound as though referring to something other than the shell. For the life of her she couldn’t understand her husband’s mysterious ways.
The dock was inundated with black men and women selling wares and goods, from potatoes and carrots to things she’d never heard of, like cassava roots. A few Englishmen who were dressed in a similar style to what she’d seen in London greeted Nathan and paused, as if hoping to introduce themselves. Nathan merely tipped his hat and kept walking.
Lottie was torn between peering into the colorful shops or staring down the white sand shoreline into the turquoise waters.
“A trifle different from what you’re used to?” he asked.
“Those trees look like one of Mama’s hats with the peacock feathers fanning out on top.”
He threw back his head and laughed. The rich baritone plucked at the cords of her heart. “Those are palm trees.”
“I’ve heard of them but never seen them in real life.”
A man so dark he appeared to be a shadow in clothes approached with a monkey perched on his shoulder. Lottie couldn’t help but stare. The creature screeched and bared its teeth as they passed. She reared back, bumping Nathan’s shoulder.
“Easy.” His arm encircled her, drawing her into the protection of his body. She inhaled his masculine scent, laced with salty fresh ocean air. “It’s only a monkey.”
She smiled at her reaction to the creature’s affront. “I’ve seen one of those, once when the Middletons invited me to the circus.”
He snorted. “Ah yes, the gallant Captain Anthony Middleton.”
“Priscilla is my closest friend, and he was always good to me.”
A muscle twitched in Nathan’s jaw. Was he jealous of Anthony? No. He was still angry at Anthony’s unwillingness to come to a trade agreement.
He released her and opened the door to the shop on their right. Strings of sea shells hanging near the door chimed, notifying the shopkeeper of their arrival.
Lottie entered the quaint boutique filled with rolls of lightweight colorful fabrics. Nathan followed.
A mulatto woman strolled out of the back room and smiled. Her light eyes contrasted with her dark hair and olive skin. “Bonswa, Mista Winthrop. Welcome home. We’ve been expectin’ yer ship.” Her gaze settled on Lottie. “But not an English woman. Who might dis be?”
“Good evening, Matilda.” He smiled at the woman and strode into the center of the room. Pausing in front of her, he flipped back the ends of his jacket and hooked a thumb into his waistband, resuming a wide stance. He reached back and pulled Lottie forward. “Lady Winthrop is going to be needing a new wardrobe. Something more suitable to the island than the heavy fabrics she’s been wearing.”
Matilda chewed her bottom lip as her gaze slid up and down, taking in Lottie’s figure and stopping to stare at her hair. Whether due to the woman’s scrutiny or the fact that Nathan had released her hand, Lottie would never know, but suddenly the ground shifted, and dizziness swept over her. She pitched to the left.
“Whoa now.” Nathan gripped her upper arms to steady her. “You haven’t gotten yer sea legs yet.”
She lowered her brows. “But we’re on land.”
He flashed her a crooked smile. “It happens to even the best sailors. Your equilibrium will be off for a week or two, but then you’ll be back to normal.”
Matilda raised her chin. “I have just da thing. Several reams of fabrics I ordered arrived wit yer ship, a nice zephyr in a hue to match her eyes, and some cotton muslin. Come wit me.” She motioned for Lottie to follow her behind the white sheet that hung as a door to the backroom. Matilda paused in the doorway and focused on Nathan. “Baby hasn’t ben by me shop yet.”
Nathan rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s still unloading our manifest.”
“You tell him I expect him to come callin’.”
Nathan dipped his head. “Will do.” His penetrating gaze met Lottie’s through the open doorway, and her world tilted once again. She staggered to the right as Matilda dropped the curtain.
She could hear Nathan’s deep chuckle as Matilda led her over to a small pedestal for measuring.
The heat in the back room was unbearable, even with the circulating fan overhead. Lottie removed her bonnet and placed it on a nearby chair. Two slave women drifted over, and each raised a hand toward her. Lottie couldn’t help staring as she tried to make sense of what they were doing.
“Can dey touch it?”
“Touch what?”
“Yer hair. We’ve never seen the likes of it.”
“Um, yes.”
Their fingers patted her coiffure and tested the strands, feeling the texture. Even Matilda slid her fingers down a loose tendril. “An amazing color. My gowns will complement it, mek you stand out. Trè bèl, very beautiful.”
“I was actually hoping to blend in.”
Matilda snorted. “You are a woman on an island dat is mostly comprised of men. What you ask is enposibe.” She shook her head and translated. “Impossible.”
The women began taking Lottie’s measurements.
Matilda peered at her through the large looking glass. “So, Mista Winthrop has taken a wife. Well, I’ll be.” She crossed her tanned arms. “He didn’t seem bent on settlin’ down. You musta changed his mind. I know a few hearts who’re gonna be broke when dey find out, but don’t you worry. There are men aplenty to go around. Dem ladies will justa pick demselves out another mista. Dey couldn’t persuade Mista Winthrop to come up to scratch anyway.”
Lottie lifted her arms so the slave woman could measure her bust.
“You musta be a real special lady to bring Mista Winthrop to heel.”
Matilda’s gaze met Lottie’s in the mirror, and a weak smile wavered on Lottie’s lips. If only they knew she wasn’t anything special. Merely a clumsy woman who dropped a candle and caught her skirt on fire.
One of the ladies stuck a pin in the hem. “But what bout da curse—?”
“Hush, you chatabox.” Matilda waved at the woman like she was a pesky fly.
The women continued their work in silence.
Lottie had heard island folk were superstitious, but it was all nonsense. Yet her curiosity got the best of her. “What curse?”
“Enough of dat talk.” Matilda eyed each woman, and they shrank back. She waved a hand through the air. “It’s nothin’ but foolishness. I’m certain Mista Winthrop has nothin’ to worry about.”
Chapter 14
I appreciate yo
u taking my newlywed wife under your wing.
~ From Winthrop to Mrs. Julia Fielding
An ocean breeze cooled Nathan’s skin as they left Matilda’s shop. He’d long since taken off his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. He pushed away the nagging weight of his pressing responsibilities and let the relaxed island atmosphere sooth his frayed nerves. The earlier bustle of activity around the pier had died down. Now that the sun was setting, the inns and taverns were aglow with boisterous patrons filling their bellies with a warm meal and washing it down with rum.
He called St. Kitts home, but it wasn’t the same without a family to come home to. He glanced at his wife on his arm and drew her closer to his side. Things had changed, but in the past year, happiness had been an illusion. Dare he trust it now?
The wind fluttered the loose tendrils of Lottie’s red tresses as she absorbed her surroundings. His chest swelled at the wonderment in her expression. It was as if he was seeing the island anew. Things he’d taken for granted, like the color of the ocean and common shells used in decorations, awed his wife.
His wife. The term floated easily through his mind. Maybe he was adapting to the notion. She’d surprised him already by surviving the voyage, even though it had been hard going for a while. His gaze drifted over her thin frame. She’d lost at least a stone, for she’d struggled to keep any food down the entire voyage. Her once fitted gowns now hung on her. His clothes would be big on him also if he only ate fish broth for two months.
He pulled open the heavy oak door to the Cockleshell Inn. Loud, boisterous guffaws met them from the taproom. The clerk recognized him and instructed a footman to escort Lady Winthrop upstairs to her room where a bath had been drawn.
He turned to face her. “Be back down by eight o’clock. We shall dine with the captain and his wife.”
Wide blue eyes held his while she scratched at an edge on her index fingernail with the opposite thumb. She was nervous, and who could blame her being in a strange place? Was he doing the right thing leaving her here at the inn?
Her chest rose as she inhaled. With a curt nod, she turned and followed the footman up the stairs. He caught the sway of her hips and her hand moving to her mouth in that nervous habit of hers. Part of his heart ached to protect her, especially because of her timid nature. The other reminded him of the slim chance of her survival.
He poked his head around the corner of the taproom. Captain Fielding stood on the bar, spreading exaggerated tales of their voyage. The patrons hung on his every word and occasionally clanked their tankards.
Spying Nathan, he raised a hand in greeting and jumped down. “Winthrop, it’s about time you joined us.” He sauntered over and shook his hand. “The missus can’t wait to meet our new guest.”
“You explained my situation?”
“I did indeed.” He issued him a skewed glance. “She believes as I do.”
“She’ll take her in?”
“Julia said she’d let you know at the end of the night.”
“Good enough.”
They sat at a nearby table and spoke of the ship’s repairs, the next voyage, and the improvements that needed to be made to increase the vessel’s speed and make it less prone to attack.
After a good hour, Fielding whacked him on the arm in a friendly manner. “Let’s get some grub to fill our bellies.”
Nathan sent a footman to fetch Lottie, who met them in the hall. She’d donned a fresh gown, and her maid had swept Lottie’s thick mound of hair into some sort of loose top knot. The tendrils around the nape of her neck were still damp in some places. Her cheeks held a pink tint, but he couldn’t be certain if it was due to a good scrubbing or her nervousness. If the way she twisted the tip of her stain glove was any indication, it was most likely the latter.
After Fielding greeted her, they followed him into the kitchen. Julia, as lovely as ever, stood overseeing the cooking. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, further adding tilt to her exotic eyes. She pointed to a boiling pot, and the worker immediately dumped handfuls of vegetables into it.
Fielding sauntered up behind her and planted a kiss on her neck. She stiffened and turned, a slow sensual smile spreading across her lips.
“Mi amor.” He whispered into her lips before stealing a peck.
Nathan leaned in towards Lottie and inhaled the scent of damp hair and lilac soap. “That’s Spanish for my love.” His breath fluttered the small tendrils of damp hair resting upon her neck. “You’ll hear him call her my love in various languages.”
He felt her shiver, but in this heat she couldn’t be cold.
Julia eyed them over the captain’s shoulder. She pulled away, but Fielding tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and kept her close to his side.
“Mon Amour, let me introduce Lady Charlotte Winthrop, a recent newcomer to the island. Lady Winthrop, meet the belle of the island and my greatest prize, Mrs. Julia Fielding.”
Julia fell into a graceful curtsy, and Lottie did the same.
“Welcome to St. Kitts, Lady Winthrop,” Mrs. Fielding said.
“Please call me Lottie. It’s what my friends call me, and I feel like I already know you from Captain Fielding’s tales.”
“I daresay he is prone to exaggeration.” Julia ran a hand across her husband’s upper back and affectionately patted his shoulder. “You may call me Julia.”
Nate’s fingers twitched. Would Lottie accept his touch as Julia did her husband, or would she pull away?
Julia turned to the workers, who’d stopped to watch the exchange. She spoke to them in Creole, and they went back to prepping the meals. “I’m certain you are hungry for some good food after a long voyage. I know the ship’s cook is a good chef—she used to serve here at the inn—but even the best cook struggles to make food tasty with the meager rations invaded by mealworms. Follow me.”
Fielding’s hand slid around Julia’s waist as if, even for a moment, he couldn’t bear to be without her touch. Nathan appreciated the openly affectionate couple. His parents had been the same way. In the West Indies, wrought with illness and disease, life was too short to keep feelings bottled up and hidden, everyone waiting for the proper moment to express them, as they did in England.
Lottie followed Julia and the captain with her hands clasped demurely in front of her. Her glorious red hair, loosely knotted on top of her head, exposed her graceful neck. If he surprised her with a kiss on the neck as Fielding had to Julia, Lottie most certainly would have fainted dead away.
He rubbed his chin. Marriage to Lottie was the hand he’d been dealt. Their marriage wouldn’t be like that of his parents or Captain and Julia Fielding. He needed to protect his tender wife from the hardships of the island—the diseases that ravished people’s bodies, poverty that turned English elite into white beggars pleading outside the markets, and the hollow eyes of death. He pushed the image of his sister’s shadowed, unseeing eyes from his mind and glanced at Lottie’s profile. To care for her meant keeping her away from him and ultimately the curse.
Perhaps it was for the best. God’s ways were higher than Nathan’s ways. Trade and shipping needed to be his priority. With the East India Trade Company losing their stronghold over the British government, new doors had opened for smaller merchant companies, and with Nathan’s lands not producing sugar the way they did for his father, it was time to invest in a venture that could turn a profit. If Nathan buckled down and focused on growing profits, he could begin the Caribbean Sugar Trade Company and keep all the people who depended upon him employed.
Julia led them to a small room off the back of the tavern. The din of drunken ballads drifted from the next room, but the wall allowed for a measure of privacy. A large wooden table was set with fine china, crystal goblets, and silver. Tallow candles graced the center, and two long-stemmed candlesticks stood on either end. Their dancing light reflected in the glasses and dishes. Footmen scurried to pull out chairs, and Nathan settled into his place beside Lottie. They hadn’t dined without the ra
ucous accompaniment of his crew since the first night on the ship, the night she took ill.
Fielding asked for the finest mead to be poured, and a goat waterstew served.
Lottie’s eyes flared a bit at the mention of goat. He expected her to balk, but to her credit, when the stew was served, she tried it, ate it, and even complimented the savory herbal flavors.
Julia put down her spoon and addressed Lottie. “Jere tells me you had a rough go of the trip.”
Lottie blinked, and she stole a glance in Captain Fielding’s direction.
Nathan inclined toward her. The lure of her scent enticed him to lean in closer until his lips practically touched her delicate ear. “Jere is short for Jeremiah, as in Captain Jeremiah Fielding.”
Her lips parted, but it took her a moment to speak.
Did his nearness affect her as it did him?
She cleared her throat. “Indeed. The storm we encountered the first night turned my stomach inside out, and I daresay I felt its affects for the rest of the voyage.”
“The sea isn’t kind to some,” Julia said.
“Once I took in the air above deck with more frequency, I fared better.”
“What parts of the island did Nathan show you today?” Julia’s glance flicked to Nathan, then back to Lottie.
“There wasn’t much time after the ship was unloaded.”
Fielding frowned at him and shook his head. “You are all business. Are there not others who can see to things while you show this lovely lady what St. Kitts has to offer?”
“You know as well as I,” Nathan said, “that the men on that ship were rearing to stretch their sea legs. What cruelness to hold them back from their families and ladies when I’ve had my wife by my side the entire return passage.”
Fielding put down his spoon and leaned back in his chair with pursed lips. “Truly? By your side? Is that how you see it?”
Nathan was gearing up to tell Captain Fielding to mind his own business when Lottie said, “We had a lovely stroll. He showed me the main road right off the docks and was kind enough to order dresses more appropriate to the island climate. In this heat, I already find the thick fabric of my gown a bit oppressive.”