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

by Christine Johnson

  “We catch some, soon as de light touches de water.”

  Rourke’s mate appeared relaxed, even jovial. “How can you be so cheerful when everything is at stake?”

  John snatched at the air and held it tight. “God hold us. God see us home.”

  Rourke hoped his mate’s faith paid off.

  Elizabeth could not stop shaking. Sleep was impossible. Instead she lived over and over the terrible moment when Anabelle claimed to be her sister. Elizabeth had stared, unwilling to believe. To think some unknown woman walked the world as her half sister was bad enough, but Anabelle?

  “You’re lying,” she had cried.

  Anabelle stood tall, unbending. She neither insisted nor denied her claim.

  “You’re younger than me. The illegitimate baby was older.”

  “I am older,” Anabelle said quietly. “My mama told me never to tell a soul.”

  “Lies, lies,” Elizabeth sobbed. She pressed a pillow to her mouth lest the sound send Aunt and Father running to her rescue.

  For the truth stood before her. From their unusual height to similar noses, chins, and short fingers, they were alike. Yet how could this be? Her father and Mammy?

  Elizabeth’s stomach churned. “Leave me.”

  Anabelle had gone, but her departure didn’t take away the pain. If anything, it grew worse. Her father and Mammy? Father would never have done such a thing, and Mother would never have allowed it under her roof.

  Yet Mother’s diary confirmed it. Every word now made sense. Mother’s distress at her new husband’s “perversions.” The agony over another woman. Elizabeth had assumed—had wanted to assume—that the mistress was another settler. She did not want to believe her father could have an unholy alliance with a slave. Yet Mother’s insistence that the girl be raised with the same benefits as her own daughter spoke the truth. Anabelle had learned to read and write, unusual among slaves. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears.

  Mammy was beautiful, with exotic almond eyes and the same regal bearing as Anabelle. Her scolding over Elizabeth and Anabelle playing on the throne chairs now made sense, as did Anabelle’s banishment to the cookhouse.

  In the wee hours, when the world stood still and thoughts tormented, Elizabeth knew.

  It was not only possible, it was fact.

  She hadn’t truly prayed since the hurricane. Oh, she had cast off those quick pleas in times of desperation, but her heart hadn’t turned to God. No, she could stand on her own. Faith was for the weak and hopeless.

  Anabelle’s revelation had left her weak and hopeless.

  “Why?” she cried out to God. Over and over through the long night.

  The pages of Mother’s Bible had yielded familiar stories but no answers. What would she do? What could she do? As much as she wanted to claim Anabelle was lying, the proof stood before her. From Anabelle’s features to Mother’s words to every little reaction of her parents through the years. Every single thing validated the fact that Anabelle was her half sister.

  Friend was one thing. But sister?

  Elizabeth buried her face in the pillow again to drown the sobs. How could she accept this? Why had Mother insisted Anabelle be raised as her equal? How could she even think such a thing? They weren’t and never would be equals. Elizabeth could inherit her mother’s family fortune. She was an heiress. She was legitimate.

  Even worse, Mother forgave Father. How could she? How could she keep his mistress and illegitimate daughter under the same roof? Elizabeth pounded the bolster, the pillows, the mattress. Mother’s reasons had gone to the grave with her.

  Did Charlie know? He and Mother had spent many hours together during his recovery. Perhaps he already knew the terrible truth. Did everyone but her know?

  She shoved the Bible away and it crashed to the floor. Mother’s Bible! Horrified, she flew off the bed and found it lying askew on the floor, pages torn from the binding.

  “No, no,” she sobbed as she attempted to replace the pages. Did everything she touched fall to pieces?

  Paul’s epistle to the Galatians had been torn completely loose at the third chapter. As she pressed it back in place, her eye was drawn to the words directly above her fingers.

  There is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female, for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.

  The words knifed deep into her heart. Bond. Slave. She had seen Anabelle as lesser, but the apostle Paul clearly stated that they were equals. That was what Mother had meant. That was why she had insisted on raising them side by side, why she made Father promise to do so. In spite of the terrible betrayal she must have felt, in the depth of despair she extended grace.

  Elizabeth sobbed, ashamed.

  Forgive me, Lord. Forgive me.

  She pressed her forehead to the mattress and wept.

  This time the tears cleansed, and by the time dawn graced the horizon with its glorious oranges and pinks, she knew what she must do.

  Rourke dropped a blanket and cutlass into the ship’s boat. The weapon was for Tom. Rourke would go unarmed.

  John gripped his shoulder. “I go.”

  “I know you want to do this, old friend, but a white man stands a better chance bringing your wife through town.”

  Rourke’s argument had a sliver of truth at the core, but his real reason centered on something far less noble than ensuring Anabelle’s safety. He must settle things with Elizabeth. Since their last meeting, he had gone over her plea hundreds of times. She had come to him from desperation, and he had turned her away with a shallow promise and a cry for duty. He wasn’t fool enough to think she would be able to outwit her father for an entire year. Charles Benjamin would use every manipulation available to bend her to his will.

  Tonight Rourke must face the man, armed only with the truth and reliance on God.

  He clapped John on the shoulder. “You are in command. Once Anabelle is aboard, leave.”

  “I wait for my captain.”

  “No. Leave at once. Set sail for Andros Island. Get your wife to freedom first before going home to Briland.”

  “No, sir. Dis not good.”

  “It is good, and it’s right.” Rourke pulled a paper from his coat. “If I do not return, this gives you ownership of the Windsprite.” As much as it hurt to give up the sloop that had seen him through good times and bad, he would not see it fall into Benjamin’s hands. “The wording might be simple, but any court should accept it.”

  John looked with wonder at the paper. “Why you do dis?”

  “Because you’re my friend.”

  For a second, John’s shoulders trembled before he cleared his throat and lifted his head. “No one ever do such thing fo’ ole John.”

  Rourke cleared his throat to cover the welling emotions. “It’s about time, then.” Before he lost control, he swung his legs over the bulwark and descended the ladder to the ship’s boat.

  From below, his sloop loomed tall, her sleek hull faster than any other wrecker out of Key West. He ran his hand along the smooth Madeira planking. He had grown up on the Windsprite. His father had bought her as a derelict and rebuilt her from the keel up. Every plank had been crafted with love. Until now, giving her away would have felt like betraying his pa, but at that moment he knew that his father would approve. Pa, who had rescued John from a cruel master, was doubtless smiling down on him today.

  Rourke gazed into the endless blue sky. If tonight went wrong, this might be his last glimpse of the sun.

  Father leaned back in his desk chair, apparently no longer concerned that Elizabeth had interrupted his reading. A smile slowly curved his lips. “I’m glad you came to your senses.”

  Elizabeth clung to the back of the nearest throne chair for support. This had taken every ounce of courage she could muster. “After a great deal of prayer.”

  “Whatever brought you to this conclusion, I am glad for it.” He approached her, arms outstretched.

  Elizabeth saw Anabelle in her father’s every feature. Why hadn�
��t she noticed before? Because she hadn’t wanted to see the truth. She hadn’t wanted to believe her father capable of such a thing. She could not believe he had loved Mammy, yet the alternative was far more horrific.

  Neither his embrace nor his words comforted her. “You will be a happy woman.”

  “If happiness is measured by pleasing others.”

  “I am pleased.” He patted her back and returned to the desk. Pulling open the top drawer, he withdrew a small object. “I had intended to give you this after the announcement of your engagement, but I believe now is an appropriate time.”

  “B-but—” Elizabeth sputtered. She had not yet stated her terms, and he had already leapt to the conclusion he desired.

  He didn’t seem to notice her consternation, instead extending his hand with a smile. “Here, my dear. A token of my delight.”

  Since she did not move to take his offering, he opened his hand to reveal the brooch that she had found aboard the Victory.

  “But that belongs to Mr. Buetsch.” She stared at him. “I asked you to return it.”

  “Mr. Buetsch no longer owns it. When I saw that it bore your mother’s first initial, I asked if he would sell it to me. He assured me he had no sentimental attachment to it. He bought it from a Saint Augustine curio shop. He gave me a good price, and I purchased it.” He pressed the brooch into her hand. “Take it in memory of your mother. She would be very proud of you.”

  Elizabeth felt faint. Everything Father said and did turned the screws that much tighter. She would never escape the cage, just like her mother. Her only consolation was that she could help her sister, if she could summon the courage. Lord, give me strength.

  She took a breath and straightened her back. Courage didn’t flood in, but the posture did create the impression of confidence. “I do have one condition. I cannot accept Mr. Finch without it.”

  His expression darkened. “What is that?”

  Her confidence faltered. She looked toward the fireplace and the portrait of her mother. “I’m certain my mother would approve.”

  “Go on.”

  She took another deep breath and plunged in. “Give me Anabelle.”

  He flinched ever so slightly, but she saw it.

  Seizing the opportunity, she pressed harder. “Mother was the one who insisted I take Anabelle with me to Charleston. She has been my maid for my entire life. I trust you wouldn’t send me away without that small comfort.”

  His hesitation was small but noticeable. “Why insist upon that? It’s trivial. I will give her to you as a wedding gift.”

  “I need that assurance now.”

  “Need?” He stalked to the desk and pivoted to glare at her. The tactic might work in a courtroom, but Elizabeth was no defendant or witness. “Isn’t my word sufficient?”

  “Your word is your honor, Papa. That’s why I’m asking for your word. I wish to bring Anabelle to the ball with me.” She held her breath. This was the test. If he truly loved her, he would agree.

  “Is that all?” His expression eased. “Bring Anabelle if you must.” He smiled. “I know that your word is your honor also. We shall announce your engagement tonight.”

  She had done the right thing. That ought to make her feel better. Instead her insides churned even worse. What had Rourke said, that love did what was right even when it hurt? He didn’t say the pain would keep increasing.

  She stumbled from the study, the brooch clasped tightly in her hand.

  “Why did you do it?” Charlie had somehow managed to move his wheelchair to the door of his room.

  “You were listening.”

  “It’s impossible not to hear.” His face contorted, cheeks blotched with red. “How could you? How could you betray him?”

  She took a shuddering breath. “You don’t understand.”

  “Don’t treat me like a child. I understand perfectly, but I don’t believe it.” He slammed a fist against the arm of his wheelchair. “I never thought my sister would sell her soul to a cheat and a charlatan.”

  20

  Charlie’s words stung. The cheat and charlatan was not their father. No, Charlie meant Mr. Finch. Elizabeth agonized through late afternoon, but she could think of no other way to help Anabelle. Rourke said love required sacrifice. She wished the cost was not so high. The thought of marrying Mr. Finch made her ill.

  Finally, with the approaching darkness came an idea. She would seek help from the only person who agreed with her estimation of Finch.

  She knocked on Charlie’s door. “May I enter?”

  “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

  Elizabeth glanced at the study door. It was open, and Father was not inside. “I need your help.”

  “Why?”

  She didn’t trust that Father wasn’t pacing nearby. “May I come in to explain?”

  She took his grunt as assent and stepped in, taking care to close the door behind her.

  Charlie sat at his desk, curls tousled and lips turned down. “I didn’t give you permission.”

  She hurried to his side. “I can’t speak above a whisper in case Father is listening.”

  That piqued his interest. He set down his pen and straightened his spine. “Father left the house half an hour ago. I suspect he went to inform Mr. Finch that he is engaged.”

  Elizabeth pressed a hand to her midsection. “That’s why I need your advice. How can I be rid of him?”

  Charlie’s brow ticked upward. “Isn’t it a little late for that?”

  She couldn’t explain why she’d taken such a drastic step. If Charlie didn’t know that Anabelle was their half sibling, she couldn’t add that distress to his already shattered life.

  She drew in a deep breath. “I don’t intend to go through with the engagement, but I must make Father believe I will until tonight.”

  “I knew it! I knew you couldn’t abandon Rourke.”

  “I won’t. I can’t.” She sank onto the chair beside his desk. “But how do I rid myself of Mr. Finch before it is too late?”

  “Refuse him.”

  “I have refused him three times already. He will not listen. Father will not listen. I can’t understand why they are so determined.”

  “Your inheritance.”

  Elizabeth stared. “You know about that?”

  “I’ve known for years. Mother told me. Grandmama refused to settle it upon her and insisted it go to you instead.”

  “If I marry the right man,” Elizabeth said dully. “But I don’t understand. I thought Grandmama approved of Father. Mother said—” Too late she realized she’d betrayed knowledge that Charlie could not know since he hadn’t seen the diary. “Mother always led me to believe that Grandmama and Grandpapa were pleased she married Father.”

  Charlie shrugged, apparently not noticing her slip of the tongue. “The point is that Mr. Finch is desperate to get his hands on your inheritance. Have you told Father this?”

  “Not in so many words. I don’t think it would matter. Father is set on this match.” She couldn’t divulge that he expected her to rescue the family, since that largely meant helping Charlie. Her brother would never approve.

  “That’s odd,” Charlie mused. “Usually Father sniffs out a man’s motives from the first conversation, yet he can’t see a thing wrong with Finch.”

  Elizabeth’s pulse quickened. “You’re right. He appears to have a blind spot concerning Mr. Finch.”

  “The question is why.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Mr. Finch might be blackmailing him.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t believe her brother would think such a thing, least of all say it.

  “The question is over what,” Charlie said.

  Her thoughts drifted to the conversation she had overheard in the dining room. “Aunt Virginia told Father that someone stole a document from her trunks.”

  “That must be it. I wonder what it was.”

  “I don’t know. She was very upset, though, and blamed Anabelle.” She puzzl
ed through the events that had bewildered her at the time. “She said Mr. Poppinclerk locked her trunks the moment we arrived on the Windsprite, so the paper must have been taken from here.”

  “Finch.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I’ve considered that, but he was always surrounded by our family when he visited. When could he have slipped upstairs to search her trunks?”

  “Maybe it was Mr. Poppinclerk, then.”

  “What did he stand to gain?”

  “We can’t know until we learn what was in the document,” Charlie wisely pointed out.

  Elizabeth sighed with frustration. “None of this helps me figure out a way to get rid of Mr. Finch.”

  “It would if we knew he had stolen the document, especially if it had anything to do with your inheritance.”

  “I don’t think so.” Elizabeth thought back. “Father told me about the inheritance the night I arrived. Mr. Finch wouldn’t have had any opportunity to take the papers before then. Oh, this is all so confusing.”

  Charlie grinned. “It’s like chess. To beat your opponent, you need to consider all the possible moves and what will happen for each one much farther into the game. We’re considering all the possibilities.”

  “But none of them tell me what to do.”

  “To best a man, you need to know his tendencies and his desires. What are Finch’s tendencies? Where does he spend his time and with whom?”

  Elizabeth stared. “How do you come up with this?”

  Charlie grinned. “You probably don’t know where he goes and whom he counts as a friend.”

  She shook her head.

  “Neither do I, so let’s concentrate on his desires. What does he want?”

  “Money. Status. To marry me.”

  “All of which come back to money. Now, let’s consider how we can use that against him.”

  The answer was so obvious that Elizabeth couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it sooner. “Take away the reward, and he will lose interest.” She sprang to her feet and wrapped her arms around her brother. “Oh, thank you, Charlie.”