“I’m tellin’ ya, Bea. If ya know what’s right, ya better make that broth. When the lady mends—”
“Mends? Ya mean she ain’t well?” Alice shook her head. “Then it’s a waste of time, I tell ya. He wouldn’t bring no woman here what was goin’ ta live.” Bea settled back in her chair. “I tell ya, it ain’t worth the trouble.”
Bea wiped her nose down her already filthy sleeve. Alice grimaced and left the room. Her short legs covered the distance to her own small but neat house. There was a rich chowder simmering on her stove.
“Ya should have a clear broth but this will have ta do,” she said to herself. Tray in hand, she finally made her way back to the little room and found Beatrice looking in on the girl.
“Don’t look like she’s gonna make it,” Bea sneered, backing away as Alice entered.
“She’ll make it,” Alice stated emphatically. “I’ll see she does, and then you can explain why ya wouldn’t help her.”
Beatrice grunted. “I’ll see ya gets some broth by dinner.”
Alice carefully eased the lady up enough to pour small amounts of the chowder into her mouth. “It might take some time, m’lady, but I promise ya, you’re gonna be just fine.”
* * *
“You’re doin’ fine, m’lady.” Someone placed a spoon at Catherine’s mouth and she swallowed involuntarily. “Even takin’ more broth. Why, one of these days you’re gonna just—” Catherine opened her eyes. “Oh, m’lady!” Alice exclaimed, placing the spoon aside. “You’re awake!”
Catherine tried to remember where she was and what had caused her the pain she felt when she tried to speak, but she had so little strength it was all she could do just to keep her eyes open.
“Don’t try ta talk yet,” Alice said softly, taking Catherine's hand in her own to gently pat it. “Y’ve been awful bad and I’ve been working ‘on ya for two days already. Ya need ta build your strength.”
There was such kindness in the woman’s face. Catherine wanted to express her appreciation, but her face hurt every time she tried to speak. The only way to convey her thanks was to squeeze the woman’s hand.
“It’s all right,” Alice smiled with tears in her eyes. “I know. You’re tryin’ ta tell me you’re gonna make it, ain’t ya?” Catherine repeated the gesture and Alice laughed. “We’ll have ya chattin’ soon enough. For now, ya better see if ya can take some of this here soup before ya fall back ta sleep.”
* * *
Catherine was able to stay awake longer and longer over the next few days. Alice was her constant companion. She took care of her every need and chatted about any inconsequential topic she could think of—obviously trying to stimulate Catherine’s mind. Each day the woman asked for her name, but Catherine remained mute.
“Don’t ya worry,” Alice sympathized. “You’ll be talkin’ fine soon enough. The swellin’ is goin’ down nicely with the cold compresses.” She went on about the bruises on her legs being nearly gone and that no sign of infection could be seen in the cut on her ribs.
As Alice described each injury, Catherine remembered the events that caused them. She had no way of knowing how long it had been since the ship sank or where she was. For all of Alice’s talking, she revealed very little. It was only when she lifted her left hand to wash it that Catherine groaned softly.
“Did I hurt ya?”
With supreme effort, Catherine slowly shook her head.
“Oh, ya thought ya had lost it, did ya?” she smiled. “I guess the Cap’n gave it ta ya, huh?” Catherine frowned noticeably. “Cap’n Kent,” Alice explained. “Your husband.”
Catherine closed her eyes. Her husband. The last thing she remembered about the ring was tying it about her neck on a ribbon. That it was on her hand was mystery enough, but how was it she had wed?
“We was right surprised when he came back with ya, especially since we didn’t know he was plannin’ on marryin’.”
Slowly, Catherine opened her eyes. Somehow she was married to the man she was sent to, yet she had not seen him even once. Nor had he come to see her. Something inside her resented the fact he had not checked on her. Was she so unimportant to him he had never made the effort? “W . . . where—” she croaked, her voice a raspy replica of itself.
Clearly pleased with her effort, Alice smiled. “He’s away for awhile. He has ships ta see to and is often gone for long spells.” Alice paused as she reached for the tray. “Are ya up ta tellin’ me your name now, m’lady?”
Catherine drew a breath. “Catherine,” she whispered. “M–my name is Catherine.”
Alice clasped her hands together. “Thank the Lord!” she sighed. “Now I know ya really are gonna make it.”
After the initial strenuous effort, Catherine found it was easier to speak each time. She discovered she was able to sit up for a fair part of the day. Her meals also graduated to more substantial fare. But the highlight for Catherine came the day Alice told her they were going to wash her hair.
Catherine knew it was a sight and dreaded the time it would take to brush it out. Alice had managed to deal with some of the tangles before Catherine regained consciousness. It had been braided to keep it out of the way, but it had not been washed for over a month.
Afraid thatCatherine would not be able to stand or even kneel, Alice called in the young girl hired to help out around the house. She was terribly shy and didn’t say a word as she helped Catherine lean over the back of the chair.
Totally enthralled by the luxury about her, Catherine was silent as Alice went on about Catherine’s hair and its unique color. “Like long shafts of wheat,” she sighed. Catherine knew it would almost reach the basin on the floor from her position. She sighed when Alice poured clean water over it for a final rinse. “Some almost like moonlight and some the color of rich tea. Ain’t never seen such a blending.”
“I’m afraid it is not considered much of anything in London,” Catherine murmured beneath the towels rubbing her head dry. “Only the palest blond is coveted.”
“Huh!” Alice groaned as she began to draw a brush through the length of her damp hair, starting at the ends. “This kind of hair a man could get lost in.”
Catherine thought of the man she now belonged to.“Does . . . does the viscount often stay away this long?”
“Ya mustn’t call him that,” Alice warned in a whisper. She turned to be sure the girl was gone. “He hates ta be reminded of his past. Ya can call him Cap’n or maybe he’ll want ya callin’ him by his Christian name, but never by his title.”
Catherine frowned and was pleased when she realized her face didn’t resent the motion. “I have to confess, Alice, I do not know his Christian name.” Alice stopped her ministrations and moved around to look down at her. “We . . . Our marriage, it was arranged by our fathers. I have never met his lordship– Ahhh, I mean the captain.”
“Ya could call him Ransom. ‘Tis his Christian name.”
“I could not,” Catherine stammered. “Not without having met him.”
“Ya poor dear,” Alice commiserated. “Comin’ here ta marry a man ya don’t even know and then havin’ ta go through all ya have.” She smiled gently, then stepped back to resume her task. “Well, at least ya got a fair lookin’ man ta wed, and I think he’ll be well pleased with you when he returns.”
Catherine wanted to ask Alice to define ‘fair lookin’ man’ but realized it didn’t matter what he looked like. She’d had many days to ponder her fate with Ransom Kent and had come to the conclusion she meant little to him. Not once had there been a message from him inquiring about her. For all he knew she could have died.
“I do not think I will please him, Alice.”
Alice frowned. “Course you’ll please him. You’re a pretty little thing and the Cap’n wouldn’t have married ya if he was against it, no matter what his pa wanted.”
Slowly, Catherine lifted her head, eyes brimming with tears she didn’t expect. “Then why has he not sent some word, some inquiry?”
; Alice slipped her arm about Catherine’s shoulder and hugged her gently. “Give ‘em time ta get use ta being wed. He’s a good man, but he’s been alone for a long time.”
It was not the answer Catherine was hoping for, but it would have to do. Soon, the man who was her husband would return and it would be her task to ease his loneliness and her own.
Chapter Four
* * *
Catherine sat looking out the window of her new bedroom. She had been helped to the chair earlier that morning. Alice told her it was no longer seemly to have the mistress of Devil’s Head residing in the sitting room when she had grown strong enough to venture from her makeshift bed.
The effort was taxing, yet Catherine knew it was worth every step the moment she entered the room prepared for her. Alice mentioned the bedroom was across the hall from the captain’s. Catherine’s thoughts went to what her husband would expect of her. Afraid to dwell on it, she forced herself to question the condition of the rest of the house.
“How is it the house has fallen to such shambles, Alice?” she asked the woman busy sorting a box of clothes she had brought in.
Alice shrugged, holding up a gown as if judging if it could be altered to fit Catherine. “The Cap’n ain’t here much and he don’t make none of the staff take charge so they do what they want and no more.”
Turning from the window, Catherine was appalled. “You mean there is no housekeeper in a place this size?”
“No, Mistress Catherine, nary a soul.”
Forcing her legs to move, Catherine made her way to the bed. She was still weak and she tired quickly, but Catherine was making progress. “Would you consider the position?”
“You would want me?” Alice stared.
“Why not? You are efficient and have clean manners. I can see no reason why you should not be in charge of the servants here.”
“I must confess I always wanted ta do more here at Devil’s Head. I will serve ya proudly,” she beamed as she reached for Catherine’s hand.
“And I would be proud to have you serve me.”
Alice sighed. “It ain’t gonna be easy, Mistress. The staff, what there is of it, has grown lazy and they ain’t gonna take ta bein’ told about it.”
“Please, Alice, call me Catherine and . . . between us, we will convince the staff to mend their ways or move on.” Hearing a disturbance outside, she watched Alice set aside the garments and go to the window to see what it was about.
“The Cap’n’s back!” she exclaimed. “And won’t he be surprised ta see ya doin’ so much better.”
Slowly, Catherine made her way to Alice’s side. She had yet to see the man she was married to and this was a golden opportunity. Peering through the sheer curtain, she gazed down upon the yard below. There were three men together, all of them strangers, but it took no time at all to determine which was Ransom Kent.
His bearing attested to his status. He was tall, his posture straight. There was an inbred arrogance about him that he wore unconsciously. Catherine could not see the man’s face, but his coloring was apparent. His skin was well bronzed by the sun. His hair, tied back behind his neck, was nearly as black as the shirt he wore.
She couldn’t help but note his strong thighs encased in black trousers that seemed terribly tight. They were tucked into knee high black boots. Clad totally in the dark clothing, he was a handsome sight, but he looked as though he were in league with the Devil.
Catherine bit her lip. She stepped back, afraid to be seen. Perhaps, if she remained tucked away in her room, this man would not remember to seek her out. She didn’t feel strong enough to face him now that the possibility was actually at hand.
“Damnation,” Alice stated as she continued to look below. “The Cap’n, he’s leavin’.”
Relieved, Catherine sighed, joining Alice to see him and one of the other strangers stride down the hill toward the landing. “Do you really think he is going?” she asked hopefully.
“I’m sure. He never goes back unless he is goin’. He gives orders otherwise and comes in ta make sure they’re carried out.” Alice placed her arm about Catherine’s slender shoulders. “But don’t ya worry. He’ll be comin’ home ta stay awhile soon. Ya can see him then.”
Smiling weakly, Catherine didn’t have the heart to tell Alice how delighted she was at the prospect of his departure. She wanted to laugh. “I am not worried, Alice. Besides, I prefer to see him when I can present myself in a better light.”
“Then I better get ta work fixin’ a gown for ya,” Alice sighed. “Next time he comes home, we’ll have ya ready.”
* * *
The Ebony was about to slip past the blockade near the harbor of New York. It was a perfect night for his ship—there was no moon. He knew she would move like a ghost past the two British ships stationed on watch. Ransom was tempted to blow the unsuspecting bastards out of the water, but he knew his cargo was too important to chance a chase.
His crew, experience as their guide, stood in absolute silence along the rails as they glided past the first ship. Not a single man so much as smiled for fear that the white of his teeth would betray them.
At the helm, Ransom eased gently to the starboard side as they approached the second ship. They were no more than a shadow easing silently over the water. As the ships faded behind them, the crew moved about, making ready for the open sea.
Ransom sighed. He had hoped to be in New Orleans by now, but the British had been off their usual schedule. The arms he was seeking were a full week late in arriving. Now he had to make up for lost time.
Once free of possible pursuit, Ransom turned the wheel over to the watch and headed for his cabin. He was tired. He had been awake for over twenty-four hours. He needed a few hours of sleep. He lit a candle and stripped off his shirt. A moment later he dropped across his bunk, an arm draped over his eyes. He failed to extinguish the candle before seeking his bed.
He arose with a groan and reached across the stand toward the candle. He was about to douse it when he spotted a small pile of what looked like ribbon. It turned out to be a torn piece of linen used to bind an injured man a few weeks back, but it brought something else to mind: the tattered bits of ribbon entwined in his ring when he had found the woman who was now his wife. He hadn’t thought of her when he was at Devil’s Head or he would have at least inquired after her health. For all he knew she could have expired.
He pinched the wick of the candle, smothering the flame. He fell back onto the bed in the darkness.
Rolling onto his side, he punched his pillow and settled. He didn’t want to waste these precious hours thinking about a woman he didn’t even know, let alone care for. The only thing he needed to do was write his father and tell him the wedding had taken place. After that was settled, he need never see her again.
It would be almost a month before he could return to Devil’s Head. It was possible she would be gone by then, either to meet her maker or to seek respite from the boredom of life at Devil’s Head after having lived in London. He couldn’t imagine that a London filly could be content to sit within the moldy halls of his home. He sighed, closed his eyes, and sought the sleep he needed.
* * *
Catherine looked over the list she had been working on as she sat at the small secretary she had ordered John to move to her room. Alice was right. There was an enormous amount of work to do at Devil’s Head. She shuddered at the name of his estate. Was it thus named when he purchased it, or had he changed the name for some reason?
Dismissing her momentary thoughts, she sighed, “We are going to need some more help, Alice.”
Alice seemed to shuffle her feet, “Ain’t too many what would come ta work here, Mistress. They think the place is filled with spooks.”
Catherine laughed gaily. “That’s absurd.”
“Maybe,” Alice said, “But it’s gonna be hard convincin’ ‘em.”
Catherine tapped her lip with the quill of her pen. “Is there money to hire them?”
“I
don’t rightly know. The Cap’n, he ain’t never been asked ta my knowledge. He pays us all fine at the end of the month or when he gets back and settles his own accounts. That’s all most of ‘em care about.”
“Very well,” Catherine sighed. “Until he returns, we will make do with what we have. We can use some of the boys from the stable to help.”
“Oh, lordy,” Alice exclaimed. “The stables are the Cap’n’s pride and joy. He ain’t gonna take kindly ta ya usin’ the boys in here if it means his horses ain’t cared for.”
Catherine had to take a few minutes to come to terms with the dilemma. She was to be mistress of this house. She knew it was in dire need of attention. There was no doubt in her mind the viscount would be pleased if it were cleaned up. Surely he would not be too upset if she borrowed the lads.
“See to it, Alice,” she announced with all the authority she could muster. “This place needs a cleaning and I am going to see it gets it.”
Catherine's bravado was quick to die when she overheard members of the staff protesting as Alice issued the mandates of the new mistress.
“I ain’t takin’ no orders from some damned English woman,” one said as Catherine stood outside the door to the kitchen, listening. Alice had warned her Beatrice would be the most difficult and it seemed she was right. “Until the Cap’n tells me ta do it, I ain’t workin’ no harder than I already do.”
Thinking of the terrible food that had been presented to her, Catherine doubted Beatrice did much of anything. So the woman didn’t want to take orders. Then there was only one thing left to do. Throwing wide the door to the kitchen, Catherine entered. Alice smiled. Beatrice, on the other hand, stood staring, clearly in contempt.
“Beatrice, is that right?” Catherine said, keeping her voice soft.
The Rebel's Bride Page 4
