Breakwater Beach

by Carole Ann Moleti

  Last night, he’d spit-shined his boots and the brass buttons on his coat and laid out a brand new shirt. During the transition from sackcloth to wool, and from a lowly smuggler to captain of a legal trade ship, he’d learned to navigate the east coast of the United States, hobnobbed with wealthy businessmen and traders, and proved to Somersell he could be trusted with a vessel of his own. Now he had something to offer Elisabeth besides a quick escape and empty pockets. Was it too late?

  A sullen footman answered the door and ushered him into the hall.

  Edward offered his card, prepared by one of the finest calligraphers in London. “Captain Edward Barrett, calling for Lady Elisabeth Baxter.”

  The man extended a small tray and accepted it. “Please wait here, sir.” He gestured to a sitting room just off the entry, then walked off.

  Edward paced, perusing the Latin titles on leather-bound books, trying to remember what little of the language he’d learned as a schoolboy. A sooty smell from the cold fireplace lingered, along with the still-pleasant scent of pipe tobacco.

  Edward took that as a bad omen. How in God’s name had he summoned the nerve to show up again?

  A young maid appeared just outside the door, smiled, and nodded her head toward him. “Her ladyship will be down shortly.”

  A mere moment later, a glimpse of Elisabeth was sufficient reminder of why he was here. The intimacy of their written exchanges had eliminated the emotional and social distance. Her dress, the color of succulent purple grapes, bustled high in the back, swishing behind her, quickened his heart. Gloved hands held up the hem. Tiny matching shoes, secured with buttons at the ankles, peeped under the front.

  Properly reserved, she held her head high, showcasing a stunning neckline. “Mr. Barrett, I feared you’d never return. It’s been months since we last corresponded.”

  The formality was expected with the arrival of Lord Baxter imminent. But was her breathlessness purely from rushing?

  “Did you not receive my last several letters, my lady?”

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. “My father discovered one in the post and was not pleased to learn of your intentions, or my interest in them. He made quite a show before he tossed it into the fire. I’ve had no opportunity to read any subsequent ones, nor pen any reply.” Sadness hung in her voice like black crepe at a funeral.

  Edward resisted the temptation to take her hands. “Then he must already know I’ve been commissioned as a captain with a job that pays handsomely and intend to propose marriage. Once I get established, I’ll send for you to come to America.”

  Her voice was breathy, strained. “This, coming after the uproar over the Lord Thornlea affair has garnered me the reputation of an ill bred, vulgar woman. You must leave. Now. I fear for your safety. Trust me, he has no compunction about using his hands, or his power.”

  Edward considered several responses, his tongue thickened by racing thoughts and thoughts of finally having the pleasure of her in his arms. Doe-like eyes gazed into a place inside Edward never knew existed. Essence of lavender tickled his nose-a welcome change from wet hemp and men desperately in need of a bath. Naiveté, desperation, elegance: Well worth a fight. Heavy footsteps shattered the magic moment.

  “Meet me after dark near the gazebo.” Elisabeth slipped toward the door.

  Always quick thinking, this woman was. Ready and willing to make a plan and enact it. He’d be there to fulfill both their wishes.

  “Lord Baxter, Captain Edward Barrett of Somersell Shipping.” The footman stepped aside.

  The statuesque yet burly earl strode in. Dilated veins of one who partook of far too much traversed his furrowed cheeks and nasal bridge like a well-worn map.

  Elisabeth raised her chin and stared at her father, always defiant, despite her vulnerability.

  The expression on His Lordship’s face as he regarded his lovely daughter projected abject disgust; his lips sneered, his eyes narrowed.

  “My lord.” Edward bowed.

  “Captain Barrett. The one who has been plying my daughter with unwanted attentions?” Lord Baxter’s lips pursed and he cocked his head to the side. A mannerism Elisabeth had clearly inherited, but the effect was hardly as charming.

  “Your Lordship. I’ve returned from another trip to the Orient, and this time I have a gift for your daughter.” Edward proffered the package he’d held since his arrival.

  He’d worried that the gift shouldn’t be too personal or otherwise inappropriate, and now was glad to have chosen some of the finest spices and teas, wrapped in an embroidered silk bag.

  Lord Baxter took it and nodded. “Thank you, Captain. Davis, please take this to the countess.”

  Davis bowed. Edward seethed as the footman took his leave. He’d envisioned Elisabeth carrying the deep crimson and gold purse.

  “Elisabeth, please see that tea is prepared for our guest.” Baxter dismissed her with an off-hand toss of his head and sarcastic undertone, which undercut the polite words.

  Elisabeth left, her gaze trained at her feet.

  How could he leave her here? But how could he, and where would he, take her? “I’ve come to formally pay my addresses to your daughter, Your Lordship. Now that I’ve secured a fine contract and have commissioned a builder for a home suitable for Lady Elisabeth . . .”

  Lord Baxter’s head drew close enough that Edward heard the whisper as a shout. The stench of stale alcohol and tobacco on the Earl’s breath reduced his stature in Edward’s opinion to that of the lowliest brigand.

  “Captain Barrett, no matter how important you’ve become in the American shipping industry, I remain unimpressed. In addition, I’ve looked into your past dealings. It seems not long before you accepted this so-called commission, the ship you sailed on was heavily involved in smuggling and transportation of stolen goods, slaves, and contraband. You are to cease harassing my daughter. If I ever see you on my lands again, you’ll be arrested for trespass, and I’ll see you prosecuted for piracy. Shall we have tea before you take your leave?”

  A pirate has little time to judge a man’s mettle in order to plan a successful attack. Earl Baxter would wage a dirty battle and use every advantage his status afforded, but there were no pistols or knives involved, so no need for a rash move.

  Edward forced himself to walk next to him. Nausea roiled his stomach. He would not give Baxter the pleasure of following a few steps behind, of bowing to his threats. Their footsteps on the butter-coloured marble were the only sound as they passed a curved staircase on the way toward the rear of the manor.

  Leather-bound books covered three walls in a library. A sitting room on the other side had disgorged some of its sculpture onto plinths that stood like guideposts in the hall. Portraits and oils of local landscapes adorned the route.

  The butler was preparing a table for tea in a salon overlooking a formal garden. Blood-red roses already studded the green foliage. A spring breeze rustled the leaves giving the illusion of a warm day outside, but a chill settled in Edward’s chest.

  The smell of money seeped into his skin and tickled his nostrils, taunting him. His childhood home had a dirt floor. His mother and father had worked the fields and milked cows. Below deck sailors lived in lice and flea infested squalor. The only escape was ports of call where they shaved your head if the itching was too bad, taverns offered clean rooms, and pretty barmaids served a lot more than beer.

  Edward had vowed to live like this someday, but wondered if all the questionable things he’d done in pursuit of that goal had been worth the moral compromise. He’d fought hand-to-hand and tossed many a man overboard without a second thought. Seeing Elisabeth next to the table, staring blankly ahead, defeated, despondent, and degraded, gave him more pause, more regret. Particularly now that Lord Baxter held up a shield of righteousness to defend her honour in the right hand while he cut her d
own with a sword in the left. Social warfare required a different battle strategy. He’d see this through and allow Baxter to rub his face in dung. Tonight, he’d meet her to plan the next round.

  The Countess of Camberley swept in, wearing a smile too wide to be genuine. Elisabeth favoured her in looks, save for the fact the older woman was quite a bit heavier.

  The Earl looked askance at his wife. “Captain Edward Barrett of Somersell Shipping.”

  “Captain Barrett. Thank you for the teas. We shall sample them today.” The simpering smile and raised eyebrows belied that she had been informed of the real reason for Edward’s call.

  “Your Grace.” Edward bowed and waited while the butler pushed in the ladies’ chairs, then gestured him to a seat between Lord and Lady Baxter, directly across from Elisabeth.

  “Please be seated, Captain.” The countess proceeded to pour tea. “What a lovely purse. Where is it from?”

  It lay on the table, open. Her handkerchief was already inside.

  “Siam.” Fury boiled inside him.

  She put it down and selected some cakes.

  Lord Baxter chewed slowly and sat back in his chair, no doubt savoring the torture.

  Elisabeth sipped tea. “It’s exquisite. Best without cream, I imagine.” Her eyes drew him in like an oasis promising relief to a parched traveler.

  “I believe so, my lady.” This show was for the Earl and the Countess of Camberley to assert their power. She’d had enough presence of mind to ensure they could talk frankly later.

  Teacups clinked and spoons stirred. The tea tasted like bile, the cakes like hardtack. Edward drained his cup and cleared his plate to be polite.

  He rose. “Thank you for your hospitality, my lord, my lady. I have business to attend to in London.”

  “Good day, Captain. And thank you again.” The countess stroked the silken purse as if it were a kitten.

  “Godspeed, Captain.” Elisabeth’s eyes swam in tears.

  This woman tore holes in places he never knew existed.

  “Yes, my good man. Safe journeys. Hartman, see the Captain to the door.” The earl selected another cake.

  The countess poured another cup of tea. Elisabeth slumped in her chair, likely wondering if he’d dare return. He followed the butler out, planning to pass the time in a nearby pub.

  Chapter 6

  Edward trained his sight on the gazebo. He tethered his horse outside the high hedge bordering the property and slunk like a fox through the trees and bushes. The crescent moon was so sharp in the sky it looked like he could hang his coat on it. A scatter of stars in the expanse of black velvet provided little illumination, a boon in this case.

  Shadowy figures of rabbits and the like darted about. He caught a boot in a burrow and fell to his knees. Tranquil spring air cooled his skin, yet he was sweating profusely from effort and anxiety. Thankfully, it was too early in the year for wasp nests, but dead twigs snagged on his breeches. He heard the fabric tear on at least one occasion and hoped he wouldn’t look and smell like an escaped convict by the time Elisabeth arrived.

  Edward hadn’t brought a pistol. The temptation to shoot the earl would have been too great. Trespass would be the worst crime he’d commit tonight. He crouched in the dark behind the gazebo for what seemed like hours. The hoot of an owl and squeal of a captured field mouse set his already taut nerves on alert. Leaves and a dead branch cracked off the tree and fell to the ground next to him with a thud.

  Elisabeth slipped out of the dimly lit conservatory. Her simple black dress blended into the darkness. The cloak she’d donned against the spring chill fluttered like bat’s wings as she ran.

  “Lady Elisabeth,” he whispered from his hiding place, so as not to startle her.

  “Stay where you are, Captain Barrett. In the event anyone comes, they’ll only see me. Please, take me with you.”

  “What would accompanying a stranger on a sailing vessel do to your reputation? I’ve already been threatened with imprisonment. What is the punishment for kidnapping?”

  Elisabeth’s naiveté shone like a beacon through her bravura. “We could marry, and you could leave me off in America. That was your original proposal, was it not?”

  “Eloping with a nobleman’s daughter was never part of my plan. I’ve only a parcel of land, no house. You’d be all by yourself for months, God only knows where.” There were worse places than this for her to be, rife with physical rather than emotional danger.

  “Once you are my husband, he can’t stop me.” Her voice was measured and calm.

  The word husband hung in the air like twilight mist. How could he possibly sleep a wink wondering what would become of her in a strange place, a new country, and a harsh one at that?

  “It will never work, Elisabeth.” He pulled himself up to her level and perched on the lip of the floor that projected beyond the fence, flush against a post to stay hidden. “The best I could do is return for you as soon as I’ve a place for you to live.”

  She sat on the bench, rested her elbows on the railing, and brought her face within a few inches of his. Those eyes studied his face, a trace of a smile came to her lips. “I’d just about given up waiting for you and made my own plans. Every spring, I spend a few days in London, at the invitation of The Countess of Sandringham, to visit the dressmakers for the seasonal fashions. This time, I’ll not come back.”

  The feigned helplessness proved to be a stunning cover. Something else to love about her. He reached up to stroke her face. “Where will you go? What will you do?”

  “What I can. Work the soil, take in sewing, be a nursemaid. I’ve been out amongst common folk. I want to get as far away from this as possible, and quickly. Papa’s hands are even more rough than usual.”

  Edward studied her in the moonlight. If there were bruises, Baxter had taken care to be sure they were in places no respectable lady would show, and no respectable man would touch in anger. “I’m only here for another week before I sail again. If I don’t keep to my schedule, I’ll never make enough money to send for you. Just give me some time.” Building the house would suck all his money up for the foreseeable future. He could never afford to take care of her, too. He clenched the rail so tightly pain ran up his shoulder.

  “I’m no longer permitted to do any of my charity work. He has cut off my monthly allowance and threatened to disinherit me if I don’t accept a marriage proposal. The only reason he’s permitting me to go to London is because of the talk if I didn’t show to the next Season. This is my last chance.”

  The woman was a brilliant strategist. Charm, capture, then drag in the net. Her absolute trust touched a place in him rarely moved. But still. “How could we get around the matter of banns? And to complicate things, my father was Irish and had me baptized Catholic.” There were dozens of small farms on the Cape, tended by sailor’s wives as strong as Elisabeth, but far wiser. Those women would offer her haven in return for her services, but the work would be grueling for someone so unaccustomed.

  “Damn the Church. We could marry with a civil registrar, somewhere they won’t recognise me.” She stared into his eyes with the intensity of a cat about to pounce.

  Memories of the ridicule his family endured, and his mother’s despair after being rejected by both his father’s and her family for the mixed marriage boiled to the surface. Add class differences to the stew, and Elisabeth would be a pariah. What would that do to their relationship, to their children? America was the best place for both of them. But not just yet.

  “The Countess’ London home is under sheets. This year, she is hosting the event at the Kensington. She’ll be busy enough with her own affairs, and there is likely to be a bit of confusion. I’ll pretend to be ill and stay in my room.”

  “And then what? Come to retrieve you with a ladder?” A laughable idea, but she wasn’t laugh
ing.

  “Perhaps you could reserve your own as well. We’ll hire a carriage. My maid will be with me and serve as a witness.”

  “Won’t she give us away? What will happen when I leave, Elisabeth?” He never knew if he’d return from a voyage until they were safely back in port, but didn’t want to frighten her with that.

  “I trust Katherine completely. While you’re gone, I’ll make preparations. The marriage certificate secures me as yours, and distance will protect you should my father find out.”

  “Of course he’ll find out. How would you get to Liverpool for a steamship?” He’d never be able to set foot in London again with such a big price on his head.

  “I’m prepared to do what I must.” The charming pout returned. Like her father, the woman was determined to get her way.

  “And what happens when your father learns of it?” Being in irons was far worse than being poor, and he couldn’t help her from prison. And being kept in a gilded cage far better than wandering the back alleys attracting the attention of thieves, brigands, and opportunists.

  “As long as the marriage is consummated Papa will have no recourse. He’ll put me out, and I’ll find somewhere to stay in London. I’m already hiding things away so you won’t be taking on a pauper.” She crossed her arms over her chest like a defiant child.

  “Elisabeth, this is madness.” She seemed oblivious to more than just escape, but he was running out of objections.

  “Edward, please, if we wait, it might never happen.” Her lower lip trembled. “You can’t imagine the old drunks and other creatures he’s bringing by.”

  He’d dreamed of holding her on all those long nights when his shipmates were out visiting the taverns and barmaids. A flush of heat, of desire, burned in his gut. The thought of another man’s hands on her, hurting or mistreating her . . .