Love's Rescue (21 page)

Rourke hated hurting her. When she closed her eyes and those perfect lips parted, it took all his will not to kiss her. Her disappointment nearly changed his mind. She loved him. She was willing to give up everything, even her family, to be with him. He had dreamed of hearing such a declaration, but now it was impossible.

She didn’t know about the plan. Based on what she’d said, she didn’t know John and Anabelle were married, least of all that he planned to bring her to freedom in the Bahamas. Taking Elizabeth instead of Anabelle to Briland wasn’t just selfish, it broke a solemn promise and locked a soul in bondage.

Rourke dug the oars into the still water, now calm at slack tide, and reached the mouth of the cut in just four strokes. The boat glided silently onto the ocean. To the north and east lay his homeland. A favorable wind would bring them into the Gulf Stream and out of Florida waters in a few short hours. An unfavorable wind could keep them bottled up in the Keys. That was a problem.

He lifted the oars.

Elizabeth, sitting in the bow, eyed him. “What is it?”

He motioned for her to be quiet, not from necessity but because he needed time to think. What would he do if the
Windsprite
was becalmed? He hadn’t provided that option to Anabelle. In fact, he hadn’t considered the wind at all. What kind of captain forgot to take into account the wind?

He pulled once on the oars.

Even if he did manage to weigh anchor and slip away from the island undetected, if the wind failed, the harbor’s new steam tug could easily catch him. Rourke had to get word to Anabelle. Elizabeth was the obvious choice, but she knew nothing of the planned escape. He was not going to tell her now. First, she might not approve of losing her maid. Second, it made her an accomplice. No, he would have to get word to Tom, who would then tell Anabelle.

“Where are you going?” she whispered loudly.

Rourke shook himself from his thoughts and discovered the boat had drifted east when he needed to row west. He plunged the oars into the water and gave three strong strokes.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t get word to Tom. He couldn’t risk being seen.

“Something is wrong,” Elizabeth said again.

“No, I’m fine.”

He rowed a few more strokes. Elizabeth could bring a message to Tom, who would then find Anabelle, but that was ridiculous. She could go straight to Anabelle. He just had to make the message vague enough that Elizabeth wouldn’t figure out its true meaning.

“The oars blistered my hands,” she said. “Are they hurting yours?”

He shook his head. “I have a little more experience rowing than you do.”

“I used to row Charlie’s skiff.”

“That was Charlie’s boat? I always thought it was yours.”

“Father gave it to him, but he was scared to use it because he couldn’t swim.”

“How did you learn? I always figured Charlie showed you.”

She grinned. “I watched you and learned how.”

“Don’t let your father hear about that. It’ll be another strike against me.”

“I promise.” She inched toward him a little. “You looked a million miles away just then, like you were riding on the stars.”

He smiled at the image she painted. Elizabeth was like a freshening breeze, promising a fine adventure ahead. “I was thinking that I needed to get a message back to Tom.”

“I’ll do it.” She leaned toward him. “And I’ll be discreet.”

“I know you will, but it would be better if you sent Anabelle. People might already be talking about you showing up at the boardinghouse.”

“No one saw me. It was after dark, and Tom happened to be on the veranda.”

“How fortunate, but you can’t rely on that happening again. No one will think twice of a servant bringing a message. You may write it in a note if you wish.”

The moonlight shimmered off her wide, eager eyes. “Tell me what you want me to write.”

Rourke stopped rowing. Better he say this where he could see that no one was around to hear. “Tell him to proceed if the wind is favorable.”

“And if it’s not?”

“The first day it is.” Tom had the experience to understand that message, but Rourke hoped it never got that far. Would Anabelle know a fair wind from a foul one? The voyage to Charleston and back ought to have taught her that much. If not, she would at least get the note to Tom. “And make sure he knows that he is to get everyone ready.”

“Everyone? You have more crew in town?”

He hadn’t anticipated that reaction. “One or two more.” If he counted Anabelle as crew.

“All right. Let me repeat the message. Proceed if the wind is favorable. If not, wait until it is, and get the crew ready.”

“Close enough.” Tom would know what to do with that. “Also make sure he gets it tomorrow. All right?”

“I will,” she promised.

Rourke resumed rowing, this time at a steady pace. “Keep quiet now. We’re approaching the island.”

She nodded and slid forward to the bow. With her right hand, she grasped the painter, ready to leap ashore and tie off. With her left, she held the gunwale. Elizabeth Benjamin knew boats.

He chuckled inwardly at the memory of her misstep years ago that had landed her in the water instead of on the
Windsprite
’s deck. She had popped to the surface like a drowned rat, sputtering mad and saying he’d pushed the skiff away at the last minute. She’d been even angrier that he had the audacity to laugh. He had adored her like a kid sister then, but the years flew past, and she’d become a young woman. Still impulsive and adventurous, but very much a woman. His affection for her had blossomed into romance. Then she left. Those years in Charleston had shrouded her finer qualities so thoroughly that he hadn’t spotted them until tonight. The night he had to say goodbye.

As Rourke lifted the oars and let the boat drift ashore on the island of Key West, he wondered how he would endure the separation. A year might as well be forever if Benjamin announced Elizabeth’s engagement to Finch.

She tied the painter to an overhanging mangrove with a triple half hitch and hopped ashore before he had a chance to assist her. Then she stuck out her hand to assist him. That was the Elizabeth he loved. That was the one he would miss.

They walked in silence past the salt ponds, quiet at this hour. The salt-growing process had begun for the year, and the ponds
were flooded. Paths ran between the rectangular ponds, which were sealed off with gates. He chose the path next to the mangroves. Something rustled in the underbrush.

She squeezed his arm. “Don’t leave me.”

“Is this the same woman who earlier tonight ran through this very spot alone?”

“I didn’t think I’d have to go back.”

The sorrow in her voice brought a lump to his throat. “I’ll stay with you until we reach the cemetery. You should be able to get home safely from there.”

She didn’t say anything, though she clung close to his side. How perfectly she fit, as if she had always belonged there. Rourke placed an arm around her waist. When they crossed the first street, he breathed out in relief. Soon she would be safe.

At the cemetery, she slowed and halted. “I don’t want to let you go.”

Rourke couldn’t answer at first. He didn’t want to leave her either, but he must, preferably without sending her into tears. He held her hands. “I’m relying on you to complete your mission.”

The military-style command was meant to stiffen his resolve. It made her laugh.

“Of course.” She squeezed his hands in return. “I will wait for you. No matter how long it takes.”

The hint of desperation nearly undid him. He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it.

She cupped his chin in that delicate palm. “I love you, Rourke O’Malley. I always will.”

Emotion battled sense. He wanted to give her hope, but with no certainty he would ever be able to return, to declare love now would be cruelly selfish. “You are the finest woman I have ever known, Elizabeth. You have had my heart for years.”

A sob wrenched from her. “Such a sorry pair we are, your Romeo to my Juliet.”

He knew enough Shakespeare to understand her reference—and to fear it. “Promise me you won’t do something foolish.”

“Promise me you will return.”

That he could not do. Except she hadn’t asked when. She hadn’t demanded a time. He couldn’t have given one if she had. Maybe she realized that. He pulled the leather thong from around his neck and removed his grandmother’s ring.

He pressed the ring into her hand. “This belonged to my grandmother. Take it as a pledge.”

She turned the ring over and over in the moonlight. “It’s beautiful.”

He lifted her chin. “Not as beautiful as you.” Then he kissed her, slow and soft and filled with the promise of what he hoped would be one day. She responded gently at first and then with the same hunger she’d once had for sailing. She clung to him, held on with all her strength, clearly afraid to part.

But part they must.

He held her one last time. Kissed her forehead. Drank in the jasmine scent and the taste of salt. He ran a finger across cheeks soft as a lapping wave, marveled at eyes bright as stars. A bell rang in the distance. Much as he wanted to stay here the rest of the night, he must let her go.

“Godspeed.” He pushed her toward home before he lost the will. Then he walked away, not daring to look back.

“Godspeed, my love,” she echoed.

T
he kiss warmed Elizabeth all the way home. It followed her when she slipped through an open window undetected. It nestled with her beneath the bedsheets and welcomed her into the new day. It confirmed what Rourke could not say in words. He loved her. He would return for her.

She lay against the bolster and pillows, letting the sunlight dance across her face. Her body ached with fatigue, but the memory of last night wiped away any sleepiness. He had pledged his love and honor. She pressed his ring to her lips. It fit her third finger perfectly, as if it had been made for her rather than his grandmother. Though she could not wear it publicly, this pledge gave her the strength to face as much as a year apart.
Please, Lord, make it less.

She turned the silver ring, examining its intricate pattern. It looked very old. It must be an heirloom, passed down from generation to generation. A man would only give such a ring to the woman he intended to marry.

A knock sounded on the door. “Miss?” Anabelle was already here.

Elizabeth twisted the ring from her finger. “Please come back in ten minutes.”

After Anabelle’s footsteps faded away, Elizabeth flitted across the room to her dressing table and opened the rosewood box. The ribbon she had used for her trunk key would work. She removed the key and threaded the ring onto it. Then she slipped the ribbon over her head and beneath her chemise. Until Rourke put this ring on her finger before witnesses, she would wear it secretly near her heart.

Secret. Oh dear, she had promised Rourke to get a secret message to Tom today. She must hurry.

Elizabeth kept paper, pen, and ink in the reading room. When she was growing up, this space had been a nursery and then a room for play and studies.

One day she and Rourke would have children. How they would laugh and play together. They would all learn to sail—boys and girls alike. Swim also. The gossips could blather all they wanted about how unseemly it was for a girl to swim. But a child of the sea must know such things.

Another knock sounded on her bedroom door.

“One moment,” Elizabeth called out as she gathered up the necessary writing implements.

Though Rourke suggested she send the note through Anabelle, Elizabeth would not give up the chance to talk to Tom. He might be able to tell her what Rourke had not—why he’d been called home.

Anabelle stuck her head in the room. “Are you ready for me, miss?”

“Not yet. I have a note to write. Come back in another ten minutes.”

Anabelle frowned but acquiesced.

Alone again, Elizabeth settled at her dressing table and dipped the pen in ink. What had Rourke wanted her to write? She searched her sleep-muddled mind. Oh yes, something about when they were sailing. The wind. That was it. She scratched out the note.

Captain O’Malley wants you to proceed at the first favorable wind. Otherwise wait.

There was something else. What was it? She searched her memory. Ah yes. The crew.

Prepare everyone.

She folded the note and wrote Tom’s name on the outside. All it needed was a seal. She rose to fetch the sealing wax when Aunt Virginia’s strident voice rose from the floor below.

“It’s gone, I tell you.”

Aunt must be in the dining room, which was situated directly under Elizabeth’s bedroom.

“I didn’t lose it,” Aunt Virginia declared. “Someone stole it.”

Not the string of pearls. Elizabeth hoped Aunt hadn’t misplaced her pearls or the entire household would be turned upside down looking for them.

Father’s reply was so muted that she could not make out a single word. Doubtless he knew that voices carried. He also didn’t rattle easily, even though Aunt Virginia could discombobulate the most placid soul.

“Impossible,” Aunt cried. “My trunks were locked. I made sure of it by giving my keys to Captain Poppinclerk as soon as I reached safety. I was not going to let those pirates and darkies near my belongings. They would have stolen everything.”

That explained how Aunt’s trunks had gotten locked.

“Someone in this house must have stolen it,” Aunt continued. “If you ask me, it was that maid of your daughter’s. I don’t trust her.”

Elizabeth gritted her teeth. Any number of people had entered this house. Aside from the servants, dozens of callers had passed through, as had Mr. Finch. True, only the servants had been granted access to Aunt’s bedroom, but it was still possible that someone had wandered upstairs unchecked. Yet in Aunt’s eyes, Anabelle was automatically guilty. Elizabeth could not understand why Aunt hated Anabelle so much. It made no sense. Anabelle had shown the utmost deference in Charleston. She obeyed every order, yet Aunt still treated her with contempt.

Elizabeth glanced to the closed door. Had Anabelle heard this latest tirade?

“In my opinion”—Aunt gathered steam and volume—“that girl thinks she’s above her station and needs to be brought into line. I’ve told Elizabeth to discipline her time and again, but she refuses. At most she gives the girl a slap on the hand. If nothing is done, the hens will be running the henhouse. You must step in. Do what must be done, like you did with her mother. The missing document gives you the perfect reason.”

The scrape of a chair indicated the conversation was over, but it left Elizabeth both puzzled and disturbed. Mammy had been sent away. Surely Father wouldn’t sell Anabelle simply because Elizabeth had refused to punish her. Moreover, Aunt said the fuss was all over some missing document. What document? Was she referring to the inheritance? But that made no sense. Father had informed her of the inheritance when they first arrived. He had said nothing about needing a document.

The sound of a door clicking shut roused her from her
thoughts. She turned to see Anabelle standing with her back against the door, eyes wide and countenance pale. Her hand trembled where it rested on the doorknob. She had heard.

“Don’t let him sell me,” Anabelle whispered.

Elizabeth had never seen her friend more terrified and unsure. “He wouldn’t do that.”

Anabelle’s lips pursed and then quivered. “Help me. Please.”

“Father won’t send you away,” Elizabeth repeated, this time taking Anabelle by the shoulders. “I won’t let him.”

Anabelle averted her eyes, gulped, and then looked straight at Elizabeth. “Perhaps you can save me, but—” She drew in a rasping breath, clearly struggling over what she wanted to say.

“But what? What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

Anabelle shook. Her lips worked. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. “I might be with child.”

The revelation shot through Elizabeth with the speed and pain of an arrow. “How is this possible?”

What man could Anabelle have known? The only Negro male in the household was Nathan, and he had been with Cook for as long as she could remember. Aunt’s only male servant was aged. None served aboard the
Victory
. Her head spun as horrible thoughts wiggled into her mind. No, impossible. She would not believe ill of her friend.

Then she remembered Anabelle’s nighttime outings. She must have gone to meet someone.

“Who is it?” she hissed.

Anabelle drew back, her expression hard. “Does it matter? A slave’s baby will be sold once it’s weaned.” Despair curled around every word.

“Not always,” she offered weakly. “Father kept Florie.”

“Your mama did.”

Elizabeth recalled her last conversation with Anabelle. “That’s why you wanted to go to the ball, isn’t it? To see him.”

Anabelle said nothing.

Elizabeth would not accept silence. “What did you think you would do? Escape with him? There’s nowhere to go. Even if you could get to the next key, the hounds would find you.” She ignored the fact that she had made that journey without being detected. “Well, what were you planning to do?”

“Tell him,” Anabelle said softly. “Like you would tell the man you love.”

Her words shivered down Elizabeth’s spine. What if she were in Anabelle’s place? She would do anything to tell Rourke. For all her righteous indignation that Anabelle would get herself with child, the fact was that these things happened. Mother’s diary had spelled that out often enough. Perhaps she might persuade Father to purchase the father of Anabelle’s child if it came to that. They had not been home a full month. If this man lived in town, Anabelle could not be certain yet that she was with child. This might all work out on its own.

“I will do what I can,” Elizabeth promised.

After Anabelle dressed her, Elizabeth tucked the note for Tom into the watch pocket of her dress and headed downstairs to see Father. First she would ensure he had no intention of sending Anabelle away, then she would deliver the message to Tom.

Fortunately, Father had not yet left for court. She knocked on the open door of his study.

Upon seeing her, he gathered up the papers he’d been reading and put them in his valise. “What is troubling you, sunshine? I must leave for the office.”

She smiled at the nickname, but her request was not trifling. “Aunt Virginia might not realize my bedroom is directly above the dining room.”

He closed the door behind her. “Likely not, or she would lower her voice.” He returned to his desk. “Did something she said concern you?”

“My aunt has an unfounded dislike of Anabelle. Though she does nothing wrong, Aunt insists I punish her. I see no reason to do so.”

Father heaved a sigh. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept well in days. “Don’t worry what your aunt thinks.”

“I knew you would understand. You know how close Anabelle and I were growing up.”

His brow hitched. “It’s never wise to befriend the servants. Remember that you are their mistress. Too much familiarity leads to disrespect.”

“But Mother treated them with kindness and garnered their respect.”

“Your mother had unique capabilities born from her good breeding.”

“And I don’t?” The implication stung.

He smiled, but it looked forced. “You are your mother’s daughter, true. Yet you would do better to avoid getting too involved in the servants’ personal lives.”

Her mouth grew dry. Had he heard Anabelle? Did he know the awful situation she found herself in? If so, then the question Elizabeth must ask would not seem peculiar.

“You would not sell her, then?” She held her breath.

His gaze narrowed. “What has your aunt said that led you to think that?”

Aunt Virginia offered a convenient scapegoat, but placing the blame on her would not be the truth. “You sent Mammy away.”

“You no longer needed a nurse.”

“But Charlie did.”

Father’s expression grew grave. “You are asking about things that are not your concern.”

She would not give up that easily. “If I am to manage the servants, I must know when a servant needs to go.”

He nodded slowly. “There are many reasons, but the chief one is usually financial. It costs a great deal to house and feed servants.”

“Then there is no need to sell Anabelle?”

“You ask a difficult question.” He sighed. “I did not want to worry you, but if our circumstances grow any more severe, I might need to sell a great deal of my property.”

A chill swept over her. “But Anabelle is more than a servant. She’s a member of our household.”

“In hard times, servants must be let go. So too horses and carriages and fancy ball gowns.”

She blanched. “Are we in hard times?”

“Rebuilding the house cost a great deal. Your brother’s care is costly. He requires the regular attention of physicians as well as medicines for the pain. I have searched the country to find something that will give him a measure of independence. The wheeled chair is the best I’ve found thus far, but I will not stop until I find something that he can operate without assistance. In short, our savings are depleted.”

“Everything?” Elizabeth could barely draw a breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“A girl your age should be dreaming of beaus and balls, not suffer the burdens that her father ought to bear.”

Tears stung her eyelids. She had misjudged him so badly.
Perhaps she had even misread the diary. Her father was simply trying to do the best he could with what he had.