“It’s clean, we eat well, we’re treated with respect. And the midwives here are expert at birthing babies. What more could I ask?”
“Oh, my poor lamb.” Flora hitched a breath then firmed her face into the blank mask she had learned to keep in place during her many years as an innkeeper’s wife. “So there is nothing I can do for you?”
“Nothing, mother, but thank you. I never expected you to come here.”
Flora dug a well-filled purse out of an inner pocket in her cloak and pressed it into Holly’s hand. “That’s from your Da and me, just so we know you have a bit of your own set by.”
Holly burbled her thanks and gave her mother another hug before watching her go out the door, her footsteps heavy as she descended the stairs. Holly stared at the purse, whose contents she scarcely needed with all the friends who insisted on supplying her every need. But she could never have denied her mother the satisfaction of giving it. Nor her own satisfaction in knowing her parents still cared, in spite of her many transgressions.
Truthfully, it was good to know she could go home. If she rejected Lady R’s offer? If she couldn’t face the thought of life alone in the country? If . . .
If she was stronger, her mind not as sluggish as her body.
If, deep down, she wasn’t afraid of the process of getting her son out into the world.
Holly glanced down at the finger she had pricked with the needle and found the blood long gone. She reached for the sheet she had tossed aside, but somehow her fingers fumbled as she picked up the needle. It slid from her grasp, falling to the wooden floor with a faint clink. She couldn’t bend down to get it, she simply couldn’t. The blasted needle could stay there ’til Hell froze over.
Holly sat very still, her mind nearly as blank as the sheet she clutching. She refused to think about the future. She had too many helpers, too many people who cared. She wanted no part of the decisions they wanted her to make. She had agreed to Cecy’s suggestion of a cottage in the country when she knew quite well she hated the country, that she had fled Kent with a right good will. And even for all the gold in the world, how could she give up the lively child, her child, that kicked and squirmed so much she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep for weeks? And as for going home again, the humiliation of going off to London with such grand expectations and returning with nothing more than a bastard to show for all her grand plans . . .
Oh dear God, what was she to do?
An hour later Cecy peeked into Holly’s room, her eyes darkening with sympathy when she saw her once vivacious friend sitting motionless, staring into space, her hands and bulging lap lost under an expanse of crumpled white muslin. She tip-toed across the room, reluctant to disturb Holly, but it was a long drive from the city, and to go back without speaking to her was absurd. “Holly? Holly, are you asleep with your eyes wide open?”
Holly blinked, clutched the sheet more tightly to her swollen belly, then heaved a long sigh. “Cecy, I’m sorry, but my mother was here, and my brain seems to do nothing but spin in endless circles.”
“Your mother?”
“Indeed. And offering to take me home with her. ’Tis quite the most startling thing that has happened to me yet.”
Cecy tried to picture her own mother—the wife of a hellfire-and-brimstone-preaching Methodist minister—accepting her back into the fold if she were eight months gone. The image was so against the laws of nature, it simply would not materialize. Belle’s mother might have taken her back, if she had lived, but her father would have cast her into the streets, if he didn’t kill her first. So, of the three of them, Holly was the most fortunate in her parents, though Cecy wondered if she truly appreciated her parents’ support.
“Nick and I were talking,” Cecy ventured, “and he tells me he has no objection to getting a headstart on the brood of children he wants us to have.” Though, in truth, he’d had an odd look in his eye, one that hinted at plans he had not shared with her. Which was simply Nick being Nick and something she must learn to tolerate. “So I thought I should tell you, you have another alternative,” Cecy continued, putting on a cheerful smile to counteract Holly’s grim face.
“I think,” Holly said, slowly and carefully, her hands balling into fists, “that if I am given one more choice, I shall scream. No, that won’t be half enough. I shall make my way downstairs, crawl to the coaching road, if I must, and stop the first stagecoach that comes along. I shall ride off into the unknown, never to be heard from again—”
“Holly! How can you say such a thing after all we have—” Cecy, stricken by guilt, broke off. “I’m so sorry, truly I am. You’re right. We’ve been settling your life without a by-your-leave, each of us pulling in our own direction. But it’s only because we care, you know. We want what’s best for you.”
Holly offered a sad smile. “Which is particularly difficult as I have absolutely no idea what is best for me. Or for the babe.”
Cecy sighed. “At least coming to Boone Farm was the right thing to do.”
“Agreed. Even if this was Mr. Black’s only charity, it would still guarantee him a place in Heaven. Believe me, the girls are ever so grateful.”
“And yet all London is terrified of him.” Cecy looked down, her teeth biting into her lower lip.
“Did you not tell me he has moved on from most of that?” Holly said, “although his reputation lingers. What’s important is how you feel. Do you fear him?”
“Oh no, of course not.” Aware that her denial had been a bit too strong, Cecy added, “But one cannot live in the house on Princes Street and not feel the power. Nick holds a great many reins in his hands.”
“And he wishes to marry you?”
“So he says.”
“And you?”
“I cannot imagine life without him.”
“Then consider yourself fortunate, your choice is made.”
Slowly, Cecy nodded, though the eyes she raised to meet her friend’s steady brown gaze were filled with concern rather than the ebullient spirits of a bride-to-be. “And I understand we must all stop pestering you and allow you to make your choice in peace. Please forgive us.” Cecy’s lovely face twisted into a rueful grimace. “It won’t be easy, but from now on, I will do my best not to push you.” She huffed a sigh but responded to Holly’s sudden smile with a warm embrace. “I shall return on Friday,” Cecy said before setting her bonnet back on her head, tying the ribbons, and heading for the door.
Holly’s smile faded, her breath hitched. In two days time Cecy would be back. So why did she feel as if she’d just lost her last friend in the whole wide world?
Because, idiot, you just rejected her offer to raise your babe even before it was out of her mouth. Because you’ve lost what little sense God gave you and are rejecting help right and left, no matter what the results might be, no matter what is best for babe. And it wouldn’t hurt to think about what’s best for you too, you foolish twit!
How very odd. It was as if she were encased in a giant soap bubble, able to look out at the world but cut off from all contact. Holly Hammond and her babe, isolated and alone. She knew it wasn’t so . . . and yet here she was, trapped inside, where in the normal course of events the sun would reflect rainbow glints of happiness to celebrate the new life about to come into the world. But the air outside her bubble was dark and threatening, with storm clouds split by flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder. Coming closer, ever closer . . .
Holly jumped up, thrust the sheet back into the mending pile, hauled herself to her feet, and peered into the not-quite-true looking glass hung on the wall. Oh, Gawd! It was all too clear why she’d been avoiding mirrors. Was there anything left of the fine courtesan at all? Her long dark hair hung limp, without a hint of shine. Her usually handsome face was puffy, her dark eyes as dull as her hair. She stood back, attempting to see the rest of her. Devil take it, it was worse than she’d feared. That great lump could not possibly be Holly Hammond, one of the most sought-after graduates of the Aphrodite Academy.<
br />
Holly groaned. A visit to Boone Farm should be a required part of the Academy’s curriculum, so the girls would learn, in no uncertain terms, why they should always be careful.
A fine thought, which wasn’t going to do her own situation a bit of good. So . . .
Her chin firmed, her green eyes took on a glint of determination. Time to get off the endless merry-go-round, and find the dynamic, dry-witted, sharp-tongued girl she used to be. Time to choose.
Except the solutions had not changed. Each presented more drawbacks than happily ever afters.
Holly washed her hands and tear-stained face and made her painstaking descent down the stairs to dinner.
Chapter 3
The Venturer, Dockside, London
For perhaps the tenth time in the last five days Royce Kincade unfolded the letter of introduction penned by Nicholas Black. Every time he read it, he looked for a hidden message, for some charlatan’s trick that would land him in the suds rather than the prize being dangled before his nose. He hadn’t reached the ripe old age of thirty-two and been a ship’s master for three years without keeping an eye out for every kind of rough seas that could plague a merchant seaman. Particularly when Nick Black was involved.
And yet, however he read the brief missile, written in the bold black scrawl of a man confidant of his place in the world, he could find nothing more than its face value. And if he didn’t deliver it to its intended recipient soon, he might be receiving an entirely different message from his employer. A message to vacate his captain’s cabin for Venturer’s new master. Or, if rumors were to be believed, something even worse, such as a slash of the knife and a quick drop into the river.
His own ship. As a bribe, it couldn’t be topped. Which was part of the problem. It wasn’t easy to believe the hard-headed Nick Black would offer such a valuable prize for such a negligible service. Royce didn’t spend much time in port, after all, and wives were so easily forgotten . . .
Two more runs with Venturer, and then . . .
Seated at his desk in the surprisingly spacious captain’s cabin that had been his home for the last three years, Royce examined his quarters. The sturdy desk was anchored to the floor, one side with a drawer deep enough to hold his sextant. He had the luxury of a good-size built-in bed and three built-in drawers for his clothes. Above his head were two hanging lamps; between them, a long rack that held rolled-up maps of the world’s seas and harbors. And today, the view through his broad stern window revealed a forest of masts from other merchant vessels tied up at Nicholas Black’s private dock. ’Twas said he’d once been a mudlark, and how he’d risen to prince of London’s underworld Royce did not want to know.
And now Black was offering an opportunity for Royce to be his own man. For a full minute the Venturer’s captain sat motionless, scowling into thin air, before carefully re-folding the note and tucking it into an inside coat pocket.
An echo from schooldays filled his head. Caesar quoting the ancient Greeks, if he remembered correctly. The die is cast. He was about to cross his own Rubicon, the devil take the hindmost.
Boone Farm
“Coo, Holly, but ain’t you the one fer visitors.” The girl assigned to messenger duty on this particular day, her belly almost as mountainous as Holly’s, stood panting in the doorway for several seconds before adding, “But this one’s a right treat. And male, so you’ll have to come down if you wants to see him. Here, he giv’ me this.” The girl pushed herself off the lintel and crossed to Holly, thrusting into her hand a folded but unsealed letter written on high-quality parchment.
“Is it Mr. Black?” Holly asked, well aware Nick Black was the only man besides tradesmen to enter the carefully guarded portals of Boone Farm.
“Now wouldn’t I have said so if it were him? I mean, everybody knows Mr. Black. This one I never seen before. Kinda rough-cut, he is. An outdoor sort of man.”
One of Black’s henchmen then. But why on earth . . .? As Holly unfolded the note and read it, her scowl deepened. The letter told her nothing. In fact, it made no sense at all.
My dear Miss Hammond,
I recommend to you Captain Royce Kincade, who has worked for me for the past five years. He is an honest, reliable man, one I am happy to call friend. I would greatly appreciate your listening to what he has to say.
With best regards for your future,
Nicholas Black
Holly read the note a second time, no better enlightened than she was the first time. Merciful heavens! What was happening here? Clearly, she had no choice. Nicholas Black owned the roof over her head, was the benefactor who put food on the girls’ table each night, and made sure they did not go out into the world penniless when they left Boone Farm. Gratitude alone would ensure that she greeted his emissary properly.
And then there were all the other things said about Nick Black . . . One did not say no to Nick Black.
Hastily, Holly made sure her hair was properly confined in a demure knot on the back of her head. She pinched her cheeks, rubbed her lips together to force some color into them. She put aside her apron, smoothed the folds of her loose gown, and sighed. Absolutely nothing could be done to disguise the fact that her belly stuck out in front of her like the prow of a ship. Only a few days past the midwife had muttered something about twins. Just one more coal heaped on the fire of her disgrace.
Her stupidity.
She was keeping the mysterious Captain Kincade waiting.
Holly attempted to straighten her shoulders and got a good hard kick for her efforts. “I’m going, I’m going,” she muttered to her impatient babe—babes?—and slowly made her way downstairs to the parlor.
Oh. My. No wonder Daisy had been all atwitter. As well over six feet of Captain Royce Kincade unfolded from a chair, Holly could only stare. He was not only tall, he was broad-shouldered and lean-hipped. She dismissed the thought that he might be a captain in the army. This man had the weathered skin and sharp, far-seeing eyes of a ship’s captain. Which instantly raised his rank from junior officer to a man capable of commanding every aspect of the world around him. He might work for Nick Black, but for the vast majority of his time, he was accustomed to being the man in charge. Of that she had no doubt. In Boone Farm’s small parlor, his presence was nearly overwhelming.
Holly took her time seating herself on the sofa, arranging a pillow behind her back, all the while struggling to slip back into the role of Holly Hammond, graduate of the Aphrodite Academy, a woman of polished speech, good education, and worldly experience.
“Please be seated, Captain, and tell me what brings you to Boone Farm. Mr. Black’s note has piqued my curiosity.” She stifled an unexpected giggle as she noted the stalwart captain making a noble effort to keep his eyes on her face. As he lowered his bulk into a chair, he was not altogether successful. The ears sticking out of the chestnut hair he wore swept back in a cue, were tinged with pink. Ah, lovely! The captain’s emotions were not as bland as the face he wore.
His words, however, were not at all bland.
“I’ll be blunt,” he said, placing a hand on each arm of his chair. “Mr. Black has offered me an opportunity for independence, to be sole owner of my ship Venturer, in return for one small favor. A favor where I have much to gain and little to lose. There is, I fear, but one great obstacle. You, Miss Hammond, hold the key to my obtaining my desire, and I hesitate to put the matter into words.
Holly strongly suspected he had practiced this speech and could only applaud his effort, though she hadn’t the slightest idea what he was talking about. But he was eyeing her in a manner she could only describe as man-to-man, a most unusual attitude, one she had never encountered before. But being treated with equality certainly made her more willing to listen to what he had to say, however nonsensical.
“Please continue, Captain.”
For a moment his eyes strayed to her belly, and it was Holly’s turn to blush, although she’d thought herself long past such a juvenile betrayal of emotion.
&nbs
p; “A man of the sea spends little time at home,” he said, clearly choosing his words with care. “Perhaps a month in port each year. So you’d find me little trouble if you took me as your husband.”
Husband! Had he actually said, “husband”?
Holly gathered her scattered wits, firmed them into some measure of sanity, and managed, “Are you making me an offer of marriage, Captain?”
The shrewd blue eyes stared straight back at her, as cool and calm as a sheltered pond, as if he dealt with crises on a daily basis. And perhaps he did.
“I am.” The two words rumbled through her, engulfed her senses, threatened to overwhelm her hard-earned common sense.
Holly’s fingers plucked at the loose folds of her gown, as she fought for some semblance of reason. “Let me see if I understand you, Captain. Mr. Black has offered you a ship of your own if you will marry me.”
“I’ve been captain of Venturer for three years now. If you marry me, after two more runs, she’s mine.”
“And you want her so badly you are willing to marry a whore with a babe in her belly?”
“Miss Hammond!”
“Shocked by a bit of plain-speaking, Captain?”
He folded his arms across his broad chest and frowned at her, rather like an irate teacher about to scold a erring student. “Believe me, Nick Black is nothing if not blunt. Yet he painted a quite different picture. He said you were one of Lady Rivenhall’s girls, a courtesan of education and exceptional skills. A woman abandoned by her lover.”
Holly hung her head, saying nothing.
“I have no great estates, Miss Hammond. Nor am I bound by primogeniture. Therefore, I have no problem accepting the child as my own.” When Holly said nothing, he added, “Believe me, Miss Hammond, Venturer must be close to the highest value ever placed on a courtesan.”
Holly sighed and shook her head. “You mistake the matter, Captain. It is his betrothed’s opinion Mr. Black values so highly. He does this for my friend Cecilia, and if I live to be a hundred I can never properly thank him for so generous a gesture.”
Holly Page 2
