by Regan Walker
“The pork is delicious, Mrs. Albouy, as are the sweet potatoes,” Tara remarked. “Such an unusual blend of spices.”
“You will find that in Bermuda we draw not only from England for our recipes but also from America and the West Indies. The spices come from the places Mr. Albouy and my nephew have traveled. And, of course, one can now obtain them in Bermuda.
“Do you like the taste of the islands?” asked Mr. Harvey solicitously. The young man, having been engaged in conversation with Mr. Albouy, suddenly turned his attention on Tara. Across from her she saw the captain watching the younger man.
“Why, yes, I do,” said Tara. “It’s so much better than the often-bland fare served in London.” With these last words she looked at Captain Powell, letting him know she did not find England’s food to her liking. The amusement in his eyes told her he might think the English food bland as well.
Mrs. Esten laughed. “You have the right of it, Miss McConnell. We have found once you become used to island food, there is no returning to the former way of cooking.”
“The syllabub you will have for dessert,” said Mrs. Albouy, “in addition to the traditional cream and sugar, contains mango jam and rum instead of brandy and white wine. It is different from the syllabub they serve in London, and we quite like the change.”
“Indeed we do,” said Mr. Albouy cheerfully, “perhaps too much for the fit of my waistcoat.” He patted his paunch, which pressed tightly against the brocade fabric. “Mrs. Albouy oversees a well-stocked kitchen.”
Turning to the captain, Justice Esten said, “Our conversation earlier about slavery on the island reminded me, Captain Powell: There is a boy about whom I would like to consult with you. He was born to a free man of color ten years ago, and though his mother was freed by her master prior to the boy’s birth, there remains some confusion about the boy’s status because the manumission papers were not found when the former master died. The boy and the mother are at risk for being sold.”
“Ah, I see,” said Captain Powell.
“I know the papers exist, as I helped draw them up. The boy’s father has approached me, knowing of my sympathies, and based upon our conversation, I think it might be best if the lad were taken off island. Might you be in need of a cabin boy?”
“Not I,” said the captain. Tara looked at him with anxious eyes, hoping he could help the boy escape an uncertain future. The captain held her gaze for a moment and then said, “However, it is possible my first mate, Mr. Ainsworth, will soon be wanting one, as he’s sailing the Raven back to London from Baltimore and will have a separate crew.” This was the first Tara realized the captain didn’t plan to be aboard his ship when it left her home city, and she was curious as to why.
“Joshua is a fine Christian boy who is intelligent and eager to please,” Justice Esten urged, continuing his conversation with the captain. “I can commend him to you. And from what I recall of my meeting with Mr. Ainsworth the last time you were in port, he is a gentleman who would do well by the lad.”
“Should he prove acceptable to Mr. Ainsworth, Joshua can be trained by my own cabin boy on the voyage to Baltimore,” said the captain to Tara’s relief, “though we’ve an errand to attend to first in the West Indies.” At the justice’s raised brow, the captain added in a quiet voice, “One of Prinny’s tasks.” No more was said and Justice Esten did not pursue the subject.
Governor Smith mumbled under his breath something about it being past time to end the plague on merchant ships. Tara wondered what the errand, as the captain had called it, might be.
“When might I bring Joshua by to meet you?” asked Justice Esten.
“I must attend my ship tomorrow morning to see about some needed repairs and some painting before we leave port. Perhaps you could have him brought to the ship then to meet Mr. Ainsworth?”
“I might just bring the lad myself,” said Justice Esten contemplatively. “My own sons have been pleading to see your ship.” The justice faced the captain with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, as if daring the captain to entertain the two boys. “If you are willing to have two boisterous lads climbing over the decks of the Wind Raven, I’d bring them along as well.”
“I think the crew is up to the challenge,” said the captain, smiling confidently. “Sure, bring them along.”
Satisfied that the boy Joshua would be seen to, Tara turned to Mr. Harvey to ask about his time spent in the West Indies. “Did you sail with your uncle?”
“Yes, in the sugar trade. And it is good we made our fortune during the war with France because sugar prices have since fallen.”
“Why, yes,” said Mr. Albouy from the head of the table, “that is so, but as England’s demand for sugar grows, which I expect it will, our shipments will increase.”
“My brothers would be happy to hear you say that, Mr. Albouy,” said Tara, “as they ship sugar and molasses from the West Indies to the coast of America.”
“And what do they ship to the islands, Miss McConnell?” asked the governor.
“Flour, meat and lumber, though not to Bermuda,” Tara replied. “You have no need for our lumber with your fine cedar.”
“Do they sail to England?” inquired Mr. Harvey.
“They have begun to, yes. It seems England is hungry not just for sugar and rum from the West Indies but also for America’s tobacco, cotton and lumber for ships.”
“Have you sailed with them to England, then?” the young man asked eagerly.
“I have, most recently last year when they brought me to visit my aunt.”
“You are amazing, Miss McConnell,” he said, his eyes growing bright with apparent interest. “It is most unusual for a young woman such as yourself to know so much about the shipping trade.”
“My family’s business has been my life until last year, Mr. Harvey. I find the shipping business fascinating.” From across the table she heard the captain pause in his conversation with Justice Esten to look at her with an amused expression.
“Have you had a chance to see much of our island, Miss McConnell?” asked Mrs. Albouy from the other end of the table.
“Only what I could see from the carriage. We came directly from the ship.”
“You simply must have a jaunt about before you sail. Elbow Beach, not far from here, is lovely, a wonderful spot for a picnic.”
“I’d be pleased to show you around,” offered Mr. Harvey. “’Tis no trouble to take an afternoon for a beautiful lady. It would be my pleasure.”
Tara opened her mouth to accept his invitation, but the captain spoke first. “I’ll see to it when I return from the ship tomorrow, Mr. Harvey. You needn’t bother.”
There was silence for a moment and Tara, not wanting to embarrass the young Harvey, said, “That is very kind of you, Captain.” And then to Mr. Harvey, “I am most grateful for your invitation. Perhaps if we remain a bit longer, I could accept another.”
Samuel Harvey gave a hopeful look in Captain Powell’s direction but did not receive the assurance he obviously sought. “I’m hoping the time here will be short,” said the captain, “only what it takes to set the new mast and acquire supplies. We should be finished tomorrow.”
“Well then, I will await your pleasure, Miss McConnell,” said Mr. Harvey. “But please do not hesitate to call upon me. I am at your service.”
With that, the empty plates were collected and the syllabub set before them.
“Ah, my favorite!” exclaimed Captain Powell. Tara stared across the table at the man with the golden eyes who seemed very different from the one his crew called “the Raven.” He was relaxed and clearly enjoying himself. And excited over a dessert. Recalling how he’d enjoyed the tarts served on the ship, she thought he might have a sweet tooth. His demeanor seemed lighter as well. Perhaps with the burden of the storm behind him and being among friends, he could be at ease.
As he began to eat, Tara couldn’t help but observe how well-shaped his lips were, and her mind recalled the times they had been pressed to her
s. Suddenly he looked up at her, and she realized her gaze had lingered too long. Looking down at her plate, hoping he hadn’t read her thoughts, Tara focused on her syllabub. The dessert made with mango and rum was wonderfully sweet yet had a slightly pungent taste that was more appealing than its blander cousin. This island way of cooking pleased her greatly.
“Do you like it?” asked Mr. Harvey.
“Oh yes, very much,” she said, and licked a bit of the delectable confection from her bottom lip, where it had strayed. As she did so, the captain paused in his eating and diverted his gaze to her, making her wonder if what she had done was improper. Perhaps not, for then he gave her a small smile and resumed eating.
When dinner was concluded, instead of the men retiring for port and brandy, and the women remaining for tea, the men joined the women on the veranda, where they together enjoyed drinks and the view of the harbor below. Captain Powell walked to where she stood at the gallery’s railing next to Mr. Harvey. In the distance, Tara could see light from the lanterns on the ship.
“Do you suppose the men are singing on deck tonight?” she asked the captain.
“Depends on which men Mr. Ainsworth held back. Some will be having a night in town, singing bawdy songs in the taverns of Hamilton.”
“Hamilton Harbor has some lively taverns to offer your crew,” said Mr. Harvey.
“Yes, I’ve been to several,” said the captain, making Tara wonder if he would visit one tonight once he’d seen her to her door. It bothered her that she should care.
The three of them were quiet as they watched the full moon rising low in the sky. The huge yellow moon seemed overlarge. Its light, cast onto the calm waters of the harbor, turned them into a shimmering lake of silver. It was one of the most beautiful sights Tara had ever seen.
“’Tis a beautiful night,” she breathed.
Speaking quietly into her ear as Mr. Harvey turned to answer a question posed by Mrs. Esten, the captain said, “’Tis a beautiful woman who watches it.” Tara shivered at his words and turned her head to glimpse his veiled expression. She had no time to thank him for the compliment because Mr. Harvey, having finished his brief conversation with Mrs. Albouy, drew her attention with a question.
“Do you live in Baltimore, if I might ask?”
Since Tara could see he was genuinely interested, perhaps recalling her invitation for him to visit, she told him. “I do. On a hill above Fell’s Point on the north shore of the harbor.” The captain seemed to show interest in her answer, perhaps because their destination was Baltimore, but he did not seek to know more.
The sky darkened to reveal the brightest of the stars and the conversation stilled once again. The guests strolled back to the parlour, where the Estens, the governor and Mr. Harvey, the latter with admitted reluctance, said their good-byes. Captain Powell offered his arm to escort her to her cottage, and they walked up the slight hill together in the moonlight.
“I’m glad you agreed to consider the boy Joshua for Mr. Ainsworth’s cabin boy,” she said, recalling their dinner conversation.
“I saw the plea in your eyes, Miss McConnell, but you should know I would have offered in any event. It was a small favor to grant a man I greatly admire and, in truth, Mr. Ainsworth will have need of the lad.”
Then remembering what had raised her curiosity earlier, she thought to ask, “Will you not sail your ship back from Baltimore to London?”
“Not the Raven, no. I’m picking up a new ship in Baltimore.” He said no more and Tara was reluctant to ask. There were many shipbuilding concerns at Fell’s Point and other places around the harbor. But recalling Mr. Ainsworth’s comment about the captain favoring the ships sailed by the American privateers, she wondered which shipyard had his order.
At her door, they paused as she reached for the handle. Turning to bid him good-night, the captain took her hand and, raising it to his lips, kissed the inside of her palm, his warm lips sending a wave of pleasure through her. Familiar shivers traveled up her spine as he kissed her wrist.
“Captain, whatever are you doing?” And suddenly Tara realized he did not intend to stop.
* * *
Nick had watched the American girl charm Samuel Harvey all evening and resented the younger man’s growing attraction for what Nick considered to be his passenger. Tempted by her aquamarine eyes and honeyed hair glistening in the candlelight, Nick had wished they were alone. And when her tongue reached out to sweep a drop of syllabub from her bottom lip, it was all he could do not to reach for her. It reminded him of their first dinner in his cabin, when she had done the same with a cinnamon and raisin tart. Walking to her door in the moonlight, seeing her golden skin reflecting the light from the full moon, he could no longer resist sampling her sweet mouth.
Pressing his lips to hers, he held her close and breathed in the scent of jasmine as he felt her breasts press into his chest. She resisted for only a moment, and when he deepened the kiss, she responded. In her innocence she could not know how enticing she was. Her hesitant manner was alluring. He did not want to let her go. But when he finally did, he realized, with some shock, there was more to his feelings for the girl than simple lust.
Raising his head, he looked into her passion-glazed eyes. “I’ve been wanting to do that all evening.”
Tara McConnell sighed but no words came from her kiss-swollen lips. He could see she was new to this, likely overwhelmed by what she was feeling. Perhaps he had been the first to sample her lips. The possibility pleased him.
Using all the determination of mind he possessed, Nick stepped away from the seductive young woman. He would take no more than kisses.
“Well then, until tomorrow, Miss McConnell.”
Chapter 11
Tara awoke to sun streaming in through the lace curtains of her one-room cottage. It was brightly painted in colors of yellow and coral—a small but cheery room. The windows, left open in the balmy air, allowed the chattering birds to inform her she had slept later than she normally would aboard ship. As she lay in her soft bed staring at the ceiling, her mind was flooded with the memory of the captain’s kiss of the night before. It had kept her awake long after she should have been asleep. She was wise enough to know that she should have been more disturbed by his actions than she was. She was worried that with each passing day, she was becoming more entranced with him. There could be no future with an Englishman, especially one who would likely want only a brief and very improper affair.
Rising to a sitting position, she reached for her brush on the side table and began to take the tangles from her hair. She had forgotten to plait it last night before she’d gone to bed. Perhaps it had been the captain’s drugging kiss combined with the swizzle and the wine. A deadly combination to be sure.
She stepped from the bed and donned her dressing gown just as Mrs. Albouy’s maid knocked on the door, offering her water to wash and a cup of tea.
“Is Captain Powell about?” she asked Hannah, in what she hoped was an unconcerned manner.
“No, mistress. He rose early and said he was leaving for his ship. Mrs. Albouy said to tell you he’ll be back around noon to take you to Elbow Beach.”
Tara thanked the girl, then quickly dressed in a muslin walking gown with a square neckline edged in blue ribbon. Tying the matching ribbons of her straw bonnet and tugging on her gloves, she walked to the main house. At the front door, the butler took Tara’s bonnet and gloves and showed her into the dining room, where Mrs. Albouy was just eating breakfast.
“Ah, my dear, your timing is perfect! Come join me. There is bacon on the sideboard as well as fruit and egg dishes. The rolls and butter are here,” she said, gesturing to a silver tray. The arrangement of yellow hibiscus flowers still graced the table from their dinner.
Tara took a plate and, fighting a yawn, began to select from the offerings on the sideboard. “I love the tropical fruits you have in Bermuda. There are so many varieties.”
“Try the cooked plantains. They are very sweet and one of m
y favorites.”
Tara studied the long, browned slices of pale yellow fruit dripping with butter and what appeared to be cinnamon and sugar. “Very tempting,” she said and took some onto her plate.
“There are some other local specialties,” said Mrs. Albouy. “You might like the conch fritters. They are quite good.”
Tara decided to try some of the fritters along with her eggs. Joining Mrs. Albouy at the table, Tara settled in for a delightful meal as the footman poured tea.
“I thought perhaps after breakfast you might like to take a walk through our gardens. We’ve many unusual plants from the West Indies.”
“Oh, I would like that,” said Tara. “We have few tropical plants in Baltimore and it’s been a while since I was in St. Thomas.”
“There is a lovely fishpond, too, which you may not have seen, and a nice bench where we can rest and enjoy a view of the house.”
With the slight Mrs. Albouy by her side, Tara strolled through the structured gardens of Bel Air. Like the food, they were a blend of England, America and the West Indies. Up a low, sloping hill were terraced walls, complete with pillars and a decorative iron fence surrounding the fishpond her hostess had mentioned. Lily pads sporting beautiful pink flowers floated on the calm green water. Though very different from those at her home in Baltimore, they reminded Tara of the bright colors of the rose garden her mother had once so lovingly tended.
“It is lovely here,” she said, taking a seat next to Mrs. Albouy on the cedar bench with the high curved back. Yellow hibiscus like those gracing the center of the dining table grew in profusion on a long hedge behind the bench. The two women sat looking down on the large pink house and, beyond it, to the blue waters of the harbor. Birds of varied colors made their presence known, chattering away in the trees behind them. To Tara, who had just come through a violent storm, lost a friend in the process and was now struggling with her feelings for the captain, it was an island of much-needed tranquility.
