Captain's Bride (25 page)

“Thank you, Joshua.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll
never forget you.”

For a moment she thought he might say more, but he
turned and walked away. Her glance followed his retreating figure
until she spotted Nicholas standing near the rail. After snapping
several orders to the crew, he turned in her direction, and though
he didn’t see her, her heart did a queer little twist. He noticed
her moments later, watched her, but didn’t make a move. His eyes
swept her as if he wished to memorize each feature.

An ache wrapped itself around her heart, a pain so
fierce Glory feared she might faint. She swallowed hard and moved
to the opposite rail, clutching the smooth wood for support. Sea
gulls screeched and turned overhead, and the South Street docks
swarmed with activity. Through her tears, the sounds and sights
faded to a merciful blur. She blinked hard, not wanting anyone to
see.

Nicholas walked up beside her, but she didn’t look at
him. She was afraid of what she might see in his face. Would he
look at her with derision—or with the love she yearned to glimpse
just one last time? Though he stood beside her, she already missed
him, as if she’d left him back on the strand.

“I’ll have . . . Nathan brought up,” he told her, a
crisp yet plaintive note in his voice. “You can leave whenever
you’re ready. Mac will escort you wherever you wish to go.”

“I have an aunt here,” she said, keeping her voice
carefully controlled. “Florence Summerfield Stacey. My father’s
sister. She lives not far from the Battery. She stared out at the
bustling dock. They’d shared so much on the strand, yet each knew
so little of the other. On the strand life had seemed so rich and
full with just the two of them; there was no need for talk of
others to intrude.

He didn’t speak for a moment as if choosing just the
right words. “I’ll be returning to Barbados as soon as our stores
are reprovisioned.”

“Barbados?” Glory squeezed her eyes closed against
the crushing pain. She hoped he wouldn’t hear the tremor in her
voice. It was all she could do to turn and look up at him, but she
couldn’t leave without knowing what she would see.

“Yes,” he said, staring straight ahead. “I’ll be
working in the Caribbean for a while. The weather’s so much more
pleasant.” His eyes looked vacant, carefully blank, his mouth a
thin, narrow line. There was a sadness around the edges that hadn’t
been there before.

“I’ll see the dress is returned,” she said
softly.

“Consider it a gift.”

“Good-bye,
Captain
,” she whispered, for her
Nicholas was gone. Then before she could stop herself, she stood on
tiptoe to kiss his cheek. In a whirl of stiff rose-colored skirts,
she turned and walked to Mac’s side. Joshua Pintassle came up the
foreward ladder with Nathan, who looked none the worse for wear,
though he blinked several times in the bright sunlight. Glory
rushed into his arms. “Glory.” He hugged her hard.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
“I’m fine.” He glanced toward the captain, then back to her. “You
don’t look well. Are you ill?”

“No. I’m just a little tired.”

“What about what happened on the strand? Has the
captain offered marriage?”

She thought of Nicholas Blackwell’s reputation with
pistol and cutlass and imagined gentle Nathan dueling for her
honor. “Yes,” she lied. “I turned him down.”

“You did what! Are you sure you want to do that?
There’s bound to be a scandal.”

“I don’t care about the scandal.”

“Father would have forced you to marry the man.”

“I don’t want to marry him, Nathan. Surely that’s all
that matters.”

“Your happiness is all that matters, Glory.”

“What he did to
you
is reason enough to turn
down his suit,” she told him.

“A few days in the hold is not much of a price for a
man to pay for his freedom.” His soft brown eyes looked at her
questioningly. “What happened between you two on the strand . . .
You realize there might be . . . complications.”

Glory felt warm color rush to her cheeks. “What
happened on the strand was my fault. I could have said no. As to .
. .
complications
, we’ll just have to hope their aren’t
any.”

“You’re sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Nathan, please. Let’s just get out of here.”
Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her skirts and walked toward the
gangway where Mac waited patiently, a dejected look on his face.
Knowing her own expression must look much the same, she lifted her
chin. She wouldn’t give Nicholas Blackwell the satisfaction of a
backward glance, she told herself as she walked down the gangway to
the dock.

Careful to keep her eyes straight ahead, she clung to
Mac’s arm while they navigated crowded South Street. But when they
rounded the comer onto Wall, Glory couldn’t resist a last look at
the
Black Witch
. Nicholas stood with his booted foot propped
against the rail, his hand gripping one of the shrouds. The wind
billowed the sleeves of his white linen shirt, and even from a
distance she could see the dark thatch of hair on his chest,
exposed in the V of the shirt. She knew he was watching and
wondered at his thoughts. Why couldn’t he love me? Oh, God, how she
wished he did.

She knew she should hate him, but all she felt was
love. And pain. Terrible, shattering, agonizing pain. Pain like
nothing she had ever known. And a sadness even more profound than
she’d felt when her father died. How would she survive it? Why
would she want to? Feeling as if her knees might not continue to
support her, she clutched Mac’s arm and let him pull her along the
bustling streets.

They passed drays and wheelbarrows, horses and
pedestrians. An auctioneer stood amidst barrels and bales and
lumber outside the Tontine Coffee House, his rapid-fire speech
ringing above the noisy crowd gathered around him. Inside the
building, Mac explained, brokers and underwriters negotiated
shipping contracts and insured cargo.

Glory had trouble following his conversation, trouble
in fact forcing one foot in front of the other. Since they had no
trunks, and her aunt’s home was only a few blocks away, they had
decided to walk, and Glory was grateful for the time to collect her
thoughts. Her aunt didn’t know she was coming, but she rarely left
the city, so she would more than likely be home. They had spent
little time together, but Glory had always been fond of her aunt
Flo. In some ways she felt closer to her aunt than she ever had to
her mother. Maybe it was because they had both loved Julian
Summerfield so much.

She had seen her fragile, gray-haired aunt at the
funeral, but Glory had been so distraught she’d hardly spoken to
her. Aunt Flo seemed to understand. Glory knew she would understand
about Nathan, too, and why they’d run away.

They finally reached the stoop of the huge brick
mansion, and Nathan rapped the heavy brass knocker against the
ornate wooden door. A small, thin-faced, rather stuffy-looking
servant opened the door.

“Please tell Mrs. Stacey her niece is here,” Glory
said, her voice sounding small.

Without so much as a smile, the little man motioned
them into the receiving salon. The high-ceilinged room, decorated
in the once-popular Federalist style, had wide carved moldings and
ornamental doors that led nowhere, but lent balance to the
room.

“I’d best be on my way, lass,” Mac said. “Will ye be
all right?”

Glory appreciated the deep concern in the Scot’s
eyes. She nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

“Why is it I dinna believe ye?” He concentrated on
the toe of his boot, scuffed and ragged against the gleaming
parquet floor. “The lad’s behavin’ like a fool, lass. It isna like
him. I’m sorry things dinna work out.”

“Thank you, Mac, for your concern.” She kissed his
ruddy cheek. The Scot turned and fled before her aunt came into the
salon.

“Glory! For heaven’s sake, what on earth are you
doing in New York?” Florence Stacey’s kindly blue eyes, so much
like her father’s, sparkled with pleasure. “And, Nathan, too!” She
hugged them briefly. “Is your mother with you?” She glanced around
until Glory’s next words stopped her.

“We need your help, Aunt Flo. Nathan’s returning to
school, but I need a place to stay for a while . . . until I can
catch a packet home.” She hoped her aunt would let her stay for at
least a few weeks. She wasn’t ready to return to her life at
Summerfield Manor. She needed some time to sort things out. “It’s a
long story, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I’ve got nothing but time. Jeremy will show
you up to your rooms. You can freshen up and then we’ll talk.
You’re both welcome to stay just as long as you like.” Glory hugged
her aunt fiercely. It was all she could do to pull away. Fighting a
rush of tears, she turned and headed toward the stairs behind the
thin-faced little butler.

Florence Stacey watched her go. She almost hadn’t
recognized the girl in the salon as her niece. The too-short gown,
the tired droop to her shoulders, the forlorn expression. Something
wasn’t right and Florence knew it. She took a long, steadying
breath. It wasn’t the first time someone in the family had come to
her in trouble. She was glad she inspired that kind of trust.

She watched as Glory climbed the stairway, taking
each step as if her legs were leaden. She loved that girl like the
daughter she never had. Florence Stacey was determined to find out
just exactly what was going on.

That night Glory told her aunt about her mother’s
plans for Nathan, about leaving Charleston on the
Black
Spider,
about the terrible storm at sea and how Captain
Blackwell had saved her life. She kept her story impersonal,
leaving out the part about Nathan’s time in the brig and what had
happened between her and Nicholas on the strand.

After supper, sensing Florence’s need to speak with
Glory alone, Nathan pleaded a headache, excused himself, and went
upstairs to his room.

“Why don’t we go into the parlor?” Florence
suggested. “We’ll have a nice glass of sherry.”

“All right,” Glory agreed.

When they were seated on the comfortable Queen Anne
sofa, Florence came to the point. “You’ve told me all that’s
happened these past few weeks. We’ll get you some new clothes to
replace the ones you’ve lost. We’ll get Nathan situated in school,
and I’ll write your mother, try to convince her to see reason.
Maybe she’ll give Nathan his freedman’s papers, as your father
would have wanted. In the meantime you can stay with me. I have a
feeling you’re not ready to go back home yet.”

“No, Auntie Flo. I don’t think I can face those
people yet. So much has happened.” She took a long swallow of
sherry and glanced away, feeling the warmth of the liquid as it
burned a path down her throat, fighting the sting in her eyes.

“Yes, it has. But nothing you’ve explained so far
accounts for the terrible sadness I see. Won’t you tell me about
it?”

Glory’s head came up. Her blue eyes searched her
aunt’s kindly face. “Is it obvious?”

“Yes, my dear, I’m afraid it is.”

Glory took another deep swallow, smoothed the rose
skirts of the gown Nicholas had given her, and leaned back against
the seat.

“The man who saved my life, Captain Blackwell . . .
We were stranded together on an isolated stretch of land for almost
three weeks. I came to love him.” She ran her finger around the rim
of the stemmed crystal glass, for a moment seeing Nicholas as he
was on the strand, handsome, smiling, loving. She felt the pull of
a smile. “Actually, I think I fell in love with him almost from the
first moment I saw him. At my nineteenth birthday ball. He was so
arrogant—and dashing. All of the women were in love with him.
Except me, of course. I was determined to dislike him. He was a
friend of Father’s. I think Father hoped I would marry him.” She
swallowed past the hard lump in her throat. “By the time we left
the strand, I wanted that more than anything in the world.”

“So why didn’t you?” her aunt asked softly, resting a
veined hand over Glory’s supple one.

“He didn’t want me after all. I guess I was just a
convenience. Someone to satisfy his passions until he could reach
civilization. I don’t know. When we were on the strand, our time
together seemed like a dream. A perfect fantasy. He cared for me,
protected me. I was sure he felt as I did.” Glory lifted her face,
and tears washed down her cheeks. “He smiled all the time, and he
taught me to swim, and he took care of me when I got sick and . . .
oh, Auntie Flo, I loved him so much.” She couldn’t go on for the
tight sobs clogging her throat. Slipping her arms around her tiny
aunt’s neck she cried against the frail woman’s shoulder, deep,
painful sobs that racked her slender body.

“My poor, dear child.” Florence held her, patting her
head and encouraging her to let the tears fall. Glory didn’t
resist. She couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to. Her aunt
rocked her as if she were a small child and let her weep out her
sorrow until she had no more tears to cry.

“You can stay here as long as you wish. I always
wanted a child, but your uncle Leonard and I were never blessed.
You’re the closest I’ve ever come.” She stroked her niece’s cheek,
soothing her, wishing she could take away the pain. “I can’t bear
the thought of this man hurting you as he has. But you must have
seen something good in him, or you would never have loved him.
Someday you’ll get over him and find someone else to love. Until
then, we’ll work through this together.”

Glory sniffed and looked into her aunt’s narrow, aged
face. “I don’t know if I can get through this at all. I wish I’d
died when the ship went down.”

“Don’t talk like that. Not now, not ever. Do you hear
me?”

Glory bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “Yes,
Aunt Flo.”

“Good. Now dry your tears. It’s time you got some
sleep.”