Distant Dreams

by Jenny Lykins

  When Griffin turned and saw Alec approaching, he motioned for him to stay on the dock, then trotted down the gangplank to meet him.

  “No sense in you coming onboard to see me off,” he called. The glowing orange tip of the cheroot arced through the air as it flew toward the water. “Wouldn’t want to have to think of you as the Pea Green Puffin while I’m away.”

  Alec pasted on a tolerant smile and nodded his head with studied patience. He would make allowances for his irreverent friend. Griffin suffered more from this latest loss than he would have anyone know.

  “You needn’t have come, you know,” Griffin continued. “I’m reasonably sure I’m on the right ship.”

  Alec leaned against a stack of wooden crates and turned away from the rocking ship.

  “Remember who you’re talking to, Grif. I’ve known you since I bailed you out of that pub brawl on my Grand Tour.”

  Griffin massaged his eyes, then dragged his hand down his face to scrub at the stubble on his jaw.

  “Oh, yes. You bailed me out right after I pulled those three toughs from your supine body and rendered them unconscious. And it was my Grand Tour, as well.”

  The truth of the matter, which neither would ever admit, was that they both had been fighting a losing battle with a half dozen drunken Englishmen when the constables arrived and saved their skins.

  Alec bit back a grin, but he didn’t pursue the endless argument.

  “Send a message when you arrive home and let me know how Florence fairs.”

  Griffin’s smile disappeared when he nodded.

  “Will the doctors insist she not try again?”

  Griffin shrugged, but the torment showed in his eyes. “They insisted after the last one, but she is so desperate. She is a good wife, Alec, and when she comes to me, begs me, my conscience cannot tell her no.”

  Alec nodded, hearing Griffin’s unspoken words. His long time friend reminded himself quite often of what a good wife he had. And he could not deny at least trying to give her the baby for which she so desperately yearned, since he could not give her love. Not the kind of love she wanted, anyway. He could only love her as a friend. But to Griffin’s never-ending credit, he was as faithful to her as the most devoted husband.

  “Speaking of wives,” Griffin changed the subject that always made him uncomfortable, “have you learned more about yours, or are you still woefully ignorant?”

  Alec reached up and patted Irish’s muzzle when the horse whickered restlessly.

  “I broached the subject, but we were distracted.”

  Griffin arched a leering brow but said nothing.

  “She was chilled - ”

  “And you had to warm her?”

  “Damn it, Griffin, you would try a saint’s patience.” Especially when so close to the truth.

  His friend shrugged. “I was only in hopes that some husbands are distracted by wives who want warming, and not just a baby.”

  Griffin’s rare declaration, the opening of his soul, effectively silenced further words from Alec.

  The ship thumped against the dock. Sailors shouted orders to each other. A dark pearly gray crept over the horizon, replacing the velvet black of the sky and fading the brilliance of the stars.

  “Well,” Griffin cleared his throat. “Captain Pruitt is staying behind with my second ship, in case you have need of her before I return.” He glanced at his other vessel. “She looks ready to sail.” He clasped Alec’s hand and pumped it once. “I’ll return when Florence is recovered. In the meanwhile, try not to accumulate any more wives.”

  Alec’s farewell pat to his friend’s shoulder sent Griffin stumbling several feet up the gangplank.

  “May your journey be as agreeable as your personality,” he called to his infuriating friend.

  “Anything that agreeable would be boring.” Griffin flashed the smile that women seemed to find so charming. “Kiss the wife for me.”

  Alec chose to ignore the last words. He cupped his ear and shrugged, then swung atop Irish and threw up his hand in a wave as he trotted away from the dock. But Griffin’s words echoed in his thoughts.

  Kiss the wife...

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Father has put it about that you are the sister of one of Alec’s old classmates, here to meet your brother. He has spoken to all of the servants, as well as Ned’s wife. He threatened them, but did not specify the consequences, which is infinitely more frightening for them, since their imaginations are much better than Father’s could ever be.” Molly giggled and popped the last bite of shortbread cookie into her mouth, then daintily dusted off her fingers. “And for smuggling you into the ball, he has sent me here to pretend that I am chaperone to you and Alec. He actually believes that to be a punishment! Need I say I have not disabused him of his notion?”

  Her laughter shimmered in the quiet of the parlor, and Shaelyn couldn’t help but laugh, too. Obviously, when it came to his children, Der Fuehrer didn’t have a clue.

  “Well, don’t act too happy when you see him, or he’s liable to realize his mistake.”

  “Oh! I will be misery incarnate.”

  Molly had arrived after lunch, bubbling with excitement and commandeering a bedroom on the opposite end of the house from Alec’s. Not a coincidence, Shaelyn was sure, since her own room adjoined Alec’s.

  “Here,” Molly handed Shaelyn the plate of cookies and gestured for her to eat.

  “No, thanks.” Shae shook her head. “I’ve had my cookie quota for the week.”

  “Oh, but you must eat! To get your finger nice and plump so the ring will never come off.”

  Shaelyn rolled her eyes and automatically tugged on the stubborn piece of jewelry. It showed no more sign of coming off than it had on that first day. How in the world could something which had slid so easily over her knuckle be so impossible to remove? It fit her finger perfectly, yet when she tried to take the thing off, it almost seemed to shrink with each attempt.

  “You know,” she gave up her efforts, “Alec won’t wait forever for me to give back the ring. Sooner or later he’ll decide to get on with his life and have a jeweler cut it off. It’s not like he’d stay married to someone because she had the engagement ring stuck on her finger.” In the back of her mind she wondered, with more than a little panic, if she would return home if the ring were cut off instead of slipping over her knuckle. She tugged again, harder.

  “But by then he’ll realize how much he loves you and he won’t want it back. He’ll want you!”

  Shaelyn shook her head and tried to remember ever being such a starry-eyed romantic.

  “For someone who declares she’ll never marry, you’re certainly set on keeping others in that condition.”

  “Only those perfect for each other,” Molly declared with the self-assurance of youth.

  Just wait until she’s in her thirties, Shaelyn thought, and has racked up a few major errors in character judgment.

  The front door swung open at that moment and Alec strode into the foyer. He tossed his hat, which looked like a stunted version of a top hat, onto the mirrored hall tree, then yanked off his gloves, one finger at a time. With a glance into the parlor, his steps slowed. Was it her imagination that his gaze softened when he looked at her?

  “Hello,” he said, that single, softly spoken word curling into a warm little glow in the center of her chest.

  “Hello,” she breathed back, reliving certain moments of the night before, aware of the avid audience of one looking on with smug interest.

  “Alec, dear brother! You are looking unusually agreeable.” Molly rose with a rustle of skirts, drawing his attention to her for the first time. She nearly skipped to his side to give him a sisterly peck on each cheek. He sighed dramatically but couldn’t hide the obvious affection he held for his baby sister.

  “Up so early after the ball, pest? I’d have wagered you to be just now rising.”

  “Oh, Father routed me from my bed early to dole out my punishment for smuggling Shaelyn in
to the ball.”

  Alec held her at arm’s length and narrowed his eyes at her.

  “Somehow I fear your cheerfulness does not bode well for me. He has disowned you, and you have come to live at Windward.”

  “Very nearly.”

  Alec moaned.

  “He has sent me to chaperone you and your classmate’s sister.”

  “My classmate’s...that is what he is telling?”

  Molly gave him a megawatt smile. “Yes! Here to join her brother, who has been delayed in Europe. Rather creative for Father, I thought. And now I am here to keep everything proper.”

  Alec groaned again and plowed his fingers through the black silk of his hair, displacing the indentation his hat had left.

  “Ah, yes. Two punishments with one action,” he muttered.

  Molly flounced back to her seat, unaffected by the brotherly insult.

  “I’m sure that was his intention,” she said as she happily munched on another cookie. “He actually believes your transparent act that you can barely tolerate me.”

  “Ah, yes. My act.” He tossed his gloves on a nearby table and plucked a cookie from the heaping plate. “Has Martin put you in a room, or do you expect me to give up mine?”

  Molly tapped her lips with her finger as if considering that option.

  “No. I believe the room overlooking the front lawn will do nicely. Actually I am quite settled, but I’ll need Ned to drive me home this afternoon. I’ve forgotten my riding gloves, and I’m certain Bridget will never find them on her own.” She all but leered at them when she paused and arched a brow. “The two of you will behave while I am gone. Father would have my head if - ”

  “One more word out of you,” Alec interrupted, “and Father will have you back in his lap, with details of your choice of conversation topics.”

  Shaelyn blinked in surprise at the faint flush creeping up Alec’s neck. She expected Molly to gleefully point out the near-blush, but for once the young girl held her tongue. She did, however, look up at him with wide-eyed innocence.

  “I am only trying to do Father’s bidding, Alec. I would not be accused of shirking - ”

  With a growl that rose from deep within his chest, Alec chomped a bite from the cookie, as if it were possibly Molly’s head, then turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

  Shaelyn tried her best not to laugh, but when Molly turned that mischievous grin to her, the giggles started. Within seconds, the two sounded like a couple of teenage girls at a slumber party.

  *******

  Shaelyn spread a patchwork quilt over the tiny section of beach she’d just spent thirty minutes clearing. She’d never realized how convenient those folding aluminum beach chairs could be. Or how rocky the Maine coast was.

  After settling herself with a sigh onto the quilt, she rummaged in the small basket she’d brought, pulling out a sheaf of papers, a quill pen, and a bottle of ink. With Molly on her errand and Alec wherever he’d stalked off to, she looked forward to having a little time alone to collect her thoughts and put them into a journal of sorts. She might not be able to take the papers with her when she went home, but she wanted to solidify them in her mind by writing them down.

  Which proved easier said than done.

  She fought with the stupid feather pen, dipping and writing, getting as much ink on her fingers as on the pen. By the time she got the knack of scratching out a few words, her first two pages looked like someone had cried black tears all over them. The following pages came out a little neater, then once she got the hang of it, she lost herself in finding the perfect words to describe the unbelievable experience she was living. The sun moved across the sky, warming her until she flopped her skirts back off her legs, kicked off her slippers, and opened the top buttons of her bodice. She vaguely wondered if Phillipa had any kind of swimsuit in her clothes; something Shaelyn could wear on the beach without scandalizing anyone who might see her. Not that a single soul had passed by.

  “Hello.”

  “Holy sh--” Shaelyn jerked, knocking over the bottle of ink, stifling her charitable donation just in time. She scrambled to grab the bottle she’d been using as a paperweight before the ink could spread across the blank paper to the quilt.

  The highly polished toes of Alec’s boots stopped at the edge of the quilt. She crooked her neck to look up at him, then took a moment to savor the acrobatics her heart did at the sight of his dark good looks and broad shoulders framed by the blue of the sky.

  “Ever hear of knocking?”

  He didn’t appear to have heard her. She followed his gaze to the expanse of bare, lightly-tanned legs protruding from a thigh-high froth of gauzy skirts. Without thinking, she curled her legs around and flipped her skirts down. His gaze then traveled to the gaping V of her unbuttoned bodice.

  For some unaccountable reason the display embarrassed her, though in a hundred and seventy years she would think nothing of uncovering all but a few inches of skin.

  “Well, it got hot out here!” she defended as she fastened the half dozen tiny buttons. “Where I come from, it’s so darned hot we don’t layer on...” Too late, she realized she’d just given him the perfect opening to grill her.

  He swallowed hard, then nodded toward her.

  “When you missed tea, Molly insisted I come looking for you.” He knelt on the quilt, then settled himself with his back against a boulder. “Where do you come from, Shaelyn?”

  He looked prepared to stay as long as it took, and Shaelyn could have kicked herself for once again speaking before thinking. She’d told him things on that first day when she still thought she was in 1999. How much did he remember from that first conversation? How much should she tell and what should she leave out?

  Think before blurting, stupid, she chanted. Think before blurting.

  “Actually, I’m from Louisiana, near Baton Rouge.”

  He nodded, as if he’d expected that answer. Had she told him that in the carriage?

  “Then I am somewhat surprised you weren’t acquainted with Griffin.”

  She squirmed a little while her mind raced. “Well, several miles can make a big difference. And I travel a lot.”

  Alec nodded again. “As does he.” He shifted position, drew up a knee, and propped his forearm on it. “How did you come to be in Cape Helm? That’s an extraordinary distance from Louisiana. For one so young. Alone.”

  She smiled at the comment about her youth. More than a few years ago she had made that overnight transition from being offended to being flattered when someone assumed her to be younger than she was; something which happened quite often.

  “Thirty-one isn’t so young. And I travel alone all the time.”

  He looked genuinely surprised when she mentioned her age, but she already knew nineteenth century manners wouldn’t allow him to pursue the topic.

  “You mentioned before that you are a journalist. I cannot recall ever having read an article written by a woman.”

  She shrugged and tried to look innocent. “Maybe you’re reading the wrong newspapers. Has Molly gotten back yet?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Yes. She insisted I come find you when you missed - ”

  “Oh, yeah. You told me that. Did she find her gloves?”

  “I didn’t ask. Do you have family in Louisiana?”

  Shaelyn opened the basket and started putting away her writing paraphernalia.

  “Yes. My mom and dad live there. Is your father still angry with Molly?”

  “He’s always angry with everyone. Does your family own a plantation? Slaves?”

  The man had tunnel vision. She sighed and sat back on her heels.

  “No, they don’t own a plantation. They live in New Orleans. And no, they don’t own slaves. Neither do I.”

  Good grief! Had she ever in her life even dreamed someone would ask her that question?

  “You don’t live with your parents? You don’t even live in the same town?” A sudden look of horror crossed his face. “Hav
e you a husband?”

  She gave him a deadpan stare.

  “Yes. I do.”

  The color drained from his face.

  “And he’s sitting here, crumpling the papers I’ve worked on all afternoon.” She pulled several creased sheets from beneath his boot. He lifted his foot while a healthy hue returned to his face.

  “Then your father supports you - ”

  That did it.

  “Look, bubba,” she leaned toward him and pointed the papers at his face, “I’m not married. My dad doesn’t support me. I don’t have a sugar daddy paying the bills for me. I support myself by writing for newspapers.” She tossed the handful of papers toward the basket. “And I make a darned good living at it because I’m a darned good journalist.” While she read him the riot act, she moved closer and closer until they were almost nose to nose, then she poked him in the chest. “And if you’d pull that male chauvinist head of yours out of the middle ages, you’d know women are actually capable of doing more than taking care of a house and cranking out babies.”

  As the last word drifted on the air, the rest of her tirade died on her lips.

  He seemed intrigued rather than affronted.

  Her face hovered inches away from his. His golden brown eyes held her gaze, searched her soul, ignited a smoldering heat that spiraled through her blood to the center of her being. Her breath caught in her lungs and she could feel his own, shallow and warm, ghost across her mouth. Her gaze dropped to his lips; perfect lips. Lips meant to be kissed. But that would be a stupid move right now.

  Her face inched closer as a voice in her head said, “Who cares?”

  “Helloooo!”

  They jerked apart. Alec banged his head on the boulder while Shaelyn found an errant rock under the quilt with her knee.

  “Ow! Damn!”