by Cheryl Holt
SOMEONE TO LOVE
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
SOMEONE TO CHERISH
Praise
Books By Cheryl Holt
Copyright
About the Author
“Oh, my. Would you look at that?”
Libby cowered in the traveling trunk where she’d been hiding, determined to make herself as small as possible. She’d shut her eyes, yearning to be invisible, but it hadn’t worked. The man who was looming over her could definitely see her.
He was wearing a uniform, so he appeared very large and very important. There were gold buttons on the front of his blue coat, and he had a belt with a big knife dangling on one hip and a big gun dangling on the other.
“Out with you now,” he said, but she simply stared up at him, wondering if she could jump out and escape.
In the time she’d been living on the deserted island, the few adults who’d been stranded with her had constantly advised her to watch out for bad men, but how was she supposed to know if he was bad or not? How was she supposed to know if she could trust him?
The adults had all passed away, so she had no one to answer those questions. She was only five, and it was frightening to have to decide so many issues on her own.
She peeked over the edge of the trunk, wishing Caroline and Joanna would be standing there. When the man’s ship had dropped anchor out in the bay, when the sailors had rowed to shore in their longboat, the sight had been so alarming that her two friends had run into the jungle.
Libby was smarter than Caroline and Joanna, so she’d assumed the traveling trunk was a better spot to hide. She’d been wrong though. The man had entered their dilapidated hut and opened it almost immediately.
What should she do? She was tired and hungry and anxious for him to help them. Tears welled into her eyes, which she hated. She wasn’t a baby, and she’d been told repeatedly that she had to stop acting like one.
“Let’s go, you adorable moppet,” the man said, and when she didn’t move, he reached down and lifted her out.
The instant her feet touched the ground, she tried to bolt out the door to freedom, but he was too quick for her. He grabbed her arm, and though she wrestled and kicked, she couldn’t get away.
“Hold on, missy, just hold on.”
He continued to talk, offering calming words until she was too fatigued to keep fighting him. Once her skirmishing ceased, he knelt down and asked, “What’s your name?”
She scowled forever, debating whether to admit it. Her mother had warned her over and over that she should never confess it to anyone. It was a powerful secret, and if wicked people learned who she was, they’d take her away. Even though her mother had to be dead, the admonition still resonated.
The man recognized her consternation. “You can tell me what it is. Don’t be afraid.”
She debated a bit more, then said, “It’s Libby.”
“Libby . . . what?”
“Libby Carstairs.”
“Hello, Miss Libby. I’m Captain Ralston. Is your mother or father with you?”
“No.”
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have any idea what happened to them?”
“I think they drowned.”
“Were you on a ship? Did it sink?”
“Yes. In a storm.”
“I’m betting that was scary. Did you swim to shore?”
“I don’t remember.”
She thought she’d swum though. She had terrifying dreams of huge waves, dark water, angry clouds, and wind. For ages afterward, the palms of her hands had been sore and blistered, and she recalled gripping a piece of wood, loud voices shouting at her not to let go of it, and she hadn’t.
The Captain glanced around the hut, assessing the crude beds, the ramshackle construction. They’d carried on the best they could with what they’d had, but it hadn’t been much.
“Are there any adults with you?”
“No.”
“Were there some in the beginning?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“There were six, but they died.”
“How?”
“They were hurt.”
“When the ship sank?”
“Yes. Then they got sick.”
“How long have you been here?”
She leaned in so they were nose to nose. “For a really, really long time.”
She didn’t have a number to explain how many days it had been. At first, Joanna’s mother had survived with them, and she’d counted to eighty-five, but after she’d cut her leg on a tree stump and had passed away, they’d lost track.
“Gad, but aren’t you pretty?” he murmured. “You’ll break some hearts when you grow up.”
“That’s what my papa always said.”
“Your papa was right.”
He stood and patted the top of her head, and the gesture made her feel safer. She didn’t think he was a bad man, so he might agree to fix what was wrong.
“What was your papa’s name, peanut?” he asked her.
“Papa?”
He snorted at that. “What about your mother?”
“Mama?” She frowned and posed a question that had been vexing her. “Could you find them for me? If they didn’t drown, I’m worried they might be searching for me, but they don’t know where I am.”
“I will assist you as much as I can, but you shouldn’t hope we’ll locate your parents. I’m sorry, but I doubt you’ll see them ever again.”
“Maybe in Heaven someday?”
“Maybe in Heaven.”
He sighed, and from outside, a sailor called, “Captain, would you come out? I have a surprise to show you.”
On being summoned, he walked out, but he kept a hand on Libby’s shoulder so she couldn’t flee, but she’d decided she wouldn’t. He appeared incredibly commanding to her, so he’d be able to tell her what should occur next.
Perhaps she could go home to England. She’d been happy there. At least she thought she’d been happy. She seemed to recollect a large mansion, a kind nanny, and a pony.
The sailor had stumbled on Caroline and Joanna where they’d been crouched in the foliage. Caroline shrugged at Libby, as if to admit their plan to hide in the jungle had been stupid.
Libby supposed they were a fearsome sight. Their hair was long and tangled, bleached blond from the hot sun, their dresses bleached too, the fabric worn thin and faded to white. They were barefoot, their skin bronzed, their condition bedraggled.
“Look what I found,” the sailor said to the Captain. He indicated Caroline and Joanna. “They’re all alone, and apparently, they’ve been living like a pack of wild animals.”
“No, we haven’t!” Libby furiously insisted. “We have a hut and everything.”
The sailor ignored her and addressed the Captain. “They’re like a trio of abandoned wolf pups.”
“We had mothers!” Libby huffed. “It�
�s not our fault that they died.”
But she was ignored again.
“Are there any others?” the Captain asked the sailor.
“Not that we saw.”
The Captain peered down at her. “Is it just the three of you? And don’t lie to me. This is important.”
“There’s just us three,” Libby said.
“Lord almighty,” he muttered as he led Libby over to Caroline and Joanna. “Will you introduce me to your companions?”
“This is Caroline”—Libby pointed to her—”and this is Joanna.”
“Are you sisters?” he asked.
“No.”
“None of you?”
“No. We’re like sisters though,” Libby told him. “We’re closer than sisters.”
“I’m sure you are.”
The Captain studied their surroundings. The sky was so blue, the ocean a brilliant turquoise color, the sand blazing under the sun’s unrelenting rays. The palm trees swayed but provided no real shade.
“What shall we do with them, Captain?” the sailor inquired.
The Captain grimaced with disgust. “It’s beyond me. We’ll convey them to the nearest port, and the authorities can figure it out.”
“Shouldn’t I stay here?” Libby asked. “What if my parents come for me?”
The Captain and the sailor exchanged a tormented glance, then the Captain said, “Trust me, Miss Libby, they won’t come. Now then, are there any items you’d like to take with you? Have you any dolls or clothes or other mementoes you’d like to bring?”
“No, I don’t have anything,” Libby said.
“That’s the saddest comment I ever heard.” He spun to Caroline and Joanna. “How about you two girls? Are there things you’d like to take?”
They shook their heads, not keen to talk to him. It seemed like a dream, as if they would eventually wake up and the day would glide along as all the other days had glided along since they’d arrived.
“There’s no reason to linger then,” the Captain said, and he motioned to the longboat. “Let’s get you out to the ship.”
Libby blanched with dismay. “I won’t go on a ship! None of us will go on a ship ever again!”
“It’s all right,” the Captain said. “Mine won’t sink.”
“It’s what Mother claimed about the last one, but it wasn’t true.”
“I’ll make it true,” the Captain firmly stated, “and you have to be very brave, so Caroline and Joanna will watch you and realize how to be very brave too. Can you do that for me?”
“I guess,” she grudgingly replied.
He picked her up and balanced her on his hip. She couldn’t remember an adult picking her up before. And she was five, so she wasn’t exactly tiny. For once in her short life, she felt protected.
“I’ll climb onto a boat for you,” she said, “but only if you promise I’ll be safe.”
“You’ll be safe. I promise.”
Libby rested her head on his shoulder and told herself to believe him. What other choice did she have?
Twenty years later . . .
Libby Carstairs strolled through the dark garden, following the path to the river. Colored lanterns lighted the way. With each step she took, the sounds of celebration faded behind her, which was a relief.
The mansion was packed to the rafters, with guests jostling elbow to elbow, and she was never comfortable in tight spaces. She’d been desperate to get outside into the fresh air.
The farther she walked from the house, the quieter it became. She arrived at the dock, delighted to find a bench perfectly positioned for ideal viewing.
She plopped down and gazed out at the black water. It was a beautiful July evening, the sky clear so she could see the stars overhead. Boats bobbed in the channel, their lamps swinging with the current.
Usually, she loved being in the middle of a crowd, but recently, she’d been growing weary of the attention that was regularly showered on her. Nightmares had been plaguing her, and her nerves flared at the oddest moments. Discomfort was a constant companion. It was like an old friend that visited occasionally.
The foundation of her world had collapsed without warning, so who wouldn’t be a tad disturbed? She had too much on her mind, too many decisions to make, too many options to consider.
“You stupid fool,” she muttered, addressing her deceased Uncle Harry. “How could you leave me to fend for myself?”
She sent the words winging upward—on the off chance that he was in Heaven. He’d been a charming cad and charlatan though, so it was very likely he was residing in a spot quite a bit lower and quite a bit hotter.
From the day she’d been delivered back to England as a little girl and he’d blustered forward to claim her, he’d been the center of her universe. He’d declared himself her uncle, and the authorities who’d been searching for her relatives had allowed him to traipse off with her.
He wasn’t her uncle though. Not that she’d apprised anyone. She’d discovered the shocking news by accident, while riffling in his papers after he’d died, and she was still flummoxed by it.
He’d fed and clothed her, had trained and nurtured her. He’d turned her into a celebrity who could dazzle with her sad songs and stories, but he’d used her too: to earn money, to keep a roof over his head, to support his mistresses and dissolute friends.
She’d been a gorgeous, talented child who—with her curly blond hair, big blue eyes, and waiflike expression—had brought audiences to tears. She’d seduced them with her singing, dancing, and emotional tales about her puzzling childhood, a few of them true, most of them not.
Harry had had a vivid imagination, and he’d written a history for her that people never tired of hearing. Who had her parents been? How had she ended up alone on a deserted island in the Caribbean? The fascination never waned, and even though she wasn’t proud of it, she’d dutifully played her part in his schemes.
She was a very aged twenty-five, and she’d nearly left him a thousand times, but she never had. He’d been her family. He’d replaced the father she’d believed lost in the shipwreck, had filled the role of kin she’d been anxious to have. He’d understood humans, and it was why he’d been able to trick, plunder, and swindle with such relish.
He’d understood her too, had understood her yearning to belong, to be accepted and wanted. He’d supplied just enough attention and flattery to keep her by his side, and now—now!—when the pathetic idiot had gotten himself shot dead by a jealous husband, she was devastated.
How could he abandon her?
Her mother had been his acquaintance, a fact he’d hidden—due to Libby’s past supposedly being a mystery—and he’d slyly recognized profitable traits in Libby. He’d tutored her in how to be magnificent, then he’d pushed her out into the world where she’d become irresistible.
She reveled in the applause and fame—she couldn’t deny it—but when Harry wasn’t there to revel in it too, it all seemed pointless.
Grief was a heavy load to carry, and she would eventually shuck it off, but with his only being deceased for three months, she was still mourning and having trouble balancing the load he’d dumped on her slender shoulders.
Suddenly, she smelled smoke from a cheroot, and she glanced down the dock, irked to see a man standing there. He was being so quiet that she hadn’t noticed him.
He was thirty or so, casually leaned against the wooden railing and watching her intently, as if debating whether to make his presence known.
“Hello,” she said. “Are you having a private moment? I hope I haven’t interrupted.”
“You haven’t interrupted.”
His voice was a deep, soothing baritone that tickled her innards, and she tamped down a scoff of exasperation. Men never enticed her in a feminine fashion. She was much too smart to ever be bowled over.
Because sh
e worked in the theater, she was constantly surrounded by scoundrels. They doted on her and plied her with gifts, but she was never interested in any of them in a romantic way. They couldn’t tempt her. They couldn’t woo her.
She’d witnessed too much of their bad behavior. Harry’s wealthy friends had all been married, but they’d had mistresses and second families. They’d gambled, cheated on their wives, and squandered their fortunes on vice and debauchery.
She’d never met an affluent fellow who wasn’t an absolute beast in his personal habits. Harry had taught her how to finagle and tease so they would shower her with presents, but also how to put her foot down too to prevent any mischief from occurring.
Her aloof attitude merely drove her admirers to paroxysms of purpose, where they swore they would soften her heart and win her for their very own—by which they meant they expected she’d agree to be a mistress. She’d never be considered as a wife, a situation that should have been insulting, but she didn’t exactly view matrimony as an attractive choice.
She would never enter into a relationship where a husband would have the right to boss her or fritter away her hard-earned money. She was too independent and wasn’t adept at following orders. Any dolt who thought he could control her was sorely mistaken. She never listened, as her poor Uncle Harry had learned over and over.
If she’d deemed it possible—and she didn’t—she’d have been delighted to wed the man of her dreams and live happily ever after, but her past was a weighty ball and chain. There was no chance of Prince Charming riding up to declare himself.
“Would you like me to leave?” she asked him. “I don’t have to tarry.”
“I don’t mind you being here.”
“Thank you. It’s so crowded inside. I can’t bear to return to the party just yet.”
“I feel the same.”
For several minutes, they were silent. He puffed on his cheroot to the very end, then he dropped it into the water, the tip hissing as the flame sizzled out.
“When you first sat down,” he said, “who were you talking to? It sounded as if you were scolding someone.”
“It was my uncle. He passed away a few months ago, in a very stupid manner, and in case he can hear me, I continue to chastise him for being such a fool.”
