His voice fell to a whisper.
“And sometimes, I look at you and believe you are your mother.”
He lowered his head for a moment and when he looked back up at her, his eyes were filled with unshed tears. “Perhaps when that happens, it is a small vision that God gives me as a promise I will see Anna again in the next life. But I am frightened, Morwena.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. It would be so easy to fall to tears herself.
“I want you to have the ironmongers’ store,” he said, his voice firmer, “to run it as you see fit. Once, many years ago, I had a dream it would be Pietro and Nico who would join me as Gambino and Sons but…”
“Father…”
“I mean it. I have had documents drawn up. This afternoon, we will visit Father Pieu and he will witness it, so there can be no misunderstanding. He will testify that I am in my right mind and will be your advocate. Times are changing, my girl, and I am too old and too tired to change with them. Do you understand?”
Morwena nodded.
“Should you marry,” he continued, “I want the business to remain Gambino. It will stay in your hands to be passed down to your sons.”
“Father, what if Nico came home?” She couldn’t bring herself to say Pietro’s name.
She watched her father’s eyes carefully. There was no flash of temper behind them as once there would have been, but rather a sadness. “Then I will leave it up to you to decide what is fair, should your brother be reconciled. But I will not be moved on this – the business is yours alone.”
Morwena nodded slowly, as though if she showed too much enthusiasm she might scare this precious moment away and have it take flight like a small bird.
She met her father’s eyes. They held hers without hesitation. He was a hard man, a proud man. Coming to this moment would not have been easy. For other men, the decision to give his business to his daughter would have been a source of shame.
“I’ve given this a lot of thought, Morwena. I’m proud of you. You think I don’t see, but I do… sometimes.”
Now she did burst into tears.
“Oh, Papa, I am an unworthy daughter! I have been lying to you for months and it’s made me heartsick. Before I accept your gift, I want to tell you everything and then you can decide once and for all whether you want to still give me the business to run.”
Thomasso’s own tears fell unabashed. “Your very words tell me you are worthy, Daughter.”
Morwena drew a deep breath and told her father about everything – the warehouse, her relationship with Nico, her new business partnership with the officers of the Terpsichore, everything.
Except Pietro… it would kill Thomasso to know his eldest son was now a lowly criminal.
***
There was no reason why Morwena had to go down to the wharf. She had signed off on the inventory herself two days ago. Nico and the crew from the Terpsichore were more than capable of loading the ship itself.
No, if she was honest with herself, she was there to see Jonathan. Indeed, she had done something so distinctly feminine that even her brother stared at her when she arrived at the warehouse. Her hair was swept up in what she recalled might be a fashionable style. She wore one of her best day dresses in red. She even wore the small pearls earrings that once belonged to her mother and applied rouge to add a little color to her fair cheeks and lips – mind you, only a little, not enough to scandalize the busybody old women who clucked like chickens every time they thought a young woman was at risk of bringing disgrace to her family.
Today, she felt like a semi-prosperous woman of leisure, Cenerentola at the ball instead of the poor servant girl sitting in the ashes.
She adjusted the reticule on her arm and looked out across the warehouse once again before making her way to her brother.
“I didn’t recognize you! I was going to say that the glamorous senorina is in the wrong place,” he grinned. “Perhaps, she still is. If she has forgotten that this is a place of work...”
“I haven’t forgotten, in the same ways I haven’t forgotten I am a woman and from time to time want to look like one.”
“Well, look around you, Wena, and tell me what you see.”
She turned around slowly. And, indeed, Nico was correct, all of the men – mostly she recognized from the Terpsichore – were looking at her. She grinned.
“I see men who should be working instead of staring!”
The men laughed and returned to their work – except one who approached.
“My lady, you bring us beauty and good fortune!” Hardacre then took her hand and kissed it. “I’m sure I’m not the only member of the Terpsichore who will be happy to see you.”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”
Kit burst out laughing. “Yes, I’m quite sure you don’t. So, in that case, you won’t at all be interested in paying a visit to the ship.”
She enjoyed matching wits with the pirate captain and even Cettina had admitted to a little crush on the Englishman. But he did not stir her heart as Jonathan did.
Her heart tumbled a few beats at the thought of him. He kissed me. And the memory, even the taste of it, lingered. Was that feeling born just in the heat of a dramatic moment? She’d been in dread terror for her life that night and, when it was over, she felt as though she could reach the heavens and the stars with the touch of her finger.
Did Jonathan feel the same?
Surely he must. Nothing could dampen her mood. This morning, her father had even agreed to meet with Nico, to have him dine with the family. If that went well, then perhaps there would be a fatted calf.
Her eyes fell across a large collection of crates. She frowned. She didn’t recognize them. They were certainly not something she had bought.
They had no manufacturer’s mark. Some were long cases about fifteen feet in length, there were six of them and apparently relatively light – she watched two men lifting one onto a trolley without much difficulty. Other crates were smaller, six foot long cubes. The small, square crates were clearly heavier, she deduced after watching the men strain to shift them.
“Come on,” said Kit. “Let’s go see where our navigator is.” She folded her arm in his quite companionably. Nico followed alongside. It felt as though she had two brothers once more.
The deck of the Terpsichore was organized chaos. They navigated their way around the crowded deck and skirted one of the open hatches where pallets of crates she had noticed in the warehouse were being lowered.
“So, what are you going to bring me back, Captain? Wine from Pantelleria? Wheat from Tunisia?”
Kit said nothing and simply smiled.
“Or perhaps some woolen carpets, they are very popular. The finest villas are always looking for the best examples. Or some fine Egyptian perfumes.”
“I’m not going to promise anything. You’ll have to wait and see.”
“So what are you trading? I give you basic supplies, some bits and pieces… little more than trinkets, and you bring aboard crates and crates. What is in those crates? I’d like to know.”
Kit halted. “Have you heard the story of Bluebeard?”
“Bluebeard? What kind of name is that? Beards aren’t blue.”
Kit grinned. “Nevertheless, Bluebeard was a wealthy nobleman who married many times but his wives all mysteriously vanished. One day, he married again and told his new bride she could have anything she wanted as long as she obeyed one dictate – she must never enter a particular locked room in his villa. Then one day he went away and left her with the keys. The woman’s curiosity got the better of her and she unlocked the door. Do you know what she found?”
Morwena shook her head.
“The bodies of all the other wives who didn’t obey.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Am I?”
Morwena picked up an edge to his voice, so she searched his face for some other clue. There was none. His puckish expression, wide eyes, and a hint of a grin w
ere still there and yet… there was something in the way he held himself that suggested that the warning against womanly curiosity was meant to be taken seriously.
Hardacre blinked and she felt released from his hypnotic attention.
“Morwena!”
As soon as she saw Jonathan’s face, she let out a sigh of relief and made her way toward him. His look of delight thrilled her. He set down the crate he held on his shoulder and took her hands.
“I didn’t expect to see you before we left,” he said.
“I wanted to see you,” she said. She watched his face; his was not as hard to read as Kit Hardacre’s. Hardacre had a mask for show, and what lay beneath was perhaps the real man, if it could be gleaned. But Jonathan’s face was open and unguarded, at least to her, and it was only when it came to talking about his late wife and children that he shuttered his emotions.
She saw surprise, perhaps a little pleasure in his eyes. She hoped for more when he reached out to touch her arm and guide her away from a couple of sailors carrying lengths of timber past her along the deck.
“Come on, let’s go to the aft deck and keep out of everyone’s way,” he said.
She followed him to the bridge where he seemed to really notice her for the first time. He looked her up and down, and she turned full circle, startling herself a little at the impulsive, girlish gesture, so he could see her dress of claret red, trimmed with white lace and thin, black velvet ribbon at the bodice and sleeves.
“You are looking especially lovely today,” he said, and she wondered if he did so out of obligation.
“Is something wrong?”
Morwena watched Jonathan’s face carefully, looking for a twitch of muscle beneath his dark skin – anything – that would reveal something of what he was thinking.
She pressed on. “After that night, when you escorted me home and we…” she swallowed before she added the word “kissed”. “… I wondered whether that was the beginning of a certain… affection.”
If she looked hard enough, she was sure she could see Jonathan consider and discard various thoughts before he chose one.
“I haven’t forgotten,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He raised his eyes, looking beyond her to the busy deck. “Let’s go somewhere private to talk.”
Once again, she followed him down the steps and into Hardacre’s deserted cabin. Jonathan hesitated, then closed the door.
“Morwena, what do you know about me?”
What sort of question was that? She shrugged.
“What is there to know? You are a man. A hardworking one, who is kind, brave and clever. I’ve seen the cross you wear, so you are a Christian man.”
He folded his arms and leaned back against the drafting table. He was withdrawing from her, she could see it right before her eyes.
“I know you have been good to my brother,” she continued. “He respects you. Already, he considers you a friend. I know you like me and in a way that is more than just a friend.”
“And that is the problem, Morwena. I do care for you ‘more than just as a friend’, but somewhere in my mind – in my heart – I still feel married. The night I held you in my arms and kissed you was the first time since…”
He hesitated, then drew another breath. “How can I make you understand? The blood of my wife and daughters cries out from the earth to be avenged. When I am with you, their voices are quiet and their faces, which I see in my mind’s eye, fade just a little. I’m not sure I’m ready to let them go and that’s not fair on you.”
“So, what does that mean? You plan to avenge your wife and daughters. I am Sicilian, I can understand that. But is it going to be the total of your life? Is there nothing more than revenge that stirs you? What if you get your revenge? What then? Will you spend the rest of your life mourning them?”
Morwena was panting by the time the words finished tumbling out. Jonathan had turned away, looking out through the stern windows.
“That was unforgivable for me to say,” she whispered.
“No, not unforgivable.” He turned to face her. “It was honest. So I’ll do you the courtesy of being honest in return. You’re not entirely wrong. You’re a formidable woman who deserves a man who can give her all of himself. You will never be satisfied with less. I cannot give it to you.”
Morwena let out a laugh and turned toward the door.
“I am nothing more than a merchant’s daughter. Perhaps I do not deserve more than I already have. I pray a safe journey for you. Even more so, now I see for myself how much the Terpsichore has prepared herself to wage a war. I hope it’s worth it.”
She put a gloved hand on the door handle and had opened it an inch when she felt Jonathan behind her. He put a hand at the door. It slammed shut.
Her body became acutely aware of his presence. The eddy of his breath tickled her neck and caressed her ears.
“Morwena.”
Her very name became a caress and she felt tears prick the back of her lids. Jonathan’s hands touched her shoulders and, with very little urging, she turned to him, even if she could not look up and face him.
He enfolded her into his arms and she accepted the embrace. Her hands spread across his broad back. It felt good.
They stood in silence together, ignoring the sounds of the world outside. She heard only the sounds his breathing, the beat of his heart. She closed her eyes and tried to absorb the warmth and strength of him. She would never love another, of that she was suddenly sure. And if this was to be their moment together, then she would etch every memory onto her heart and let it sear into her soul.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jonathan trailed light fingers across Morwena’s back. He listened to her sigh.
He meant every word of it. When he had married Mellesse, he had done so with his whole heart, without reservation, willingly taking on the injunction to love and honor her until death parted them.
It was easy; they were each others’ first loves. Never did he imagine that there would be another. Not until now. What if his feelings were wrong – a misplaced form of grief that made him gravitate toward the vibrant girl he had in his arms? Did he truly dishonor his wife, or was that simply an excuse to hide himself, to retreat from the world outside?
The door knob turned and the door opened the smallest amount before Jonathan slammed it shut once more with the heel of his hand, giving Morwena a moment to move away from the door.
He glanced at her, just before he opened the door. Her face was lowered as she was looking through the little, silk, drawstring purse at her wrist. She fished out a linen handkerchief.
The person on the other side of the door tried the handle once again, without avail. Instead, there was a light rap.
Morwena raised her face and gave him a nod. Jonathan opened the door.
“What on earth, man? We’re…” Elias Nash was uncharacteristically annoyed, but paused his invective as he saw Morwena.
“Forgive me, Miss Gambino. I thought one of the men was shirking his duties by hiding in here.”
Then he caught Jonathan’s eye.
“Kit says we’ll be ready to sail in an hour.”
Jonathan acknowledged the news with a nod.
Clearly embarrassed, Elias backed away from the doorway then halted, reaching into his shirt.
“A messenger arrived with a letter for you.”
Jonathan accepted it. Elias offered a sheepish half-smile once more and departed. Jonathan glanced at the letter. The seal on the back was that of the Afua family. He turned it over and recognized his cousin’s hand in the address in the Roman alphabet. Below it, in the cursive Amharic script of his native Ethiopia, was unmistakably his brother’s writing.
Morwena glanced at the letter in his hand, and then back up to him. “I should go.” She stuffed the kerchief back into her reticule and, with her head held high, moved toward the door. It was a performance worthy of a queen.
“Morwena, wait.”
She turned her head toward hi
m slightly, a small regal tilt to her chin.
“Wait? What is it I am to wait for?”
Jonathan let out a huff of breath in frustration.
“Then go. Just go with your injured pride. I have given you the most honest answer I have to give. If that is not enough for you, then there is nothing more to be said, is there?”
Morwena’s eyes wandered down to the letter in his hand once more.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I am prideful.”
“And used to getting your own way.”
She skewered him with a look.
“I know my own faults well enough. I don’t need you to list them for me.”
He laughed – that was the woman he admired. He reached across the divide. He took her hand and, with a light tug, drew her to him. He kissed her gloved hand.
“I need to tell you that you are beautiful, passionate and smart.”
He kissed her cheek.
“I need to tell you that I will miss you while I am gone and I will tell you how much I missed you when I return in three weeks.”
She shook her head.
“Let us not make promises. Not right now.”
She hesitated, then kissed him on the cheek.
“Godspeed and keep safe. I will keep you and the crew of the Terpsichore in my prayers.”
He remained where he was and watched her go, catching a glimpse of the dark red fabric of her skirt as she climbed the steps up to the deck.
“Ah, there you are, Miss Gambino!”
Jonathan shook his head at Elias’ greeting, hailed from the helm as though he had not just seen her a moment before. “I have a list of some more requirements…”
Jonathan did not hear the rest of the sentence or what Morwena answered as they moved away from the hatch.
Had he made a mistake? There was no hiding his interest. But what, exactly, did that mean? Until he knew his own heart, he could not possibly offer it. And what of his family? He wasn’t even sure he had a living to offer her. Could he go back and run a coffee plantation? Could he ask her to leave everything she had and follow him so far away from home among a people and language so different to her own?
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