Cogswell wasn’t done. “Any woman who would disrespect her father’s opinions directly mirrors the social upheavals taking place in France as we speak.”
“I don’t condone the violence but not all French ideas are wrong,” Emily said.
Cogswell’s grey brows snapped together and he lifted his chin slightly. “Our government, well based in English law, is the best in the world. We don’t need French philosophy degrading our moral fibre.”
“Our government may be the best but it’s not perfect. Some issues are incomplete.”
“Such as?”
“Slavery,” Emily said calmly, as if she wasn’t opening a keg of powder.
Cogswell’s face went rigid. “Well, it’s your Mr Jefferson and the other Republican-Democrat rabble who engage in slaver—”
“Just as many northerners profit by the slave trade. Many here in Philadelphia have slaves as their servants—”
“Allow me to finish, Miss Eliot. ‘Twas God’s decision to place the slaves subordinate to the white man—as it was His decision to place children subordinate to their fathers and women to their husbands.”
Alex tapped the table slowly, feeling his jaw tightening. A social disaster, growing worse by the moment. Still, with the subject raised, he couldn’t remain silent.
“Where is your proof, Cogswell, that God intended slavery?”
“So you advocate setting all the slaves free to wander helpless and starve in the streets?” Cogswell said in a challenging tone.
“I advocate no such thing. It would have to be well thought out, carefully executed.”
“And they said your association with radical abolitionists was only in passing.”
Alex’s jaw began to ache and he recalled why he never brought these topics up. Outside political circles, such debates did little good and were ultimately too frustrating. But with the topic opened up, it was impossible to hold back. “Men are men, no matter their skin. In addition, slaveholding encourages the worst kinds of inhuman arrogance.”
“Well, well, well.” Cogswell put down his napkin and sat back in his chair, folding his hands together and studying Alex with a superior sneer. “So the neutral mask drops at last to reveal the radical beneath.” Looking well satisfied, he exchanged meaningful glances with many of the other men.
Recovering her aplomb, Mrs Cogswell redirected the conversation and, by the dessert course, tensions had eased.
“Miss Eliot?” Everyone turned in surprise at Green’s first words of the entire evening.
“Yes, Mr Green?” Emily’s voice wavered.
“Your father was Captain Tom Eliot of Salem?”
“Yes, I believe she already said so, Captain Green,” Mrs Cogswell said, clearly irritated to have the conversation return to Emily. “Why?”
“Oh, I just wanted to be sure I’d heard correctly.”
The most peculiar smirk played about his lips, like that of a cat that had swallowed the juiciest bird.
* * * *
When the ladies had retired and the gentlemen were seeking the chamber pots from the sideboard cabinets, Alex wasted no time. He strode over to Green and took his arm, then spoke roughly and low.
“If you malign her publicly, I’ll call you out just as publicly.”
Green just grinned more widely, eyes glittering with strange fire. “You know what I think?”
Alex glared coldly down his nose. “I don’t particularly care to know your thoughts.”
The older man snickered. “Well, I’ll tell you anyway. I think you care a great deal more than you’d like to admit about that little girl you picked up at the Blue Duck. I think you’d like to make her your wife. Wouldn’t it be a shame if her name were to become so reviled that you could not attach your name to hers without being reviled in the same way?”
“Never test me, Green. You don’t want to find out what would happen.”
“You’ve always had a secret to hold over my head. Now I have one to hold over yours. You’ll know what it’s like always to be looking over your shoulder. Every time someone laughs and whispers when you walk by, you’ll wonder if they know that your wife is a Hell City tramp.” Green placed his finger to the side of his nose, winked and laughed softly.
“No one would believe the story anyway,” Alex said, without any faith.
Green shrugged. “Or something worse could always happen.”
Coldness filled Alex’s heart. “You crazy bastard—if you harm her, I’ll kill you.”
Green just tapped the side of his nose again and snickered.
* * * *
In her bed, Emily watched Alex as he sat at her side and wiped her face with a cool, wet cloth. He looked so grim. She couldn’t blame him. On the way home in the carriage, she’d been ill twice.
“You’re angry with me, aren’t you?”
“You’re not a girl any longer. You must learn self-control. You must not show people all your emotions and you certainly need to control how much you drink. Especially when dining away from home.”
His tone was so firm and cold that it gave her shivers. He didn’t understand. She’d never had access to so much of everything. Never had to socialise with people so intensively. It was all too much. She could never—would never—admit it to him. He’d never understand. So she offered her sincere intentions. “I’ll never do this again. I shan’t embarrass you or myself again. I am so very sorry.”
He bent and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Sleep now.”
She stared up into his serious, handsome face and saw not a trace of her playful lover from that afternoon.
She grasped his arm. “Say you forgive me.”
His face relaxed. “Of course I forgive you. They are only my best boots.”
He smiled and caressed her cheek as his eyes warmed. He was using his charm and humour to distract her from something he didn’t wish to discuss.
“No, I mean at supper—the conversation and the things I said.”
His expression cooled considerably. “We’ll discuss it later.”
Chapter Fourteen
The next morning, she awoke with her head pounding and her digestive system the worse for wear. Sally brought her coffee laced with whisky.
“Mr Dalton says you are to drink it all and if it comes up, you’re to have another.”
It smelt revolting.
“He says I am to watch you drink it and if you refuse, he’s going to come in here and pour it down you himself.”
Emily took a tentative sip. Suddenly blood seemed to flow into her head, clearing the fuzziness. She took another, deeper drink, then another. It wasn’t long until the cup was drained and she was feeling better.
Soon her stomach grumbled with hunger. Sally brought her a tray, an unlikely breakfast of fresh pineapple and orange segments, fine, soft cheese, scones made with refined flour and dried berries, honeycomb and spiced, roasted almonds.
“Mr Dalton’s usual Sunday brunch—he requested you be served the same,” Sally said upon Emily’s comment, then bustled out with the empty tray.
If he’d taken the time to see to those details personally, maybe he wasn’t too angry with her. She arose and dressed and went to Alex’s study in search of him. He was gone, but his desk was strewn with various newspapers. She approached the desk and glanced over the papers. One line caught her eye and held it.
Over one hundred American mariners now captured by Algerian corsairs and being held for ransom…
Her heart seized up painfully in her chest and the temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Tears blurred her vision and she couldn’t read any more. Boots sounded on the wooden floor. Not wanting to be caught crying, she lifted her arm and wiped her eyes on the muslin sleeve.
When she lowered her arm, Alex was there. He drew her into his arms.
“It’s all right, sweetheart—they’ll have to do something now.”
“But what if they won’t?”
He made a sibilant sound and kissed her temple while he ca
ressed her back.
After a while, he led her to one of the settees and they sat together. He went silent and his eyes grew distant.
The number of men captured was staggering to think about. And who knew how many more had joined them since this news had crossed the Atlantic? In her shock, clarity came to her. How silly she’d been to quibble with him over other things, like who controlled her work. The only thing that mattered was the gem of the idea. To get a more human aspect of the Algerian situation out into the public eye. But it needed to be effective. What was the matter with her thinking? If he knew more than she did about essays and swaying public opinion, if he thought her work could be better, she should let him edit it.
The sound of boots on the floorboards made her look at the open doorway. James stood there, his expression even more sober than usual. “Alex, I need a moment.”
“Yes, of course,” Alex said. He rose and followed James out.
Emily remained seated for a few moments. The shock of that headline had made her numb and her mouth dry. She really wanted nothing more than a long drink of claret. Just one glass, though. She’d learnt her lesson.
She got up and went to her bedchamber and opened the sideboard cabinet. But her supply of wine was gone. Sally came walking in with an armful of towels.
“Where is my claret?”
Sally wouldn’t look at her. “Mr Dalton asked me to remove it from your room. He says you may drink at meals but not have free access any longer.”
Emily’s chest tightened. “Oh. I see.”
After Sally had put the towels away and left, Emily sat on her bed and fumed. She’d spent too many years living under Grandmother’s controlling thumb. She wasn’t about to start living that way again.
She was a woman full-grown. If she wanted to drink claret apart from mealtimes, she would, and there was nothing anyone was going to say about it. She got up from the bed and went to fetch her reticule and opened it. Staring at the dollars inside, she became painfully aware that she was living on Alex’s money.
Well, never mind that. She’d find some gainful employment after her book was printed. But she hadn’t thought of leaving Alex’s life so soon. Yet he was ending it, with his high-handedness. He was taking away all her personal power.
Feeling even more numb than before, she walked downstairs and pulled her cloak from the rack.
“Where are you going?”
At Alex’s deep voice, with its unmistakable paternalistic undertone, she turned. “Out for a walk.”
He shook his head. “You are never to go away from this house alone.”
Her mouth dropped open and she gaped at him. “Since when?”
“Since I said so, right here, today. You’ll go with Sally or Nancy—and Cato can accompany the two of you.”
“And what if they happen to be busy?”
“Then you’ll wait until they aren’t.”
She stiffened her spine. “You have no authority over me. You can’t tell me what to do.” She jerked the doorknob, opened the door and walked out into the crisp air and brilliant sunshine.
She hadn’t got very far down the street before she heard someone call her name. She turned and saw Cato, Mrs Webb’s husband, waving to her. He was walking as fast as his legs would carry him. She stopped and waited while anger burnt in her blood. Cato was an old man. He didn’t have the energy to go running down the street and Alex should never have made him follow her. In consideration for the older man, she ended up not venturing to Main Street but taking a brief stroll up and down Chestnut instead. She returned to Alex’s house without any wine.
* * * *
Emily sat with Alex in rather uncomfortable silence. They had come early to this ball, hosted by Mrs Cornelia Hazelwood, a second cousin on Alex’s father’s side. Peter, her much younger brother, stood close by. He’d tried several times to draw Alex into conversation but Alex wouldn’t be coaxed. He’d been in the most sullen, quiet mood for days. He’d also remained a tyrant over Emily. She couldn’t leave the house without poor Cato chasing after her. Twice she’d bought herself some wine and twice Sally had taken it to the kitchens and locked it up.
This evening, Alex had even come by Emily’s chamber and inspected her to make sure she was wearing her stays. It was too much. Simply too much. She was going to find herself some employment, and soon. She wouldn’t stay in a house with a man who wanted to take away her newly found liberty.
A little girl came running into the parlour, screaming at the pinnacle of her vocal range. She had the palest blonde hair Emily had ever seen. A harried-looking maid immediately followed her. The child hurled herself into one of the empty chairs to the left. As the maid approached, she crossed her arms over her chest and thrust her bottom lip out. “I won’t!”
“Elizabeth, please.” The maid looked quite desperate as she approached. “You must come to bed.”
“No!” The girl’s startlingly blue eyes sparkled with defiance. Then she turned to Van Moerdijk and flashed him a dazzling smile. “I want Peter to carry me.”
Peter grinned and walked towards Elizabeth, holding his arms out. “Well, come on then, you bad little wench.” He lifted her into his arms, and then Emily couldn’t help but notice how the child appeared to be a small, more feminine replica of Peter.
After Peter had carried Elizabeth away, Emily turned to Alex. “That was Mrs Hazelwood’s daughter?”
As soon as the words left her lips, Emily smiled tremulously, embarrassed, for Mrs Hazelwood was, of course, an aged woman. A widow of many years. She couldn’t possibly be the child’s mother.
“Elizabeth is the child of her servant.” Alex’s expression was pleasant but his tone sounded clipped.
“But—”
He held up his hand. “We never talk about it—at least not while in this house.” He raised his brows. “Understand?”
She bristled under his commanding tone. “Yes, perfectly.”
He touched her arm, leaned close and lowered his voice. “It’s very important that you pass muster with my cousin Cornelia—she’s a very influential woman. She has very definite ideas of propriety.”
“But to deny a child’s true parentage. It seems rather callous.”
“It is the world we live in, Emily. I didn’t make the rules.”
He turned away to gaze at the fire in the hearth. He instantly appeared distant and she wondered what was going on in his mind.
The last thing Alex had wanted to do was to attend a ball tonight. Two desperate relatives of men now held in Algerian slavery had approached him, requesting that he provide ransom money. He knew he had to refuse. It would only result in an explosion of abductions upon the high-seas. The Barbary threat would be magnified far beyond anything it was now. But it wasn’t easy to deny the requests.
He, of all people, knew what their sons and fathers were going through. He stared through the flames.
It was so hot and dry that he felt he could scarcely breathe. He was filthy, his clothes were ragged and he didn’t even care. He was too tired to care about anything. But his heart had leapt at the sound of a gentleman speaking in Danish to his body servant.
“I am American!” He shouted at the man’s back. “My father is William Dalton—he’s wealthy; he’ll pay a lot of money to see me sent home.”
The tall, blond gentleman turned and those steely grey eyes narrowed on Alex. He smiled. “American, eh?” Slowly, he approached. Then he stopped and his gaze seemed to tear Alex apart, piece by piece. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
The gentleman rubbed his mouth, examining Alex once more. A little too thoroughly for Alex’s comfort.
“Underneath all that grime, your hair is light blond, is it not?”
“Yes,” Alex answered, wondering why it mattered in a situation like this.
“Open your mouth, boy.”
“What?”
The Nordic-looking man frowned and snapped his fingers.
The bagnio keeper came
running over. “Yes, bay1m?”
“This boy is intact?”
“Yes, but we’re soon to fix—”
The gentleman held up a forestalling hand. “No, I want him as he is. But first I wish to examine his teeth. Please have him restrained.”
“Alex, no word of greeting for your dear cousin?”
Cornelia’s voice cut into his memory, pulling him back to the ballroom. His heart was racing and his shirt stuck to his body like a suffocating second skin.
“You haven’t even introduced me to your lovely companion. Such bad manners. I know your mother taught you better, boy.”
He glanced down at her sharp, blue eyes and small build and he forced a laugh. “Cornelia, let me introduce Miss Emily Eliot.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you, young lady.”
All of it from Aunt Rachel and none of it favourable, he’d wager. He smiled his most charming smile, knowing he’d have to work hard to get Emily into Cornelia’s good books. It was necessary that Emily find some acceptance in this world if Aunt Rachel was to fire her off in the marriage market next season…
“Alex.” Cornelia’s voice came through, polite and soft, with that sharp undertone. “You’re drifting again.”
“Pardon me. Emily, this is my cousin, Mrs Hazelwood.” He winked at Cornelia. “She’s going to take you around and introduce you to some people.”
“Now, wait just a moment, my boy—I’d like to get to know the young lady first, if you don’t mind.” She fixed her sharp blue eyes on Emily. “Who are your people?”
“Thomas Eliot was my father.”
“A sea captain, yes?”
“He was during the revolution.”
“Well, if he was before the revolution, he must have been afterwards. What ships did he sail?”
“He lost his ship.”
“But someone else would have paid him to captain their ship, surely.”
“He died in Algerian captivity, Cornelia,” Alex said with a firm undertone.
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