Tuesday's Child

by Jeanette Baker

  She nodded and disappeared down the companionway.

  Shock registered on the captain's face as Daniel turned to follow her. The captain's hand shot out to grab his sleeve.

  "What kind of man are you?" he demanded, as Daniel turned to face him. "Your wife takes comfort in my arms and you go calmly off to bed."

  " Stay out of this, Waverly," Daniel warned him. "You know nothing about it."

  "I know this." Thomas Waverly couldn't remember when he'd been so angry. "If she were my wife, I would make sure she had no need for anyone but me."

  Daniel's eyes blazed a brilliant gold. "I am growing accustomed to finding my wife in the arms of other men, Captain. Unless you wish to take your place in line, I suggest you leave her alone."

  The silence drew out between them. Just as Daniel was about to turn away, Waverly's words stopped him.

  "I know something about the nature of women, lad," he said softly. "Your wife is no harlot."

  Daniel's bitter laugh floated across the quiet deck. "Can't you see that makes it even worse."

  When he opened the door to the cabin, Daniel could barely make out Tess's form under the bedclothes. She was huddled against the wall, her body curled into a tight ball, as if to discourage any contact between them.

  He cursed under his breath. Shrugging out of his coat, he untied his cravat and walked over to the bed. Reaching out, he touched her shoulder.

  She tensed and pulled away.

  Daniel looked down at the bright hair loose on the pillow. He wound his fingers through its silken softness. Her cheek, barely visible behind the silvery mane, was wet with tears. He felt instant remorse. This was Tess, his wife. How had they come to this?

  His earliest memories were of her. She was his friend, his confidante, his childhood sweetheart, his love. From the time she was fourteen years old, he had wanted to marry her. Raging jealousy had consumed him when men, older and more sophisticated than he, had squired her to local parties and barbeques. He lived in fear of her falling in love with one of them.

  She had laughed away his doubts and, true to her word, married him shortly after her nineteenth birthday. He had been the happiest man on earth. The thought of her lovely face, and slim golden body, had kept him alive and sane through his impressment on the British man-o'war, and during the long months of hell in Dartmoor Prison.

  Obeying his instincts, he bent his head and kissed her tear-stained cheek.

  Tess turned to look at him. He was struck, once again, by the perfect symmetry of her features and the clear slate-grey beauty of her eyes.

  With a groan, he gathered her into his arms, blindly seeking her mouth. After a moment, her lips parted under the demand of his tongue.

  Breathing heavily, he released her and stood up. Removing his clothes, he returned to the bed and lifted the nightgown over her head. He threw it to the floor and lay down beside her.

  "It's time we finished this," he muttered pulling her against him.

  Tess forced herself to relax as his hands explored her body. His lips were warm on her neck and breasts. An unsettled feeling began in the pit of her stomach. She gritted her teeth. He moved over her, wedging his leg between her thighs. Bile rose in her throat. She could feel the heat of him, hard and insistent, against her. Nausea swept through her. She could hold it back no longer. Pressing a hand against her mouth, she pushed him away.

  Confused, he lifted his head. Correctly assessing the look on her face, he stood up and quickly reached for the basin, handing it to her just in time. He held her hair back and spoke in soothing tones as she retched, again and again, into the bowl.

  When it was clear there was nothing left to come up, he wiped her face with a cool cloth and gently tucked the blanket around her exhausted form. Stretching out beside her, he tossed and turned in frustrated silence until at last, exhaustion overtook him and he slept.

  Chapter 22

  The scene repeated itself the following morning and again, later in the afternoon. Tess managed to consume a normal amount of food at meals, only to lose everything she ate shortly after. Raised from infancy in a family of women, she immediately realized the horrifying nature of her condition. With a sense of inevitability she counted off the months on her fingers. There could be no doubt. She was three months gone with child.

  She was distracted by the drum roll below, its sharp staccato rhythm signaling an alarm to all members of the crew.

  "What's happened?" asked Tess, clutching the sleeve of a seaman who tried to rush by.

  He tipped his cap. "An enemy sail on the horizon," he replied before hurrying on. "It looks British."

  "But we've safe passage," whispered Tess.

  The captain suddenly appeared beside her and smiled. "I never could resist a wealthy cargo. It might be better if you waited in the hold. Unless British marksmanship has improved, you'll probably be safe, but I wouldn't chance it."

  She thought of the dark hold and the stench of the bilge. Shaking her head she said, "I couldn't. Please, don't insist."

  He gave her a sharp look but didn't argue.

  "Be careful," he warned before shouting, "break out her colors, Mr. Cole."

  Men poured from the hatches at the first beat of the drum. The ship had been a whirling beehive of disciplined activity for several minutes. Now, all they had left to do was wait.

  The British ship, a clumsy frigate, was very close. The Union Jack and the royal ensign fluttered side by side. Tess could hear a loud cheering. She watched Daniel, his face hard with determination, strap on a sword.

  Rushing to his side, she shouted above the voices. "What are you doing?"

  "She means to close," he answered. "Waverly needs every man."

  "Waverly chased the frigate down. He's risking men's lives for profit." She could feel the deck shudder and leap as the guns discharged. "This isn't your battle."

  "The hell it isn't!" Fury contorted Daniel's face. "I spent three months on one of those ships and I've the scars to prove it. I was starved and beaten in the worst pesthole known to man. This is my fight more than anyone here."

  "What if something happens to you?" Her voice was so low it looked as if she mouthed the words.

  Leaning close to her ear, he spoke deliberately. "Then, you'll have every reason to return to your English duke."

  Her face paled as if she'd been struck. Without a backward glance, she turned and walked into the companionway.

  "Keep at it, lads," Waverly shouted as a splinter of mast missed his head by inches. The answering roar of the American guns thundered against the frigate's hull.

  The ships were so close that Tess could see the agonized features on the faces of the dying men. Even from her position in the safety of the companionway, she knew that the marksmanship of those on the enemy ship was not nearly as accurate as that of the men on the Baltimore schooner.

  American seamen were boarding the British vessel. A sail fell, sweeping the men on the frigate across the deck and into the ocean. British seamen fell to their deaths, stilled by the nightmarish precision of American bullets. Crashing to the deck, the mainmast gave way, imprisoning two men as it fell. With a roar, the sloop raked the helpless frigate with a final barrage of bullets.

  Tess turned away, sickened by the cries of the dying men. So, this was war. No wonder Nathanial Harrington had argued so forcefully against it.

  "Will you lower your colors, sir?" The question, so politely phrased by Waverly to the British captain, struck Tess as laughable. There was one seaman left on the British quarterdeck to relay the message. He stood at the helm, rigid and unmoving, unable to believe the slaughter before his eyes. Only twelve men in all were unhurt. One of them, Tess saw with unbelieving eyes, was James Devereaux.

  The battle had lasted less than half an hour. Battered beyond recognition, the British ship, a wreckage of men and sails and rigging, lay on its side in a quiet sea. Most of her crew lay dead or wounded.

  Tess watched in numbed silence as the prisoners were ordered
below. Only then, did she remember Daniel. He stood in the waist staring at the prisoners as they disappeared below deck. He turned accusing eyes on Tess.

  "Is it a coincidence that Langley happens to be sailing across the Atlantic at the same time you are?" Jealousy ate at his insides. "Why do you look so surprised?" he demanded. "Did you think I wouldn't recognize him?"

  She didn't pretend to misunderstand. The injustice of his accusation infuriated her.

  "Yes," she answered, "It is a coincidence, and yes, I knew you would recognize him." Her eyes were dark with anger. "He isn't a man one would easily forget."

  He blanched. She turned away quickly before he could see the tears in her eyes. Making her way below deck, she listened for voices. They came from the dining room. Pushing open the door, she came face-to-face with the duke of Langley.

  His shirt was torn and bloody, the cravat missing entirely, and his fawn buckskins were stained. She was sure he had never, in his entire life, been so dirty. But the lean, hard-muscled body was unmarked, and the blue eyes looked at her with an expression that made her want to smile for the first time since Daniel Bradford had come back into her life. She felt like laughing and crying at the same time. No stranger, looking at that straight back and arrogant face, would ever take him for less than he was.

  "You've the devil of a nerve," Waverly said, addressing the duke. "Prisoners are usually chained in the hold."

  Devereaux's voice was deadly quiet. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Captain."

  The silence was deafening. Tess watched in horror as the captain surveyed his prisoner.

  Devereaux, bracing himself against a table, appeared completely relaxed. As usual his very presence made everyone else in the room appear insignificant.

  "You must know how the situation stands," Waverly said stiffly. "I cannot turn back now."

  "I understand that." The duke's clipped voice allowed no quarter. "I don't mind sailing with you to Annapolis. There, I'll find a return ship."

  The two men continued to stare at one another. Tess's palms were damp. She wiped them on her skirt.

  All at once the captain laughed. "The hell with you, then. Do as you will. I'll arrange for a prisoner exchange when we reach Annapolis."

  Devereaux bowed. "My thanks, Captain." He gave his full attention to Tess. "May I have a word with you?" he asked gently.

  Thomas Waverly frowned. "What business do you have with Mrs. Bradford?"

  A muscle leaped along the hard line of Devereaux's cheek. "That is none of your concern."

  "Now see here," Waverly's face flushed with anger. "Mrs. Bradford is a passenger on my ship."

  Tess broke in, her face bright with embarrassment. "It's quite all right, Captain," she explained hurriedly. "The duke and I knew each other in London. Please leave us alone."

  "I don't allow interference in the running of my ship," Waverly announced staring pointedly at the duke. "It would be best to remember that."

  "I'm only concerned with reaching Spain," Devereaux answered. "If anyone complains of harassment, you'll hear of it."

  Unconvinced, Waverly led his first mate and the frigate's prisoners out the door.

  All at once, the room was very quiet. Tess felt alone and strangely uncomfortable. Desperately, she searched for something to say. Nothing came to mind.

  Devereaux broke the silence. "I'm sorry for this, Tess."

  Blood rushed to her cheeks and she lifted her head to look directly at him. "What did you wish to say to me, m'lord?"

  He searched her face, drinking in the quiet loveliness he thought he would never see again.

  "How are you?" he began.

  "Well," she lied.

  "You don't look well," he said bluntly.

  For one terrible moment, she thought she would weep. Turning away before he could see her weakness, she brushed her eyes with her sleeve.

  His hand, steady and warm, closed over her arm. "Tess, look at me," he commanded.

  She looked at him defiantly, daring him to mention her tear-bright eyes and trembling chin.

  The warmth of his smile startled her. "We know too much of each other to hide our feelings. What troubles you, my love?"

  "Don't call me that," she blurted out. "I'm not your love."

  His hand tightened on her arm. He swore softly and she shrank from the expression in his eyes. Slowly, the angry blue flames subsided. "Whatever happens, never deny that," he said, in control of himself once again.

  For a long time, the world stood still. She looked at his strong, harsh face. The warmth of his touch reassured her. With a sigh, she went into his welcoming arms. He held her as he had when Lizzie was hurt. The coldness and pain of the last two weeks left her aching body and she closed her eyes.

  They stayed together, the dark head bent over the light one, for a long time. Tess heard voices outside the cabin and the world rushed back. She pulled away and looked up at him.

  "Thank you, James," she said. "I must go now."

  His expression revealed nothing. Without speaking, he nodded and released her.

  She left the room and walked slowly to the cabin she shared with Daniel. Once again, the nausea came upon her with full force, and she leaned her head against the door. It opened unexpectedly and she lost her balance.

  Daniel caught her in his arms. He looked at her pale face and the beads of perspiration on her lip. Acting quickly, he carried her to the bed and reached for the basin.

  When it was over, she lay spent with exhaustion against the cushions. Daniel sat on a chair by the bed and watched her. Her slight body shook from the violent ordeal and the blue shadows under her eyes gave her a bruised, almost fragile appearance.

  "You've never suffered from seasickness before," he said, a thoughtful look on his face.

  Tess opened her eyes. Pulling herself to a sitting position, she reached for a glass of water. The taste in her mouth repelled her. Swallowing a long draught, she placed the glass on the table and looked directly at the stranger she had once promised to love and honor forever.

  "I'm not seasick, Daniel," she answered. Her eyes were level on his face. There was no easy way to tell him. "I'm going to have a child."

  For the rest of her life, Tess would remember the way he looked at that moment. He despised her. She could see it in the tight set of his jaw and the bitter hatred deepening his eyes to a brilliant gold.

  "I see," was all he said, but she heard a thousand recriminations in the brief words, as if he'd shouted them for everyone to hear.

  After a long moment he asked, "Are you sure? After all, you're hardly experienced at these things. Perhaps it's influenza, after all."

  Color flamed across her cheeks. She lifted her head and met his hopeful glance. "I'm sure," she replied.

  "You can't really know until you've seen a doctor," he persisted.

  "Daniel," Tess lost her patience. "I lived with James Devereaux for three months. It was a marriage in every sense of the word."

  The ticking of the wall clock was the only sound in the tense silence.

  "Does he know?" Daniel asked.

  "No."

  "Then we won't tell him." He walked to the door, sure of his purpose. Reaching out to push it open, he turned back to her. "The child will be raised as my own. No one need know it isn't a Bradford."

  "You can't possibly mean that," she whispered, her outraged eyes on his face.

  "Do we have an alternative?"

  Her throat felt very dry. She swallowed. "My father and sisters will know of my marriage to Langley. I'm sure they've told someone in Annapolis."

  "On the contrary." He gave her a thin-lipped smile. "Few Americans would be overjoyed by their daughters marrying Englishmen, no matter how wealthy or powerful. Your father has most likely kept the news within the family."

  "What about Caroline, Langley's sister?"

  He opened the door. "I'll handle Caroline."

  "Daniel," she jumped up from the bed and ran to clutch his arm. "You can't mean this
. The child is a Devereaux. How can you even consider such a deception?"

  "You should have thought of that before you climbed into another man's bed," he answered, slamming the door behind him.

  She listened to the sound of his angry footsteps until, at last, they died away.

  "I thought you were dead," she whispered to the empty walls. "You were supposed to be dead."

  Chapter 23

  All schooners built in Nathanial Harrington's shipyards were built to withstand an ocean of water rolling across their decks. Thomas Waverly's ship was no exception. The crew gave up trying to outrun the storm, reefed the sails and tied down the masts, their voices raised in an occasional shout of laughter. Tess looked at the sinister skies, and angry dark waves and was afraid.

  Suddenly it was upon them and there was no longer any time for fear. Gentle swells became rolling mountains, pushing the small schooner backwards and sideways off its course. Ocean spray covered the ship as it lay on its side in the grey waves, losing everything not securely tied down. Every available hand was needed to take in the sails and save their precious supplies.

  Hanging on the hatch, Tess was fascinated by the enormous ocean rolling past her eyes. White lightning and roaring thunder urged the massive tons of water to slam against the thin hull of the deck, spinning the tiny ship like a twig caught in the eddying current of a mighty river.

  Unbelievably, she heard the sound of her name through the wind. Turning, she saw James Devereaux, his hair wet with rain and plastered to his head, making his way toward her across the slanting deck. His eyes were wild and exultant as if he were very pleased with the ship and the storm and the very sight of her standing alone near the hatch, the excitement in her expression matching his own.

  Tess was not surprised to see him. She knew he and the captain had come to an unusual understanding and that he had the run of the ship.

  "I see you couldn't stay below," he said. Holding on to the railing, he made his way to her side. "Are you seasick?"

  She shook her head. Suddenly, a crashing wave knocked her sprawling across the deck. Every timber creaked and groaned. The very hull itself seemed to break apart and through it all, the eerie keening of the wind whistled through the masts.