My Bonny Heart (Pirate's Progeny Book 1) (7 page)

He leaned forward and allowed his gaze to travel down her body and rest on her backside. “We’ve already deduced that I would, madam.”

She fisted her hands at her side, her mouth working as if she were trying to hold in the swear words he’d heard her muttering while she exited the carriage. Instead, she demanded, “Are we done, here?”

No other acceptable reason presented itself, to his mind, to detain her further. He nodded, “For now. You may continue on your journey for proper attire.” He said it to pique her temper, just in case she forgot to ask his permission.

He found enjoyment sparking her very flammable temper.

“Oh!” He heard a few expletives as his study door slammed on her exit.

He grimaced though, wondering what Cormac had thrust upon him. He needed the land to expand and he’d given Cormac his word.

He sighed, finally allowing himself the habit of jerking his hand through his hair.

Taming Mrs. Anne Morgan was proving to be a challenge, and he’d only had the pleasure of her presence less than a day.

How would he survive more than one day?

Chapter 6

Anne stomped out the front door, down the steps, and toward the carriage.

Raphael lifted a brow at her and shrugged his shoulders as he jumped atop to grab the reins.

Her mouth settled in a mulish line as she stood below her bodyguard.

“You just allowed that man carry me off like a sack of potatoes.” Had she expected him to look sheepish or ashamed at her words? No doubt her father’s hired hand knew the man would be her husband. And, what man did not manhandle his wife? A grunt was his response.

She threw her hands up in the air. “Men.” She motioned impatiently to the brute. “Come. Blackhurst is sending us by way of the river. It is much quicker than this blasted carriage.”

She fumed the entire walk to the river. The long boat in which she’d only just arrived remained at the ready. Artie, one of her companions from the trip up the River Ashley, stood with a hat crushed in his beefy hands.

“Ma’am.” Large, kind brown eyes looked at her from a tanned, weathered face. Short and bulky, scarred arms and hands, and mousy black hair contrasted the kind grin and warm eyes.

He nodded behind her, acknowledging Raphael. “Master Blackhurst said you wish to return to Charles Town for a few hours.”

“Thank you, Artie. Yes, please.”

They walked over to the small dock, and she allowed him to hand her down to Raphael, who had lumbered ahead of her to steady the boat. She gave him a pinched face.

What had he been thinking during the beastly display of being carried about like a cavewoman?

Swallowing hard, she plopped down, unladylike, in the boat. As she sat in silence, she tried valiantly to forget how her pulse quickened when Addison looked at her so passionately for those few moments in the study. She gazed around her, not noticing aught around them, as Raphael and Artie rowed them along.

So wrapped up was she in the feel of his strong hands on her as he’d carried her away, she hadn’t paid attention to the scenery jostling by, or any thoughts for that matter. Truth be known, Addison’s handling of her had not been the least bit rough. Although he had tried to restrain her flailing hands and feet, he was still gentle for such a large man.

And, then he’d smacked her bottom.

Just a short, quick thump that had sent her senses reeling. It had stung, but something utterly different had fluttered in her belly. A pooling of heat that settled into the pit of her stomach, and lower. That same fluttering sensation had occurred again in the study as he’d gazed at her with those steely gray eyes, appreciating her even as she stood before him still disheveled.

It was amazing how quickly he could put her in a temper
and
create that strange feeling in her lower belly and weaken her knees—all at the same time.

Anne rubbed the back of her neck to ease the contradictory thoughts flooding her mind. Not to mention the odd sensations coursing through her senses.

The boat glided along with the to and fro of the oars as the men labored over them, and she pondered her circumstances and the insufferable obstacle now in her path. She was not quite sure who was winning this game they were playing of trying to best one another.

Her muddled thoughts carried her through the first hour of their journey, and Artie’s lively conversation of the flora and fauna along the Ashley kept them entertained the rest of the way.

At the end, Raphael pulled her up from the boat and onto a small dock west of the city. Artie said he’d await them there on the boat, and she followed Raphael on the sand-covered streets to Tradd Street. He led them to stand before a three-story, brick home, typical of the Charles Towne well-to-do. The immaculate brick façade was impressive, indeed.

She steeled herself and hurried up the stairs to the entry door.

Anne straightened her shoulders as she rapped the knocker against the front door. A plump man with curly, white sprigs of hair enveloping a balding head greeted her. Round spectacles framed his crisp, blue eyes. As he spoke, his bushy brows lifted. “May I help you, Miss?”

She beamed at him, and found she had to look down to address the round man. “Hello, sir. I wish to speak with Elizabeth Browning.”

He eyed her curiously. She surmised her wrinkled gown gave him pause. But, he nodded and motioned her into the sun-lit entryway, the smell of roses permeating the interior.

The glamour of the interior mirrored that of Cranford Hall. An intricate carpet lined the foyer floor, and an exotic and presumably expensive chandelier hung from the tall ceiling. Mrs. Browning and her husband were important Charles Towne citizens. Foreign as ever in her torn, stained gown, she kept the smile upon her face despite the feeling of inadequacy.

“Who might I say is calling, Miss?” He ushered her into a small ladies’ parlor to the right of the foyer, busy floral wallpaper adorning its interior.

“Mrs. Anne Morgan. I believe she is expecting me.”

“Please, have a seat. I shall send word to her ladyship.” The man had an uncanny ability to stare down his long nose at her, although she stood above him. Pompous and full of his own importance, she thought.

She stifled a giggle. Sarah would swallow the man up in an instant.

Settling onto a small, rose-colored settee before the large-paned window in the parlor, Anne admired the large vase of yellow and orange roses sitting on the marble-topped table before her. The aroma overpowered the room, but she preferred the flowery scent over the smells she’d become accustomed to in jail.

A lone portrait hung above the fireplace of a wispy-haired lad with terriers playing about his feet—a typical aristocratic painting. Fine porcelain plates and vases adorned the mantle and side tables. A tea service sat on another table in the corner.

Anne tapped her fingers on her leg, wondering how long she would be forced to wait for her hostess. Patience was not one of her virtues, but having no knowledge of Elizabeth Browning personally, she was able to keep her impatience at bay.

A grandfather clock chimed from somewhere in the interior of the home when the door to the parlor clicked open, as if announcing the woman on cue.

A tall and regal, older woman with piles of gray hair stacked upon her head strolled through the entrance. She wore a deep violet damask gown with a low cut bodice that could have wriggled a few eyebrows at any soiree. Anne’s brows rose seconds before she remembered her manners. This was not a tavern in Tortuga.

She stood, gave the lady her brightest smile, and held out her hand. “How nice to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Browning. I’m Anne Morgan.”

Crinkles at the corners of the lady’s turquoise eyes appeared as she smiled, reaching for Anne’s hand and squeezing it. “Of course, Anne. I’ve been expecting you.” She gave a small tug on Anne’s hand, sat on the settee, and patted the space beside her. “Come, have a seat,” she chuckled. “And, please, call me Elizabeth.”

Laugh lines were in the corners of Elizabeth’s mouth, as if she’d done quite a bit of chuckling in her day. Anne liked that about her immediately.

Not sure how much the woman knew, she decided to approach gently. “William Cormac sent me to you. He suggested you might have some clothing you wanted to be rid of?”

Placing a hand above her heart, she sighed. “Oh my, yes. I’ve six children, you know, all married and on their own now. My eldest daughter, God rest her soul, passed away giving birth to her seventh child.”

“I am deeply sorry.” Anne watched as Elizabeth patted her hand, as if Anne were the one needing condolences.

“Thank you, dear. It’s been three years, and I miss her every day.” Sizing up Anne’s gown—wrinkled, smudged with dirt and dust—Elizabeth nodded. “Aye, you shall need clothing. I’ve so many dresses, undergarments, coats, riding habits, that were my Lenore’s . . . they should fit you quite nicely. The entire wardrobe shipped direct from London, I might add.”

Momentarily speechless, Anne throttled a gasp. She was to receive her daughter’s entire, expensive wardrobe? She couldn’t contain the surprise in her voice.

“Oh, I couldn’t . . .”

“Nonsense,” Elizabeth cut her off, patting her hand, again. “Who else would wear them, dear? I’ve five sons, all of them off in England.” She implored her with her eyes. “Please allow me to give them to you. Cormac said you were in need of an entire ensemble, and I just happen to have one to give you.”

“Oh, but might I pay you for them?” She couldn’t just take the woman’s clothes. Not such an expensive gift, with no expectation to purchase them. The generosity of it was indescribable.

“Do not even suggest it.” She gazed at her with narrowed eyes. “I owe William for filling up my store room when my James died. Out of the kindness of his heart, he stepped in while I waited to hear the terms of my husband’s will. It’s the least I could do for his niece.” The older lady smiled then. Hope lay in her eyes with the opportunity to repay her friend, and Anne’s
Uncle
. It made perfect sense, now, that her father had suggested she be referred to as his niece to keep her true identity hidden.

Elizabeth stood and turned an open palm to her. “Come, I’ll show you the way. I do hope you’ve brought some muscle to help with the trunks. If not, I’ll have the rest sent over straight away on the morrow.”

Anne allowed the lady to drag her from the settee and out into the foyer. “I have my, er, servant to do the heavy lifting.”

“Excellent!” Excitement filled her voice. It was difficult keeping up with Elizabeth as she led the way. They climbed three flights of ornate steps and landed in front of an oak door in the middle of the house. Dust motes floated about them and the air became thicker with the heat of the day.

“Oh, wait a moment, Anne. Let me light a candle.” She turned and went through a door to their left, coming out moments later with a lighted candle lantern.

She took a key from inside a pocket in her gown, inserted it in the lock, and opened the door. More stairs greeted them. However, a warm breeze moved to lift her hair, signaling open windows to relieve the stifling heat.

“I’ve stored all of Lenore’s personal belongings up here. It’s quite hot so we tend to leave all the attic windows open on non-rainy days. That allows the river air to flow throughout.” Her voice trailed off as they ascended into the dimly lit attic, the smell of dust and old wood assailing her nostrils.

She turned right at the top of the steps and held the lantern high to show a space the entire length of the home. Elizabeth strode to the windows on the far end that allowed the bright sunlight and soft breeze to envelope the large room.

Elizabeth sighed and smoothed her gown with her free hand, and then motioned her to a large number of chests and crates. The sheer amount of crates and chests gave Anne pause. She stared, dumbfounded, at the space before her. Surely not all of the chests contained the Lenore’s wardrobe.

“Anything in this attic Anne, that you feel you can use, please feel free to take.”

“I shall be forever grateful, Elizabeth.” Truly, this was a huge undertaking that would probably involve hours to rifle through all of the chests. It would be rude not to look, though. Anne hunkered down on her knees in front of a particularly large chest, and hefted the lid.

“Lenore’s soiree garb, I believe. Only a few years old, and still in fashion.”

Pastels and sheer material flooded her vision.

“She was particularly fond of spring hues. I believe there is another chest just behind this one that is filled with her autumn hues that will fit your coloring perfectly.”

Pulling out the taffeta and holding it up to the light, the sheer elegance of everything, just on the top of the chest, made her mouth dry. She’d never had anything so expensive or nice in her life. “These are exceedingly beautiful.”

“You shall be the belle of the ball in those, dear.” Elizabeth opened a trunk near her feet, pulling out lighter, cotton day gowns. “This lot is more practical for Charles Towne summers.” She flipped through many gowns then moved to another chest that contained more of the same daywear. “Where are you staying, my dear?”

Anne had moved on to the autumn hues trunk. She supposed Elizabeth would hear of her whereabouts at some point. “Cranford Hall, on the Ashley River.”

“Lord Blackhurst’s plantation?” Her voice raised an octave.

Anne fondled the silk of a deep burgundy gown. “Aye, that’s the one.”

“You’re related to Lord Blackhurst?” The dear lady was very curious.

“No, he’s to be my husband.” Why she felt the need to clarify that when she would be trying her damnedest to rid herself of any husband, she did not know.

“Husband?” Elizabeth stood, a hand flying to her cheek. “My dear, how glorious. Do you realize how many women in this town, and beyond, have tried to capture that very eligible man’s attention?”

An image of his handsome features and pleasing physique danced before her. “I shall agree with you. He is quite a catch.” Just not one she wanted to ensnare. But, she had to admit, he was indeed a fine specimen of a man: successful, handsome, and wealthy. He was generous to his servants as far as she could tell, and had offered her and her children a home. She refused to be tied down. To be tied down, by any man, simply was not going to happen, ever again.

“All the ladies in Charles Town will be positively envious of you.” Elizabeth began to throw open various crates and chests. “This wardrobe will be fitting for a bride of Lord Blackhurst. Your uncle will be pleased.” She gave Anne a speculative glance, a sparkle in her eye. “Aye, you two shall complement one another quite nicely.”

“I’m very pleased by such an expansive wardrobe, Elizabeth. I really must insist on paying you.”

“Nonsense. The future Lady Blackhurst is in need of a fashionable garments, and I will be the one to provide it to her. Lenore would be ever so joyous to know she’d contributed.” She clapped her hands together excitedly. “I shall let you look over all of these. Try them on if you like. If you find anything that needs altering, we can have my housekeeper sew them up for you.”