by Lily Silver
“I was one of many who did so that night.” Jack sipped his brandy.
“Yes, and then you took her outdoors to help her get away from the other men. Poor girl wasn’t even allowed to sit down and capture her breath between zealous beaus carrying her off for yet another dance, and another. And then you took her away from all that sordid attention. You rescued her …”
“I did nothing of the kind. ‘T’was you who pointed out to me that she was ready to faint from exhaustion; you advised me to spirit her away so she could recover herself.”
Barnaby’s lips rolled, and he looked away from Jack for the first time during this odd conversation. “I was concerned for the young lady. Her devoted suitor seemed oblivious to her plight, God rest his soul.”
The more Barnaby spoke, the more Jack recalled of the evening. Yes, Gareth O’Donovan had been brick brained when it came to looking out for his intended. Jack supposed it was due to all his bookish learning and such. Chloe had been in desperate straits with men fawning over her and abusing the rules of propriety by insisting she dance with them.
Jack slowly set his empty glass on the table and turned away from the canny old fellow. He looked out the large windows at the darkened sea. His mind came alive with memories of Chloe Ramirez, of that brief interlude he wished he could forget. He longed to kiss her in the garden. He yearned to sweep her into his arms and kiss her like a woman should be kissed, with heart and soul. Instead, they merely spoke briefly before Gareth came looking for her.
And then the arrogant bloke smacked Jack in the mouth and accused him of treachery.
Gareth had a flare for dramatics. He’d been deliberately laying it on thick to impress his lady. The fellow adored pithy sayings and went around quoting Shakespeare like a Methodist preacher spouting sacred verse. In retrospect, Jack understood it was Gareth’s way of making himself appear the hero and Jack the villain. Poorly done, but done, just the same. It worked, as she married the fellow within hours of the incident.
“I must confess all to you, my good man, as you will be spending much time with Mrs. O’Donovan in the coming weeks. It’s only fair I should warn you about the pull of an old enchantment that is sure to affect your senses. A spell I tampered with, I admit to my shame.”
Jack spun about on his heels to challenge the ancient wizard. He had never heard such a ridiculous story in his life. “What are you implying?”
Barnaby’s features were heavy with regret. “Powerful magic was loosed that night, an enchantment meant for one man. I interfered. I changed the intentions of the spell. I’ve been a very bad wizard, Captain Rawlings. I pray you can forgive me for my folly.”
“Great Neptune.” Jack was uncomfortable with all this talk of magic. The islanders believed in voodoo and all that rot. Even the count, a scientist, believed his wife was something of a sorceress. Druid was the term the count used. Jack just nodded politely when his otherwise logical friend talked such nonsense and let it pass. What else could one do when faced with an old and loyal friend’s delusions? Nod politely, smile, and change the subject.
“Do you recall the lemon biscuits I gave you that night?” the old fellow asked, seeming to be taking another strict detour from his intended destination.
“Aye.” Tasty morsels. The kind he couldn’t stop eating. “Where did you get them?”
“Miss Ramirez made them. More to the point, she added some potent magic to the batter, intending to offer them as a gift to one man; Gareth O’Donovan.”
“I assume he ate the rest of the batch and then promptly fell on his knees before her and proposed that same night? They were married quickly, as I remember it.”
“Gareth was her intended recipient, but he never received her gift. I met Miss Ramirez in the garden that night. Gareth had promised to meet her out in the gazebo and never showed up. I suspect his duties as host prior to the party kept him from their assignation.”
Barnaby placed his untouched brandy on the table. He sighed, a great heavy sigh, and stepped closer. Jack saw the man’s regret. “Miss Ramirez was walking in the garden with her plate of magic biscuits, intending to meet Gareth and give them to him as a gift. Other men were wandering about the garden that evening, waiting for the party to start. They kept snatching biscuits off her plate, one by one. I watched Miss Ramirez for some time without making myself known. I found her in the gazebo, crying, alone. She had three of her special confections left. I took charge of them and promised to only give them to the one for whom they were intended.”
“And instead, you gave them to me?”
“At the time, I believed you were the better man for her.”
“And you fear that because I ate some blasted magical biscuits a decade ago that as soon as she comes aboard I’ll turn into a slavering fool and ravish the woman?”
Barnaby made a face. “No need to be crude, Captain. But, yes. It was I who gave you the enchanted biscuits, three of them, mind you, so the spell is bound by three. Please, Captain, forgive me if I have harmed you, made you miserable and lonely all these years.”
“Don’t give yourself so much credit. I was miserable before that night, and nothing is changed on my end, old man,” Jack said with as much courtesy as he could muster. He wanted to laugh hard, laugh the man right out of his cabin. Instead, he endeavored to contain his amusement. An elderly man should always be treated with dignity and respect.
“Don’t you see? I tampered with the fates at your expense, sir. Please forgive me for dabbling where I had no business. Now it is up to you to decide if the pull you feel toward her is natural or magical, and to act accordingly. I could make you an antidote. I did so with the other men. You were gone by the time I attempted to correct the effects of her spell on the other men, and, well, after all these years … I-I simply forgot! And then, when I observed your continued captivation with her at dinner the other night, I was reminded of my misdeed.” The old man pushed his spectacles up on his nose. “Unfortunately, my eyesight is not what it once was. I would need help in the endeavor. I’d not wish to accidently poison you.”
Jack was speechless. He wanted to toss the man out after loudly questioning his sanity. Instead, he stared at the hapless fellow. “That will not be necessary, thank you.”
“I could ask the countess to help me,” Barnaby said, wringing his hands, seeming worried about Jack’s future happiness. “She is always patient and kind. Kieran doesn’t like me to dabble with potions any longer. He’s forbidden it after I blew up the garret room in their London town house two winters past.”
“Don’t bother the countess. A bottle of whiskey usually cures all my woes. But … why?” Jack asked, his tongue moving far ahead of his brain. “Why did you feel the need to ‘warn’ me as you say? If we should end up together there is no harm done.”
“Magic is never harmless,” Barnaby countered. “I took her magic charm intended for another and gave it to you. She may never feel anything for you besides friendship. I fear I may have damned you to a life of loneliness, captain. All this time has passed and you could have been happy with another woman.”
“You don’t know me. I might have had any number of mistresses in all those years.”
“Might have, but didn’t,” Barnaby returned, his eyes shimmering with some impish power that could only come from the supernatural. “You’ve been lonely, and it’s ultimately my fault for trifling with your affections ten years ago. Forgive me, please, so I might go to my grave with a clean conscience.”
“Whoa, there.” His hackles rose. “Now see here, you’re talking like you’ve a damaged rudder. I have no reason to forgive you. You’ve done nothing wrong. I admire Mrs. O’Donovan. If things had been different back then, I might have courted her myself. It wouldn’t have worked, as her heart belonged to Gareth. Let’s get you back up to the house. I’m sure the earl will be anxious over your disappearance.” He hurried to the door and shouted down the corridor for his first mate.
Jinx arrived in seconds, recognizing Jac
k’s growl as being a matter that required immediate response. “Captain, what’s the order?”
“See the old man gets back to the house.” Jack closed the door a little to block Barnaby’s view and waved his hand about his ear to signify the old fellow’s confusion.
Jinks nodded in acknowledgement.
Leaning forward as he hung on the doorjamb, Jack whispered in his first mate’s ear, “Make certain Lord Greystowe is made aware the old gent has been in the habit of ‘wandering about’—both physically and in his upper chambers. Tell his lordship precisely that, from me.”
Jinx nodded and Jack turned back to his guest.
Mr. Barnaby smiled at him in such a pleasant manner it was nothing short of disturbing.
Chapter Six
Chloe embraced her dearest friend as they stood on the deck.
They were muttering careful little phrases of affection.
For the first time, Chloe’s heart knew a moment of panic. Was she making a mistake, casting away her place with this loving family to chase after the unknown? Was she mad to long for a better life with her true kin?
“All these tears won’t prevent the tide, my dears,” the count reminded them. “Captain Rawlings is anxious to weigh anchor.”
Elizabeth released Chloe from her bruising embrace. The sight of Elizabeth’s pale face wet with tears made Chloe’s heart plummet.
“Promise you’ll come back to us, one day?” Elizabeth pleaded. “If ever you need us, you’ve only to send word. Isn’t that right, Donovan?” She glanced up at her imposing spouse.
“Yes.” Count Rochembeau gazed down at Chloe with seriousness. He stepped forward to wrap gentle arms about her in a farewell hug. “Dear Aunt Chloe,” he murmured, his deep voice dripping with kindness as he kissed her forehead beneath her bonnet. “If you need us you’ve only to send word through my shipping offices in London or Portsmouth. We will arrange your passage here.”
“Perhaps you’ll come to visit me in Spain? My uncle would surely welcome you.”
The count nodded solemnly and did not comment. Why did she feel as if he didn’t believe a wealthy family in Spain was waiting to welcome her into their fold?
“I will tell my family that you took such gentle care of me after my husband died,” she said brightly, hoping one last time to impress him.
His lordship advised her to tell her family only that her husband had been his relative and part owner of the plantation, not that he was a bastard of mixed racial blood. The count had written a letter introducing Chloe as the widow of the honorable Gareth R. O’Donovan and as the daughter of Juan Renaldo Ramirez.
The Spanish were staunch traditionalists, the count had cautioned her severely. Spanish nobles would not welcome a woman of questionable background into their family. It was unfortunate, but as Chloe was traveling to the Old World, he insisted she be aware of the lingering prejudices to be well armed in her quest. Chloe was not troubled about hiding her origins in her new life. Living on a small island where people knew too much about her and despised her for it was the precise reason she wished to leave her childhood home.
She hugged Elizabeth one last time. The count escorted his lady across the deck and down the plank to the wharf. Chloe brushed at her tears with her handkerchief and went to stand at the rail so she could wave goodbye.
The Beaumont family stood below, the count with his dark black hair and his stark black clothing. Elizabeth stood beside him with her brilliant red hair peeking out beneath a wide brimmed straw bonnet, her arm linked in her husband’s as she waved to Chloe. The three oldest children accompanied them but had been ordered to stay on the wharf as their parents went aboard to say their private goodbyes. Shawn and Sebastian, the twins, resembled little sticks with flaming red head tips. They were tall, gangly boys, full of mischief and adventure. Cherie left her brothers. The child was sobbing. She pressed against her father’s leg, hugging him about the waist, seeking comfort. It pained Chloe to see the child so distraught by her departure. Count Rochembeau crouched down and embraced his darling, attempting to console her with a hug and soft words.
Memories of her own papa emerged as she watched the count try to comfort his little girl. How sweet Papa’s comforting embrace had been when she was Cherie’s age; how solid his arms were. Chloe had always felt safe within his strong embrace and nothing could trouble her when he was near. She hoped Cherie’s childhood would never be ripped asunder by loss of her papa. Without a father’s protection, the world could be a cruel place for little girls.
Beyond the Beaumonts, the tropical landscape of lush emerald green foliage hung heavy with grey mist. The white plantation house was nestled on the hill like a jewel in a crown. Chloe had never left the island, save for brief visits to the main island of St. Kitts with Elizabeth to shop. Now, she was about to sail across the sea to a new land.
For an instant she wished she could call a halt to these mad proceedings she set in motion. She wished she could shout to the captain to stop hauling anchor and spreading the sails, as she had changed her mind and wished to stay where she was safe and dearly loved.
It was not the right course to back down now. If she stayed she would always wish she had clutched at her courage and made the journey to her father’s homeland. She would always long for the distant shore. At least in going she would know she tried to change her destiny, tried to grasp at life and wring from it a small measure of happiness.
The die was cast. She was for Spain.
Jack spent close to an hour watching the lovely woman on the deck stare wistfully toward the disappearing horizon and her home. He decided it was best to stop gawking at her and returned to his cabin to study his charts and write in his log.
He removed his blue seaman’s jacket and loosened his collar as the weight of responsibility closed in upon him. His ship sailed under English colors. Jack was taking a great risk by traveling to a land allied with France. The French and the English were always at odds over something, even before Napoleon arrived on the scene. The English navy had taken the offensive, attacking the French at Algeciras in 1801 and at Trafalgar in 1805.
The English fleet engaged the French several times in the past decade, each time striking them along the Spanish coast and forming blockades to keep the French from gaining the sea through Gibraltar and preventing them, in theory, from being able to send forces to attack English shores. The French responded by setting up encampments at Calais, across the channel from Kent. Their bold maneuver forced the English to set up watch-towers and dig trenches along the coast in the event the French launched an invasion through eastern shores.
On the surface, it seemed a simple task his friend had entrusted him with: drop the woman off at Cadiz, Spain and wave her merrily on her way to a bright future with her new family. Nothing was ever be as simple and uncomplicated as one planned.
Mrs. O’Donovan had not had contact with her father’s family since her father died, some twenty years ago. The wealthy uncle could be dead. He may have gone abroad. He might have a passel of children and resent his niece arriving on his doorstep and expecting a place at his table and free lodgings for the rest of her life.
Jack rubbed the back of his neck and muttered a curse. He didn’t know if he should be angry with Donovan for sending him on this fool’s errand or with himself for accepting the mission. It didn’t matter. He had given the count his word. He would keep it.
A knock on his cabin door shattered his thoughts. “Enter.”
Red Jami, the cabin boy came bearing a much-needed repast.
Jack studied at the plate of roasted pork, bread and potatoes the lad had just brought him and was reminded of his duty. He took a piece of parchment from his desk drawer, wrote a note to Mrs. O’Donovan and sent Red to deliver the invitation to dine with him in his cabin tonight.
He was not looking forward to the evening. Mrs. O’Donovan was a morose soul, and that was on a good day. In her defense, she was devastated by the death of her husband and infant son.
Dinner with Mrs. O’Donovan was bound to be dismal.
Realizing the dark forecast for the evening ahead, he decided to go back out on deck to enlist reinforcements once his lunch had been devoured. He’d be damned if he was going to dine alone with the woman. He’d command his officers to join him and make it a full table.
Chloe retreated to her cabin after the island of Ravencrest disappeared. She grew sad watching the endless horizon. The master cabin was delightful. It was a two-room suite including a private water closet that emptied into the sea. She walked about the room, enchanted by the deep red curtains framing the large galleon windows, the rich red and gold Turkish carpet covering the plank floor, the tasteful furniture and polished oak paneling. Paintings of faraway lands graced the walls and expensive ornaments and carved sculptures adorned the shelves and tables.
She was off on a grand adventure, as Elizabeth liked to say of her younger brother’s frequent travels through Europe. This was a chance to start anew, to re-fashion herself as a lady and perhaps marry again one day. She wasn’t too old. Thirty-two wasn’t young, but many women had children still well into they’re thirties, and even at forty.
She would find Uncle Miguel in Cadiz, or perhaps in Madrid, the capital city. The journey to Spain would take a few weeks so she would have plenty of time to prepare herself to enter proper Spanish society. She stepped over to her trunks, opened one, and began rummaging through it. Not finding the meticulous notes on etiquette and proper conduct in polite society that Elizabeth and Lady Greystowe had written out for her, she began to panic.
“Ma’am?” Marta emerged from the water closet, holding her abdomen as she padded slowly across the floor. “What do you need?”
“I’m looking for a sheaf of papers the countess gave me.” Chloe straightened and observed her maid with concern. The girl was looking a little green, and she kept pressing her lips together in a grim fashion as if it were an effort to keep from vomiting.
