“Hello, new girl Harriet. How did we fare today?”
“Quite well, Mr. Dixon. I just finished.” Harriet picked up the papers and tapped the ends on the desk a few times to straighten the stack.
“Oh, well, don’t worry. You will get faster.”
“Mr. Dixon, if I may point out, the other editors have left work on their desks.” Harriet pointed at the empty desks in front of her, all with several stacks of unfinished editing.
“That is quite impressive, Harriet. May I call you Harry?”
“I’d rather you not.”
“No, of course not. It makes you sound like a hairy monster. It makes one wonder why your parents named you something with ‘harry’ in it.”
Harriet bit her lower lip and stood up, handing Mr. Dixon her stack of papers. “Good night.”
“So Har then? No, Itty?”
“I don’t have a nickname. Just Harriet is fine.” Harriet gathered up her bag and replaced her hat on her head.
“Oh, come on. I’m your boss. I insist on a nickname for you.”
Harriet sighed. “I suppose, if you insist. Hattie is the most pleasant nickname for Harriet.”
“Hattie? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“I’m very tired. Long first day. You understand. Good night.”
“Good night, Hatter!”
“Hattie,” Harriet called over her shoulder as she extricated herself from Mr. Dixon’s presence and walked out the door.
Harriet knew she must console herself by gossiping to someone about her first day on the job, so she headed to Liz’s new twin home down the hill. It was a blustery night but not very cold. As she went down the road, she could see Michael, Peter, and an unknown man talking in front of Mary and Michael’s gate. Michael was the first to see his sister Harriet, because he was facing her direction and he waved at her. Peter and the mystery man glanced at her. Peter gave him a handshake and a smack on the back, and the man left in the opposite direction.
“Who was that?” Harriet asked her brother and new brother-in-law as she approached.
“Harriet! How are you? How was your first day at the ol’ Gazette?” Michael said as he opened the gate. “You are just in time for dinner. Mary cooked, and it should be done any moment.”
“That’s why I’m here. I need a sympathetic ear, I’m afraid.”
“It was Mr. Dixon, wasn’t it?” Peter said as he opened the front door.
“Yes, but not the one you may be thinking.”
“Oh, no. I know it was Mortimer Dixon.”
“Well, thanks for the warning, then, brother.” Harriet laughed. She had known Peter for a long time. They were old friends, and Peter often helped Harriet with her schoolwork even though Harriet didn’t need it. Perhaps she would have married Peter if she had not left to Florida. But she wasn’t sad about it. She was happy for him and Liz.
“I suppose I didn’t want to spoil it for you.”
Mary and Liz were standing in the hall, and Mary had her hand on Liz’s belly. Harriet and Michael stopped. Michael began signing to Liz without speaking aloud. Harriet tried to follow, but she never picked up on sign language fluently like Liz did.
“What? What is it?” Harriet asked with confusion.
“Oh, Harriet, can’t you tell?” Mary asked.
“Mary!” Liz was offended at the implication that she was showing.
“I’m not meaning to be rude, but it’s clear as day!”
“Liz? Is it a baby?” Harriet asked carefully, putting all the information together.
“Yes, it is!” Liz squealed excitedly.
Michael signed some more and then rushed to Liz’s side to kiss her cheek. Then he turned and gave Peter a handshake.
“I’m so happy for you! Mother didn’t tell me!” Harriet said as she went to congratulate Liz with a kiss on the cheek as well.
“She doesn’t know!” Liz said, putting her index finger over her mouth.
“She’s going to injure you when she finds out she is the last to know,” Harriet warned.
“I know. I will tell her soon, I promise. I didn’t expect you tonight, so I had planned on telling everyone back home together.”
“I’m sorry. I had a bad day at the Gazette, but it seems silly now.”
“No, of course not. Come. Mary made us a questionably smelling dinner, but I’m sure it’s delicious.”
“I think it smells delicious,” Peter said. “Your smeller is off, I think. She told me this morning that I needed a bath, and this was after I had just taken a bath.”
“Hm, I agree, Bess. It smells fine to me,” Harriet said.
“Worry not,” Mary said. “When my mother was carrying my sister Sarah, she couldn’t stand the smell of anything. She wouldn’t even go to church because Mrs. Plumkin wore perfume and it made her feel as though she would—you know.” Mary imitated gagging.
“On that note, I would like to eat,” Michael said.
Harriet told everyone about Mr. Dixon and how rude and horrible he was. Everyone was quite cross and insisted that Liz speak to Mr. Dixon in Harriet’s behalf.
“No, I can’t have my little sister stepping in because of a schoolyard bully. I will handle Mortimer myself.”
“I would, if you wanted me to,” Liz insisted.
“No. I can handle him,” Harriet insisted in return. “Now, who was that man you two brothers were speaking with before?”
Peter and Michael glanced at each other for a moment.
“No one,” Michael said quickly.
“Just a passerby,” Peter said.
“Well, you two are friendly. Seemed like he was a good friend,” Harriet said.
“Harriet, was he handsome? Are you hoping for an introduction?” Mary asked as she passed the deflated and unevenly colored rolls around.
“No, not at all! I am not concerning myself with finding a husband.”
“Of course not, Harriet,” Liz said as she scooped runny potatoes on her plate that splattered Peter in the face.
“I am independent. I don’t need to get married if I don’t want to.” Harriet straightened in her chair, feeling the need to compensate for how small she felt.
Michael splattered potatoes on his plate, wiped some off his cheek, and said, “It’s time for the blessing.”
Everyone bowed their heads as Michael prayed.
“Father, we thank thee this day for this delicious feast and for Peter and Liz’s baby. We thank thee for wonderful wives and sisters and ask for blessings on our endeavors. In Jesus’s name, amen.”
Everyone began to eat but Liz. “I’m sorry, Mary. I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with your cooking, but it smells so—” Liz held back a gag as she jumped up from the table and ran out the back door, retching and gagging into the bushes. Peter ran after her.
“I thought it was morning sickness?” Michael asked before he scooped runny potatoes up with a piece of his burnt roll and ate it happily. “Mm, good job, darling,” he said, mouth full.
“Thank you. I suppose the potatoes are a tad runny. And the rolls are burnt on the bottom and pale on the top. But the roast is good, right?
Harriet tried to cut through her roast, but her fork slid across the plate, creating a horrible screeching noise.
“Yes, well done,” Harriet said. Michael simply gave Mary a thumbs up and a wink after he picked up his piece of roast with his bare hand and with much difficulty bit off a piece.
“I’m a terrible cook.” Mary pouted.
“What?” Michael asked. He was not looking at Mary when she spoke, only catching her movement in his periphery, so she had to repeat herself, even though she didn’t want to have to say it again.
“I’m a terrible cook!” she said with more disappointment this time.
“No, you just need to learn to use the
new oven. The flavors are excellent. Right, Harriet?” Michael looked at Harriet as he scarfed down more roll dipped in the gravy-like potatoes.
“Yes, quite right. Your rolls are just like Mother’s would be.”
“You haven’t even tried yours,” Mary said.
“I . . .” Harriet picked up her roll and took a large bite. Once she got past the burnt bitterness it was a fair approximation of a roll.
“Not bad at all,” Harriet said with a full mouth.
“See?” Michael said as he leaned over and kissed his wife.
Liz and Peter came back in the kitchen. “I’m going to go home and rest,” Liz said wearily.
“Of course. Tea tomorrow?”
“Maybe,” Liz said as she walked to the front door.
“Good night, everyone,” Peter said.
“No, Peter, stay. Eat,” Liz demanded.
“All right,” he said, opening the door for Liz. “I’ll be home soon.”
“Don’t fuss. I’ll be fine. Stay.”
Peter sat back at the table and took a bite of his roll. He endured the burnt mass in his mouth a few moments and then said, “You know, I don’t believe that she is fine. I think she might just be saying that for my sake.” He jumped up and headed out. “Good night.”
“It’s my cooking.” Mary sighed.
Harriet shook her head at first but then relented and said quietly, “Maybe . . .”
Michael simply shrugged and shoved more burnt roll in his mouth.
John paced around Lavender’s room while she slept. He knew that Morose had an effect on her, but what, he wasn’t sure. He knew Morose was not to be trusted, and now he seemed to have mysteriously come back from the dead and was after his bride’s heart.
Would he be willing to disallow Lavender to make a choice between them? Could he take away her right to choose and make the choice for her? He knew that for many reasons, he was the best for Lavender. He was a prince! He could give her the world. Morose was a sordid pirate with low morals, but there was something about him that he knew Lavender had always admired. Even when she hated him, she was drawn to his charm and wit. And now he was an exciting unknown. A mystery. Something John used to be to Lavender. Something he could no longer contend with. Through the growth of their relationship and the divulgence of his secret royalty, he had no more mystery to offer Lavender. She had grown to crave excitement and mystery on their adventures and mishaps. He was asking her to settle down and go back to boring. John didn’t know if he could compare to Morose anymore.
Lavender stirred. “Morose?”
Pain shot through John’s heart. “He’s not here. You are home now,” he said as he crossed the room to sit by her bedside.
Lavender sat up. “Who?”
“You asked for Morose,” John said wearily.
“I did? I must have been dreaming,” Lavender said as she stretched and yawned.
“That is understandable, I suppose. However, I’d rather you were dreaming of anyone else in the world on our wedding night.”
“Our wedding night? Did I marry you last night?” Lavender stared at John blankly.
“No, you fainted. I brought you home. But I assume you dreamt of Beatrice the Pirate all night.” John used Morose’s real name sarcastically.
“Beatrice?” Lavender laughed. “It’s kind of a nice name, isn’t it?”
“Lavender.” John took her hand. “Are you feeling up to getting married today? The reverend said he could do it anytime. I told him we would try again at sunset, like nothing ever happened last night.”
Lavender shrugged and stared out the window. “I wonder what Morose is doing. Do you think he left?”
“What does it matter what he is doing? What about our wedding?”
“Our wedding? I’m not sure what to do about that. Didn’t you think he looked very well? Very well . . .” Lavender trailed off as she gazed out the window at the sunrise.
John took major pains not to lose his temper. With her behavior he was certain that there was something wrong with Lavender. Perhaps Morose had drugged her or hexed her. He didn’t know what. He just knew that something was not right with her, and he knew he was going to have to do something about it.
Morose stood on the bow of his ship, admiring the rising sun. He felt the cool breeze pierce through his shirt. It made him feel alive. He had never felt so peaceful and confident before. He was pure anxiety in the weeks leading up to seeing Lavender, but after last night, he felt calm. Her very presence made him feel awash of complicated emotions that he hadn’t felt since before he almost drowned.
“Captain,” his second-in-command said.
“Yes, Bordeaux, what can I do for yer?” he said cheerfully.
“There be a dinghy coming. Look to be his royal ’ighnesses.”
“Ah, I expected that. One way or another, I expected one of them to come.”
“Aye, Captain. What yer have me do?”
“If it is Johnny Boy, don’t let him come aboard. If it be Lavy, yer know what to do.”
“Right! Throw her in the hold.”
“Bordeaux, are yer daft, man? Why would I want yer to throw me true love in the hold? ’Specially if she come willingly?”
“Well, me mum were always better when me dad lock her up. She come out all sweetly and do her chores right quick.”
“Bordeaux, yer had horrible parents. Me own mum . . . never knew her. But I know me father would ner’ lock her up. He loved her almost as much as I love Lavy, and yer don’t cage a beautiful bird. Yer let it fly free.”
“Yer locked her up first time she graced the deck of the Lily, Captain.”
“True! I wish I could go back. She were disenchanted with Johnny Boy then too. If I knew better, if I knew how much she would wrench my soul away from darkness, I would have treated her like a queen right off and she’d of been mine long ago.” Morose waved a hand at Bordeaux, dismissing him.
“Aye, I’ll see to who’s on board that boat, Captain.” Bordeaux left quickly.
Morose was prepared for a run in with John but wasn’t looking forward to it. He had never seen as formidable of a fighter as John, and he knew he had to tread carefully in this department. He was stronger and more mentally sharp than he had ever been, but he knew he was no match for John. Even with his men behind him, there was a significant chance that he could be mortally wounded in a battle with him. He went to his cabin and sat in a comfy windsor back chair and closed his eyes, waiting and weighing his options.
Morose was interrupted with an aggressive knock on his door. He took out his pistol and aimed at the door with one hand as he carefully opened it with the other.
“Take me with you,” Lavender said as she pushed her way into his cabin.
“Aye, Lavy, me love. Anywhere!” Morose put his pistol away.
“We must go quickly. He will not be far behind.”
“Aye, me love.”
“Morose, please, we are probably already too late.”
“Perhaps. Lavy, me love.”
“He will kill you.” Lavender stared into his face seriously. “I couldn’t bear to lose you again.”
Morose took Lavender’s hands and pulled her close to him. He looked down into her eyes. “It be best if we confront him head on. He will ner’ stop chasing if we run. He will think I tricked yer. The only way to be done of him for good is if yer tell him yer no longer want him. Yer must tell him that yer be done with him and that yer moving on. It’s the only way.”
Lavender studied his face for a long moment. “I don’t know what to do. All I know is that I want to be with you.”
“That be unlike yer, me love. Yer always know what to do. Yer be the strongest willed woman I’ve yet to meet.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll be whatever you want me to be. Just tell me!”
“I want yer
to be yer. Nothing more.” Morose took Lavender into his arms and kissed her sweetly, and she willingly and passionately kissed him back like never before.
“Liz,” Mary began in a chastising tone, “what have you done?”
“What do you mean?” Liz asked.
“You are going to create a mob!” Mary exclaimed as she put the paper down. “You can’t do that! You can’t just have her run off with Morose. You must fix this! Did you submit this for publishing already?”
“Mary, the story is set in motion. There is nothing to be done but let it play out.”
“Oh, no. This could ruin you. John and Lavender are a beloved couple. You cannot displace Lavender with that filthy pirate. People hate pirates!”
“No, they don’t. And think, Mary, they are beloved characters. How do you think people will react when they settle down and have a few children? How am I supposed to keep a romance hot as fire when it is tempered by the cool doldrums of married life?”
“Liz, are you and Peter having problems? Is this about the baby?”
“No, of course not. I am perfectly happy, except for this pain in my hip and this constant feeling of unease in my stomach. It has nothing to do with me.”
“Do you really think it’s impossible to have romance in marriage? Because I feel quite content in mine, and I’d say our romance is ‘quite hot.’”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s what you mean, though, isn’t it?”
“I said romance. It’s not the same, is it? Love and romance?”
“I don’t see why not!”
“Well, I do. And it’s my story, isn’t it? Precisely why I used a pen name. People will always want to dictate to me what my story should be. It is my story.”
“I don’t see the harm in listening to your fans.”
“If I write everything my fans want me to, John and Lavender would be married, have five kids, and go to church in every volume. It would ruin the adventure. It would ruin everything that is Enduring Promises of the Heart.”
“Oh, Liz, I hope you are right. I hope this doesn’t ruin you.”
Unbroken Promises of the Heart: (Promises of the Heart Book 2) Page 3
