Saving Miss Everly: A Regency Romance (Inglewood Book 3)

by Sally Britton

  “Yet you think she would be silent in the face of what you have endured?” He did not understand that. Not at all. Except. Something, in the back of his mind, tried to come forward in his thoughts. “Though you do not say it, I know you must be afraid. Everyone here is afraid.”

  “You aren’t.”

  Alejandro lowered his arms to his sides again. “I have made my peace with this place. If rescue comes, I will thank God. If it does not, I will die here, as I would anywhere else.” He started walking again, holding a branch out of her way when she followed behind. They came to the vines crawling up the trees and into shrubs full of thorns. Dark green pods hung from the plant. He plucked one and held it out to drop in her basket.

  She allowed it, then plucked her own pods. “The others will worry, as you told me,” she said quietly, as though chastened.

  “Then they worry. They have done little else.” He dropped several more pods into her basket. “When we return, they will tell you how wrong you were to leave them. As they did before. Both times.”

  She grimaced and yanked a pod off with more force than necessary, thrusting it into her basket. “You are certainly right.”

  Alejandro softened his tone. “It is because they care for you.”

  The response she gave was whisper-quiet. “They do not even know me.”

  What she meant, he did not know. But her movements, strong and confident, perturbed, continued to make quick work of the vines. When they had gathered most of what they could see, Alejandro suggested they return. She said nothing but fell in behind him on the path back to the clearing.

  Why did he get the feeling she was right, and not one of her companions truly understood who she was?

  18

  Alejandro watched Miss Everly. At their return, Miss Carlbury refrained from lecturing her friend, but the doctor wasted no time or energy in telling her how foolish it was to disappear, how childish. She’d taken the lecture with a stiff back, whispered apologies, and went into the shelter.

  “I cannot help her if she will not help herself,” the doctor muttered to his wife and Alejandro.

  Mrs. Morgan looped her arm through her husband’s and slanted a look at Alejandro. “What state was she in when you found her, Señor Córdoba?”

  Although he had no wish to reveal private matters, Alejandro had regarded Mrs. Morgan with respect from their first meeting. Perhaps she would have better luck soothing Miss Everly’s troubled spirit than he had, as the two women seemed to have a positive regard for one another.

  “She was crying,” he admitted. “As though the world itself is against her. She has remained strong throughout this ordeal in a way one would not expect of a young woman who has been protected her whole life.” Perhaps if he pointed out more of Miss Everly’s stronger qualities, the others might hold her in higher regard.

  Mrs. Morgan’s arm tightened around her husband’s and the two exchanged a look of concern. “Will you speak in private with us a moment, Señor Córdoba?” the doctor asked, seemingly at his wife’s behest.

  Confused, Alejandro agreed, and the three of them withdrew from the fireside, to a part of the clearing where no one sat or worked. The doctor helped his wife sit on a fallen log, then tucked his hands behind his back. “I am informed by my wife that Mr. Carlbury wishes to pay court to Miss Everly, with the intention of marrying her.”

  Alejandro might have laughed at the idea if the couple before him did not appear perfectly serious about the matter. “Miss Everly informed me she does not care for the gentleman.” That was putting it mildly. She seemed more likely to shove Mr. Carlbury off a cliff than to entertain his suit. Something that had immediately made him feel lighter, though he had no right to react in such a way. “I would say he might find it difficult to persuade her.”

  “Would you find it difficult to court Miss Everly?” Mrs. Morgan asked without warning.

  What were these people after? Why ask such an impossible, personal question? He narrowed his eyes at Mrs. Morgan, pressing his lips together tightly a moment. “The question—it is irrelevant. There is no courtship on an island because there can be no marriage.”

  The doctor groaned and lowered himself to sit next to his wife. “You see? He is a practical man. Irrelevant.” The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Señor Córdoba, the question may be entirely relevant, whether we are rescued or not. Turn your practical mind to this. If rescue comes, and Miss Everly has been trapped upon an island full of men without the benefit of a relative to vouch for her virtue, will Society welcome her with open arms or regard her with suspicion?”

  Oh. Alejandro had given no thought to such a thing. Which only proved how much he had forgotten of the civilized world in such a short time. “You worry for her reputation. I see.” He glanced toward the shelter. How could anyone question that fiery woman’s virtue? If they did within his presence, he would settle with anyone who dared—

  “You see,” Mrs. Morgan said with a brightness in her tone. “Miss Everly is in a difficult position, though she has no wish to see the truth of it. Her friend has attempted to speak to her of it several times, and I have as well, but Miss Everly refuses to acknowledge her difficulty.”

  Doctor Morgan picked up where his wife left off. “That was what upset her today. At least in part. I do not think she will ever agree to Mr. Carlbury’s suit, but her honor might be protected by another. By you.”

  “Me?” Alejandro asked, feigning surprise but failing rather miserably at it.

  “Her eyes follow you whenever you are near,” Mrs. Morgan said softly. “And do not think it has escaped my notice how often you have watched her, too.” The woman’s smile was not precisely triumphant, but she was certainly pleased with herself. “If rescue comes, you could protect her from Society’s cruelty.”

  He shook his head. “I could not. Doctor, Mrs. Morgan, I may be a poor man. My family may have lost everything in the fighting. They might not even be alive. A woman such as Miss Everly does not deserve such uncertainty. It would not be honorable.”

  “But you do like her,” the doctor said, ignoring everything else Alejandro said. “And your name could protect her.”

  Alejandro narrowed his eyes at the older gentleman. “She should not require my protection. Her family would support her. And we are not discussing an important point. Rescue may never come at all.”

  “In which case,” the doctor said with a deep frown etched into his face, “she is still an attractive young lady, surrounded by men who will become lonely and less apt to conform to the rules of civilization the longer they are away from it. You have proven yourself an exceptional man, Señor Córdoba. At present, I have agreed to act as a sort of guardian for Miss Everly. But I believe you would do a better job looking after her.”

  What the man suggested, implied, made heat rush into Alejandro’s cheeks. He averted his eyes a moment, trying to form an argument, a denial, anything to end the conversation decisively. But Doctor Morgan had a sensible argument, and a far too realistic view of the situation that would unravel if rescue did not come.

  The promises he had made Miss Everly came back to him, one by one. Promises to keep her safe, to look after her, to always find her. He had as good as declared himself her protector, and by extension the man who would stand between her and anyone who would do her harm. He did not regret those promises. He meant each of them.

  He loved her, after all.

  Swiftly he buried the confession deep, hiding the emotion as best he could from himself, as he had done all along. It was impossible.

  “The honorable thing,” Mrs. Morgan said quietly, using his own word against him, “would be to do what is best for Miss Everly, in any situation. Perhaps that is what you should consider, señor.” She stood and her hand briefly brushed across her midsection in a curious manner. “At least think on it, please.” She walked away, not waiting for her husband to follow.

  The doctor watched his wife, then stood and extended a hand to Alejandro. “Plea
se do as my wife asks. She likes Miss Everly a great deal. Neither of us wish to see her hurt.”

  “I will keep what you have said in mind.” Alejandro shook the doctor’s hand, sealing his agreement.

  When night came, and the fire was built, Miss Everly finally emerged from the shelter to partake in the evening meal. She sat on a rock, back bent and expression dejected, avoiding the eyes of everyone. Alejandro was on the opposite side of the fire, twirling fibrous bark into a long strand of braided rope.

  The sailors were laughing, speaking of their efforts to build a shelter. No one else spoke much. The professor was carrying on a quiet debate with Thorne.

  Then Miss Everly, barely picking at her food, raised her head enough to address the sailors. “I heard you singing today. It was most cheerful. Might you sing for us now?”

  Madden and the other two laughed. “We bellow like frogs, miss. No one wants to hear us more than they already have.”

  “I notice you did not ask me,” Mr. Thorne said chipperly. “Everyone must have heard me singing yesterday.”

  “Which is why she did not ask you,” the professor pointed out. Thorne laughed good-naturedly, as did the others around the fire.

  There was a brief moment of silence, then Mrs. Morgan spoke from her place leaning against her husband’s shoulder. “Come now, there must be more musical talent among us. I cannot claim to have great command over my voice, but I know my husband whistles most excellently.”

  “Bird calls,” the doctor protested. “And we hear enough of those all day long.” A loud night bird twittered at that moment from outside the clearing, giving everyone reason to laugh once again.

  “Then what are we to do for entertainment?” Mrs. Morgan asked, dramatically disappointed. “I should so love a song. Something to lift our spirits. Even a nursery rhyme, or poetry recitation.”

  Alejandro’s eyes drifted back to Miss Everly, whose head had lowered again as soon as Madden denied her request for a song. If anyone’s spirits needed cheering, it was hers. He cleared his throat. “I might try, señora.”

  Miss Everly’s head came up, her eyebrows high and her lips parted in surprise. He did not hear much of what the others said, though his offer inspired more mirth. But Miss Everly’s expression, and Mrs. Morgan’s encouragement, had him coming to his feet.

  If there was one thing he had learned well from the monks who educated him, it was how to sing in a manner that would lift the souls of others. He had sung as a boy for the church, as a young man for the vaqueros, and for himself alone living on the island.

  Tonight, he would sing for Miss Everly.

  He chose a ballad, in his native tongue, which spoke of love. What else could he sing beneath the stars with the woman who had unknowingly captured his heart sitting and watching, listening, to each word?

  He tried not to look at Miss Everly as he sang, though the words and gesture were meant for her. Declaring himself in such a way would do neither of them any good. So he kept his eyes closed, or looked to the fire, his heart aching.

  Were the Morgans right? Was the honorable thing to acknowledge his feelings rather than hide them? If rescue never came, what was the honorable thing to do? Leaving Miss Everly in a state of frustration, of hurt, because he would not even discuss his feelings with her—was that honorable?

  When he finished the song, Alejandro opened his eyes, his gaze landing on Miss Everly. She stared up at him, her eyes swimming with tears. Then someone started clapping, as though he had performed for the whole of the company rather than one woman, and then everyone else did, too. Everyone except Miss Everly.

  She ducked her head as a tear fell from her eyes.

  What was he to do?

  Alejandro made a slight bow and retook his seat. The professor offered to recite a poem, “to continue the evening’s entertainment.” Alejandro had no wish to be entertained. He rose and left the fire, going into the night, to the beach. He needed time alone to think.

  Hope rested next to Mrs. Morgan, beneath a tree, while the sun climbed higher in the sky. She had nothing with which to busy herself at the moment, and keeping Mrs. Morgan company was far easier than attempting to converse with Irene. Thankfully, Albert had invited his sister on a walk, and Irene had joined him. That gave Hope some peace at last.

  The situation on the island had not worsened, exactly. But the mask Hope wore had cracked, making it difficult to hide her true feelings. The night of the storm, when she had realized how much she and Alejandro seemed to understand one another with few words spoken between them, had left its mark in more ways than one. His song had widened that crack in her mask.

  How could he sing of love and not wish to speak to her, not wish to recognize, what her heart told her with such clarity?

  Perhaps it was her own fault, lying about her identity. Perhaps he sensed the falsehood. Yet, to give way to him, to expose that secret merely because he had held her comfortably in his arms those few moments in the trees would be imprudent. Wishing he might take her in his arms again only more so.

  If he would not declare his thoughts, his feelings, then speaking her own might prove nothing more than her undoing. Yet she was tired, so very tired, of living a lie.

  The day after Alejandro sang, the sailors continued their work of constructing another shelter, using the rocks as one wall while building two more to form a triangular building. They sang again as they worked, in a language Hope did not understand. She sat beneath the shade, watching them, hugging her knees to her chest. Their deep voices filled the air, the songs not exactly cheerful.

  Mrs. Morgan sat next to Hope, waving a large leaf the doctor had found her as though it were a fan. “They are songs about freedom,” the woman said.

  Hope’s contentment in the moment dissipated. “Freedom?”

  “I have heard the songs before. During festivals. Slaves and free men mingle together on certain days. Overseers dislike it, but at night, when there is no work to do, the only other option is to lock the slaves in their homes. So no one fights it. Perhaps that is why they did not wish to share the songs with us last night. They are not meant for us.” Mrs. Morgan shifted and put a hand over her abdomen. Not her ribs.

  Turning swiftly away from the telling sight, Hope stretched her legs out in front of her and studied a new tear in her skirt. “I cannot imagine what life is like for a slave. I have seen them working in the fields. The sailors here have deep scars on their arms and backs. It is so wrong.”

  “Very wrong. Evil, I should say. To think any man could subjugate another in such a way.” Mrs. Morgan’s words held a sorrowful tone. “They wait for freedom. Their songs, all of them, are about losing the right to go where they wish, their homelands, and dreaming to be free again one day.”

  Hope watched the sailors use long strips of braided bark to lash together sticks. “They do not think we are leaving the island, do they?”

  “Apparently not.” Mrs. Morgan pushed herself to her feet. “Would you walk down to the beach with me? I would like to feel the cool air on my face and walk in the water.” Mrs. Morgan had removed her stockings and walked barefoot, like Hope.

  “Please.” Hope rose and brushed off the dirt and grass from her dress. Alejandro’s shirt was tattered at the sleeves, his breeches at the knees. How long before her clothing was as ragged as his?

  Irene and Albert had disappeared shortly after sunrise. They had invited Hope to come, but she had declined the invitation to go anywhere with them. Most likely, given Irene’s conversation from the day before, they would only embark upon a joint effort to pressure her into accepting Albert’s suit.

  Living with a ruined reputation would be preferable to marrying into the Carlbury family.

  Doctor Morgan, the professor, and Alejandro had left for the beach a short time previous. Alejandro had mentioned that the storm had left more bounty scattered across the beaches, and all seemed interested in looking for anything of use to them. The sun neared its zenith, which meant the men might retur
n soon to get out of the heat of the day.

  “Why do the men get to go where they please?” Hope asked as they walked down the hill. “They did not ask us if they could go. They did not tell us when they would return.”

  “Because a man is capable of defending himself from danger.” Mrs. Morgan’s matter-of-fact answer did nothing to make Hope’s attitude better. “If you wandered off alone and fell in a ditch, could you pull yourself out? If confronted by a wild animal, could you fight it off?”

  “There is nothing on this island more dangerous than we are.” Hope hadn’t seen anything bigger than birds. Not yet. Alejandro had told them nothing but small spiders and certain lizards would harm them. There were no snakes, no rats, not even any large birds of prey.

  The warm sand turned hot the further up the dune they walked, then down the other side. Mrs. Morgan led the way to the lapping waves, holding her skirts up to reveal most of her shins.

  Water pushed against their legs, each wave rolling up the sand and then withdrawing again, almost politely. The water was calm today, as far as Hope could see. She shaded her eyes and examined the horizon, looking for anything to indicate they were not alone in the world. Where was rescue? Why had no one come for them?

  A coil of hair fell out of the restrictive knot she had attempted to keep her hair out of her face. “Botheration.” Hope brushed the hair out of her eyes. “It is only a matter of time before the whole of it falls to my shoulders again.”

  Mrs. Morgan touched her hair, braided and coiled about her head like a crown. It did not shine with the luster it had when they first met, but at least she kept it out of her way with some success. “Would you like my help?” the married woman asked.

  “Please, do not trouble yourself. Even my maid could never quite get everything to remain in place.” Hope found the linen strip Alejandro had given her. It had begun to fray, with many tiny strings loose from the main cut of fabric. She pulled the strip out of her hair and shook her head. Her hair tumbled down, thick and waving in the damp air.