by Regan Walker
“If you must,” said Captain Powell, leaning against the nearby white post, one booted foot crossed over the other, his arms crossed in front of his chest, one hand holding his half-finished swizzle.
“Well, it seems about two hundred years ago, a ship under the command of a notorious pirate by the name of Powell ran aground on the main island, and accordingly he was banished by the colonial governor to Ireland Island, where the dockyard now stands.”
Tara looked at the captain to glean his reaction. She could see only amusement in his golden eyes.
“I’ve assured him,” Captain Powell drawled, “no relation of mine would run his ship aground, but I must confess one can never be certain when it comes to pirates and privateers. My family has both.” He smiled and his white teeth set against his bronzed skin and black hair gave him a rakish look, making it easy for Tara to believe he had descended from pirates.
Mrs. Albouy cast a glance at Tara’s now-empty glass and said to her husband, “Francis, I think it’s time to let our guests have a bit of a rest before dinner, don’t you?” Then to Tara, “We have two guest cottages, my dear. You shall have one, and Captain Powell, the other. They sit right next to each other in the extensive gardens behind the house. Hannah, my maid, can show you to the one we’ve selected for you and see to anything you might require.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Albouy. That is most kind.” Tara felt a sudden trepidation at the thought of having a small guest cottage next door to the captain’s abode, but then she realized it wasn’t much different from their adjacent cabins on the ship. But here there was no Jake watching over her, no watchful eyes of the crew.
* * *
Nick had stayed in one of the cottages the year before, so he was unsurprised when their hosts saw fit to assign them to him and his passenger. But to be so close to the fetching Tara McConnell sleeping right next door would test his resolve. Already he’d turned down Chloe’s offer to spend time in her arms, not something he would have normally done after a long crossing. It was not a good sign. He was a man who took his pleasure wherever he found it and quickly moved on. To be enthralled with the American was a mistake. But knowing that and resisting temptation were two different matters. How long he could keep his hands off her he did not know. It was a battle he feared he would lose, for he was certain he could seduce the young American. She was not immune to his kiss, nor to his touch.
He followed Tara McConnell and the maid, Hannah, as they veered from the path toward the cottage on the left. As the maid opened the door and Tara turned to bid him good-day, he said, “I will escort you to the main house in, say, two hours. Would that be acceptable?”
“I shall be ready when you call, Captain.”
Chapter 10
When she dressed for the evening, Tara reached for the coolest gown she possessed, fine white muslin with a Pomona green sash and flowers of the same color dancing on the hem and short sleeves. For once she had been pleased at the pins that allowed her to secure her long, thick hair off her neck. It was too warm to wear it any other way.
Just as he’d promised, a few hours later Captain Powell knocked on the door of her cottage, offering his arm in escort to the main house.
“Good. You’re ready,” was all he said, but his gaze lingered on her gown and she thought she saw appreciation in his eyes. She was too stunned by his appearance to mind the lack of a compliment.
The cinnamon-colored coat fit snugly over his broad shoulders, an ivory silk waistcoat adding an elegant touch. Tight nankeen pantaloons left no doubt of his male virility. And his ebony hair, grown nearly long enough for a queue, fell in waves to his collar. Even her oldest brother, George, who took pains with his dress when he was at home, had never looked so well attired, nor so handsome. Tara had to force herself to don a calm demeanor when he held out his arm to her.
“Good evening, Captain,” she said, placing her fingers on his forearm.
He covered her hand with his, causing the familiar shiver no other man’s touch had produced. “Is your cottage acceptable?” he asked as they walked down the path toward the main house.
“Oh, yes. And the windows are a welcome change.”
At her words, he smiled. “You could always read in my cabin aboard ship. The afternoon light is better there.”
Tara was tempted to leave his offer hanging in the air but instead said, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
He gave her a brilliant smile. “Probably not.” He seemed amused. Whether it was at her or himself, she could not tell.
They walked through the gardens, passing well-trimmed hedges and bushes that reflected careful planning. But against such well-groomed greenery there were also splashes of random color. Bright purple bougainvillea spread over the walls of one of a handful of outbuildings, including a stable she could see in the distance.
They entered the Albouys’ parlour as the other guests were gathering. The happy chatter filled the room. It was a lively group that gathered that night in the elegant home called Bel Air on the small island nearly six hundred miles off the coast of the Carolinas. Except for the warm, tropical breeze wafting through the open windows and the scent of exotic flowers and the sea, they might have been in any parlour in Mayfair.
A servant paused before them and offered a silver tray bearing the golden drinks of which she was now quite fond. The captain took one and handed it to her. “Like these, do you?” he said, seeing her grin when she enthusiastically reached for the beverage.
“Yes, I do. They are the perfect antidote to the island’s muggy weather. I shall have to introduce them to my family in Baltimore, as our summers can be wretched.”
He was still chuckling as their hostess approached. “My dear,” said Mrs. Albouy, “you must not allow Captain Powell to dominate your evening. I want you to meet our other guests. Besides, the good captain is already acquainted with them from his previous visits.”
“If you don’t mind, Mrs. Albouy,” said the captain, “I’ll leave you to the introductions. I see the governor across the room, and I must have a word with him.”
“Of course, Captain Powell. You run along,” their hostess said in kind dismissal.
The captain bowed briefly and departed. Tara felt the loss of his presence as she watched him join an older gentleman standing alone by the window. While Mrs. Albouy rattled off the names of the invited guests who had gathered in the parlour, Tara listened, counting three women and five men, including her and the captain. Eight for dinner, she mused. A nice intimate gathering of the English—and their one American guest.
The first gentleman to whom Tara was introduced was Mrs. Albouy’s nephew, Samuel Harvey, who had been quick to approach when the captain left her side. Mr. Harvey’s aunt explained he was a merchant like his uncle; both had spent time in the West Indies. Tara thought him of an age with Thomas, who at twenty-nine was now the youngest of her brothers.
“Miss McConnell,” said Mr. Harvey eagerly, “how delighted I am to meet you.” His eyes focused intently on her like a pirate spotting a golden doubloon. His quick smile was a nice compliment to his sun-streaked brown hair and sparkling green eyes. He was a fine figure of a man attired in the clothes of a successful gentleman, and his bronzed skin suggested he was often outdoors. Tara had noted there were few English on the island who were able to keep their pale skin so prized in London. Even bonnets and parasols did not prevent a bit of color from appearing on the women’s faces.
Mr. Harvey took her offered hand. His touch caused no reaction, no shivers up her spine. As he bent to press his lips to her knuckles, she looked over his inclined shoulder to see Captain Powell frowning in her direction. What could have set the brooding man off now?
“I do hope you will be staying long enough for us to get better acquainted,” said Mr. Harvey, bringing her attention back to him.
“I believe we are here just for repairs to Captain Powell’s ship. It was damaged in the storm. And I am anxious to return to my home as my father is u
nwell.”
“Please accept my hopes for his recovery,” said Mr. Harvey sincerely. “I would be delighted to show you around the island while the ship is being repaired. Then, too, my business often takes me to New England. Perhaps I might call upon you there?”
“Certainly. I would be happy to introduce you to my family.”
At her words, Samuel Harvey’s eyes lit up. “I would look forward to such a meeting.”
Tara hoped he did not misinterpret her offer of hospitality. She would have offered the same to anyone under the circumstances.
Mr. Harvey remained at Tara’s side as Chief Justice Christie Esten and his wife, Esther, joined them. Tara thought the judge to be in his mid forties and dressed as fine as any successful English barrister.
Ann Albouy introduced her to them. “Mrs. Esten is the sister of Captain Charles Austen’s late wife, Fanny.” Tara had no knowledge of the man and perhaps that failure was seen on her face, for Mrs. Albouy added, “He is an English naval officer, dear, who lived here for a time. His sister Jane is quite well known as the author of novels most beloved by the ladies.”
“Perhaps you would like to read one of Jane’s novels while you are here?” inquired Mrs. Esten, a woman of slight frame with dark hair and gray eyes, who was very obviously with child. “My younger sister was quite fond of them. She was married to the author’s brother, Charles, and when she passed away, she left me several. I can have one delivered to Bel Air tomorrow, if you like.” Then as if to persuade her, Mrs. Esten added, “Jane’s novels are favored by the Prince Regent, you know.”
Though Tara knew the gracious woman thought it a grand endorsement that their monarch enjoyed the novels, Tara was more impressed that the other woman read them. “You are most kind, Mrs. Esten. Yes, I would be grateful for a novel that you recommend. I always welcome good books.”
Mr. Harvey chose that moment to make his excuses and left to speak with Mr. Albouy standing nearby, but before he departed, he leaned in and with an eager smile said, “I will return shortly to escort you to dinner, Miss McConnell.”
She watched him walk away and wondered why she’d never met such a charming man in London. Though English, there was a different air about him, a warmth to his personality that was lacking in the men of the ton she had met, who, for the most part, seemed like stiff dandies. Perhaps it was that he lived in Bermuda or that he’d been engaged as a merchant with his uncle. But for all his charm and friendly manner, Samuel Harvey did not stir her emotions like the Wind Raven’s captain. Nicholas Powell was a man cut from different cloth than any man she’d known, save perhaps for her brothers, and they were Americans.
“I was educated in your fair country, Miss McConnell,” said Justice Esten, drawing Tara’s attention back to the couple, who were sipping swizzles next to Mrs. Albouy. “I studied law at Yale.” The justice seemed sincere in his praise for America as he told her stories of his time in Connecticut.
“You have two sons?” Tara asked the justice and his wife at the conclusion of one such tale.
“Yes, though we’ve another on the way.”
“You can be glad you are free of our boys this evening,” interjected Mrs. Esten. “John and James have been brought up properly to dine with adults, of course, but they have so much energy at eight and eleven. I’m afraid their squirming can be quite distracting.”
“I do know what you mean about the energy of boys. I grew up in a family of boys,” said Tara, liking the justice’s wife. She could well imagine the woman as the happy mother of two rowdy sons.
Captain Powell chose that moment to return to their small group. As before, his presence rendered her flustered and unable to concentrate on anything but him. Such a reaction to the overbearing captain, over which she seemed to have little control, was unsettling.
“Miss McConnell tells me she’s sailed as crew on her brothers’ ships,” said the captain. “Most unusual, don’t you agree?”
The Estens’s expressions showed surprise and Mrs. Albouy’s eyebrows rose, but after their initial reaction of incredulity, Mrs. Esten smiled in apparent admiration. “What an unusual woman you are, Miss McConnell.” She cast a studying glance toward the captain, who appeared greatly amused at the controversy he’d stirred.
“Americans are an adventuresome people, I know,” said Justice Esten. “I’ve had the privilege to consider many my friends—and still do, notwithstanding the last unpleasantness between our two countries.”
“I want to hear all about your time on your brothers’ ships,” remarked Mrs. Esten, “and all that you’ve experienced aboard Captain Powell’s ship.”
Tara was delighted the elegant woman was interested and realized at that moment that she was enjoying herself, despite the fact she was surrounded by people who were all English.
Before Tara could attempt to describe her experiences, William Smith, the governor of Bermuda, joined them. The distinguished-looking man with gray hair bowed slightly. “It is an honor, Miss McConnell. My wife, sadly, is unable to be with us this evening. I know she would want to meet you, but unfortunately she is down with a summer ague. Must have been all the rain that came with the recent storm.”
“Please convey my hope for her speedy recovery,” said Tara sincerely.
Captain Powell added, “Please do give Mrs. Smith my greeting as well. I am sorry to have missed her this trip.” Tara could not but admire the captain’s easy manner with the English gentry on Bermuda and the respect they obviously had for him.
“I will do that,” said the governor. “And she will want all the news from your travels, Captain.” Then turning to Tara, “What brings you to Bermuda, Miss McConnell, other than Captain Powell’s ship, of course?”
“I am returning from my aunt’s home in London. My father is ill.”
The older man expressed his earnest desire that her father would soon recover, and Tara found herself charmed. Perhaps stepping into the lion’s den was not so terrible after all. Indeed, the English men and women gathered around her acted as if the war of only a few years ago had never happened. Except to acknowledge the “unpleasantness,” no mention was made of the attack on her home city. It might be they were just being polite, but she couldn’t help liking these far-flung members of English society.
She took a deep breath and sighed, daring a glance at the captain, who turned his head at the very same moment and returned her smile, causing her cheeks to warm. As much as she might prefer to seem indifferent to the arrogant captain, she couldn’t stop looking at him. And she remembered his kiss and the night she’d spent in his bed, albeit innocently.
After finishing their drinks, the eight dinner companions ambled through the arched doorway leading to the dining room. Mr. Harvey returned to escort her to her seat; however, Captain Powell had already offered his arm, so Mr. Harvey, expressing his disappointment, trailed behind them.
Having seen much of the house already, Tara expected to see a dining room with furnishings like those in her family’s home in Baltimore and was not disappointed. The wall paneling rising from the polished cedar floors was painted a deep rose, casting a warm glow on the long, oval, cherry wood table taking up half the room. Beneath it was an Axminster carpet of blue and red design. Above the table hung a crystal chandelier, and though there was still daylight remaining, all the candles were lit. At one end of the room there was a fireplace with wooden mantel and above that hung a gilded mirror. There must be only a few months of the year, she thought, when it was cold enough to warrant its use.
Tara was seated between Mr. Harvey on her left and Governor Smith on her right. The captain sat directly across from her, flanked by Justice and Mrs. Esten, leaving Mr. Albouy at one end of the table and his wife at the other.
In the middle of the table was a beautiful arrangement of tropical flora, dominated by a plethora of yellow hibiscus flowers with rose-colored centers the same color as the walls. Tara lifted her gaze above the flowers and was suddenly confronted with the captain’s golden
eyes staring at her from across the table. His intense perusal caused her heart to race wildly and her stomach to fill with butterflies. She looked away and allowed Samuel Harvey to distract her with stories of his merchant business in the colony of Demerara on the north coast of South America.
As they talked, the servants glided inconspicuously around the table, serving the guests a spicy, cold fish soup. Their presence recalled to Tara’s mind the great number of people of African descent she’d seen on the island since arriving in Hamilton. It appeared to her they outnumbered the English. She wondered if they were slaves or free, for while some Maryland planters had freed their slaves after the War for Independence, not all had done so, and the states to the south still maintained large numbers for their plantations.
In her usual forthright manner, Tara asked the governor, “Are the servants free in Bermuda?” Tara didn’t miss the captain’s raised eyebrows. Likely he thought the topic unsavory, but the governor took up the subject with apparent relish.
“Ah, well, that is an interesting question, Miss McConnell,” said Governor Smith, shooting a glance across the table at Justice Esten. “England ended the slave trade ten years ago, believing it morally wrong, but the existing slaves in Bermuda were not freed with that action, so no, not all the servants you see are free.”
“It is my hope,” said Justice Esten from across the table, “that soon we shall see to their freedom.”
“Much of America is divided on the issue, as you probably know,” she offered.
“That is what I have also learned from correspondence with my American friends,” said the judge thoughtfully. “I admire those in Maryland who took action to free their slaves.”
The conversation ended when the servants brought platters of thinly sliced roast pork surrounded by slices of mango, papaya and banana. Tara accepted a portion and took a bite to discover the meat had been flavored with an unusual blend of spices that was quite pleasing to the palate. Accompanying the pork was a dish of roasted sweet potatoes flavored with cinnamon.
