by Lisa Norato
Papa chuckled heartily. “I’ll have you know, Captain, my daughter made those custards you seem to be enjoying so well.”
“You don’t say? Well, sir, I am impressed.” The captain turned to regard Lorena. “My compliments to you, Miss Huntley. They are delicious.”
“Lorena is known throughout Duxborotown for her exceptional cakes and sweets,” offered Mrs. Culliford, “and gingerbread happens to be one of her specialties.”
Papa gave her a wink, saying, “Perhaps, Captain, we can convince her to bake you a cake of gingerbread before you leave Duxboro.”
“But I could hardly expect such a kindness,” the captain replied. “No, not after Miss Huntley has already been so generous with her hospitality.”
The captain’s eyes turned a stormy blue. They shifted over her and sized her up, reminding Lorena of a shark about to close in and take a bite out of her composure. He fixed her with a steady gaze while one hand reached behind his head to rub the spot where Drew’s stone had struck.
She understood the warning—Captain Talvis was not going to let her forget their unfortunate parting this morning.
She swallowed, and the spoon slipped from her fingers, clanging to the floor with a racket that had every eye in the room turning to gape.
“Don’t trouble yourself, Lorena. I shall pick it up.”
As Temperance hurried to retrieve the utensil from under the table, Lorena felt heat rising to her cheeks. With everyone’s attention on her clumsiness, she assumed Captain Talvis’s intimidating antic had escaped notice.
She was mistaken.
Drew pulled back on his spoon and, with the same marksmanship he had exhibited with his sling, struck the man square in the eye with a dollop of custard.
“Aaauuggh.” The captain wiped his muddied eye. After examining the sticky mess the chocolate had made of his fingers, he searched for the origin of his attack.
Lorena held her breath, for Drew was glaring at the man, boldly proclaiming his guilt when only that morning he had promised to behave.
Her father threw down his napkin. “Drew, what have you done? I don’t understand your uncivil conduct and neither shall I tolerate it.” Picking up the napkin once again, he mopped his forehead, inhaling deeply as though trying to draw patience out of the air. “Captain, please accept my heartfelt apologies. I am dreadfully sorry. Rest assured, the boy shall be punished. Too many people wanting to do for him, you see. Too many well-meaning folks willing to indulge him. And I am as guilty as any. I tell my carpenters no more toys, and every day I find another carved horse here, a painted solider there. Temperance runs around the house picking them up off the floor, and Drew is right behind her scattering others.” He heaved a sigh that ended his rambling and added, “Lorena, perhaps you should take him up to bed now.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“No. Mr. Huntley, please. That isn’t necessary.” Captain Talvis rose, his cheek still bearing traces of chocolate. “I’m sure the lad meant no harm. I recall many a time taking out my youthful aggression on others for no good reason other than the mischief inside me.” He shrugged, chuckling as though it were all a joke. “Such is the way with little boys. There’s no need to banish him from the table.”
Jabez Smith rolled his eyes and dropped his forehead in his hand.
But Papa, Lorena noticed, seemed genuinely impressed with the captain’s tolerance and not the least surprised at his defense of Drew, as Lorena herself was.
“Thank you for your understanding, Captain,” he said. “However, we do abide by certain rules in this house.”
Lorena stood, eager to put an end to an exhausting, event-filled day. Drew scooted off his chair and took refuge in her skirts, burying his face in their satin folds. He was expecting her to come to his defense, and because she felt guilty for not listening to instinct and putting him to bed sooner, she laid a protective hand on his pale curls. “I’m sure Drew regrets his actions. Don’t you, sweetheart? Apologize to Captain Talvis.”
A long moment of silence ensued before he mumbled, “Ah-um sss-orry,” without lifting his head.
“I accept your apology, Drew,” the captain said, his dejected tone leaving Lorena to wonder whether Drew’s punishment of being sent to bed didn’t pain him more than it did the child.
She quickly herded the boy toward the door. “I pray you don’t think us ungracious for leaving, but it truly is past time Drew retired.”
“Allow me to see you to the stairs, Lorena,” her father said, rising himself. “I wish to speak with you a moment.”
Jabez Smith stood. “A good evening to ye, Miss Huntley, and thank ye for the lovely meal.”
Lorena acknowledged the compliment and wished everyone a pleasant evening, but something in Captain Talvis’s manner alerted her that he was none too pleased with this turn of events. He gave her a smile, which she suspected was forced. “Good evening, Miss Huntley. I hope to be seeing you on the morrow.”
Lorena started. She thought she might at least be granted a reprieve from the man on the Sabbath. “I think not, Captain. Tomorrow is Sunday.”
“Sunday, aye. Which reminds me, Mr. Huntley, would you allow me to accompany your family to the Duxboro meetinghouse in the morning? I wish to attend worship services.”
Her father radiated delight. Lorena had the distinct impression he was growing quite fond of Captain Talvis.
“Certainly, Captain. You are more than welcome to join us, and that invitation extends to you also, Mr. Smith. There is room enough for all in the family pew.”
“A generous offer, sir,” Mr. Smith acknowledged. Grinning, he gestured with a nod at the captain. “Though, for all our sakes, I do hope the meetinghouse walls don’t come crashing down when the cap’n walks in.”
“Very amusing, Mr. Smith,” Captain Talvis returned. “It is a pity Moses did not know of your wit. He could have used it to plague Egypt.”
Papa chuckled at their banter, his good humor restored. “Whatever your wishes, gentlemen, just know you are both welcome. Now excuse me while I say good-night to my children. We shall enjoy some cheese and fruit upon my return.”
Brogan reseated himself as Huntley departed with his family. He dipped a corner of his napkin in a tumbler of water and wiped the remaining traces of custard from his face, then began to brush a spot off his lapel. “So, Jabez, what do you think of my son?”
“Looks like an angel, but a wee rascal lurks inside. I agree with Huntley. The lad is spoiled.”
“He needs his father.”
“So he does, Cap’n, but ye hardly seem to be getting off to a healthy start with the youth. Ye heard what the shipbuilder said this morning. Ye have two weeks before the Yankee Heart is ready to sail. Not much time to win a boy’s love. Harder still to win it from such a lovely rival.”
Brogan stared into the flame of a bayberry taper until his pupils lost their focus. He saw a marsh meadowland, where a willowy young beauty sat dozing on a boulder, her plentiful coils of hair bound in a kerchief and a stained muslin apron tied about her waist.
“Miss Huntley is an obstacle I hadn’t anticipated. She has adopted the role of mother. Calling the boy by a name of her choosing, when in truth he is my Benjamin. What game do they play, these Huntleys? What do they hide?”
“Perhaps nothing, Cap’n. Perhaps they’re just good, kind folk who have opened their hearts and home to a child.”
Brogan continued as though Jabez hadn’t spoken. “And she is too inquisitive by far. I noticed her taking my measure more than once this evening. I’ve not been in Duxboro one day and Miss Huntley has managed to intrude upon my most private moments, starting with this morning, when all I wanted was to bask in the accomplishment of becoming master of my own ship.”
Frowning, Jabez Smith lifted a mug of cider to his lips and took a deep swallow. He set the mug down upon the linen-covered table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “This morning? Surely, ye haven’t met the girl before tonight?”
Broga
n turned to meet his mate’s gaze and, with the lift of a brow, said, “Surely I have.”
Realization struck. Jabez asked, “Do ye mean Miss Huntley is the skinny scullery maid who knocked ye senseless?”
At Brogan’s nod, Jabez lifted his eyes heavenward. “O Lord, I pray, bestow a blessing of intelligence upon my poor, witless cap’n.”
“You are a fine one to talk, Mr. Smith.”
“I told ye to be careful,” Jabez snapped, his look disapproving. “Ye are deceived. Miss Huntley is a good girl and cares only for the welfare of the child. Ye must gain her confidence if ye ever hope to get close to yer son. Be nice to her. The lad will have no regard for ye until ye do.”
Brogan’s nostrils flared with his annoyance. He’d been waiting three years and had no patience to waste on a mere slip of a girl, tempting distraction that she was. “Nice? And what, pray, do you mean by nice?”
Jabez leaned closer, his expression as serious as Brogan had ever seen it. “Be sweet to the lady. Romantic.”
Brogan blinked, then gaped, lost for words. When he recovered from the shock, he broke into laughter. His sides split and he doubled over, fearing he might expire from the strain.
Slowly, his breathing returned to normal, and he turned to address his chief mate between lingering chuckles. “And what do you know of romance, Mr. Smith?”
Brogan never got his answer. Nathaniel Huntley stepped into the room just as he was wiping the tears from his eyes.
4
Brogan studied his reflection as he groomed for church. Eyes of a bright greenish blue reflected sharply back at him as he slipped a white silk cravat behind his neck, wrapped it twice around, then secured it under his chin in a tidy bow.
Something about his gaze burned just intense enough to draw attention, whether for good or bad. Aboard ship, his command was law, and it was rumored he could contain an entire crew with one menacing glare. On the other hand, and with considerably more ease, he had, on occasion, caught the attention of a lady who’d tease that his eyes resembled those of a melancholy boy. Why then, no matter how kindly he looked upon his son, did he see distrust in the lad’s eyes? Had he lost the ability to convey compassion, or perhaps he’d spent too much time at sea schooling his features to intimidate so that gentlefolk could no longer see past his outer appearance?
This was not the case with Miss Huntley, however. When Miss Huntley met his gaze, Brogan sensed she looked deeper, searching beyond the obvious to the man inside.
Such a pretty name, Lorena. But then the girl was pretty. Nay, beautiful, considering her excess of spice-colored ringlets, which, if loosed from their pins, would surely overwhelm her small face and willowy frame.
Her beauty and grace disarmed him, and were he foolish enough to indulge this preoccupation, he might easily develop a guilty conscience about his intention to abduct Drew from her home.
Her bond with his child was the relationship Brogan longed for. They made a charming pair, even going so far as to hold hands upon greeting guests for dinner. He’d seen their loving displays. And he had sensed Lorena’s watchful eye, her protective manner. She was the one person who could truly obstruct his plans. How was he to compete with Miss Huntley and her motherly influence? He could not. He was a stranger to the boy.
Though he’d laughed at the suggestion, Jabez’s advice was sound indeed. If Brogan wanted Drew to think highly of him, he needed to gain Lorena’s approval, for only with her acceptance could he hope to win Drew’s affection.
Brogan shrugged into his rust cutaway coat and donned his beaver top hat.
Lorena was unsuspecting. When he looked into those velvety brown eyes, he did not see the calculating iceberg of a soul that had been Abigail’s. Nay, he saw the “good girl” Jabez heralded Lorena to be.
And here stood the “bad,” unwanted and misbegotten orphan of a Boston asylum on his way to Sunday services to woo her.
“My father would not conduct business with the man were he not respectable,” Lorena argued, and yet hadn’t she questioned the captain’s respectability herself only yesterday morning?
“It is not my intention to insult your father. However, I have proof Captain Talvis is acclaimed to be quite the privateersman.” George Louder glanced down the lane to the bare bushes, which in the spring had bloomed with lilacs. They were driving to meeting in her father’s one-horse chaise, Drew sandwiched between them. “I’m merely passing a warning as to the sort of character he is. Join me and Edward Hicks’s family at the back of the church this morning, Lorena. I should be remiss should the captain offend you in any way.”
Lorena refused to let George know he already had. Presently, however, it was George, and not Captain Talvis, who irked her. He spoke in a tone that implied possession rather than with the concern of a friend.
In no respect would she ever belong to George Louder. She turned to regard his stern profile. An aquiline nose projected sharply from his angular, clean-shaven face. “You speak harshly of Captain Talvis. I’ve heard it said he’s a man who esteems justice and honor and loyalty. Papa approves of him. He’s told me he finds the captain quite agreeable and hopes to convince him to join him in the establishment of a shipping enterprise.”
“Partnering with a privateer captain.” George tsked in disapproval. “Regardless of what acts our government sanctions, Lorena, attacking British merchants, thieving, and burning their ships still make a privateer nothing more than an elaborate title for a pirate.”
Drew had tugged loose his cravat. “Yes,” the child intoned. “Captain Talvis is a dangerous pirate.”
“A remarkably clever child, Lorena. I have always said so.”
“Don’t encourage him, George.” She retied the cravat, attempting to make Drew presentable for the third time that morning. “I know you’ve been calling Papa’s client a pirate in front of him and I don’t approve.”
“I make it a point to research vessels of any notoriety,” George went on without acknowledgment of her protest, “and the Rhode Island schooner Black Eagle gained a considerable amount of recognition during the war. Under Captain Talvis’s command, she brought home some twenty-nine prizes for her owners. I was curious as to whether the schooner’s success in outwitting British warships was owing perhaps to her skillful design or rigging.” His left hand held the reins, while with his right he reached into his waistcoat pocket to produce a sheet of newsprint. “The Providence Gazette and County Journal recorded the exploits of the Black Eagle with some frequency. Here, read for yourself.”
Drew reached for the newspaper clipping, but Lorena was quicker. She felt compelled by more than curiosity to learn as much as possible about the daring seafarer who’d invaded her life yesterday morning and had been monopolizing her energies since.
As the two-wheeled vehicle rumbled over the country road, her gaze sought the passage and she read aloud, “‘That three and sixty tons of trifling fishing schooner should successfully capture and carry to its home port of Bristol, Rhode Island, three vessels of sail amounting to over one hundred and twenty thousand dollars in prizes would seem impossible were it not already documented fact. All this the privateer Black Eagle accomplished in but one cruise of fourteen days’ duration under the command of its master marauder, Captain Brogan Talvis. Surely England takes note and proceeds across the seas with caution for his presence.’”
“There, Lorena, can you not agree that a man who has earned himself the reputation of a ‘master marauder’ knows how to use his resources to get what he wants?” George turned and bore his gaze into hers.
Lorena felt a stab of pride at the captain’s courage and daring. Perhaps it was George’s disloyalty to his country that rendered Captain Talvis appealing in contrast. “I can’t disagree with you, George. He’s resourceful. What, pray, do you believe he’s after?”
“You, Lorena. You!” He spoke as though in grave warning.
“Me?” She laughed aloud. “What would the man want with me?”
“Dear girl
, you are quite naive. I beg you to reconsider coming to England with me.”
“As I’ve told you numerous times, George, I have no intention of leaving Duxboro.”
“Well, I have no intention of staying.”
Brogan arrived at Nathaniel Huntley’s estate only to discover Lorena had ridden ahead in a friend’s carriage.
The girl had outmaneuvered him. She’d taken Drew with her.
He’d hoped to speak with them during the drive to meetinghouse. To that end, Jabez had remained behind so that Brogan could have them all to himself. Instead, here he sat in Huntley’s carriage, alone with the shipbuilder, silently stewing and vaguely aware of the man beside him.
Huntley’s sights were directed on his team of bays. “You’re unusually quiet, Captain. Is it in reverence to the day, or do you ponder our lively discussion of last evening? I myself have been earnestly considering your recommendation of basing a shipping enterprise and shipyard in Boston.”
Brogan turned to regard him. Engaging this fellow in conversation about anything other than business proved a tiresome feat. After supper, Mr. Huntley had taken both Jabez and himself into the study for tea. Try as he might, Brogan had been unable to steer their discussion away from the shipping trade. So he resigned himself to the man. What else could he do? As with Lorena, he needed to gain Mr. Huntley’s goodwill.
“I believe it to be a sound endeavor, sir. Your shipyard could easily supply the necessary fleet and your farms provision them. As for a new shipyard—well, the larger vessels of the future will require a deeper harbor than Duxboro Bay, as you admitted yourself with my own merchantman.”
