Pirate of My Heart: A Novel (15 page)

“Father,” Dorian asked in a voice that was deadly soft, “do you think I’m such a fool that I would invite a woman into my bedroom? And in your house? I may have been foolish in the past, reckless even, and I will admit to the folly of naming my ship after her and no doubt giving her false hopes, but I did not invite her into my room. I am not that big a fool.”

Clayton nodded, his features relaxed. He turned to Monteiro. “You know your daughter, sir. In all honesty, what do you think happened?”

Monteiro’s face turned a telling shade of red as he sputtered, “My daughter is ruined, that’s what I think. And foolish or not, your son is going to marry Angelene posthaste.”

Dorian shook his head and stared at Angelene’s father with pity in his eyes. “I’m sorry, sir. Sorry if I, in any way, encouraged her. Sorry she lost her mother at a young age and hasn’t had a mother’s guidance in such matters. I’m sorry you’ve given her everything she ever wanted and that she has become this . . . this spoiled woman. Because, truth be known, she is beautiful on the outside and miserable on the inside. Truth be known, she has been hurtling toward this moment for a very long time and you know it. You’ve been dreading it, haven’t you?”

In the deathly silence of his words, Dorian walked over and poured Don Monteiro a drink. He took it to him, his steps steady and sure. The look in his eyes matched his steps, a mix of compassion and truth. It was like an inborn weapon, this ability to show truth and direct it in such a way that people recoiled and capitulated. He felt sorry to wield it, especially to a father who had probably done the best he could, but his back was in the proverbial corner and he fought with the instincts of the trapped. Dorian thrust the drink out to the man—a talented man, a man who was revered in his place as a shipbuilder, a man that had never known how to be a father. Dorian held the glinting crystal out with a steady hand and in a firm voice encouraged, “No one will know what she’s done, I promise. Just take her home and let this quietly subside.”

Monteiro’s hand shook as he took the glass. He took a large gulp and nodded his head. “Yes, yes that’s probably best.”

Dorian gave him a grim smile and shrugged. “She needs a husband and brood of children to keep her occupied. I suggest you find someone and be quick about it, before she gets herself into further trouble.”

The three men looked at each other a bit sheepishly and then they all broke into quiet chuckles. Picturing Angelene with a brood of children clutching her skirts was quite the mental image.

After Monteiro went back to his bedchamber, promising an early departure for Angelene and himself, Clayton’s face grew serious. “Son, you handled that well, as you do in all your dealings, but I have a bad feeling that this ordeal is not going to go away that easily.”

Dorian nodded. “Angelene is a worthy opponent, I agree. What do you suggest I do?”

Clayton steepled his hands under his chin, his eyes narrowed in thought. “I think you should take a trip, get away for a little while and let things simmer down a bit.”

Dorian paused and then nodded. “I know just where to go. John and I have been meaning to inspect a new shipment of horses up north in Stafford County. We could leave first thing in the morning.”

“Good. I’ll deflect any questions and work on controlling the rumors.” His father winked at him. “Your mother has her heart set on another female for you. I don’t believe she will find it difficult to convince the guests that walked in on Angelene’s little scene to remain quiet.”

Dorian chuckled. “Mother can be quite ruthless and convincing when she desires.”

“Yes.” His father looked up and smiled with closed lips, his eyes alight with something that Dorian hadn’t seen in awhile. It was a look of pride as he thought about his wife, a look of love mingled with pride. “I would dare to say your mother is more competent than President Washington when she sets her mind to something.” His father’s eyes twinkled.

“Are you threatening me, sir?” Dorian quirked a brow at his father, playing along.

“Not me! I know better than that.” He stood and took Dorian’s shoulders in a hug. With a mock sigh he shook his head and stared Dorian in the eyes. “Sorry son, but I do believe your bachelor days are numbered.”

Dorian let out a soft word.

His father threw back his head and laughed.

“Good-night, son.”

Dorian scowled. “Thanks for the pleasant dreams.”

Chapter Fifteen

D
orian jogged up the wide steps of John’s plantation home. It was almost finished and his best friend would be a married man soon, but not yet. He could still show up on his doorstep and demand a favor.

John listened with restrained mirth as Dorian related the night’s happenings to him. “You’ve got yourself in a pickle this time, Dorian, loving two women at the same party. Tisk. Tisk.”

Dorian gave him a black look. “I’m not in love with anyone and well you know it.”

“I know nothing of the sort!” John snorted. “A particular Englishwoman strikes me as someone who has occupied a great deal of your thought and attention.”

Dorian swished his riding crop hard through the air with a hissing sound. “Nonsense.”

But they both heard the paltry, shallow sound to the word.

John threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, very well. How may I be of assistance, Captain?”

“Pack your bags, my friend. We’re off to Stafford County to inspect some newly arrived horseflesh.”

John’s eyes brightened. “It’s true then? Cameron has Spanish stock? Just arrived?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out.” Dorian looked heavenward for patience. “Hurry up, man. I’ve got marriage-minded females dogging my heels. We haven’t got all day!”

Dorian chuckled, thinking how very glad he was to have such a good friend, as John turned tail and ran into the house for his baggage.

Pastor Higgins, Don Monteiro, and Angelene wheeled into the Colburn drive in a dust cloud of what looked to be impatience. Clayton had been half-watching for them the last two days from his study window. He frowned as he saw Angelene step out of the carriage in an elaborate pale blue gown and veil—wedding finery.

“This won’t be that easy, Angelene,” Clayton muttered to the glass. He settled himself behind his desk and awaited the knock on his door.

“Come in.” His voice was low and harsh, too harsh.
Get control. They have no power over your son.

The threesome sailed into the room, with Angelene making a grand entrance with swoops and swishes of her skirts. Her voice could be heard complaining that someone was stepping on her train but Clayton blocked it out the best he could. Instead, he stood up and assumed an astonished mien. “Mr. Monteiro, I wasn’t expecting you today.”

Don Monteiro cast a sheepish glance at his daughter. “We felt it was best to clear up this matter as quickly as possible, Mr. Colburn.”

Clayton raised an eyebrow. “I thought our conversation that night had concluded the matter. Dorian is not at home. I’m afraid this will have to be addressed some other time.”

Don Monteiro cleared his throat, eyes darting about the room. “Angelene said”—he stared at a speck on the floor—“she, ah, said that your son agreed to wed her. Insisted it, you know.”

Clayton felt a stab of sorrow for the man. His own children had found their mates and married in every appearance of happiness. He stared at the young woman determined to have his son. She was a dark beauty, to be sure. Wide, slanted cat’s eyes, full crimson lips, high cheekbones, and thick black hair that coiled like shining ropes around her shoulders. Lord have mercy upon them all. How did his son get himself into such a predicament?

Just as he was about to despair how to answer, Hannah flew through the door as if on dove’s wings. Clayton’s heart settled back down, his breathing returned to normal. He smiled. His wife would know how to take care of this.

“Mr. Monteiro, so good of you to come!” Hannah tilted her elegant blonde head and smiled at the man, catching him off guard with her gaiety. He started to reach for her hand but Hannah turned her bright smile to Angelene. “Child,” she muttered, her chin tilting down, her eyes turning soft and kind. “My dear child.”

Clayton held his breath. What was she about?

Hannah reached out and took Angelene’s stiff arm, squeezing her hand and coming up closer. “What a beauty you are. Just look at you!”

Angelene eyed Hannah in wide-eyed distrust. But she allowed herself to be drawn closer to Hannah’s side. “We need to have a chat, you and I. Don’t we, dear?”

Hannah reached up and patted Angelene’s shoulder.

“Come now. I have a story to tell you. A story that I think you are going to like, very, very much.” Hannah took a firm grasp on Angelene’s gloved elbow and led her toward the door. She turned back to the men and smiled.

“Clayton, you entertain Mr. Monteiro and Pastor Higgins. Enjoy a ride or something? Angelene and I have so much to talk about.”

“Now see here. What kind of story are you telling my daughter?” Monteiro’s cheeks puffed out as he put his hands on his hips.

“Why, Mr. Monteiro, I’m only going to tell her of the first love story. How God made Eve as the perfect mate for Adam and how Angelene has an Adam out there somewhere.”

Monteiro dropped his arms and nodded. “Oh. Well, that’s alright then.” He turned toward his daughter. “You listen to what Mrs. Colburn has to say.”

Hannah tugged on her arm before she had time to react. “Would you like some tea, dear? I do believe Cook has those little pastries you’re so fond of. Let’s go and see, shall we?”

Hannah’s coaxing voice faded down the hall. Clayton looked at Monteiro and grinned. “How about a little hunting? I heard geese overhead not an hour ago.”

Don Monteiro shrugged a shoulder. “Sounds better than a wedding.”

The three men chuckled as they quit the room.

Kendra set the bowl of boiled potatoes and turnips on the table and closed her eyes, dread filling her chest. Her aunt and uncle had cheerfully announced that they were to have a dinner guest this evening. The identity of the person was a surprise they said, but Kendra was certain who it would be. After the conversation she’d overheard, she had been expecting just such a guest.

She turned back toward the kitchen to fetch the roasted duck. She and her aunt had spent the last two hours in the kitchen preparing the meal. The garden had begun to produce fresh vegetables and Uncle Franklin had even bestirred himself enough to go hunting. They’d been so pleased to see him return with two plump ducks, but the dread of seeing Martin Saunderson again had dampened any joy Kendra would have felt on this festive occasion.

“Do take off that apron and go and freshen up, Kendra,” Aunt Amelia said, shooing Kendra out of the kitchen. “Our guest will arrive any moment.” Her eyes were shining with excitement as she hefted the meat platter into her arms.

“But don’t you need my help?” Kendra reached for the tray that looked ready to topple to the floor.

“No, no. You’ll want to look your best. Now, go!”

“Very well.” Kendra sighed as she untied her apron and folded it into a neat square. She started to turn toward her bedchamber but stopped. There was a small, sharp knife sitting on the worktable. It glistened in the sunlight, beckoning to her. She reached out her hand, thinking to hide it on her person just in case Martin attempted to get too close. The thought of actually using it though . . . she shuddered and backed away. She would trust God to save her if she needed saving. Stabbing someone wouldn’t do much good even if she could gather the courage to use it. Best to continue to pray as she’d been doing all day.
Lord, if only You would intervene and cause this to be called off.
She stopped and listened for her miracle. A small earthquake? A sudden thunderstorm? A dreaded eclipse of the sun? Nothing. Only her aunt’s voice nagging her to go and make herself look pretty.

She hurried to her room and stood in front of the hooks on the wall, deliberating on changing her dress or just remaining in the faded, striped cambric she was currently wearing. She’d scared off one marriage-minded man, why couldn’t she scare off another? Even as she thought it, she shivered. Martin Saunderson was nothing like Lord Barrymore. There was something ruthless in his eyes and a wiry strength about his body that made her truly afraid. She could not be alone with him.

She pulled a pale pink gown from the back and stared at it. Still pretty and fashionable but modest too. It would have to do. After donning the dress she moved to the small mirror hanging on the wall and pinned her hair into a simple chignon. A sound from the front of the house gave her a start, causing her heart to race. She rushed to the door and opened it a crack. Martin’s voice was like a deep velvety trap coming from the parlor.

Her knees shook beneath the gown as she made her way down the short hall.
Stop it, silly. Nothing is going to happen to you. Faith!
She lifted her chin and turned the corner, standing in the doorway where Uncle Franklin was conversing with Martin.

“Ah, Kendra. Come here, my dear. My, but don’t you look like a vision.” Her uncle beckoned her with an outstretched arm and warm smile. Kendra took a small breath, giving him a slight smile. She managed to cross the room without looking directly at Martin. Her uncle took her elbow and turned her toward his cohort. “Kendra, this is Martin Saunderson, a very dear friend of mine. Martin, this is my niece, Lady Kendra Townsend.”

Kendra looked up for the first time and locked gazes with a set of dark gray eyes. He smiled, a sensuous stretching of his lips, and then had the audacity to wink at her. “Lady Townsend,” he reached for her hand and bowed over it.

Kendra snatched her hand away. “We’ve met before, if you recall.”

Martin nodded his head, his mouth pulling down at the corners. “You must forgive me, my lady. I fear I had a little too much champagne that night and was not quite myself. If you could be so kind, as your uncle insists you are, I beg you forgive me and give me another chance at a first impression.” He raised black brows at her with a hint of pleading in his eyes. But there was a glimmer of humor behind that look, making sport of her, she was sure of it. Taking a haughty mien she turned away and pressed her lips together. “You were unconscionable, sir. If my uncle only knew the . . . the liberties you tried to take. It will take more than a pretty apology to regain any degree of trust from me.”

Kendra ground her teeth as her uncle took steps toward her and dove into the fray to rescue his friend. “But Kendra, a man makes mistakes. I’ve made so many and you’ve forgiven me. You have been the very picture of grace and forgiveness. Won’t you extend that same consideration toward my very good friend?”

Her aunt chose that moment to enter the room. She was red faced and perspiring. Her eyes flashed back and forth between the three of them. “Dinner is served.” She pulled Kendra toward her and whispered in her ear, “I’ll keep an eye on Martin. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

Kendra looked down into her aunt’s determined eyes and relaxed a little. Who would have thought her aunt would become her ally?

“Come now”—Amelia motioned them toward the dining room—“before it grows cold.”

Kendra ignored Martin’s proffered arm, which gained her a frown, and walked into the room unescorted. They sat across from one another at the small, rectangular table. There was a chipped blue pitcher in the middle filled with wild flowers that Kendra had picked the day before and around it four plates, bowls, and platters of food.

Dear Father, thank You for this food, please bless it for the nourishment of our bodies and help me get through this!

“Lady Townsend, how do you find America?” Martin asked.

Kendra swallowed a bite of roasted duck and answered, “I find it different than I thought. It’s as if polite society decided to set up camp in a wilderness. Some of it is quite civilized, but all around those insulated areas is a sense of wildness.”