Rebellious Heart (11 page)

“I won’t be far behind you in tasting sweet wedded bliss.” Ben thought back to his recent visit with Hannah Quincy. She’d been more than encouraging; she’d even let him sneak another kiss when he’d said good-night. He’d told himself it didn’t matter that kissing an apple would have been more pleasant. He decided he only wished Hannah had been Susanna because he’d just spent the afternoon with Susanna on the beach.

Surely Hannah’s cold, stiff lips would warm and soften to him eventually.

Cranch’s grin widened. “Why, you old dog. Don’t tell me you’re thinking of proposing too.”

“I am.” Ben had to before someone more qualified beat him to the proposal.

“Maybe we can have a double wedding.”

“Maybe.” Although he doubted Mrs. Smith would want him to overshadow Mary’s wedding in any way.

“I’m sure Mary would be delighted at the prospect of having a wedding with her sister.”

“Her sister?”

“Don’t deny it. You’ve had your eyes on Susanna. In fact, you can’t take your eyes off her.”

Ben couldn’t deny it. But Cranch didn’t need to know that. “You know very well I’m not planning to propose to Susanna. I’m asking Hannah Quincy to marry me as soon as I see her again.”

Cranch groaned. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“She’ll make a fine wife.”

“For a blockhead.”

Ben stifled a smile.

“You know she’ll bore you to your death.”

Cranch was right. Hannah Quincy was interested in the number of rosettes a dress should have and how much powder a wig needed—the sorts of topics that put Ben to sleep.

“She’s exactly the kind of woman a man like me needs.” At least that’s what he told himself every time he was tempted to yawn at her dull prattle. He reminded himself she was kind and sweet and endearing, and that surely his affection for her would grow over time.

The important thing was that she would bring him the status necessary to move up in Boston circles. If he married her, he wouldn’t have any more trouble getting the kinds of cases that could help him make a name for himself. With the prestige he would finally be able to hold his head high, have the means to help his family, and repay his father for all his sacrifices.

“She might be the kind of woman you need if you want to turn into an old prune.” Cranch doffed his hat to several young ladies passing in an elegant chaise, the feathers and flowers on their fancy hats blowing in the breeze.

They giggled at Cranch.

Ben couldn’t begrudge his friend his charm. It oozed from him. But Ben had none. All he had was his intelligence and ambition and determination.

Hannah obviously saw the potential in him. And she had a large enough dowry that she didn’t need to worry about his lack of means. She was spoiled and pampered by her parents, and everyone knew they’d let her marry whomever she chose, even a poor man like himself—at least that’s what he was counting on.

And at present he’d somehow gained her favor. He needed to act quickly to secure a promise of marriage from her before some other man caught her attention.

“Susanna Smith, on the other hand,” Cranch said, “now, she’s the kind of woman who will sharpen you into a sword that’s capable of challenging the most daunting of foes.”

Ben couldn’t disagree with his friend. Susanna was the most stimulating woman he’d ever met. Even thinking about the conversations he’d had with her stirred him. But . . .

“Mrs. Smith might adore
you
,” Ben said, “and embrace the prospect of
you
becoming her son-in-law. But she’d never accept
me
.”

“Give her time.” Again Cranch doffed his hat, this time to a group of merchants striding past them. Even the autumn sunshine glinted off his fair head, setting him apart and favoring him.

“I could give her a hundred years and she’d still never approve.” Ben was smart enough to know how the system of
marrying up
worked. While the Smith girls would have sizable dowries, theirs couldn’t compare to Hannah Quincy’s. They didn’t have the liberty to marry anyone they fancied the way Hannah did. In order to ensure a comfortable lifestyle, the Smith sisters would have to marry men who could also bring
their fortunes to the marriage, and a fortune was something he didn’t have.

In fact, he didn’t own anything.

It would never matter how stimulating Susanna was. It would never matter that she was one of the most stunning women he’d ever seen. And it would never matter if he did grow to care about her.

Her mother wouldn’t approve of a man like him. Hadn’t Susanna said it herself those many years ago when she’d been stuck in the tree?
“I could never marry beneath my class. My mother would never allow it.”

Perhaps Susanna Smith had changed over the years. But the fact that they were worlds apart had not changed. She would still never be able to marry a man like him.

“Speaking of Hannah Quincy,” he muttered. Striding toward them from the direction of Town Hall was Elbridge Quincy, Hannah’s brother, his tall, broad shoulders and proud carriage setting him apart from the others.

“Ah yes,” Cranch said, “marrying Hannah would make you a relation to the most brilliant lawyer in Boston. That’s a charming prospect, isn’t it?”

Ben guffawed. He wanted to avoid an encounter with Elbridge altogether, but from the man’s increased pace, he’d obviously seen them and was determined not to miss speaking with them.

Ben eyed the tavern they were passing, tempted to duck inside.

“You can’t let him intimidate you forever,” Cranch mumbled, steering him forward.

Elbridge stopped in front of them and peered down his Roman nose at Ben just as he always had. “I see you’re back in Boston searching among the dregs of society for another case to represent.”

“Good day to you too, Elbridge.” Cranch tipped his hat at the man.

“Someone’s got to represent those truly needing justice and mercy,” Ben said, thinking again about Susanna and the young woman she was helping. He’d been expecting another letter with more information and could only pray Susanna wouldn’t do anything rash until he’d had time to advise her.

A mocking smile turned up the corners of Elbridge’s lips. “Yes, I suppose someone must do the dirty work. I’ll send all the drunks, thieves, and murderers your way, Ross. I’m sure you’ll find something good and noble within them.”

“It’s a good thing one of us can see the worth in people.” Ben attempted to toss off Elbridge’s barbs. Once he married Hannah, Elbridge would have to finally accept him.

Elbridge sniffed and his nose lifted higher. “And now that Lieutenant Wolfe has been sent to investigate subversive activities south of Boston, you may find yourself with more treasonous reputations to defend.”

“Lieutenant Wolfe is only going to find himself watching the coming and going of the tide.” At least Ben hoped that was all he’d find. For the time being, they’d sent word to the smugglers that goods would have to be unloaded and stored in warehouses near Plymouth, which would make the process of getting the molasses into Boston more difficult. But he and Cranch and the others had already met to discuss the options.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t underestimate Lieutenant Wolfe,” Elbridge said. “From what I’ve heard, he’s a clever man.”

“From what I’ve seen,” Ben countered, “he’s just wasting his time patrolling the coast. But I guess that’s not surprising since the rest of the British army is wasting their time here as well.”

Cranch elbowed him and cocked an eyebrow in warning.
Cranch’s father was one of the biggest purchasers of smuggled molasses in Boston. Cranch had a great deal at stake with Lieutenant Wolfe’s prying.

Ben knew he needed to watch what he said around Elbridge. The man would plunge a dagger into his back if he could. Even so, Ben couldn’t stop himself from tossing a parting shot. “From what I can tell of Lieutenant Wolfe—from his time in Braintree and now in Weymouth—he’s more concerned about leeching off the poor tavern owners all he can with naught a concern for how their quartering him and his men affects business.”

Ben couldn’t deny that Lt. Wolfe was indeed a great threat to their operations. After the past several days in Boston, Ben had heard rumors that Lt. Wolfe’s superiors were dissatisfied with his conduct regarding the smuggling, that they were giving him one last chance to prove himself, and that if he failed to bring them vital information, they would likely send him back to London in disgrace.

If Lieutenant Wolfe was on a mission to save himself, then that would make him all the more dangerous.

Elbridge tipped his hat at another gentleman passing by, then turned to face Ben. “There are many who believe that after all the British army has done for us, the very least we can do is make them feel at home on our soil for the duration of the time they’re away from their families.”

“All they’ve done for us?” Ben started, but Cranch’s sharp tug on his arm pulled him forward, away from Elbridge.

“Friends,” Cranch said, “as much as I’d love to stay and discuss the merits of the British army with the two of you, I’d find it pleasanter to go home and prick my eyes out with roasting skewers.”

Without waiting for another word from Elbridge, Cranch propelled Ben down the street toward Town Hall.

“Really? Prick your eyes out with roasting skewers?” Ben asked, allowing Cranch to drag him along. “If you’re going to speak of self-mutilation, I’d expect you of all people to be a bit more romantic about it.”

“True.” Cranch gave a short laugh. “If I planned to harm myself, I’d likely choose an overindulgence in chocolate instead of skewers. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Ben smiled.

But when Cranch’s gaze met his, there was a hint of seriousness in them that reminded Ben they were no longer just school friends playing a simple game of cards. They were grown men. The game they were playing now was far more dangerous and the stakes much higher.

And the danger would likely get considerably worse before it got better.

Susanna pressed her ear against the door of the study. “
S’il vous plait
,” she whispered, repeating the master as he gave William his French lesson. Even though she’d been trying to teach herself the language, she was having trouble with pronunciations.

Her brother’s tutor spoke again, his voice muted through the thick walnut door.

“
Auriez-vous l’obligeance
,” she mimicked.

With the bits of the language she heard during those occasional times when she was able to listen to William’s lessons, she was making some progress.

But it wasn’t enough. Her fingers strayed to the door handle.

If only she could sit with William instead of having to consign her learning to the rare times Mother was absent.

Mother hadn’t denied her permission to eavesdrop on William’s lessons . . . yet. So she technically wasn’t doing anything wrong by listening. Nevertheless, she’d kept her
activities to herself, unwilling to give Mother the chance to ban her from the small pleasure of learning more.

Down the hallway, the front door rattled and swung open. A brisk gust of wind swept it wide and banged it against the wall.

Susanna jumped and then strode away from the study, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and any evidence of her indulgence.

When her father stepped through the front door, the tension eased from her body. If Father suspected she’d been listening to William’s lessons, he would pretend not to notice as he usually did.

“Good afternoon, Father.”

He blinked into the dim interior and, upon seeing her, smiled. “Susanna. How’s my sunshine today?”

“I’ve finished dame school and sent the girls home already.” She took his hat and assisted him out of his overcoat.

“I admire your determination to teach those poor young girls. You’re a remarkable woman.” He planted a kiss against her forehead. The spiciness of tobacco lingered on his breath.

“And how is Mr. Arnold today?” she asked, patting his cheek.

He glanced around the deserted hallway to the open doorway of the parlor.

“Don’t worry. Mother is still gone calling with Mary.” They both knew Mother didn’t approve of him smoking his pipe at home, and that in order to keep the peace, he often went to Arnold Tavern to smoke.

Father patted her cheek in return. “I saw your friend there today.”

“My friend?”

“The lawyer. Mr. Ross.”

Her heartbeat lurched forward. “Mr. Ross is in Weymouth today?”

“He had a message for Mary from Mr. Cranch.”

Did Ben have a message for
her
also? But even as the words formed on her tongue, she held them back. She couldn’t appear overly eager and risk exposing her involvement with Dotty.

“It appears Mr. Cranch would like to visit on Saturday afternoon.”

“I’m sure Mary would love seeing him again.” That was an understatement. Since the time on the beach last week, Mary had been unable to think of anything or anyone but Mr. Cranch. Susanna refused to admit she’d done likewise with Mr. Ross. If she’d thought about him at all, it was only in regard to the situation with Dotty.

Maybe she could find an excuse to take the letter to him at Arnold Tavern. She had been growing increasingly desperate to apprise him of the information she’d learned about Dotty’s master.

Father strode down the hallway.

“After lessons today, one of my girls said her mother is out of wool,” she called after him, her mind scurrying to find any reason at all to visit Ben. “When Mother gets home, would you tell her I’ve gone to deliver more supplies to Anna Morris?”

“Of course.” Her father waved at her. “You’re just like your mother, always thinking of those poor women and caring for them. They’re blessed to have your assistance.”

Susanna quickly shoved aside her guilt at the small deception. She would take Mistress Morris more wool, and if she just happened to ride past the tavern, there would be no harm in stopping for a few seconds to deliver the letter to Ben.

She packed a bag of supplies and tucked her letter inside. She was thankful Tom was accompanying Mother. She didn’t want to face his probing eyes, reminding her of the danger and deception of what she was doing. He’d surely insist on riding along, even though no one had suffered any further problems since Hermit Crab Joe’s trial three weeks ago. Apparently Braintree’s Parson Wibird was having great success in reforming the man—much more than she’d anticipated.

Even so, as she sat in her sidesaddle and straightened her petticoats, a whisper of warning shimmied up her backbone. She forced herself to ignore the unease and kicked her mare into a canter down the road that would take her to the coast and Arnold Tavern.

The wind rattled the leaves, blowing them from the trees, sending a whirl of scarlet, burnt orange, and fiery yellow onto the road, covering it like a carpet. The cool breeze lashed her cheeks and hair, determined to wrest every stitch of civilization from her and turn her into a wild woman.

After several miles, she turned her horse onto the coastal road. At the sight of two of the king’s soldiers coming from the opposite direction, she slowed the mare and maneuvered to the side of the road.

She recognized the stiff shoulders and proud carriage of the soldier in the lead—Lieutenant Wolfe.

He brought his horse to a sharp halt next to her and peered down at her with a condescension unfamiliar to one of her class.

“If it isn’t Miss Smith.” His voice was every bit as brusque as it had been with Ben that day on the beach.

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant Wolfe.” She pulled herself up, wishing she’d had time to reassemble her hair, which had
tumbled from the neat knot Phoebe had arranged earlier and now whisked about her face in disgraceful abandon.

“Oh yes. Let’s not forget to mention,” Lieutenant Wolfe added, his eyes narrowed upon her, “you are the
loyal
Miss Smith.”

“That is right. I am.” Certainly he wasn’t questioning her loyalty.

“And just why are you frequenting the coastal road on this autumn afternoon?” He eyed the bag of supplies she’d looped over her shoulder.

Since when did the colonists have to give an account of their comings and goings to British soldiers? Were they not free to travel about as circumstances dictated?

She bit back the sharp words she wanted to give him. Instead she forced calmness to her tone. “If you must know, I’m taking more wool to one of the women who spins for my mother.”

His attention remained fixed on her bag, and for a long moment Susanna feared he would ask her to open the sack and empty its contents. And she would have readily done so. She wasn’t smuggling anything and had nothing to hide from him.

Except the letter to Ben . . .

Of course she’d used the pseudo-names they’d previously decided upon, and she’d tried to remain as vague as possible about Dotty’s situation and hadn’t mentioned the girl’s name. But that wouldn’t explain why she had such an incriminating letter on her personage.

“I really must be going, Lieutenant.” She shifted into a proper riding pose in the sidesaddle, hoping she appeared more collected than she felt. She mustn’t allow the lieutenant to discover her letter to Ben. He might be on a mission to catch
smugglers, but she doubted he would turn a blind eye if he found out she was harboring a runaway indentured servant.

Lieutenant Wolfe didn’t move but focused now on her face as if reading the guilt written clearly there.

The young soldier who had reined his steed next to the lieutenant nodded at her. His face was pale in contrast to his red hair, yet his eyes were bright and kind. “Take care that you don’t stay out overly long this afternoon, Miss Smith. From the way the wind is blowing, I sense a storm brewing.”

The distant horizon of the ocean was the calm blue of the now-fading hydrangeas that grew along the parsonage.

But just because there wasn’t a sign of a storm didn’t mean one wasn’t coming. The storms could arise seemingly out of nowhere and unleash dangerous fury.

“Thank you.” She gave her mare a nudge with her heel. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

She urged her horse past the soldiers, even though Lieutenant Wolfe didn’t offer her the courtesy of moving aside. As she trotted away, she didn’t have to look to know the lieutenant was watching her, searing her back with a hundred questions.

By the time she’d ridden north along the coastal road and dismounted at Arnold Tavern, she’d put plenty of distance between herself and the soldiers. Yet her heart still pounded loudly, and she berated herself for not finding a better spot to secure the letter.

The plain weathered tavern stood along a rocky section of King’s Cove where steep cliffs and jagged shoals made navigation by water difficult and treacherous.

She breathed in the sea air laden with moisture and peered at the crashing waves on the rocks far below. How could Lieutenant Wolfe have reason to believe anyone was engaging in smuggling here? There were stretches of beach that
were smooth and sandy elsewhere along the coast. But the Weymouth shores were less than ideal for unloading goods.

Hopefully the lieutenant would realize his mistake and return to Boston soon.

With a shudder, Susanna pushed open the tavern door and was greeted by the musty odor of tobacco smoke.

She stopped short at the sight of the empty taproom, the wooden tables cleared and the benches deserted. Along one wall an iron pot hung in a huge stone hearth, and the waft of bubbling stew permeated the room. On the opposite wall sat barrels of beer, rum, and cider with a shelf above them lined with tankards.

Perhaps the usual crowd of men had been scared away by the lieutenant and his men. Or perhaps they’d sensed the coming storm and had gone home to take refuge.

If no one else found the afternoon conditions fit for riding, what was she doing out? She oughtn’t to have left home. She should have waited to give Ben the letter on Saturday, that is, if he came calling with Mr. Cranch.

She took a step backward to exit, but hurried footsteps in the kitchen behind the taproom halted her.

Mr. Arnold’s head peeked around the doorframe, his expression wary. “Miss Smith?” He straightened and made a pretense of wiping his hands on his apron, although they were neither wet nor soiled. “Mighty surprised to see ye out today, that I am.”

“I was . . .” What could she say? She couldn’t very well tell him she needed to deliver a letter to Ben Ross.

“The good reverend, yer father, has already left some time ago,” he continued. “And as ye can see, the rest of me customers have already gone home for the day, what with the squall brewing and all.”

Behind him, slabs of ham and beef dangled from the
ceiling. The kitchen was crowded with barrels of salted fish, jars of honey, and wheat in sacks—all of the many provisions he needed to run his tavern.

“I shouldn’t have come.” She put her hand against the door. “It’s just that my father mentioned he’d talked with Mr. Ross, and I’d hoped to find him here.”

Mr. Arnold cast a glance over his shoulder.

Of course, she hadn’t seen Ben’s horse tied out front. He’d likely already gone on his way.

She started to open the door. She’d been a fool to attempt to track him down. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Arnold. I’ll be on my way—”

“Susanna.” Ben stepped around Mr. Arnold. He glanced to the dusty window and to the coastal road that ran in front of the tavern.

“Ben,” she breathed with relief. She let the door close with a thump and crossed toward him.

The anger radiating from his eyes brought her to an abrupt halt. “What are you doing here, Susanna?”

“I heard you were in town and—”

“You shouldn’t have come here.” He looked out the window again.

“But I needed to see you.” For a reason she couldn’t explain, his tone and his attitude left an embarrassed sting upon her cheeks. Maybe she hadn’t expected him to jump for joy at the sight of her, but she hadn’t anticipated his anger.

Hadn’t they moved beyond the past hurts?

“Don’t seek me out here again,” he said curtly.

Her shoulders stiffened. “Very well.” If that’s the way he wanted to be . . .

Mr. Arnold moved across the room to one of the big multi-paned windows and peered down the road. “They’re coming.”

With that, the tavern owner rushed to the barrel of cider, grabbed a tankard from the shelf, and began filling it. His hand shook, and splashes of cider spilled onto the already sticky floor.

Ben gave an exasperated sigh. Then he strode toward her, seized her arm, and dragged her to the nearest table.

“Who’s coming?” she asked, too surprised by his actions to resist.

“Lieutenant Wolfe and his assistant.” Ben plopped onto the bench.

Before she knew what was happening, he’d tugged her down, leaving her little choice but to land upon his lap.

“Mr. Ross!” She gasped. “Whatever is the meaning of such familiarity?”

He slid one arm around her and at the same time began unbuttoning his waistcoat.

Heat crept up her neck into her cheeks. She pushed against his shoulders and attempted to rise.

“Stay put.” His arm around her waist pinned her, holding her prisoner.

Mr. Arnold plunked two tankards down on the table before them, sloshing the frothy liquid onto the table in his haste. “They’re tying their horses.”

“Who’s tying horses?” She squirmed to dislodge herself from Ben’s lap, her mortification increasing with each passing second.

Mr. Arnold skittered out of the room to the kitchen where he proceeded to bang pots together, clearly wanting to give the impression that he was in the midst of fixing the evening repast.

Ben glanced at the window and then grabbed both her arms. “Stop fighting me,” he whispered harshly. “Put your arms around me. I need you to pretend we’re lovers.”

“Lovers? I absolutely will not—”

“We have no other choice.” He reached up to her chin
and yanked at the ribbon of her wide straw hat. “Lieutenant Wolfe has followed you. What other reason can you give him for seeking me out here?”