A British Heiress in America (Revolutionary Women Book 1)

by Becky Lower

  She stood at the open window again, staring out at the night sky. Only then did it dawn on her she was still without a cheroot. Damn!

  It was too late in the evening to consider donning her boy’s clothing again and heading to the tavern, where she could bum a cheroot from the men who had saved her from discovery by Colin and Jeremy. She smiled as she recalled the scene she had caused, and how all the men at the table, whom Colin referred to as the Sons of Liberty, rose as one to protect her. Her thoughts returned to the man who had been talking to Ben on the ship. She was sure he was a Son of Liberty, and the same one who had given her a cheroot in the tavern.

  Her thoughts brought her back to her earlier questions. Did Ben’s association with the man mean he was also a member of this band of rebels? Was Daniel?

  Her uncle had referred to Daniel as a good man. Would he still feel that way if he became aware Daniel’s crew was dealing with the Sons of Liberty? What had they been talking about when she wandered in upon them? There was only a bit of cargo left on the ship. Was it contraband for the rebels?

  Pippa placed a hand to her forehead. So far, her idea of being a spy for the British had borne little fruit. Perhaps this could be the big scoop she’d been thirsty for. But the results of her actions, should she be correct, would spell death to both Daniel and to Ben, the two men she’d relied on during the voyage and who had taken care of her. What would Emma do if her father perished? She'd already lost her mother.

  Could Pippa be heartless enough to report her suspicions to her uncle?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Daniel and Ben were making their way from Boston in the chilly weather, heading for Fort Ticonderoga, some 200 miles away. They rode on horseback for most of the trip, over rugged terrain.

  “How do you suppose we’re going to able to haul heavy cannons over this land?” Ben surveyed their surroundings.

  “I’m sure Henry Knox has a plan. He’s read just about every book on the subject of armament.” Daniel’s thoughts mirrored Ben’s. This bold plan had to work. Boston had been under siege by the British for a long time. They’d blockaded the port, refusing any goods to be delivered other than those for the British troops, and even the Loyalists were complaining about the lack of goods coming into the town. “I guess blind faith is better than us having to consider all the potential pitfalls.”

  Ben laughed. “I reckon it’s akin to being on the high seas. You never know when you wake up what the day will throw at you.”

  “At least the first part should be easy enough. Once we load the dismantled cannon onto barges, all we need to do is row them down Lake George before it freezes over.” Daniel sniffed the air, searching for the telltale scent of snow. “Let’s hope the weather doesn’t turn too cold too fast, or we’ll have to chop our way through ice.”

  Ben rolled his shoulders. “Regardless of the weather, we’re going to wrestle with a lot of heavy equipment. My back’s already complaining.”

  Daniel shifted in his seat. “Your back and my ass. I’d much rather be on a ship than on a horse.”

  “And I’d rather be in a warm pub, sucking down a pint of ale, with a proper wench on my lap.”

  Daniel’s lips curved upward. “That does sound good. After the Brits leave Boston, I’ll treat you to that pint. You’ll have to find the wench on your own.”

  “Yer on. But we have a ways to go first.” Ben glanced over. “But speaking of wenches, you’ll be missing all the Christmas parties those fancy Brits are planning to throw. And yer own wench, Lady Pippa.”

  The smile left Daniel’s lips. “I haven’t seen Lady Pippa since the day I foolishly let her board the ship again. I’m sure by now she’s been able to entice some unsuspecting British soldier who will keep her entertained for the holidays.”

  Ben nodded. “She did nearly undo us that day. But she hasn’t been in America long enough to have any ideas about the Sons of Liberty.”

  “She might not know the group by name, but she did have an encounter with Sam and his men at the bar one night. She’d put on her cabin boy clothing and went out at night, in search of a cigar. Two soldiers tried to mess with her, and Sam’s crew created a diversion so she could escape. Even Sam bought her disguise, but he never needs much of a reason to break a few British heads.” Daniel took a breath. “Even without knowing who saved her sorry hide that night, she is under the care of a major in the British army. And she’s clever. All she needs to do is make an offhand comment to her uncle, and the Brits will hang us.” Daniel ran his hand over his eyes. “Emma will be an orphan.”

  Ben peered at Daniel. “Emma will never lack for care, you know that. She’s a daughter of Liberty. As for Pippa, I agree she could be a problem. But can you stay away from her? She is a rare beauty, especially when she’s wearing a proper gown.”

  Daniel ground his teeth together. “I’ll have to. It was Sam’s idea to cultivate her in the first place. I’ve already told him I couldn’t do it anymore.”

  Ben grinned. “Sam didn’t need to twist your arm too much, I’m guessing.”

  Daniel snapped his head around. “Let’s quit lollygagging. We need to be at the fort by tomorrow.”

  Ben laughed again. “Whatever you say, Cap’n.”

  At the fort the following morning, they joined Knox’s small band of men and set about dismantling the cannons. If they could somehow get the fifty-nine cannons and the small amount of ammunition into place overlooking the Boston Harbor without raising the suspicions of the British, they might be able to force them to leave. Then Boston would once again belong to the citizens. But they faced a pretty big “if.”

  In a matter of a few days, all the cannons were taken apart and loaded on large barges. The men and their cargo had to traverse the thirty-mile long Lake George before it became a sheet of ice. The wind howled over the lake, blowing in the faces of the men who had to row against it. They were in a race against time, as the temperature had dipped and ice formed at the edges of the lake. Three difficult days later, they arrived at the southernmost portion of the lake and unloaded the contents of the barges onto huge ice sleds. The most perilous part of the journey was behind them, but the most arduous part was about to begin.

  • ♥ •

  Pippa released a sigh of exhaustion and fell into bed. Her new gown, the one meant to knock Daniel off his feet, lay in a heap on the floor. She’d grown dizzy from holding her breath each time a new person entered the room, but each new man dashed her hopes anew. Daniel had the audacity not to show up for the grand Christmas ball! Everyone of importance in Boston's society was there, having vied for the coveted invitations. She had danced the night away in the arms of one man after another. But the arms she longed to be in hadn’t deemed the evening worthy of his presence.

  Such an infuriating man.

  She sighed again and rose, kicking the gown out of the way as she pried open the window and inhaled the cold night air. A heavy blanket of snow covered the ground and softened the usual nighttime noises. The last time she’d been out on the streets with her lady’s maid, she’d stopped in at the tobacco store and bought a box of cheroots, claiming they were a present for her uncle. But she never delivered them to the final destination. Instead, she stashed them under the bed. She tugged the box out now. If ever she needed a smoke, it was tonight.

  She placed her wrapper around her shivering body and returned to the window. Smoke billowed through the opening. For once she had no wish to blow rings into the air. All her focus was on what she should do next. She laid her forehead against the cold glass and stared out at the snowflakes descending on the city.

  “Do I tell Uncle Walter of my suspicions?” she whispered into the night. “It would serve Daniel right for not putting in an appearance tonight, after I took such pains to be enticing.”

  She took a deep draw on the cheroot, focusing on the red glow of the tip. Was she so petty as to cast aspersions on the man simply because of her pique? The snowflakes swirled past her vision, mimicking her
swirling thoughts.

  There was a lot at stake should she give into pettiness. The British would halt his job as a merchant marine if her uncle even suspected Daniel of siding with the Americans. Walter might even consider his actions treasonous and place him in jail. Or worse, sentence him to death. Then what would happen to Emma? Did Pippa really want to be the catalyst of his downfall? Simply because he’d stood her up? But, if she were being totally honest with herself, he hadn’t stood her up, since he’d never made a promise to be at the ball. Her head swam as the questions kept coming. Could she turn her back on the care he’d taken with her during their Atlantic crossing? How he kept her identity secret? The way he’d made her body hum?

  She ground out the butt of the cheroot and tossed it out the window. “Well, then, what should I do?” she asked the room.

  Not getting an answer, she gazed around the darkened space. She’d shooed Molly away before she undressed in her anger at the way the evening had gone. Or not gone. The gown, her beautiful gold gown, lay in a heap on the floor, reminding her of a treasure of gold bars. All the other ladies had dressed in various shades of red, in honor of the season, but Pippa had hoped to stand out. She’d chosen the gown’s fabric with care, so she could shimmer in the light of a thousand candles, like a well-wrapped present. A Christmas present she had hoped Daniel would unwrap. Instead, he hadn’t shown.

  The least she could do is hang the gown up, so it wouldn’t wrinkle. Picking it up, she grabbed the candle and opened the door to the small alcove holding her other gowns. She’d never been beyond the door before, so it took her a minute to find a peg. She hung up the dress the best she could and straightened out the skirt. As she bent over, she noticed some writing on the doorjamb and took the candle closer.

  A line had been drawn about twenty inches off the floor, and the words “Emma-Year One.” A bit further up was another line and the words “Emma-Year Two.” Pippa’s knees gave out on her and she sank to the floor, staring at the writing. Surely, there was more than one little girl named Emma in Boston. Surely, this couldn't mean what she thought.

  Then again, what did she really know? How had her uncle and aunt come to live in this nice home rather than be at the barracks along with the other troops? She’d been to the homes of other officers in the army, but never wondered who had occupied the home before the British arrived in Boston. Surely, these homes had not been built for the express purpose of housing the officers. The evidence that a family had lived in this very house prior to Uncle Walter taking it over stared her in the face. Could that family have been Daniel, his wife, and Emma?

  A sob escaped her before she could cover her mouth. Her mind scurried back over the times Daniel had been at the house. When he’d found her wandering the streets shortly after her arrival and escorted her home. He knew the exact location of the back door. Each time he visited her uncle, Pippa noticed how he ran a hand over the built-in bookshelves, and how he was so familiar with the layout of the rooms on the main floor. She really didn’t need her uncle to verify what she’d already pieced together. Her stomach tied itself in knots as she put her back up against the jamb and stared at the writing. Emma was now six years old, and considerably taller than she had been at two years of age. Pippa put her hand up in front of the mark, measuring the distance to the floor. “I bet she was a cute little girl at age two.” Tears filled her eyes as she recalled the brave girl on the ship who stopped her from boarding with a piece of wood she carried like a rifle.

  Had the British forced Daniel and his family from their home? All signs indicated so. And, if so, Daniel had every right to side with the Americans over the British. But yet, he worked for the forces. How could he possibly stomach it? Unless...

  Unless the locked cabinet in his cabin aboard ship contained missives from the government to the forces in America and he intercepted them and passed on intelligence to the Americans. Unless some of the guns and ammunition he ferried across the Atlantic to the British troops somehow got lost in transit and fell into the hands of the colonists. Could Daniel be a spy? Could his good standing with the Brits be a cover for his true leanings? Could he right now be helping out the Americans instead of whiling away his nights at the various holiday balls?

  Pippa finally rose and snuffed out the candle. Her mind buzzed with her questions and sleep would be slow to come as she sorted through her new information. First thing in the morning, she’d ask her uncle about whose house they were occupying. And how Daniel’s wife had died. He’d been so vague about it. And, if her suspicions were now correct, and she was sleeping in Emma’s room, she’d have to think long and hard about whether to turn him in.

  Or to join him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Pippa’s empty stomach fluttered when she spied her uncle sitting alone at the breakfast table. Last night, she’d figured she’d have to wait until dinner to get some answers to her burning questions. But breakfast was far better. At least she wouldn’t have to stew all day about it. She took a seat opposite him after helping herself to eggs and toast and brushed her fingers over her stomach.

  “I’m surprised you’re here alone. Is Father sleeping in?”

  Walter glanced up from the newspaper. “Your father, to the best of my knowledge, didn’t come home last night. Lord knows where he is.”

  Pippa bit her lower lip. “I wouldn’t worry about him. He probably found a good card game which lasted so late in the night he took lodging close by.” She blinked away the tears forming in her eyes. Her father hadn’t changed his ways. He lived solely for the moment, and would gamble away what little money he had left with no regard for his future. Or hers, for that matter. But then, he counted on Pippa to marry well so he’d have an endless supply of money to throw away.

  “Have you recovered from the big Christmas gala? We should open our presents as soon as your father returns.” Walter laid aside his paper and stared at her across the table.

  “Yes, it was quite the grand time, wasn’t it? But it made me curious. The home the major general occupies is quite sumptuous and I’ve been wondering to whom it belongs.” Pippa eased into the conversation. “Is it owned by England?”

  Her uncle smiled and rubbed his chin. “It is now. One of the loyalists, of which there are too few left in Boston, offered it to the British government when we first arrived here five years ago.”

  “And what about this house? Did it also belong to a loyalist?”

  “Ah, that’s a fortunate hard-luck story.” Walter’s gaze flitted around the well-appointed room.

  Pippa took a breath. “I’m dying to hear it.”

  He speared her with his gaze. “Daniel Simmons lived here years ago, with his wife and daughter.”

  Pippa’s breath whooshed out of her. “So why do you say it’s a hard-luck story?”

  Walter broke eye contact. “Daniel’s wife, Gladys, was hit by an errant gunshot from one of our officers, on the street. The bullet pierced her chest and she died instantly. In front of their young daughter.”

  Pippa’s hand rose to her mouth, but she couldn’t stifle the gasp. “How tragic! I wondered how she’d died.”

  “Up until then, Daniel had been friendly with the British, but this tragedy tore away at his loyalty. We had to do something, since he was one of the best sailors in Boston.” Walter played with his fork.

  “So how did it get resolved? By taking away his house? Not the best solution, to my line of reasoning.” Pippa’s mind fought to sort out the details.

  Walter speared the tablecloth with the fork tines. “What we did was to offer him his own ship, on the condition he would ferry supplies to our forces. He gratefully accepted our offer.”

  “And christened the ship with the name of his dead wife?”

  Uncle Walter tried to cover his grin. “It was his way of getting back at us, yes. Anyone who didn’t have complete knowledge of the case wouldn’t be aware of what he’d done, so we decided to let him have his fun.”

  “And, since he
would be gone for months on end, you decided he didn’t need his house?”

  Walter nodded. “It was a good solution.”

  Pippa folded her hands over her quivering stomach. The eggs sank in her stomach like slivers of lead. “So he lost both his wife and his home at the hands of the British?”

  “He also gained a ship, and has made a good living for himself and his little girl. Don’t forget that part of the story.” Walter rose and paced across the room.

  Pippa followed the path her uncle was carving in the rug. “You’re not fond of the way things happened, from your reaction.”

  He stopped pacing and leveled his gaze on her. “I followed orders.”

  “Even if following those orders goes against your beliefs?”

  “It’s what we do, Pippa. Britain is the strongest nation in the world, with holdings and colonies all over the world, because we follow the orders of the king.”

  Pippa tossed her napkin on the table. “So a good English person really has no say in how his or her life plays out? We are all merely supposed to follow orders?”

  “That’s right. I follow the orders of the king and my generals. You’re to follow the orders of your father.” Walter straightened his stance, looking every bit the fine British soldier. “You’ve disobeyed your father by coming here to America. And even though he may not be the best example of fatherhood, you owe him your diligence. If he’s selected a man for you to marry, you should do his bidding.”

  Pippa leapt to her feet and stood toe to toe with her uncle. “My father is a wastrel. If I marry someone who is wealthy, it will only give him more ways to become dissolute. Between his gambling and his drinking, he will soon go through what little coin he has left. I will find a way to take care of myself, but I will not help him waste what’s left of his life.”