Love's Rescue (Keys Of Promise Book 1) (Historical Romance)

by Christine Johnson

  “But what? What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

  Anabelle shook. Her lips worked. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. “I might be with child.”

  The revelation shot through Elizabeth with the speed and pain of an arrow. “How is this possible?”

  What man could Anabelle have known? The only Negro male in the household was Nathan, and he had been with Cook for as long as she could remember. Aunt’s only male servant was aged. None served aboard the Victory. Her head spun as horrible thoughts wiggled into her mind. No, impossible. She would not believe ill of her friend.

  Then she remembered Anabelle’s nighttime outings. She must have gone to meet someone.

  “Who is it?” she hissed.

  Anabelle drew back, her expression hard. “Does it matter? A slave’s baby will be sold once it’s weaned.” Despair curled around every word.

  “Not always,” she offered weakly. “Father kept Florie.”

  “Your mama did.”

  Elizabeth recalled her last conversation with Anabelle. “That’s why you wanted to go to the ball, isn’t it? To see him.”

  Anabelle said nothing.

  Elizabeth would not accept silence. “What did you think you would do? Escape with him? There’s nowhere to go. Even if you could get to the next key, the hounds would find you.” She ignored the fact that she had made that journey without being detected. “Well, what were you planning to do?”

  “Tell him,” Anabelle said softly. “Like you would tell the man you love.”

  Her words shivered down Elizabeth’s spine. What if she were in Anabelle’s place? She would do anything to tell Rourke. For all her righteous indignation that Anabelle would get herself with child, the fact was that these things happened. Mother’s diary had spelled that out often enough. Perhaps she might persuade Father to purchase the father of Anabelle’s child if it came to that. They had not been home a full month. If this man lived in town, Anabelle could not be certain yet that she was with child. This might all work out on its own.

  “I will do what I can,” Elizabeth promised.

  After Anabelle dressed her, Elizabeth tucked the note for Tom into the watch pocket of her dress and headed downstairs to see Father. First she would ensure he had no intention of sending Anabelle away, then she would deliver the message to Tom.

  Fortunately, Father had not yet left for court. She knocked on the open door of his study.

  Upon seeing her, he gathered up the papers he’d been reading and put them in his valise. “What is troubling you, sunshine? I must leave for the office.”

  She smiled at the nickname, but her request was not trifling. “Aunt Virginia might not realize my bedroom is directly above the dining room.”

  He closed the door behind her. “Likely not, or she would lower her voice.” He returned to his desk. “Did something she said concern you?”

  “My aunt has an unfounded dislike of Anabelle. Though she does nothing wrong, Aunt insists I punish her. I see no reason to do so.”

  Father heaved a sigh. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept well in days. “Don’t worry what your aunt thinks.”

  “I knew you would understand. You know how close Anabelle and I were growing up.”

  His brow hitched. “It’s never wise to befriend the servants. Remember that you are their mistress. Too much familiarity leads to disrespect.”

  “But Mother treated them with kindness and garnered their respect.”

  “Your mother had unique capabilities born from her good breeding.”

  “And I don’t?” The implication stung.

  He smiled, but it looked forced. “You are your mother’s daughter, true. Yet you would do better to avoid getting too involved in the servants’ personal lives.”

  Her mouth grew dry. Had he heard Anabelle? Did he know the awful situation she found herself in? If so, then the question Elizabeth must ask would not seem peculiar.

  “You would not sell her, then?” She held her breath.

  His gaze narrowed. “What has your aunt said that led you to think that?”

  Aunt Virginia offered a convenient scapegoat, but placing the blame on her would not be the truth. “You sent Mammy away.”

  “You no longer needed a nurse.”

  “But Charlie did.”

  Father’s expression grew grave. “You are asking about things that are not your concern.”

  She would not give up that easily. “If I am to manage the servants, I must know when a servant needs to go.”

  He nodded slowly. “There are many reasons, but the chief one is usually financial. It costs a great deal to house and feed servants.”

  “Then there is no need to sell Anabelle?”

  “You ask a difficult question.” He sighed. “I did not want to worry you, but if our circumstances grow any more severe, I might need to sell a great deal of my property.”

  A chill swept over her. “But Anabelle is more than a servant. She’s a member of our household.”

  “In hard times, servants must be let go. So too horses and carriages and fancy ball gowns.”

  She blanched. “Are we in hard times?”

  “Rebuilding the house cost a great deal. Your brother’s care is costly. He requires the regular attention of physicians as well as medicines for the pain. I have searched the country to find something that will give him a measure of independence. The wheeled chair is the best I’ve found thus far, but I will not stop until I find something that he can operate without assistance. In short, our savings are depleted.”

  “Everything?” Elizabeth could barely draw a breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “A girl your age should be dreaming of beaus and balls, not suffer the burdens that her father ought to bear.”

  Tears stung her eyelids. She had misjudged him so badly. Perhaps she had even misread the diary. Her father was simply trying to do the best he could with what he had.

  “But I do want to help.” She grasped his hand. “That’s why I came home. I don’t need a new ball gown. I will ask Mrs. Evanston to find another buyer.”

  “No, my dear. That is the one thing you need most of all. Don’t you see? You are my shining hope. Your marriage will not only bring healing and hope to this family, but it will secure your brother’s future.”

  “My marriage?” The words sank into the pit of her stomach. He could not know of Rourke’s pledge and the ring that had secured it. He was referring to Mr. Finch.

  “That’s why I told you about the inheritance. Your great-aunt has approved Mr. Finch. The inheritance will be released when you marry him. Then you will truly be able to help your brother.”

  Her head spun. “Me? It all rests upon me?”

  “Your engagement announcement at the ball is the first step. I’m so proud of you.”

  The noose tightened around her neck. How could she find a way out?

  Father patted her hand. “You alone can keep our family together.”

  Family included Anabelle. Father would agree to anything if she did as he wished. She looked her father in the eye. “Will you give me Anabelle?”

  “Give her to you? As a wedding gift?”

  “As a pledge.” She would not be forced down that road. “And I wish to bring her with me to the ball.”

  A dark cloud rolled over his countenance. “There is no reason for a maid to go to a ball.”

  “I need her assistance. After all, a woman about to announce her engagement must look her very best.” She did not name her betrothed.

  His displeasure did not ease. Instead, he watched her, assessing the veracity of her statement. She pasted on a hopeful expression despite the pounding in her ears. He thrummed his fingers on the desktop, beating out the ramifications of his decision.

  At last he stopped. “No, Elizabeth. The ball is no place for Anabelle.”

  “But—”

  He lifted a hand. “No debate. That is my final decision.”

  Si
nce Mrs. Evanston delivered the gown that morning, Elizabeth could not leave the house until late afternoon. Even then, she had to bring Anabelle along, ostensibly on an errand to locate shoes suitable for her ball gown. The shoes were easy to find. She’d seen them when surveying shop windows with Caroline. Speaking with Tom would not be so easy.

  To maintain propriety, she must send Anabelle to the boardinghouse and have her bring Tom to a public place where Elizabeth could meet him seemingly by chance.

  She waited near the custom house. Though the streets were crowded, Elizabeth had the distinct feeling that someone was watching her. She looked around but saw no one suspicious. It must be nerves. Rourke had stressed the importance of this message. She could not fail him.

  “Miss Benjamin. Fancy meeting you here.” Tom appeared from behind and stopped at her elbow.

  Elizabeth slipped the note from her watch pocket. “From your captain.”

  “Hush.” His gaze drifted left and right before he slipped the note into his jacket pocket. “Is that all?”

  Elizabeth withdrew from her bag the letter she had penned after speaking with her father that morning. “Please give this to him before tomorrow evening.”

  “I can’t promise to see him.”

  “Please try. It’s vital. Tell him that I will be at the ball.”

  Tom took the sealed letter and secreted it in the same pocket. His gaze darted left and right again. “With your maid?”

  It was her turn to be puzzled. “How did you know about that? Did Anabelle tell you?”

  Instead of answering, he offered his arm. “Would you care to walk, Miss Benjamin?”

  She sensed he wanted to say something that he couldn’t reveal in such a busy, public place. “I would enjoy a brief stroll, Mr. Worthington.”

  They walked into the less busy residential area between the harbor and the hospital. Anabelle followed a short distance behind.

  Tom spoke only when they were alone. “Did you notice anyone following you?”

  A shiver raced down her spine. “I had a peculiar feeling that I was being watched, but I didn’t see anyone.”

  His frown deepened. “Return home and tell no one that you saw me.”

  “Why? What do you suspect?”

  “Probably nothing. Just jumpy from waiting.” His laugh rang false.

  Further questioning got her nowhere. He returned her to the custom house before bidding farewell. She left feeling that everything was unraveling at precisely the wrong time, and she had no idea how to stop it.

  19

  Elizabeth had to believe Rourke would come for her. Her instructions had been very specific. During the break between dancing and supper, she would excuse herself to use the necessary and slip away into the night. She would meet him at the little chapel where he had played piano. From there they would hurry to the Windsprite and set sail for his homeland.

  It had all made perfect sense when she wrote the letter, but as she considered what she might bring with her, problems cropped up. First, she would be wearing dainty slippers, not sturdy shoes. The path to the eastern end of the island was treacherous. Slippers offered little protection. Her feet would be bleeding and bruised by the time she reached the ship, but it was a cost worth paying. Second, she could not carry anything with her but the tiniest bag, sufficient for handkerchief and smelling salts and not much else.

  She fingered the few coins in her keepsake chest. They would not purchase much, if anything, in the Bahamas. Her mother’s miniature might fetch a price, but she could not sell it. At least it would fit in the bag. Mama’s Bible would not. Neither would her diary. She would leave them with Charlie.

  Her brother. A pang of guilt ripped through her, making this plan seem terribly selfish. What had Rourke said? That Charlie needed a sister?

  Her hand trembled. Would Rourke again refuse to take her with him? Was this plan of hers founded in selfish desperation and cowardice? Father was counting on her to save the family from financial ruin. All she had to do was marry a man she despised.

  Anabelle rapped on the door and entered. “Sorry, miss. Your aunt insisted I assist her to bed first.”

  “She did?” Elizabeth pulled herself from her gloomy thoughts. Aunt Virginia never wanted Anabelle’s assistance, even on the voyage from Charleston. “How peculiar. Is Florie ill?”

  Anabelle shook her head. “She warned that my days here are numbered.”

  “What?” The tightness in her throat turned to anger. “How dare she. You are my maid, not hers. Mine.”

  Anabelle removed Elizabeth’s cap. “I believe, in fact, that I belong to your father.”

  “For now, but I asked him to give you to me.” As soon as she said the words, she remembered the terms of that agreement. She had asked for Anabelle as a pledge. He had offered her as a wedding gift.

  “He agreed?” Anabelle plucked out the hairpins as she unwound Elizabeth’s coiled hair.

  Elizabeth swallowed hard. “Not outright, but I did ask to bring you with me to the ball.”

  Anabelle’s fingers stilled. “What did he say?”

  There was no way to cushion the news. “No.”

  The hairpins fell to the floor.

  “Forgive me,” Anabelle murmured, dropping to her knees.

  “We will find another way to arrange a meeting with your love,” Elizabeth said, ignoring the fact that after tomorrow night she would be gone. “Perhaps tomorrow morning.”

  “No.” Anabelle’s cry came out in a strangled sob. “The ball is my only chance.” She swiped at the spilled hairpins and scattered them again.

  Elizabeth dropped to the floor beside her and gathered the pins. “Why?”

  Anabelle lifted red-rimmed eyes. “He will be gone.”

  “Sold?”

  Anabelle shook her head. “He is free.”

  “Then . . . I don’t understand. Why would he leave?”

  “He leaves for home. Harbour Island.”

  “The same as . . .” Elizabeth sat back as she made the connection. Rourke had an entire crew, including a Negro chief mate. He was the one who had rescued Anabelle. First. Ahead of the whites. Despite Aunt Virginia’s protests. Moreover, Rourke had approved it. Aboard the Windsprite, Anabelle had watched the man’s every move. “John?”

  Anabelle straightened at the sound of his name, finger to her lips before she whispered, “My husband.”

  Elizabeth drew in her breath. “How? When?”

  Again her maid motioned for quiet. “Before the storm four years ago.”

  Elizabeth reeled. “Four years?” Anabelle had kept this secret from her for four years. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “What would you have done?”

  “Come home sooner.”

  Anabelle shook her head, and Elizabeth knew she was right. Returning early could never have happened. Aside from not having the fare for passage, she hadn’t had the will to defy her parents’ wishes.

  “I must go to the ball,” Anabelle whispered.

  Elizabeth gathered her scattered thoughts. If John was leaving tomorrow night, that meant Rourke was leaving also. It was her only chance. Thank goodness she’d sent the letter to him through Tom. He would come for her. She was sure of it. But could she risk bringing Anabelle? Two women racing through the dark streets would be twice as difficult to disguise. Moreover, Father had forbidden Anabelle’s attendance.

  “I don’t know how. Father refused.”

  Anabelle grasped Elizabeth’s shoulders. “You must convince him.”

  Elizabeth pulled away from her crushing grip. “How? His mind is set.”

  “I must go.” Anabelle rocked, arms wrapped around her midsection. “Don’t you see? If I can’t meet up with him, I will never see him again. My baby will be taken away.” She grabbed Elizabeth again. “Please, help me.”

  Agitated, Elizabeth slipped from Anabelle’s grasp and rose to her feet. “I can’t.” She backed to the window. “Please don’t ask such a thing. I can’t.”


  Anabelle collapsed face-first on the floor. Her shoulders heaved from suppressed sobs.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Though Elizabeth felt for Anabelle, she couldn’t give up the man she loved. “If there was any other way . . .”

  Anabelle raised a tear-streaked face. “You will not help a friend?”

  Elizabeth felt ill. “It has nothing to do with our friendship.”

  “Doesn’t it?” Anabelle said bitterly. “Would you do more for a sister?”

  “Of course, but I don’t have a sister.” Elizabeth caught herself. She did have a half sister. One whose identity only her late mother and Mammy knew. Unless . . . She stared at Anabelle. “You know, don’t you? That’s why Mammy was sent away. She knew about the baby, and she told you.”

  “Of course she knows. The mother always knows.”

  “Mother?” Elizabeth jerked back. “Mammy was the mother?”

  “She is my mother, sister.”

  The Lord blessed the chosen day with a brisk wind from the southeast. Though the sun had not yet crested the horizon, Rourke paced the deck, anxious to begin. Time had moved slower than a sea slug the last week. It would stand still today.

  He had heard nothing from Tom, but then he hadn’t expected to. Rourke assumed Elizabeth had given his message to Anabelle, who would then inform Tom. The lad would bring Anabelle to the meeting spot tonight. Rourke would converge from the east, and together they would bring Anabelle to the Windsprite and freedom.

  Any number of things could go wrong. Elizabeth might have forgotten to give Anabelle the message. She might not bring Anabelle to the ball. Tom might get waylaid en route. They might have to help Anabelle out of the gated yard. The salt company’s manager might pick tonight to reflood the ponds.

  He scrubbed his whiskers.

  “No worry.” John brought a steaming cup of coffee and a handful of hardtack.

  Rourke took the coffee but declined the biscuits. “I’m not hungry.”

  “You eat.” John shoved the biscuits at him. “Need strength.”

  For John’s sake, Rourke nibbled at one. It was stale. No weevils yet, at least none he could see in the pre-dawn light. He dunked the biscuit in the coffee. Better but still unpalatable. It took another gulp of coffee to wash it down. “Fish would taste better.”