Into His Arms (30 page)

He sucked in the paunch that lately kept him from fastening the front of the coat. “You are too kind. My wife insists ‘tis out of date.”

“Nay, Mr. Abrams. The style is quite classic. Were you going somewhere?”

Though the besotted cabinetmaker was loath to end the conversation, he did have an appointment to keep. “Aye. I’ve several deliveries to make. I was about to close the shop for the day.”

“How fortunate that I should stop by! I have several pieces of furniture that require repairs, and though I’m sure you would do the finest job on them, I’ve no coin to pay you. I have to be thrifty until my husband’s business finds success. Still, I have decent knowledge of tools and cabinetry. Might I borrow a few things for the afternoon?”

Now, Stuart Abrams’s tools were his pride and joy. More than that, they were his very livelihood. Even Mistress Abrams, though she henpecked him fiercely, dared not touch his prized implements.

It was with genuine regret that he replied, “Why, Mistress Hampton, I should very much like to help you, but you see—” The good carpenter stumbled over his words. It was rare indeed that he was the recipient of such a sunny smile, and he would rather not cause it to fade just yet. Nonetheless, his tools were his tools!

Those captivating blue eyes widened hopefully. “I shall take very good care of them, I promise, and I should be able to finish the work this afternoon. You shan’t even miss them.”

“Well, that is—”

She breathed a disappointed sigh. “It is a lot to ask,” she conceded, and he couldn’t help but notice that her pout was as fetching as her smile.

Mr. Abrams heaved a sigh of defeat. “Now, Mistress Hampton, don’t distress yourself. Mayhap I could lend you a few things.”

“Oh thank you!” she cried, her face lit by joy, and Stuart found he was hard pressed to give a damn about the bloody tools. She listed the pieces she needed and accepted his offer to help her carry them back to the apartment.

When they walked into the neat, almost austere office, Mistress Hampton paused and looked around. Her face showed a hint of trepidation.

“My husband’s partner was here when I left. He must have run an errand.”

Glancing around, Stuart asked, “What is it you’ll be using these on?”

Her worried look grew more pronounced. “Some things upstairs. But I can manage from here, I’m sure.”

“No, no,” Stuart protested. “I can take them up the steps for you.” Before she could demur, he started up the narrow staircase. Like the apartment above his shop when he and Mistress Abrams had first lived there, this was one room. He smiled at the ramshackle state of things. It reminded him of when he and Mathilde were first wed, when passion and enthusiasm had meant more than appearances. He sighed heavily. They had since built onto theirs, adding rooms filled with fine furnishings and fashionable whatnots, and he’d give it all up if only Mathilde went with it.

Stuart set the tools down, very much aware that he was alone with a beautiful woman who had been flirting with him, but the sight of a cutlass leaning casually against the bed brought him ‘round quickly.

“I shall be back for them around four,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his cravat.

She was visibly relieved to have him on his way, but still favored him with another smile. “That should be plenty of time. Thank you, Mr. Abrams. We are indeed fortunate to have such a generous neighbor.”

Stuart gave her a last, wistful look, and she blushed, casting her gaze to the floor. In that brief instant before she looked away, he saw the look of guilt that clouded her blue eyes. His customarily dour face broke into a wide smile. Funny thing, he had forgotten how much better one’s face felt with the corners of the mouth turned up.

“Do not let it weigh too heavily on your conscience, mistress. It’s sure you’re not the first pretty woman who used a bit of flattery to persuade a man to do her a favor. We all do what we must in this world. Just be thankful that if God didn’t see fit to make you rich, at least He made you comely.”

*

When he left, Faith set her conscience and shame aside and picked up a plane. She quickly discovered that using the instruments was not as easy as it looked. It took awhile for her to figure out just how to get the best results, but she knew what to do, and soon they began to feel natural in her hands. She puzzled a bit over poor fitting joints, but found that a few small pieces of the company’s best stationery, trimmed flush with the wood, tightened them up nicely.

Her father had oft spoken of the way that working with wood calmed his spirit and soothed his troubled mind, and she found that she understood how this was so. The smell of wood shavings, the sharp crack of the hammer, these things brought crisp, clear memories to her. She could see Noah and Isaiah as they worked together and teased one another. She thought of David’s childish hands carefully performing some small task, mayhap smoothing a rough edge or tapping a tight joint into place with the help of a brother, striking fingers as often as wood.

She thought of her school days, when she would sit upon a high stool in the joinery and practice reading from the Bible while her father listened. Whenever she paused, unable to even begin to pronounce some difficult word, he would supply it without looking up from his work, and she was ever amazed. He seemed to have the whole of the Good Book memorized.

Once, she had wanted to be like that. In an effort to grab hold of her parents’ unshakable faith, she had memorized countless pages of scripture. In the end, it had availed her naught. It was not her religion that she missed. It was her family.

Chapter 27

Geoff found her on the floor, next to their upside-down table, plane in hand, as she industriously shaved the bottom of one of its stout legs. A tendril of hair fell over her brow, and one silken leg had escaped from beneath her skirt. God, she was a fetching sight.

“Where did you get the plane?” he asked. Her resourcefulness never ceased to surprise him.

“I borrowed it from Stuart Abrams.”

“Abrams? Why, he’s the surliest man I’ve ever met, and avaricious as well. What did he charge you?”

“Nothing. I smiled very sweetly at him and told him that my father was a cabinetmaker so I knew how to use and care for the tools. And I may have mentioned something about how very fine he looked in his coat. He was only too happy to help.”

Geoff shook his head and grinned. Crouching beside her, he captured the errant tendril between his fingers. “What’s this? Using your fair face to bend some hapless man to your will? It sounds like wicked, wicked pride to me.”

“I think there’s little Jesus Himself wouldn’t do to hold this table steady.” To prove that it had been worthwhile, she accepted his help in upending the thing, and they stood back to admire its level surface and solid stance.

“‘Tis a miracle,” he said.

She looked with pride upon her handiwork, but the look faded and sadness replaced it. At the tears that misted her eyes, Geoff wondered if perhaps the shabbiness of their home bothered her rather more than she would say.

“What was it like, your home?” he asked, guessing rightly what occupied his wife’s mind.

“I have oft spoke of my family,” she said, and moved to fetch a broom to sweep the shavings.

“Aye, but what of your house?”

She leaned on the broom and looked off into some distant memory. “Well, ‘tis a sturdy clapboard house. Father built it, so it is snug and warm, every plank fitted tightly so that the winter chill is hard pressed to find its way in. There is a keeping room with a hearth and sitting area to one side, and a table and chairs on the other. Many a lively discussion took place ‘round that table, and many an argument between siblings mediated by Father.”

Geoff tried to imagine her life, so very different from his own. He had lived in a gaudy brothel, surrounded by squabbling women and boisterous men.

“Is it large?” he asked.

“Comfortably so, downstairs. At first, Noah and I shared a big chamber upstairs, and mother and father had one of their own. We shared that room with a screen for privacy until we were seven and Isaiah came along. Father walled off a little room, more like a cubby, really, and that became mine. ‘Twas fortunate that the fourth and last child was a boy as well, for my room would never have fit a sister!”

“Did it bother you, having to take a much smaller space?”

“Oh nay! ‘Twas cozy and comforting. I think I would have been afraid to sleep in a big room without my brother, but there was no room for monsters and demons in my little cubby.”

“Then this does not strike you as so very poor a home?”

“Nay, Geoff! Whatever made you think it would?”

“‘Twas not what I had envisioned for us.”

“Patience, my love,” she chided while she resumed sweeping. “In time you’ll build your company and we’ll find another home. I assure you, I am happy to be with you; the place matters not. Still, I would be lying if I did not say I would as soon live a bit farther from the noise and bustle someday.”

“That reminds me—I have good news,” he ventured carefully. Her face brightened, and she looked at him expectantly. “Giles and I have taken the last order we need to fill
Destiny’s
hold. We’re bound for Boston by the end of the week.”

For a moment it seemed her heart stopped beating. Boston. Home. Geoff and Giles had both made it clear that she was welcome to sail with them whenever she would. She could not help but wonder, would she be as welcome with her family?

Her aunt and uncle had heard nothing, but of course, letters were slow and uncertain. ‘Twas possible a reply was on its way. ‘Twas possible there would be no reply, no further word, ever. Many a night, on the voyage to Jamaica and at her aunt and uncle’s, Faith had tossed and turned sleeplessly, wondering whether she had made the right choice. Now, gazing at the man who seemed ever delighted with her, scowling in disapproval only when he sensed that she was not being true to herself, she knew that she would make this choice a thousand times over, whatever the cost.

“What troubles you?” he asked. “We needn’t be apart. You’ll come, too, won’t you?”

“Aye. It is only that much has happened since last I saw Boston Harbor.”

“Aye, that’s so, but think of all you’ll have to tell your family.”

“Then you had thought to visit them?”

Geoff sighed, exhaling his own doubts and uncertainties. “To be sure. I am of two hearts about it, I confess. I rather imagine they will want to know that you are well and to meet your husband.” The thought that had plagued him all week surfaced, and he gave her a guarded look. “Perhaps you are not eager for that meeting.”

Faith sighed, too. “Not entirely. I told you of my aunt. She was disowned for marrying a Catholic. You do not even count yourself a Christian.”

He shrugged. “Tell them I am Anglican. Mayhap they will not be perfectly content with that, but surely ‘twill satisfy them.”

Faith sank into a newly repaired chair. There were still times when their separate upbringings opened a chasm between them. “I am not even prepared to count myself Anglican, much the less you. Lying is a sin, Geoff.”

“Mayhap they will not ask,” he offered. She arched her brows at him. “There’s naught we can do about it now,” he said tersely.

“And naught else I would do. There’s nothing I have done that I would change. What I have gained will simply have to help me accept what I may have lost.”

He stood behind her where she sat and eased the tension from her shoulders with firm but gentle hands. His touch, as ever, sent delicious warmth coursing through her.

“It may be that all is not lost. Even as you miss them, surely they miss you, and though they may be rigid, you have oft told me of the love among them. They may yet yield to see you well and happy. Either way, know this, whatever you face at home, you do not face alone.”

“If only they could know the depth of contentment I have found with you, they would know this is as it should be.” She paused and placed her hand on his. “I do not know if I can ever convince them.”

“Come to bed, love. We’ll yet find some way to take your mind from your worries.”

Leaning her head back, Faith smiled up at him. “I think I will ever feel a little thrill when you call me that.”

He gave her a seductive smile. “What? Love? Well then, come with me, love, to our shabby but ample bed, love.” He pulled her up and across the room. “Where I shall show you, love,” he tugged on the laces of her gown, “just how much I mean it, love.”

Together they sank onto the bed. He took her mouth against his and his warm hands pushed her gown and then her shift from her shoulders. Those hands moved on, lightly grazing the sides of her breasts, and her nipples hardened in response. In her ear he murmured delicious suggestions, every so often breaking the rhythm of his speech as he repeated the endearment over and over, causing her giggle against the side of his neck.

Both groaned in frustration when they heard Mr. Abrams enter the office below and call out.

“A moment, Mr. Abrams,” Geoff replied loudly.

Faith moved to tug her clothes back on, but Geoff stayed her hand and smiled at her in a way that set her heart thumping. Making no effort to straighten his own disheveled garments, he tripped hastily down the stairs.

Faith blushed and buried her face in the sheets. Surely their neighbor would discern her husband’s dishabille, and it was likely he would reason out why. ‘Twas the middle of the afternoon! What would he think?

When Geoff returned, he pounced playfully onto the mattress, immediately picking up where he’d left off.

“I believe Abrams was disappointed that I was the one who returned the tools,” he commented, shoving her skirts down past her hips.

“I’m quite sure he knew what we were doing,” Faith chided, though she made no move to stop him. “You should have tucked your shirt in.”

“Poor devil,” Geoff commented. “I s’pose I shouldn’t rub it in. He can only dream of this.” He nipped at her breast, but she pushed him away, her cheeks pink again.

“Did he say anything?” she asked.