The Forbidden Lady

by Kerrelyn Sparks

  Quincy shuffled about the room. Along one wall stood the shelves of ledgers that documented the history of Stanton Shipping. “My ship left this morning.” Without me.

  “It made no sense to leave The Forbidden Lady idle, so I promoted your first mate to captain. They’re off to the Caribbean, trading fresh timber for sugar and molasses. You know the route.”

  “Aye.” Quin could hardly blame his uncle for using his ship. He was painfully aware that he no longer earned his living and poor Edward was paying the bills. He roamed about the study, glancing at book titles—some he had enjoyed, others he had endured to please his uncle.

  “Is something amiss?” Edward asked.

  Quin shrugged. “It goes well enough, I suppose.”

  “You seem restless.”

  “I don’t usually stay in town this long.”

  “Ah.” Edward scraped back his chair and wandered to the sideboard to pour some sherry in a glass. “You miss the sea.”

  Quin paused in midstride. His uncle was right. He always felt at peace at sea. He reveled in the endless horizon, even slept on deck sometimes under the never-ending canopy of stars. He loved the vastness of it all, so much the opposite of the prison-like interior of the dreaded Turtle.

  Edward sipped his sherry. “Johnson told me you’re doing fine work.”

  “You asked him about me?”

  “Of course. I always do, at the Sons of Liberty meetings. I worry about you. You’re like a son to me.”

  Quin felt his cheeks redden and strode to the sideboard for a drink. “Like a son, am I?” He splashed some sherry into a glass and gave his uncle a wry grin. “I remember when you threatened to throw me overboard to feed the sharks.”

  Edward smiled. “You were not responding well to authority at the time.”

  “And you also threatened to sell me once.”

  “You refused to go to school, so I explained the importance of a good education. But you’re a man to be proud of now.”

  Quincy took a quick gulp. His family in England would not agree. “Any news from my father?”

  “Aye. Your brother should be here any day now.”

  “My half brother.”

  Edward sighed. “Your half brother. I believe his name is Clarence. I was wondering, Quin. When he comes, will he be suspicious of your newfound loyalty to the crown?”

  “No, I don’t believe so. I barely met him. When I arrived, he was leaving for Paris, taking a tour of Europe which he couldn’t afford, of course.”

  Edward shook his head and returned to his desk.

  Quin continued, “I kept my political views to myself and tried so damned hard to fit in, I don’t think they ever considered the possibility I could be an American patriot. After all, they’re so convinced their ways are superior, who in their right mind would not wish to emulate them?”

  “I see.” Edward lounged back in his chair. “So their snobbery works to our advantage.”

  Quin resumed his aimless wandering about the room, a half-filled glass in his hand. “I don’t see how my father can prove the money that financed Stanton Shipping is his. My grandfather gave it to you. I saw it.” He stopped in front of the hearth and gazed into the flames. His memories of twenty-one years ago were hazy, overshadowed with fear, anger, and confusion.

  His grandfather had arrived shortly after his sixth birthday and whisked him away to a busy port. There, he had been informed he was going to the New World with an uncle he had never met. His grandfather handed a bulging sack of money to Edward and left without a word or glance at his illegitimate grandson.

  Quin looked at his uncle, who sat quietly at the desk. Edward shifted in his chair and stuck a finger inside his neckcloth to loosen it.

  Quin swallowed more sherry as an uneasy feeling settled in his gut. “My grandfather gave you the money to start our business, right?”

  Edward leaned an elbow on his desk and rubbed his forehead. “He gave me the money to do whatever I saw fit to do. There were certain . . . stipulations.”

  “Such as?” When his uncle remained quiet, Quin turned toward the fireplace and placed his glass on the mantelpiece as if it might shatter into tiny pieces. “Tell me.”

  “I was to make certain you never stepped foot in England again.”

  Quin closed his eyes. “You agreed.”

  “I needed the money.”

  Quin opened his eyes and glared at his uncle. “I thought I was like a son to you.”

  “You are.” Edward rose to his feet. “It was a long time ago. I had never met you before that day. Hell, I didn’t even know you existed. You were a well-kept secret.”

  Quin balled his fists. Secret. Damn, he had forgotten. You wanted to forget. A memory of a small, dark room flitted through his mind. “What do you know of me? Do you know who my mother was?”

  “I was told that Henry seduced an innocent, impoverished young lady of gentle birth. She had no father or brothers alive to force Henry to marry her. I don’t know her name, but she actually believed she was Henry’s wife.”

  “How is that?”

  “According to my father, Henry was so determined to have her, he used the fake vicar ruse and staged a false wedding. He never intended to stay with your mother. He was courting an heiress at the time and was not about to give up all that money. Your grandfather allowed your mother to keep you in the country at his expense, as long as she remained silent about Henry’s dishonorable behavior.”

  The flames of the fire blurred before Quin’s eyes. His father had victimized his mother worse than him. At least he had had the chance to start over in the New World. “I can barely remember her.”

  “She died when you were four. My father paid some poor relations to take you, but they neglected you.”

  Quin placed his hands on the mantel and leaned toward the warmth of the fire. They were the ones—paid by his grandfather to keep the little bastard a secret. The ones who had locked him in the cellar whenever a visitor came by. And if the visitor stayed the night, the bastard was left in the small dark room, alone.

  Edward continued, “By the time I met you, you were a wild, unkempt hellion.”

  “You must have needed the money badly.”

  Edward winced. “I did. I know what it is like to be rejected, Quin. I was the third son, entirely useless to my father. When I told him of my ideas on ship design, he made it clear he would not give me a farthing. I was eighteen, unwanted by my family, about to embark on a voyage to a strange new world. When he showed up that day, I would have adopted a hideous monster for that money.”

  Quin snorted. “You did.”

  “No. You were an angry six-year-old child.” Edward stepped toward him. “I understood your anger. I felt it, too.”

  Quin turned away and paced across the room. “Where does that leave us now?”

  “I’m afraid Henry may have tricked us.”

  Quin stopped. “How?”

  “If Henry knows I accepted the money on the condition that you never return to England, he may have invited you there to make it seem like I broke the agreement.”

  “Then the money would revert to him?”

  Edward nodded. “Aye. I should have told you, but I didn’t think Henry knew. He must have found the paper I signed. It was so long ago, and my father is long dead. You were so happy when Henry asked you to come—”

  “I know.” Quin lowered himself into his favorite chair by the fire and breathed out a long sigh.

  “I’m sorry. I should have explained it to you years ago, but I wanted to spare you.”

  Quin closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “ ’Tis all right, Edward. I always knew, deep inside, they didn’t want me.” He heard his uncle’s footsteps leading to the sideboard and the splash of sherry filling a glass. Was it always to be this way? Would he live his entire life as the unwante
d bastard? “Have you ever told anyone in Boston that I’m a bastard?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Do you think a woman would find my illegitimacy offensive?”

  Edward’s footsteps approached him. “Are we talking about any woman in particular?”

  Quin shrugged, keeping his eyes shut as he pictured a pair of mermaid eyes.

  “I suppose it would depend on the woman. If she’s a decent sort, she shouldn’t mind. How does she feel about you?”

  Quin opened his eyes. “She hates me.”

  His uncle grimaced. “Off to a rocky start.”

  Quin nodded. “ ’Tis this damned role I’m trapped in. If I don’t continue to play the obnoxious dandy in public, it could look suspicious.” For a moment at the Higgenbottoms’ ball, he had risked lowering his mask to talk to Virginia Munro. It had gone well ’til that damned redcoat captain had interfered.

  “That is a tricky situation. You mustn’t endanger yourself.”

  “I don’t plan to.” Quin took a deep breath. The solution was clear. He needed to be alone with her. And soon.

  Edward Stanton dodged a fresh pile of horse manure in the street and quickened his steps. Monday morning, and already he was swamped with work.

  The British required massive amounts of paperwork to prove whatever he transported was legal with all duties paid. And their customs schooner, The Sentinel, patrolled the harbor daily. Her crew grew more outrageous in their demands, helping themselves to whatever they liked. Edward had no time for a social call, but this one, this one was special.

  Mary Dover had sent a note to his home, asking him to come. Mary Dover, the inspiration for the name of Stanton Shipping’s most prized vessel, The Forbidden Lady.

  Her house was on the corner, two stories high, built of brick in the Georgian style. He bounded up the steps to the colonnaded entrance and knocked.

  A young girl with fiery red hair showed him to the parlor. He checked his appearance in the gilded mirror over the fireplace and cleared his throat so his voice wouldn’t sound like a croak.

  The door behind him opened, and he spun around to make a bow. “Mrs. Dover, I trust I find you well?”

  “Yes, of course.” She bobbed a small curtsy. “It is good of you to come, Mr. Stanton, and so quickly.”

  He cleared his throat, fearing he appeared too eager.

  She whisked by him with a swish of wide skirts and a scent of lavender. “Please have a seat. Our pine-needle tea will arrive shortly.”

  He sat on the ochre-yellow settee. “Pine-needle tea?”

  “Yes.” She smiled as she sat across from him in the Windsor chair. “You see, everyone believes I’m a Loyalist, but in truth, my feelings are quite the opposite.”

  He stared at her, speechless. Her husband had certainly been a Loyalist. Two years ago, in 1767, he had refused to sign the nonimportation pact after the British had laid a tax on a few items, including tea. The Sons of Liberty had wanted to sack Charles Dover’s home. Edward had dissuaded them for Mary’s sake. He cleared his throat again.

  “Have you been ill with the morbid throat, Mr. Stanton?”

  “No. You’re not a Loyalist, Mrs. Dover?”

  As she shook her head, the movement of her curls launched more lavender scent into the air. His heart swelled in his chest.

  The young redheaded girl entered carrying a silver tea tray, which she placed on the round mahogany table. Mary rose to her feet and introduced the girl as her niece, Caroline. The young girl curtsied and left as Mary poured tea into a pair of china cups.

  He cleared his throat.

  She passed him a cup of steaming pine-needle tea. “Perhaps this will help?”

  “Yes, thank you.” With the cup raised to his lips, the strange, resinous aroma assailed his nostrils. “I believe I’ll let it cool a bit.”

  He placed the cup and saucer on the small table beside him. “Is there a matter in which I can assist you, madam?”

  “Yes, there is. You see, I was looking for a man.” A pink blush colored her cheeks as she returned to her chair. “That is, a man I could trust, one with political views similar to my own and, I must say, I thought of you, Mr. Stanton.”

  He shifted forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Dear lady, please call me Edward.”

  “As you wish. You see, Edward, you’re the most suitable man I could think of, under the circumstances.”

  His elbow slipped and he nearly plummeted onto his face. Was he dreaming? Was she proposing to him? “Dear God, yes, Mary. I am delighted.”

  She blinked. “You are? But I have yet to inform you of this private matter I wish to discuss.”

  “Oh, but I understand completely.”

  Her face paled as she leaned back in the Windsor chair. “My stars! How could you know? I thought I was very discreet.”

  “You have been, Mary. In my wildest dreams, I dared not hope this could be true.”

  Her brow puckered. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “You wish to . . . form an alliance with me, do you not?”

  “I suppose you could call it that.”

  He nodded his head. “I believe we understand each other very well.”

  “Well, perhaps.” Frowning, she helped herself to a sip of tea. “Then, you will not be surprised when I say I have information that may prove important to the Colonial cause, and knowing you to be a fine patriot, I trust you’ll know how to deliver the information to the proper channels.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Saturday night at the Higgenbottoms’ ball, we overheard some important news.”

  He frowned. “You went to the Higgenbottoms’ ball?”

  “Yes. Now, about this infor—”

  “But they’re Tories. They entertain the British officers.”

  “Yes, I know. How else could we hear something important?”

  “What?” A horrifying suspicion snaked into his thoughts. “You wanted to acquire information?”

  She gestured toward his neglected cup. “Have some tea, Edward. It may help to calm you. ’Twas quite by accident that we learned of this, I assure you.”

  He stared at her, uncertain what to believe, while he waited for his heart to regain a steady rhythm.

  “We plan to attend more functions in the future, so I would appreciate it if you could stop by from time to time, just in case we accidentally hear anything else.”

  He leapt to his feet. “Dammit, woman, you’re behaving like a spy!”

  Returning from the market, Virginia stepped into the kitchen, followed by George, who hefted his full baskets onto the long trestle table.

  The cook, Mrs. Robertson, unloaded the first basket. “Help yerself to the scones. They’re fresh from the oven.”

  George stuffed a scone in his mouth and dropped three more onto a wooden trencher.

  “We’re making apple pies.” Caroline smiled with triumph as she finished paring an apple with one long, unbroken spiral. “Don’t they smell wonderful?”

  “Yes.” Virginia sat across from her sister and picked up a knife and an apple. “Where is Aunt Mary? I thought she wanted to teach us her receipt for apple cider.”

  Caroline sliced her apple into a waiting piecrust. “She’s in the parlor with a man.”

  Virginia winced as her knife slipped. “A man came to see Aunt Mary?”

  Caroline’s emerald eyes twinkled. “A very handsome man, and she insisted on being alone with him.”

  The apple popped from Virginia’s grasp and bounced across the table onto the piecrust Mrs. Robertson was rolling out.

  “Sorry.” Virginia grabbed the apple and set it on the table in front of her. The poor thing looked like it had been pared with a crochet hook. She poised her knife over the apple, ready to slice. “Who is this man?”

  George wiped his
mouth on his sleeve. “ ’Tis Mr. Stanton.”

  “What?” Virginia pressed her knife down with a jerk. The apple skittered across the table, dropped onto the wooden floor and rolled away. She jumped to her feet to follow its trail.

  “Good Lord, lass.” Mrs. Robertson frowned at her.

  Virginia groaned inwardly. A five-year-old would be more capable. She gave her sister a warning look. Don’t tell them, please. But if she continued to do this poorly, it would be all too evident. She had avoided kitchen chores all her life because of her fear of the fire in the kitchen hearth.

  Caroline grinned at her. “Mr. Stanton? You mean the man who wanted to—”

  “You needn’t say it, Caroline.” Virginia poured water over her runaway apple to wash it off. “How do you know ’tis Mr. Stanton, George?”

  “Mrs. Dover sent me to his house this morning to ask him to come here.”

  “Oh, it must be Edward Stanton.” Saturday night, at the Higgenbottoms’ ball, Virginia had relayed her information to her aunt. Mary’s disappearance had been nothing more than a trip to the necessary room. Now, Aunt Mary must be passing on the information. “Has anyone served them refreshments?”

  “I took in a tray of pine-needle tea.” Caroline titled her head, considering. “I wonder if he’s still alive.”

  George snickered.

  Mrs. Robertson snorted. “Ye doona have work to do, young man?”

  “Aye, Mrs. Robertson.” George trudged out the back door.

  “I’ll take them some scones and jam.” Virginia wiped her hands on a linen towel and readied a tray.

  She knocked softly on the parlor door but doubted they heard her. The voices on the other side reverberated with tension. A man’s voice suddenly shouted.

  She flung open the door. Aunt Mary and a gentleman faced each other in front of the fireplace.

  He was Edward Stanton, without a doubt. The family resemblance was undeniable. Startled, the man glanced her way and blinked.

  Virginia placed the tray on the round table, next to the tray of tea. “I’ve brought scones, freshly baked.” She took the plate of scones to Edward Stanton as he seated himself.