The Merchant's Yield
Page 5
A terrible mistake.
He tapped his thumb against his thigh. His anger ignited anew merely thinking about his dreadful mother-in-law. He’d been tricked into marriage so Charlotte could exact revenge upon her overbearing mother. Her little episode of delirium at the church only meant the unwanted consequences of her actions were coming to light.
Charlotte still stared out the window. She hadn’t peeked in his direction the entire carriage ride. Most in her situation would probably be lamenting over their last glimpses of home, but the jittery look in Charlotte’s eyes vacillated between apprehension and excitement. One hand still clutched her bouquet of white roses, while her thumb on her other hand fiddled with the wedding band he’d placed on her finger.
“Charlotte.”
She startled at his voice and jerked around to face him.
“I’ve taken the liberty of using your given name since we are now married.”
Her wide blue eyes peered at him, and she gave the barest of nods. “Of course.”
“Nathaniel is my given name, but those closest to me call me Nathan.”
She didn’t respond. She didn’t even blink. Silence grew between them.
“Did those roses come from your garden?”
She nodded.
Couldn’t she see he was trying to extend an olive branch? He raised both brows to prod her further.
“Indeed.” She cleared her throat. “They did. I-I care for them myself. Our gardener says I have a way with flowers.”
Of course, she’d have a liking for roses. “Roses don’t grow well on the island. The ground is too sandy. At least, I don’t see them often.”
“Oh.” She plucked a growing bud from the arrangement and held the single rose out for to him to take. “For you.”
He accepted it with a nod.
She curled her fingers back around the cluster of stems in a grip that seemed a bit too tight. “Since you don’t see them much.”
“How kind.” Her offering surprised him. He studied the delicate petals—so pale, so fragile, not unlike his new bride. He inserted it into the buttonhole on his lapel. “Have you ever sailed before?”
“Once. To France.” She picked a speck of lint from her pale lavender gown. The clip-clopping of the horses’ hooves permeated the quiet.
“And did you like it?”
“Traveling or France?” she asked.
“Either.”
A slow, demure smile spread across her face, like the early morning sun stretching its rays across the ocean’s horizon. His breath hitched.
“I loved it. The sights, the adventure, the people, the food—all lovely.”
“You went there for pleasure?”
“Mama purchased authentic furniture used by one of the King Louises, I forget which, but she was intent on supervising its shipment.” Her eyes sparkled. “She berated the poor merchant for an entire day and completely left me to my own devices.”
“How did you fare?”
“Quite well. I met two elderly French women, Desiree and Aurelie, with whom I still write, and they to me.”
“I meant, how did you fair with the boat ride?”
She blushed, and the healthy glow resumed in her cheeks. Something stirred in his gut, but he ignored it. Youthful lust was the last thing he needed right now, even for his wife. The safety of his ships and crews was paramount.
“I didn’t cast up my accounts, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Good,” he mumbled, but his mind drifted to the Amory and her crew. Since he’d not brokered the deal with Middleton, there would be no returning of his men. They would remain enslaved or, as the British termed it, “impressed into service,” until he could figure out another plan. How hard it would be to return to the ports and tell their wives and children that they would be without their husbands or fathers, most likely until the war with France ended—if at all.
The anger he’d fought hard to repress returned in a flash. He shifted in his seat and squeezed the seat cushion with his right hand. It did nothing to cool his temper.
“I need to understand one thing.” He ran a hand down his face and scratched the skin on his neck. “Why didn’t you make your presence known that night?”
She shrank back into the seat cushions as if she could make herself disappear.
There was nowhere to hide. “Was it your intention to trap me into marriage?” It wasn’t unheard of for the peerage to marry for money, even if it meant settling for an untitled mister, whether he be a nabob from India, a new-money cit from America, or a sugar baron from the islands. If that were the case, Miss Marry-for-Money would be in for a shock.
Her eyes widened—feigned or otherwise. He didn’t know her well enough yet to distinguish. He prodded her further. “Was this your plan to escape your mother?”
“No. I…” She shook her head so vehemently that a puff of white powder haloed her head.
She’d powdered her hair. That was why it wasn’t as red as the other evening. “In the future, you’ll find it will serve you well to be honest and forthright.”
“As you wish.” Her eyes darkened to the color of a turbulent ocean, but her complacent reply did nothing to denote the emotions swirling in their depths.
“And don’t powder your hair.”
The coach jerked to a stop, and he reached across to keep her from sliding onto the floorboards. She let out a yelp as her stomach collided with his hand and forearm.
“God’s thunder.” He rapped on the ceiling of the carriage.
Lottie righted herself and pushed his hand away. Heat further burned her cheeks, and her stomach felt branded by his touch. His accusations also raised her alarm. He believed her to be a wicked monster who would risk public shame and humiliation to force him to the altar?
Mr. Winthrop—or rather, Nathan—drew aside the curtain to see out the window. A bustle of activity crowded the streets. “The wharf is less than a block away. We can walk from here.”
He thumped again on the carriage roof with the heel of his hand, and within seconds, the footman sprung to open the door.
“We’ve hit a bit of a jam, sir,” the footman said.
Nathan stepped out and assessed the situation. A deep crease formed between his brows at the bridge of his nose, and he reached back to assist her. His warmth penetrated even through her gloves. Her hand felt like ice in comparison.
The busy port hummed with people and the commands of the ships’ captains coming in and out of the harbor. Gulls cried their mournful screech overhead, and the stench of fish permeated the air.
His chest lifted as he spied the Katherine. Crossing his arms, he assessed their surroundings with hard eyes. “Have the rest of her trunks brought down to the Katherine and her maid follow us.”
“Right away, governor.” The footman bowed.
He handed the footman some coin for his trouble before he took her hand. Lottie had no other choice but to be pulled along in his wake as he pressed through the crowd toward his ship. She struggled to keep up with his long stride, as did Franny, her new lady’s maid. The poor petite girl fell hopelessly behind. Edith, her regular maid, had been too old to travel. Lottie missed the kindly woman’s eyes. As the crowd thinned, she tugged her hand away, but stayed by his side. How dare he treat her so? How dare he condemn her for crimes she didn’t commit?
The Katherine loomed over them, ready to steal her away from all things familiar.
Nathan stepped onto the gangway and turned to assist her up. He searched her face and his eyes narrowed. Lottie’s heart clenched at his frosty glare. She fought to hold his gaze and placed her hand in his. His fingers wrapped around hers like a fetter. Would he treat her well? Should she entrust her life to this stranger? Was it too late to run? She tried to pull away, but his grip clamped down. The crease between his brows deepened into a slash. She’d been the recipient of such a look many times in her life. Oh God, please help me. Had she married a man whose temper would rival her mother’s?
Lottie hesitated. Should she turn around? Could she return to the safety of her family?
If she remains, she’ll be dead to us already.
No. She must see this through and suffer the consequences for her misdeed. Lottie maneuvered up the incline ahead of him, grateful the plank only allowed for single file passage. The thin soles of her dancing slippers were not meant for the rough splintery boards below her feet. Her fingers slid along the rope railing. The swaying green water below sloshed against the side of the ship.
“Well, well, who have we here?” A deep voice startled her.
Her foot slipped, and she pitched toward the water below.
Chapter 6
Egad! I have pledged my life to a stranger.
~ From Lady Charlotte Winthrop to Miss Priscilla Middleton
Lottie’s right foot touched only air, and her left slipper teetered on the edge of the gangplank. She flailed her arms, and a scream tore from her throat.
Nathan’s hand clamped on her shoulder and yanked her back into balance.
“Watch your step.” He grasped her hand. “We don’t have the time to fish you out of the drink.”
She barely got out a thank you before he turned and hauled her up to the rail of the ship. Her heart still pounded in her chest from her near swim. She stared at the snug fit of his muscular shoulders straining against the fine material of his jacket. Her husband had proved most capable. Her jaw tightened. But she didn’t want to be grateful to such a maddening man.
“If I didn’t see her with my own eyes, I never would have believed you’d done it—gone and got yerself leg-shackled.”
“Capt’n Fielding,” Nathan yelled back a greeting. “How’s my ship? Itching to set sail?”
“Worse than an ivy rash. The wind is steady, and the men are bitin’ to hoist those sails.”
A big mitt of a hand, tattooed with a small bird in the webbing between his thumb and index finger, reached out and encased Lottie’s elbow. Captain Fielding hefted her onto the deck. His face was tanned like tough leather, and his hair bleached white with the sun. All the captains she’d ever met had been naval captains like Anthony, and dressed in the standard uniform with gold fringe that matched the gold buttons on their navy-blue jackets. Captain Fielding wore loose pants and a fitted jacket with extra-long coattails. His stature was tall like Nathan’s but thinner in build. He reached down to shake Nathan’s hand and yanked him onboard.
“Good to see you, my friend.”
Nathan’s features softened into a boyish grin with even white teeth and shining eyes. Her breath caught at the transformation. Thank heavens, there must be an endearing side to her husband. She merely hadn’t seen it yet.
“Friend,” Captain Fielding scoffed. “A friend is invited to a man’s wedding.”
Nathan shook his head. “I’ll explain when we join you for supper. Right now, I’d like to get Lady Winthrop settled.”
The captain whistled. “Gone and gotten yerself a lady. Won’t that put a thistle in—”
“Shouldn’t you be preparing to sail?”
A look passed between the two before the captain’s weathered face split into a broad smile displaying a set of full teeth. “The crew’s got it all underway, and I’m still waiting fer an introduction to this pretty young thing.”
Nathan’s boyish grin reappeared. “Charlotte, please meet Captain Jeremiah Fielding, the best sea captain east of the Prime Meridian. Capt’n, this is Lady Charlotte Winthrop, my wife.”
The name sounded strange to her ears, yet it was her name. Captain Fielding bowed low, and she followed with a curtsy.
“I hope you feel at home on the Katherine. If anything isn’t to yer liking, then make sure you inform yer captain, whether it be yer husband or me.” He pointed to a sailor in cut off pants and a red scarf looped around his neck. “Charlie here will show you to your quarters.”
Her maid climbed aboard, carrying one of Lottie’s bags. Poor Franny’s chest heaved, most likely from the exertion of keeping such a fast pace.
Lottie waved her over and nodded to the young sailor. She turned to thank the captain, but he’d already stepped closer to Nathan. “I have news of the Amory.”
Nathan’s smile faded, and the furrowed brow returned.
“Five men were impressed into His Majesty’s Royal Navy. Two were killed.”
Nathan’s stance grew rigid. “Who?”
“Skitter and Knuckles.”
“Blast.” Nathan turned and pounded his fist on the railing.
“Right this way, miss.” Charlie gestured for her to follow him down a steep set of stairs. She hesitated, wanting to hear more about the men who died. Were they part of Winthrop’s crew? Was the Amory one of his ships? Why would the British navy impress men who were engaged in activities crucial for the homeland’s trade?
Below deck, darkness sank over them and boards creaked under her feet. The ship seemed clean and appeared in sound enough condition. The scent of lemon oil rubbed on wood partially covered the musty smell. But with it being a ship, must and mold would likely be a never-ending battle. Charlie walked with a wide stance as if to balance himself, even though the ship was docked. The long, lanky lad couldn’t have been older than six and ten. She and Franny followed him down a narrow hall to an opening.
Charlie pointed to the right. “This here’s the galley if you get hungry. Our cook serves a fine meal.” He lowered his voice. “But eat well early on ‘cause her meat becomes a bit tough out at sea.” His brows wiggled. “Tiller once chewed the same piece of meat for three days.”
“I heard that,” called a woman’s voice from within the galley. “Go on and git before I take you over my knee and beat the devil out of you.”
Charlie darted around the next corner as the cook waved her spoon in his direction and laughed a raspy cackle. “If yer needing anything, ring the bell in yer room, and I’ll send someone yer way.”
Lottie bobbed a small curtsy and started after Charlie. Franny scurried to keep up.
“Here’s yer cabin, milady.” Charlie swung open a heavy wooden door and bowed a bit too low to be proper.
Lottie stepped into the opulent room containing a large, lush bed, complete with hand-turned posts, an ornately-carved headboard, silk pillows, and satin bedding. Sunlit-paned windows lined the back of the room, filling it with natural light. A small eating table was nailed into the floor on the right, a large writing desk to the left. Maps and charts were tacked up around the room, and a painting of two tall ships ensconced in battle hung in a gilded frame on the wall across from the bed. Lanterns hung on thick black chains suspended from the wooden ceiling. A large trunk rested at the foot of the bed, and she half expected the box to be filled to the brim with gold doubloons.
She turned to face Charlie. “But, this must be Captain Fielding’s room.”
“Ah, it is, but the generous captain has given up his room as a wedding gift fer you and Mr. Winthrop. He’ll be bunking with his men fer this voyage.”
Tonight was her wedding night.
She stared at the large bed she and Nathan would soon share. A cold sweat broke over Lottie’s brow. This morning her mother had sat her down, but instead of explaining what happened between a husband and wife, she’d coached Lottie on how to feign a headache or pretend to be sick to avoid Winthrop touching her.
The thought of Winthrop alone with her on their wedding night washed Lottie anew in a fine cold sweat. Her fingers found their way to her mouth, and she bit her nails through the fabric of her gloves. At least Mama wasn’t here to reprimand her.
“I’ll leave you to freshen up,” Charlie said. “If you need anything, give the cord there a good pull”—he pointed at a gold rope near the bed—“and cook will tend to you. You’ll have to release the clapper first. Otherwise, it won’t ring. And make sure to hook the clapper back up whe
n yer done, or the bell will ring with every sway of the ship.”
A scuffling sounded from the hall, and Charlie stepped aside as two stout men carried in her trunks. They anchored them against the wall with ropes and turned to take their leave. As they passed Charlie, each let out a chuckle and shook their heads. Charlie followed in their wake and said to their backs, “It could have happened to anybody. It’s not my fault.” She heard the guffaws of the crewman’s laughter until she closed the heavy wooden door.
“Do you need anything, milady?” Franny clutched her hands in front of her.
“Not at the moment. Go ahead and find your accommodations. When you’re settled in, you can return and help me dress for supper.”
After her maid left, Lottie paced the perimeter of the room. The captain was an orderly man. Even his bookshelf was categorized in alphabetical order by title: Common Sense by Thomas Paigne, The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon, The Holy Bible, and MacBeth by Shakespeare. His library held a plethora of subjects.
Sitting on the bed seemed too intimate, so she pulled out the Bible and sat at the small desk. Her finger flipped open the pages, but the words blurred before her eyes.
Dear God, what have I done? This is all a big mistake. I’m not brave enough for this. I can’t be married to a man who doesn’t care a wit about me. One who has a foul temperament and believes the worst of me. I don’t have the courage to start a new life in a strange land. Please don’t do this to me. I’m not strong enough. I promise I will never rebel against my mother, or You, or anyone else ever again.