by Jamie Carie
“Of course.” Andrew shook his head, eyes downcast. The act was growing tedious but he pressed on. “It’s just that I was so excited. I wanted to surprise you and Mother with my good fortune. I realize the family thinks me a spoiled dandy so I wanted to do something to make you all proud. Instead, I proved what an idiot I am.”
“Now don’t be too hard on yourself. We’ve been through worse and we’ll come through this together.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Ed. Just the thought of that prison sent me fleeing here on wings. There is just one more thing,” Andrew rushed out, fidgeting with his fingers. “I was wondering if the creditors could go through old Parker instead of you. That way it won’t become common knowledge that my brother had to pay off my debts. It’s a matter of pride, you see.” He raised his brows and gave Edward a shrug of his shoulders.
“Of course. There’s no need for our business to become something for the gossip mills.”
Andrew stood up, gave his brother a quick, firm hug, and hurried from the room.
Edward gazed at the closed door, sadness and bewilderment weighing down his shoulders like a sodden blanket. He had not seen his brother for years, and then when he finally did come home, it was only because he was in trouble and needed money. Would they ever be close?
Dear God, help me reach him.
He let his thoughts drift back to their childhood, a good and proper upbringing he had always thought, but not without its animosities. Animosities that led all the way back to their birth.
They had heard the tale countless times. Edward had been the firstborn twin, the heir to the earldom, but it had come about by a strange quirk of fate. His mother, who now lived on her own estate miles from Arundel, had pushed for hours with no sign of a baby coming.
The midwife, in an effort to feel the baby’s position, placed one hand on the extended abdomen and the other inside the womb. She pulled back in surprise. “Your ladyship, I do believe you are having twins. There’s a head and feet near the opening.”
His mother gasped and her face whitened. “Twins! I shan’t be able to do it.”
The contractions continued though, strengthened instead of daunted by the thought of two.
Hours dragged by as they all wondered if Lady Lenora would be able to deliver the babies. In a wondrous moment, a hushed moment between pushes, a tiny foot poked out of the womb. The midwife didn’t say anything but knew the importance of the firstborn’s place so she tied a scarlet thread around the tiny ankle. Gently slipping the foot back up, she concentrated on delivering the other baby in the head-down position. The child seemed ready to cooperate and after several more minutes emerged from the womb.
“A boy, my lady.” One of the servants rushed to take the child to clean him before he was presented to his mother. After another hour, Lady Lenora held two healthy sons. She noticed the thread and looked up at the midwife. “But what’s this, Ida?”
The midwife told the story of how that child had poked his little foot out first and thought to tie the thread around his foot in the event that Lord Townsend would regard him the firstborn.
And he had. Lord Albert Townsend named the babe with the string around his ankle Edward Alexander Townsend, and proclaimed him the rightful heir. Lenora named his twin brother Andrew Richard Townsend and privately thought that son was cheated.
Edward’s knuckles whitened with the memory as he clenched his hands into fists. They’d been so close when they were boys! Inseparable until the day Andrew heard the story of his birth, bluntly put by a stable hand. Andrew had changed then, pulling away and becoming distant and ever more brooding. After awhile it seemed they had little in common and less to like about each other. And that wasn’t even the worst of it. The resentment his mother held destroyed their parents’ marriage. Lenora devoted herself to spoiling her younger son which forced the earl to take Edward’s causes.
Edward sighed, his head dropping forward, sadness pulling at his heart. They were so different in every way. Andrew was strikingly handsome with his fair hair and pale blue eyes, so much like their mother. Edward supposed he was the epitome of an Englishman with his dark brown hair, aristocratic nose, and hazel eyes. And that was only their outward differences. Inwardly they couldn’t be more distant. He, a long-grieving widower, and Andrew, a financially destitute dandy in dire straits. But he was back.
His brother had come home.
Maybe if he loved him enough, if he showed it and gave him all the attention and praise and . . . well, whatever it was that Andrew needed, maybe he could, uptight Englishman that he was, humble himself and shower his brother with love.
Father, help me love him the way he needs it. Help me show him You.
Chapter Two
Boston—1796
Dorian Colburn stood in the shipyard, eyes squinting against the midafternoon sun, a satisfied smile playing around his lips. She was beautiful, perfect, and he couldn’t be more pleased. His gaze roved the sleek lines, the curves and hollows and rich tones of ivory and brown. Fast. The best way to describe her. The speed he anticipated she could produce sent a jolt of excitement through him. She would surpass anything he’d known until now, he was sure of it. And she was all his.
At the sound of steps he turned and let his smile fade a degree as he greeted the ample form of the builder, Don Monteiro. “How much longer?” Dorian asked.
The man’s gaze swept from Dorian’s face to the huge ship and then back, finally meeting his eyes. “Another two weeks, as I thought.” He shrugged. “We’re doing our finest work with this one. I’m sure you wouldn’t want it rushed.”
Dorian gave him a ruthless grin. “There’s where you’re wrong, Monteiro. I want it within the week and I want it perfect. I have contracts waiting.”
Don Monteiro, the most renowned ship designer in the New World, drew up his stocky frame to an impressive five feet and ten inches and, with his thick neck turning a telling shade of red, scowled. “If you hadn’t had to have the luxury of a king she’d have been done before schedule. You’ve had my men at their best.” He rocked back on his heels. “As it is, with all those fancy additions of yours, you’ll by lucky to get her within a fortnight. You’ve already cheated me out of her name, my boy. You’ll get her when she’s done and not a day before.”
Dorian’s lazy smile at the reminder of the ship’s name caused the man’s entire face to redden in an angry flush.
Monteiro usually demanded the privilege of naming each of his ships before he sold it, but Dorian had wrenched that particular pleasure from him within weeks of working on this project together. Monteiro’s daughter, the beauteous Angelene, had taken to visiting the docks, batting her long dark lashes, and bestowing a besotted gaze on Dorian, taking every opportunity to stroll with him down the quay and touch his arm and laugh at whatever he said as if he were the most charming man she’d ever met. Monteiro hadn’t been too happy about that. He’d made it clear that they were to stay away from each other. But Angelene hadn’t paid her father any mind and neither had he.
It wasn’t as if he had openly courted her. But women always made it so easy! Was it his fault they fell at his feet? He wouldn’t be a man if he didn’t notice a pretty woman like her flitting about, practically begging for his attention. But then Dorian had come up with a brilliant idea. A way to make them both happy—in return for the privilege of naming his own ship as Dorian had put it, he would tell Angelene that he was spoken for and let her down easy.
Monteiro had been outraged at first. It had taken him awhile to realize that Dorian wasn’t the typical dandy of the wealthy and affluent, but an intelligent negotiator who knew what he wanted. He’d given in and hadn’t mentioned the name of the ship since.
Dorian pushed his annoyance with the famed shipbuilder aside as he studied the sleek lines of the ship. The new gaff sails were up, flapping in the wind, and men were just now testing the headsail. He chuckled and then locked his gaze to Monteiro’s and drawled out, “I thought you might like t
o know I’ve decided upon a name.”
“What is it then?” Monteiro’s voice grated gruff and angry.
Dorian blinded him with a dazzling smile. “I’m thinking the Angelina, after a certain young lady I know, that is if you don’t meet my date. But . . . if she’s on time?” He shrugged his broad shoulders and lifted one dark brow. “Who knows what lovely lady I’ll meet up with before the week is out.”
Monteiro let out a dark expletive and slapped his thigh in vexation. “You wouldn’t dare! Why the girl would think you were in love with her if you were to go and do a fool thing like that.”
“Precisely. Don’t look so glum, Monteiro, we both know you can do it if you want to. Hire some more workers,” he shrugged, “whatever it takes.” Dorian put out his hand and waited, one brow raised, for the man to capitulate. It didn’t take long. He grinned with mock sympathy at Monteiro’s harassed features. “I’ll see you at the end of the week. Good-day, sir.”
Monteiro cursed again, turned, and trotted as fast as his stocky legs could carry him back to his office. He had a lot of work to do if he had any prayer of getting the ship done in five days. But then he slowed and paused with his hand on the door handle and let out a laugh. That boy was something else. No one had had him scurrying to do their bidding like this since he was a young man himself. Maybe his daughter couldn’t do better. He considered the thought, his brow creasing. Maybe he shouldn’t be in such a hurry after all.
Making his way to his hired carriage, Dorian rapped on the side with his knuckles to wake his driver. He shook his head in amused disdain. He’d never encountered a driver who fell asleep if you left him alone for more than ten minutes, but this poor fellow had been doing it all day.
The thin man jerked awake, uncurling into a stiff, upright position. “Pardon, sir. Where to next?”
“The Stag. Time for some dinner, eh?”
The nervous man jerked around in his seat and slapped the reins just as Dorian reached to open the door.
“Whoa!” Dorian yelled after him, letting go of his grasp on the handle of the carriage as it bounded away. The man sawed back on the reins, giving the poor horses a sudden stop, and turned in his seat to see Dorian walking up to the carriage.
“It might be a good idea to wait until I’m safely inside before we travel, don’t you think?” Dorian asked with mock gravity, choking back a laugh with a loud cough.
The driver stammered. “Your p-pardon again, s-sir. It’s m-my first day with this team.”
Well, that explained some of his peculiar behavior. “Just relax, my good man. You’ll do fine.”
The man stared, speechless at the kind treatment, so Dorian slipped inside and yelled, “Now go!” Dorian leaned back against the worn leather, stretched his legs out to rest upon the empty seat opposite him, crossing them at the ankles, and thought back to his ship. After five long years of working aboard one or another of his father’s ships, all brigs, he was finally getting his own. He’d planned and saved and worked for this for the last two years, and in a few more years he hoped to have a small fleet. Yes, Colburn Shipping Company was being born with this three-masted schooner. Trade with England was good, better than good. He already had several contracts for tobacco, rice, and indigo, and those names his man in London had scratched up were promising, very promising. Now if Monteiro believed his bluff about the name, he could expect to have the Sea Falcon loaded and taking to the water within seven days.
The sudden halt of the carriage jerked him out of his thoughts and back to his inexperienced driver. With a sigh, Dorian jammed his dove-colored hat upon his head and climbed out to the dusty street. John would be waiting for him. They were to meet for a quick meal in the hotel’s dining room. Turning toward his driver, he shouted up, “If you’ll go around to the kitchen, I’ll have them revive you with some food and drink.”
The man nodded his thanks and trotted off toward the back of the building. Dorian couldn’t help but grin, it was the fastest he’d seen the fellow move all day.
Dorian made his way through the crowded sea of townsfolk to where John sat waving him over. He was thankful he hadn’t had to make this trip alone. There had been a hundred details to attend to with getting the ship ready and hiring a crew. John was going to make an excellent first mate and, more important, Dorian could trust him with his back.
“Well, look who the cat dragged in. I’d about given up. Did you have problems with Monteiro?” John goaded as Dorian sat down across from his friend.
“No, he’s agreed to have her ready by the end of the week.”
John uttered a soft word and grinned, showing off his white even teeth. “I know your powers of persuasion to be convincing, but would you care to tell me how you managed that?”
Dorian shrugged. “Just a small matter of his daughter and the name of the ship. The Angelina has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
Their boisterous laughter rang out across the dining room, attracting the attention of the patrons. There wasn’t a pair of female eyes looking elsewhere.
“So how’s the search for able-bodied sailors coming?” Dorian asked after the serving girl set down two plates of meat pie and a variety of colorful vegetables.
“Found three more this morning. That brings us up to, um, seventeen. Two or three more ought to do it, right?”
“Better sign on a few extras. Sailors are known for getting roaring drunk the night before they sail. We’ll be lucky if they all show up.”
“Good idea. I know you wanted quality men, Dorian, but it hasn’t been easy. Most of the men I’ve found are a rough lot. I’m glad several men volunteered from your father’s ship to help start out your crew. At least that way we know we’ll have a few good men.”
Dorian nodded, swallowing before he answered. “Father was glad to let us have a few. He said after captaining them for the last few years they were more loyal to me than him anyway.” Dorian lifted his broad shoulders in a shrug and grinned. “Too bad I couldn’t have taken them all.”
John laughed. “From what I heard, your father didn’t stop you, it was old Captain Hassock. He said he was taking over the Endeavor and he didn’t want a bunch of greenheads underneath him.”
Dorian leaned back in his chair and pushed the empty plate away. His mother was always complaining he inhaled his food and he supposed he did. John had barely eaten half of his pie. “He never did let me get away with anything. I still remember the first day I set foot aboard his ship. Cabin boy and only sixteen.” A grin tugged at Dorian’s mouth as he remembered how frightened he’d been. Hassock was a huge man, over six and a half feet tall and weighing over two hundred and fifty pounds, the crew had nicknamed him The Mountain. “He taught me everything I know.” Dorian’s voice was soft in remembrance.
“And then you decided it was time to go out on your own.” John finished for him. “I’ll admit I’m more than a little excited to be going across the pond, but don’t you ever get tired of being at sea? I don’t think you’ve been home for more than a few months at a time since those cabin boy days.”
Dorian turned his head away, remembering what had really, at first, driven him to life at sea. He’d been running, running away from her. But John knew better than to bring that up. Barking out a laugh to chase off the sudden chill in his spine, Dorian mused. “I’m sure your pretty fiancée hopes it doesn’t happen to you, but it’s in my blood. I feel landlocked if I’m away from it too long.” He couldn’t really put it into words but when he stepped on the deck of his ship, after being on land awhile, he felt alive again, rejuvenated, home. The sea demanded much of a man. At times, strength and endurance to brave the mighty waves and gale winds. At other times, patience, watching the calm lapping water lick the massive side of the hull, but always a bated expectancy, never knowing from one moment to the next what nature had in store for the small, lowly men in her belly.
Shaking himself from his nostalgic mood, Dorian sat up and drained his mug. “Anyway, we’d better get back t
o work. There are still a lot of last-minute details before we sail, first mate.”
Two weeks later the ship took to the water like the gentle landing of a flock of geese on a pond, settling gracefully to the hull’s midsection. White water frothed around the bow as the Angelina was launched into the Atlantic. Dorian stood with his first mate and best friend at the stern, watching where they could oversee the activity of the men.
“I still can’t believe it. The Angelina?” John’s face had reddened from being out in the wind and sun and new freckles stood out on his cheeks. It was a face Dorian had known as his best friend for as long as he could remember.
“I had no choice. The old fellow took me up on my bluff and I was forced to hold with my word.” Dorian answered with no small degree of anger in his voice.
“Are you saying he purposefully delayed the ship’s readiness?”
“So it would appear. I asked for her to be ready in five days, and she was, almost. Monteiro claimed part of the rigging was frayed and he wanted it checked before handing her over.”
“But you don’t believe that?”
“I checked the rigging myself the day before and it looked sound to me.”
“Then why’d he do it?”
Dorian let the corners of his lips raise a notch in self-mockery. “I believe he has reconsidered the prospect of having me as son-in-law.”
John let out a whoop of laughter. He clapped Dorian on the shoulder. “Monteiro doesn’t know who he’s dealing with and neither does the pretty Angelene. You’ll find a way out of this scrap, like you always do.”
Dorian hoped he was right.
Edward looked up as his solicitor, Parker Walcott, entered the earl’s library a fortnight after Andrew’s visit. His gray hair poked out in all directions, accenting the deep crevices upon his face and making him appear more and more a loony old man than a respected barrister. He’d never seen Parker look so pale. “Parker, is something wrong? You look as if your daughter just ran off with a servant.”
