Prize of My Heart (7 page)

Both he and Lorena conversed with a comely youth suited in gentlemen’s black with knee breeches and white silk stockings. As Brogan approached, he watched with particular interest. The fellow whispered in Lorena’s ear. She shook her head in response. He reached for her hand. She snatched it away before he could touch her. He grew annoyed. She looked embarrassed. Neither spoke. They stood glaring at each other, oblivious to the assembly around them, and in their obstinate expressions, Brogan detected a silent battle of wills.

“Captain, you remember George, don’t you?” Huntley asked.

Brogan observed the young man’s lanky build, his chestnut locks and beak of a nose, and recognition came. “It’s not likely I’d forget the shipwright responsible for the
Yankee Heart
’s design. We met yesterday in the carpentry shop. How fare you, Mr. Louder?”

George Louder lifted his dark brown eyes to regard Brogan with ill-concealed disdain. His narrowed gaze met Brogan’s unwavering stare, issuing a warning. Brogan failed to comprehend the reason. He found the shipwright’s cockiness startling, but then it vanished to be replaced by a cold smile. Louder assumed an air of politeness, muttered a hasty greeting and excused himself, moving away as though to take a seat elsewhere in the church.

Huntley stepped into the architect’s path. “Not joining us today, George? We might be entertaining a guest, but you are always welcome to sit in the family pew.”

Louder stole a sidelong glance at Lorena, his look one of frustrated love. In that unguarded moment he appeared to Brogan to be immobilized by her elegance and beauty. Then he straightened and nodded courteously to his employer, saying, “Thank you, sir, but I promised Edward Hicks and his wife I would join them.”

“Very well then, George. Enjoy the services and a good day to you.”

“Good day, sir.”

Looking thoughtful, Huntley watched as Louder departed, then turned to kiss his daughter’s smooth cheek. “Is something troubling George, dear?” He lowered his voice and added, “He cares deeply for you, you know.”

To Brogan’s dismay, Miss Huntley responded with a becoming blush. “Papa . . . please.”

Ah
, he thought. A rival for the lady’s affections. But where Louder’s romantic attentions had been spurned this morning, Brogan was determined his would not be. The smile he bestowed on Lorena left no doubt to anyone watching ’twas meant for her and her alone.

She regarded him warily from beneath a bonnet of bright yellow satin, its brim so wide it created a funnel around her face. A puffy bow dangled from one side of her chin.

Louder had obviously said something to upset her, but what? And why had Brogan gotten the impression there was a more personal slight behind Louder’s haughty stare than any annoyance he might have felt over Lorena’s rejection?

Questions for another time perhaps.

“A pleasant morning to you, Miss Huntley,” he greeted.

Her cautious expression faded, replaced by a welcoming smile. “And to you, Captain.”

“George drove us here in the chaise!” Drew popped his head out from under the pew, eliciting a laugh from both of them, and in that spontaneous and unguarded moment, their eyes met once again. They smiled at each other, faces aglow as their innocent gaze deepened to a lingering stare, a stare so arresting Brogan found himself noticing each fleck of gold in Lorena’s warm brown eyes.

Excitement shivered through his person, and then he caught himself and thought,
What am I doing mooning over this girl’s eyes when my son is claiming my attention?
Self-consciousness overcame him, and it must have showed, for Lorena dipped her poke bonnet to shade her eyes with its oversized brim.

Brogan feigned indifference and turned to Drew, thinking the lad was either jealous to see Lorena’s attention elsewhere engaged or simply wanted to be included in their conversation.

“The chaise, you say, Drew? That’s fine. I hope it was an enjoyable ride for you.”

The boy nodded enthusiastically. “Uh-huh.”

This made Brogan wonder whether Louder had won the boy’s affections. Then a thought jogged his memory.
George
. Could this be the same George who had called him a pirate to the boy?

Lorena removed the sling from Drew’s back pocket and smoothed down his pumpkin jacket. She drew him into the pew behind her, and Brogan followed, anxious that he should sit beside his son.

Huntley joined the group, flanking Brogan’s other side. “Drew, why aren’t you in Sunday school?”

Lorena leaned forward and whispered across the pew, “I’ve excused him today, Papa.” Lavender fragrance wafted up from her hair as Brogan contemplated the delicateness of the hand resting on the boy’s knee. “I felt it would be beneficial for him to sit through a sermon. As I’ve explained to Drew—if he wishes to be like David, he must learn David’s wisdom.”

Huntley’s grin delivered an instant twinkle to his eye. “If he can sit patiently through a sermon, he’ll be well on his way. Patience is the first step towards wisdom.”

“Last week we learned again of David and Goliath,” Drew said. “Do you know the story?”

“I am familiar with the story, aye,” Brogan replied, perplexed by the boy’s challenging glare. The strings of the bass viol began to play as the musician prepared to accompany the choir. The choirmaster walked onto the platform, and silence fell over the congregation in anticipation of the services about to begin.

“My apologies, Captain,” Miss Huntley whispered, embarrassed. “Seems he’s in a mood to talk this morning. Quiet,” she warned the boy.

Drew crossed his arms, turning his back on Brogan. “But he’s sitting in my seat!”

Nathaniel Huntley chuckled as he faced the pulpit, making himself comfortable on the cushioned seat.

Brogan felt uneasy seated between the man and his daughter in a house of worship. Neither of them suspected his relationship to Drew or the real reason he had come to Duxboro. They had no way of knowing the child they escorted to meetinghouse every Sunday morning would soon vanish from their lives.

How could he tear Drew away from the family he obviously loved? But what if Huntley intended to exploit the child once he grew old enough to be of service? The man had conspired with Abigail to steal another’s son. He was no innocent, surely. But if these were indeed the good, kind folk Jabez claimed, then how could Brogan remove Drew from the only home he remembered, and yet how could he conceive of walking away from him?

Had he tied his cravat too tight or had a wave of conscience arisen to strangle him? Brogan pulled at the neckerchief, longing for a vast blue ocean and its briny spray, his only concern that of which direction the wind was blowing. Because of Abigail, he was forced into this situation. Even dead, the woman continued to make his life miserable.

Brogan rehearsed Jabez’s advice in his mind and wondered where he should go from there. He longed for Drew to know him, and Lorena was his only means of accomplishing that. But what could be more awkward than trying to capture a woman’s fancy while seated in the hushed stillness of a religious sanctuary, her father at his elbow?

Brogan did not care for the confinement of these holy walls. They induced a strange emotionalism that stunted the reckless cunning he knew himself capable of.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught Lorena’s reflective gaze. Encouraged, he returned her appraisal. She started and lowered her lashes. He had frightened her.

This was getting him absolutely nowhere.

How ill at ease she looked, fidgeting with the boy’s sling on her lap. Brogan longed to reclaim her attention, to still her hands with one of his own, but he had already insulted her with his forwardness in the shipyard. He did not wish to do so again. Why was it one moment he found her such an annoyance and the next a sweet innocent he felt inclined to protect?

Nay, he was there for one purpose and one purpose only. Miss Huntley did not need his protection. He must not allow himself to think of her as anything more than a means to restoring his relationship with his son.

Glancing at the lad, Brogan recalled his own childhood. The orphan asylum. Whippings for something as trivial as sharing food with a starving alley cat. Punishment for wasting provisions, when the scraps had been sacrificed from the meagerness of his own bowl of gruel. And then there were occasions when he had done nothing wrong at all, nothing except direct the anger and bitterness in his stare at the wrong person.

One day a new orphan arrived. She wept, but no one came to comfort her. Brogan held her in his arms as she cried, and instead of receiving his usual beating, his hair was cropped viciously until nothing remained but ragged stubble.
“Boys must never touch little girls,”
he was scolded. And when his hair reached a comfortable length, it was cut again.

Again and again he was reminded of how worthless he was, until, at six years of age, he’d run away. And to this day, Brogan wore his hair unfashionably long because he could not bear to have a pair of shears taken to it without breaking into a cold, trembling sweat.

The sound of whispering lifted him from his memories, and Brogan turned to Lorena Huntley as though waking from a dream.

She was frowning at Drew. “We’ll read later.”

They were engaged in a small tug-of-war with the Holy Bible, which Brogan found odd.

“Not read from the Bible at meeting? What is it you wish to hear, Drew?” Brogan asked the boy.

Drew angled his head and looked up, eyes bright. “The story of David and Goliath. It is my favorite.”

Lorena noticed how Captain Talvis responded most eagerly to the least attention Drew paid him. His curious behavior had not altered since last evening.

“David, aye. Now I see,” he said to the child. “David and Goliath, the story of a young shepherd boy who slew a giant with a . . .” The captain trailed off to a thoughtful pause, his intelligent brow knit in concentration as he slowly lifted his gaze to hers and pinned her with a sharp stare.

Dread raced up her spine at his enlightened expression. He spared a glance at the sling on her lap before posing a question with his eyes, while with a jerk of his head and a wry twist of his lips he gestured toward Drew.

He had deduced the truth.
How could I have allowed Drew to bring his sling to meeting knowing Captain Talvis would be in attendance?
Her hand tightened around the sling, and her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

If only she had waited for the captain’s arrival this morning instead of accepting the ride George offered. She had hoped to use the opportunity to convince George to change his mind, but George’s mind was set, and to make matters worse he mistook her concern for affectionate feelings.

She sighed in resignation. As for the captain, what could she do but confess? She was in God’s house, after all. She nodded over Drew’s small, flaxen head and shrugged by way of apology.

“God bless him,” Captain Talvis praised, in a voice louder than what could be considered polite given their surroundings. Several people turned to stare.

Lorena expected he’d be angry to discover a mere child had struck him down, or at the very least displeased, but here was Captain Talvis conferring blessings.

The strings of the church bass began to fill the meetinghouse with music.

Her father leaned forward and whispered, “What is it, Captain?”

“God bless him,” Captain Talvis shouted again. He shook his head, his expression full of amazement. “Only five years old, are you, Drew? That is a wonder.”

“Captain . . . Lorena, please . . . the service,” her father hissed.

Members of the congregation glared to let their annoyance be known. Much quieter this time, the captain whispered to Lorena, “I must speak with you privately. I feel I owe you an apology.”

Apologize? To her? Here she thought she owed him the apology. Still, Lorena debated risking a clandestine meeting with this man after what had occurred the first time they’d been alone. She distrusted what she still did not know of the captain, and yet she was beginning to regard him in a more generous light, as not quite the threat he first seemed.

He was waiting for an answer.

She couldn’t help but have reservations.

“Tomorrow at the launching, then,” she agreed, and strangely enough found herself looking forward to the meeting. What had she done?

He nodded, pleased. And when he smiled, the hard edges and broad planes of his masculine face came aglow with boyish charm.

Her father huffed in exasperation. “What is so important about the launching, it needs to be discussed during meeting?”

Eyes still on Lorena, the captain inclined his head to her poor, confused papa and said, “Tomorrow, in honor of the occasion, your daughter has promised to bake me a gingerbread.”

At that moment the congregation stood to face the choir loft. Rising to her feet, Lorena repressed a giggle. For all his size and arrogance, Captain Brogan Talvis was full of surprises and the mischief of a boy.

In some respects, he reminded her of Drew.

L
orena thought this was possibly one of the loveliest days her father had ever chosen to launch a vessel. By eleven a.m. at high tide, a few scattered clouds had woven a feathery pattern of white against an otherwise azure sky. She watched from the top of a gently sloping hillside as Papa stationed himself beside the
Yankee Heart
’s keel along the marshy shore. He prepared to deliver his speech to the waiting crowd.

Nearly everyone in town was in attendance. Children had been released from school, and hundreds of citizens ventured out—her father’s workers and all those tradesmen whose skills had contributed to the
Yankee Heart
’s construction, their families and friends, in addition to neighbors and townsfolk—each one curious to see how the town’s most ambitious craftsmanship to date would maneuver into Duxboro Bay.

They’d seen launchings before. Many times over. But this one was special, because the
Yankee Heart
held the record for being the largest vessel ever built in a Duxboro shipyard, the largest merchantman to originate from New England waters.

Admirers down along the river’s south bank gazed up at the fullness of her towering hull. Some had rowed out in small skiffs on the river. Others stood scattered throughout the shipyard, some as far as the fitting wharf by the forge and blacksmith shops, partaking of the free lemonade and punch.

“I find no gingerbread among the refreshments, Miss Huntley.”

A breath stirred the wisp of curls at her nape, and Lorena whirled about to be greeted by a pair of the most hauntingly beautiful, melancholy eyes ever to grace a man’s face. Eyes of intense ocean blue surrounded by thick lashes.

“Oh, good day, Captain. I did not hear you approach.”

He assessed her with a narrow stare. “Then it would seem you have great powers of concentration, Miss Huntley, for I have never been one to step lightly. Now, about that gingerbread . . .”

“There was hardly time.”

He feigned a frown. “A likely excuse.”

Like some gypsy pirate, his shaggy hair dusted his shoulders, but today was tied back in a queue. With a gold earring he might complete the look. But then looks were deceiving. By his own admission, Captain Talvis was no pirate, but a true Yankee patriot.

He grinned playfully, and as they continued to exchange glances, a silence fell between them. At length, he chuckled.

“I fear the sun may be obscuring your vision, Miss Huntley, else you look as if seeing me for the first time.”

She realized she’d been staring without saying a word. “Not at all, Captain. Forgive me, I could not help but notice your coat. I find it oddly familiar, though at the moment I cannot place where I might have seen one before.”

He looked down at his military blue cutaway coat, its wide cuffs, red facings, and brass buttons. He explained, “My privateer captain’s uniform.”

It appeared somewhat worn, a well-used garment, but clean and obviously cared for, marred only by the right shoulder area, where a series of jagged tears had been repaired with an overcast stitch as though something had torn through the fabric.

“Allow me to state my reason for seeking you out,” he said. “I was wondering if you would do me the honor of sponsoring my ship.”

Lorena was caught off guard, convinced she had not heard correctly. “I beg your pardon, Captain, but are you asking
me
to christen the
Yankee Heart
?”

He nodded. “What say you? Will you stand on her bowsprit to dash the bottle before these spectators and shout out a blessing for all to hear? I realize it’s a lot to ask, and there’s a bit of an unstable foothold standing on that spar while the stern plunges into the river, but those nearby will steady you, and I should be honored to have you accept.”

Usually the privilege of dashing the bottle went to one of the master craftsmen responsible for that vessel’s construction. But the captain wasn’t asking George or master carpenter Edward Hicks to christen his ship; he was asking
her
.

In a small seaside town like Duxboro, young boys grew into men who dreamed of one day being chosen for the occasion, and here Captain Talvis wanted
her
.

Why would he make such an unlikely choice? What lurked in the heart of this rugged seafarer, a man of passionate emotion and concealed melancholy, who’d been hailed as a “master marauder,” that he should desire to befriend a small orphan and flatter a humble girl?

Not long ago his presence had been disturbing and unwanted. Today, a bit of unexpected attention from the man and her insides were all aflutter.

He grinned, encouraging her to accept the challenge.

“I have no fear of balancing on the bowsprit, sir.”

“Then your answer is . . .
yes
, Miss Huntley? I need you to decide quickly, please. Your father has nearly finished his speech. See there. I believe he searches for my whereabouts among the spectators.”

To refuse would be to insult both the captain and her father. “Yes, Captain. My answer is yes. I will gladly sponsor your ship.”

She could see her answer pleased him. His eyes shone with merriment.

“Thank you, Miss Huntley.” He turned and glanced about, anxious that he should join her father. “I’ll signal you when the moment arrives. And I’ve not forgotten I owe you an apology. I’d prefer we speak privately, however.”

Again, Lorena thought of how she’d intended to apologize to him for Drew’s attack, yet it was the captain who felt the need to beg her pardon. She commended him for it and nodded quietly in agreement. If they must speak on the matter, she’d rather it be in private also. “I hope you understand, Drew is not a bad child. He was merely doing what he believed necessary to protect me.”

“Well, I can hardly fault him for that, can I? He is a brave lad, and I should like nothing more than the chance to get better acquainted. I say, let us forgive the past and start fresh. Perhaps we might all grow to become . . .
friends
.” His eyes held hers only a moment longer before he backed away and turned, hastening through the crowd.

Lorena had to chase after him so that he might hear her. “After the ceremony, meet me in the carpentry shop.”

“I shall be there, Miss Huntley.”

Lorena craned her neck, following him with her gaze as Captain Talvis threaded his way through the multitude to proudly take his place at the
Yankee Heart
’s keel.

A warm feeling settled in her stomach, contentment that Captain Talvis was sincere in his efforts to make amends. Or could he have another reason?

“Good morning, Lorena.”

Recognizing the voice, she turned. “George, you surprise me. Your place belongs beside Papa and Captain Talvis, not here with me.”

Lorena gestured to the
Yankee Heart
, where the captain had begun to address the multitude, telling everyone how it had been his dream as a child to own a ship as grand as the one before them. An impossible dream, he’d thought . . . until today. She mourned every word she would miss at George’s interruption, but there was no help for it other than rudeness and so she gave the shipwright her attention. “Need I remind you, that ship you designed is the largest of New England’s merchant fleet?”

George’s fair-complexioned cheeks glowed with pride. “No, my dear girl. No need. Her dimensions still ring in my head. One hundred thirteen feet and one inch on her keel, thirty-eight-foot beam, thirteen-foot depth. But I bring you news, Lorena. News I cannot wait to share. Arrangements have been made. I shall be leaving soon.”

“Soon?” Lorena’s spirit grew troubled, just as it had when she first learned of George’s plans. Now that the war was over, the young, gifted shipwright had secured employment in Whitby of North Yorkshire, along the banks of the River Esk, working for Turnbull’s shipyard. Turnbull’s was an old, established yard, where the
Discovery
, one of the ships on Captain Cook’s last voyage, had been built in 1774. Whitby ships were heralded throughout England, and for a generous salary George had agreed to share with British shipbuilders the secrets of excellence in American-made sailing vessels.

He nodded. “I have found a merchantman bound for England, the
Lady Julia
harbored in Plymouth. She shall sail just as quickly as her hold can be filled with cargo. I will need to check with her master daily to know exactly when that date shall be. I’ve informed your father, and he’s told me again he is sorry to see me go. He says I have a fine future in store and asked me to reconsider and make that future here.”

Lorena agreed. “You’d be wise to listen to Papa. No one knows more about shipbuilding than he. He’s done you a great service in handing down his trade secrets and skills to you. He’s treated you kindly as a man would his own son.”

His face reddened. “Am I to be chastised for ambition and a desire to procure a better life for myself than what can be had in this simple New England town? I have given my best to your father.”

“True. And yet, George, ‘Every way of a man is right in his own eyes, but the Lord pondereth the hearts.’ No matter how hard we might try, sometimes the right path eludes us. But if our hearts are turned toward God, He will make that way clear. I know you desire to seek your fortune, but I promise you, God can deliver your riches to Duxboro as well as to England.”

“I am sorry, Lorena, my mind is set. But it is not too late to change yours.” Taking hold of both her hands, George lifted one to kiss her knuckles. “You are of an age when it is expected you should leave the nest to start a family of your own. But you allow your attachment to Duxboro and the responsibility you feel toward your father and another’s child to keep you from me and the life we could share together. You know what I’m capable of. You know I settle for nothing less than the highest achievement in everything I put my mind to. There is nothing I could not give you. I would lay the world at your feet. If only you’d open your heart to me. Tell me you’ve reconsidered and will sail to North Yorkshire as my wife?”

Lorena’s breath caught. George frightened her with his insistence on a marriage between them. She took insult at his ridiculous arrogance that he could continue to press his suit after she’d explained the deep emotion that accompanies marriage she had not to give him.

But George could not accept defeat. He’d learned early to make his own way. He’d grown so self-reliant, he trusted only in himself and his abilities, not in God . . . or love . . . or friendship. Lorena felt sorry for him. He had not always been that way.

His parents, being too poor to bear the burden of another mouth to feed, had indentured him as an apprentice to learn the craft of shipbuilding. Lorena had welcomed him as an equal, careful to show no notice of his thin and tattered appearance. She encouraged him, as George trained hard at her father’s craft, from hauling buckets of oakum and learning how to wield an adze, to understanding the four key aspects comprising a ship’s plan and then practicing them for hours in his sketches. When it was discovered he had an uncommon genius for ship design and mathematics, George worked diligently to achieve the title of master shipwright he held today.

Today he was honored and revered, impeccable in his image and manner. A perfectionist. Cold.

If she had to repeat it a thousand times, she would remain compassionate, but she must be truthful. Lorena knew she must be fair.

“You shall always have my friendship, George, but my feelings do not rise above that. You’ve never hidden the fact you resent my devotion to Papa and Drew, but you fully expect that I should abandon them and transfer this same devotion to you. I forgive you your jealousy, because I know you did not have the good fortune to be born into such a loving home.”

George pierced her with an indignant glare and promptly dropped her hands. “You forgive me?” he squawked. “Forgive me for offering you marriage!”

Lorena stared him full in the face and narrowed her gaze at the obstinate set of his chin. “You can’t understand, can you, George? My world is here in Duxboro. And each day that passes I grow wearier in the hope you’ll realize that loyalty to those who call you friend is more precious than any amount of financial gain.”

Neither her father nor any of his workmen or even George’s closest friend, Edward, knew the truth behind George’s accepting employment in North Yorkshire. What havoc might be caused if they did. They believed he desired to join a brother of his in England, which was, in a measure, correct. George had confessed all to Lorena in confidence, hoping to impress her with his ambitious plan.

“The truth is, I view your scheme as ingratitude to my father and traitorous to your country. Yet as strongly as I disapprove, I shall not break my promise to remain silent in the matter. The confession is yours to make. There is nothing to gain by hurting Papa and upsetting his shipwrights, but in your greed for money, you can be certain you have sacrificed my affection forever.”

Lorena thought that if not for the throng of people gathered to witness his most highly praised achievement to date, George might have exploded back at her.

“Pray, how is it you scorn me yet smile favor on some fellow you don’t even know?” His dark eyes flashed angrily in anticipation of an answer.

Lorena drew back, disturbed. “On whom do you presume I smile favor?”

George closed the distance between them. “You know full well I speak of Captain Talvis. First dinner in your home, then yesterday he joined you in the family pew. Privateering may be declared legal, but robbery on the high seas is piracy no matter what the title given to it. God only knows the crimes that fellow has committed, for who can be certain what atrocities take place on a forsaken sea? I am asking for the opportunity to bestow you love—everything in my power to give—but be warned, Lorena. Brogan Talvis is naught but a glorified pirate who won’t hesitate to help himself to whatsoever he desires.”

The fierceness of George’s conviction gave Lorena pause, reminding her of that startling assertion the captain had made to Drew not two nights past.