Lucky's Lady (The Caversham Chronicles Book 4) (44 page)

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Authors: Sandy Raven

BOOK: Lucky's Lady (The Caversham Chronicles Book 4)
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His dreams of a future with Mary were now gone. Because she was the only woman he wanted, and the only woman who could make them come true.
And she didn't want him.
"Lucky, stop." Ian's voice came through his fogged mind.
He halted his steady march, and turned to his friend.
Ian caught up to him. "I know you want answers," he said, "and I agree things seem... odd. But I want you to hear what I have to say, because I believe I know what is happening." Lucky didn't reply, he couldn't, so Ian continued. "I think she's trying to end your affair in a way that relieves her conscience. She's also trying to protect herself from gossip at this time. Like you, I do not believe Watkins has suddenly improved. I concur with you that she is likely at her husband's deathbed, and what she needs at this time is privacy."
"Dammit, Ian. I love her."
"I believe you, Lucky, I do." On the walk back to the
Lady S,
Ian finally spoke. "She's obviously gone on with her life. She's telling you that the relationship with her husband comes first."
"Did you give up when Sarah left you and went to Surrey?" He wanted to argue... had to make his case for loving a woman who was married to a man who was kind and generous. Spenser was also a man who had to surmise what was between him and his wife.
"She was my wife at the time. It's not the same. Your Mary belongs to another, for as long as that man lives. You cannot make her choose you over him." Ian's voice dropped to a whisper. "You cannot make her love you."
Unwilling to hear more truthful words that sliced deeper than a knife to the gut, Lucky turned and walked away from his friend. He increased his speed, practically running by the time he reached
Avenger.
He ran from the inevitable truth that, if he were honest with himself, Mary had tried to tell him.
"There is no future. There is just now."
she'd once said. Why hadn't he heeded her words? Instead, he'd ignored them. He ignored them thinking he could make her love him. But she didn't. She likely never had. She'd used him to satisfy her sexual urges.
When he boarded, he learned from his crewmen who had been readying the boat for the return to England, that very little was needed because Mary had taken care everything. She even saw to the hanging of new sail and rigging, which his crew had always done when coming off dry dock.
She'd seen to every detail except for the consumable dry goods, perishables and fresh water. In the morning he, Ian and Nigel Johnson would take the three boats across the bay, into Baltimore, and hunt up a cargo to carry back. Upon boarding, he greeted his men with a grunt and stopped in the galley to ask Goran not to send a tray. He suddenly felt ill upon the realization that paying for the work on the ships, and having the rigging and sails hung, was her way of paying him for satisfying those urges.
He continued on to his cabin, and bolted the door after entering. If he wasn't mistaken, there was an unfinished bottle of brandy hiding in the cupboard, and he intended to do his best to make piss out of it.
The very next morning, the three ships sailed out of Curtis Bay, and for Lucky it would be forever. If Ian wanted to return one day, that was fine by him. He was done with America, done with Indian Point, and most especially done with the auburn-haired wench who collected hearts for what purpose he could not presume to know.
C
hapter
S
eventeen
 
"I
still say you should invite your brother up
here
to celebrate his birthday," Sally told her one late September afternoon. Sally and Mary-Michael, along with Cassie her cook, and Trudy, one of the kitchen servants here on the farm, had spent the last three days working in the hot kitchen, getting the fruits and vegetables canned for winter.
"It wouldn't be a surprise birthday dinner if I invited him up here," Mary-Michael replied. "Too, George and Father Douglas wouldn't be able to come up here at the same time."
In the two months since Mr. Watkins' death, she hadn't been back to Indian Point. Mary-Michael missed her friends and wanted to see them before she got further along and was unable to travel. At five months into her pregnancy, her babe was tiny yet, and her condition wasn't obvious at all—especially when she wore a dress. And, while she'd promised Mr. Watkins she would not work at the shipyard during her pregnancy, to prevent her from over-exerting herself, she felt the need to check in at the office to see how things were running without her there each day.
And there was one question that had been burning in her heart, one she'd wanted to ask each week in her correspondence with Andrew and Robert, but had not yet been brave enough to ask. How had Lucky reacted to her disappearance? Was he as upset when he spoke with them as he was when he'd interrogated Becky? She didn't know how she was going to broach the topic, but she needed to know.
Mary-Michael pushed a final cucumber into the canning jar in front of her and passed it over to Trudy for her to add the vinegar and spices. She then reached for another empty jar. "My main reason for going down to Baltimore is to see the seamstress recommended to me by Cady," she said as she dropped the first few cucumbers into the glass container. "I must buy some dresses to last me the rest of my mourning, and through the latter months of my condition. And since I'll be that close, I might as well open up the house, visit my friends, and have my brother over for dinner, after all, George's birthday is in three days. That's hardly enough time to plan a dinner for him up here."
Trudy shook he head while she packed the jars with the spices for pickling. "You can have someone from here make your dresses. We got women that sew right in this here village. Mrs. Trumbull is one. She sews nice clothes."
Mary-Michael remained silent. She wanted to visit home, and her friends and brother, before getting as big as a sow.
"Well," Sally said, "I suppose I could pack your trunk after dinner, and have Ezra bring the two big ones down from the attic. We can bring them with us empty so as to put your new dresses in them."
"Only two?" she asked.
Her husband's long-time housekeeper gave her a reluctant sigh, before she smiled. "I guess you might need more than that—seeing as you need baby clothes and diaper cloths." Sally added another cucumber to the jar and glanced at her. "And you're gon' need underthings, too."
They worked in silence a few minutes, until Mary-Michael broke the quiet. "I cannot wait to see my brother and my friends," she said, bubbling over with happiness at going home again. "Cady's new babe is due soon and I haven't seen Becky's new little one yet. My best friend finally has her little girl, and I haven't seen her yet."
"You need to be careful traveling, Miz Watkins," Trudy said. "There's bad people out there wan' take advantage of a single, rich widow."
"We'll have Victor and Ezra with Sally and me, we'll be safe enough." Mary-Michael smiled at Sally and Trudy as all three worked in the hot kitchen putting up the fruits and vegetables to be eaten over the winter. "The good thing about going now, is the weather is cooler in the evening, which will make sleeping at night much easier. I won't stay long in Indian Point, as I want to get back here before it gets too cold and wet. I promised Mr. Watkins I'd take care of this babe, and I shall."
She pushed the last rack of jars filled with cucumbers, vinegar, water and spices toward Cassie to put in the pot and wiped the sweat from her brow. She stretched her back and groaned. "Once we're done with this last rack, I think I might take a short nap if you ladies don't mind. We have a long day of traveling tomorrow."
Sally harrumphed as she screwed on the lids to the jars on the last rack before passing the rack over to Cassie for her to submerge into the pots of boiling water.
"What's the matter Sally?" Mary-Michael asked.
"I don't right know, but I feel uneasy for some reason. Like you shouldn't be traveling into town at all. That's what I'm feeling."
"We'll have Victor and Ezra with us for protection," Mary-Michael assured her. "And we're going to see my brother and my friends. What on earth is the worst that can happen in little old Indian Point?"
 
L
ucky tossed his coat and cravat onto the chair in the corner of his bedroom at his sister and brother-in-law's home in London. He'd accompanied his family to a luncheon musicale for some family friend, forcing him to remember why he didn't much like Town. And that was yet one more reason to leave with the rest of the ships in one week's time. The end of September was the latest they could leave and still make it around the Cape safely. Any later and navigating the treacherous waters could be dangerous, not just for the ships, but for the men as well. The window was closing in on him to decide if he was going to sail this year or not.
If he stayed, there would be an endless parade of young ladies, most of whom lived in Town, some fresh from the schoolroom, others out for a few years, and all still hopelessly unattached after the Season. Each one of them would be looking to finagle an offer of marriage from any male as long as he had sound finances or a title to aspire to. In his opinion, the young ladies being paraded by parents or other relatives were barely more than children.
None of the eligible older debutantes had held his interest either. All they wished to speak about were fashions, gossip about their peers, or the latest romantic novel to hit the booksellers' shops.
He wanted Mary. They'd spoken of topics that interested them both, from philosophy to the morality and economics of the slave trade. She'd stirred his soul and stimulated his brain, without ever having to pretend to be something she wasn't in order to gain acceptance anywhere. She was, in fact, the most intelligent and practical woman he'd ever met. Perfect for him in every way but one.
She didn't want him.
According to the unsolicited advice he received from each person brave enough to cross him, the pain was supposed to lessen as time passed. Except it hadn't. He missed her more this night than he had the day he sailed out of the Chesapeake for home.
After tossing his waistcoat in the chair as well, he glanced at a folded missive resting on his bedside table. When he reached it, he realized there were two notes. One sealed, one unsealed.
He lifted them, and noticed Mary's fine scripted handwriting on the sealed note.
A terrible dread welled up in him as his heart sank deeper into agony. He stared at it. Feared it. Didn't want to touch it. Didn't want to read the words that he'd already surmised were her goodbye to him. A part of him believed that if he didn't see the words, in her handwriting, then there might still be a chance for them. If he read the words, and they were what he believed, then there could be no hope. None.
He perched on the edge of his bed and unfolded the first, unsealed note.
 
Captain Gualtiero,
 
I found this sealed missive lodged between the mattress and rail this morning as
I was preparing the cabin for our voyage. I am sending it straight away.
 
Captain Jedediah Hirsch
 
Avenger
 
He'd sailed home with that note in his cabin. It had been mere inches from him as he slept and he'd never known. After debating himself on the merits of tossing it into the fire, or reading it, he ran a finger under the seal, breaking it. But, he wasn't ready to unfold it. He stared at her handwriting and it took him back to the stuffy office at Watkins Shipbuilding, watching Mary take notes. He remembered thinking then that she had a scholarly hand. He brought the folded, sealed heavy vellum to his nose to see if he might recognize her scent anywhere on the page.
He found none, but realized it didn't matter. She'd held the page and the pen, and given thought to the words she chose to convey her message. He knew what he held. It was her goodbye. His pulse began to throb in his head and a knot formed in his throat. Holding the pages closed would keep him ignorant of the painful words within. Perhaps he shouldn't open it. Then he could pretend that all was well between them.
In the end he couldn't stop himself from reading each word more than once.
 
My Dearest Captain,
 
I pray this letter finds you in good health. Do not be angry with me for leaving. Mr. Watkins' condition was not improving and after months of my begging, he finally sought out a physician in Baltimore, who recommended we retreat to the cooler, drier clime of our farm in the mountains for the remainder of his days. By the time you read this letter we will have made the move.
Regarding your tab with Watkins Shipyard, Mr. Watkins and I would like you to accept the refurbishing of your clippers as our gifts to you. Consider them a small token of our affection for you and Ian.
With all my heart I believe that if I were not already married, our relationship might have had a different outcome. You deserve much happiness, Lucky. Please promise me you will search for that special someone who is also free to love you in return. As much as I wish it, that person cannot be me.
Please do not search for me. My husband and I are happy in our situation, and I look forward to what time I have with him, learning from him. Know that I will always treasure our time together, and you will always mean the world to me.
I will forever pray that God grant you fair wind and calm seas as you endeavor to build your company.
 
Godspeed, My Captain,
 
M.M.W.
 
He read and re-read her words over and over. It was as he thought. It was goodbye. She wished to remain in her situation, honoring her vows to her husband for as long as he remained alive. She even gave up her work for the duration to care for him. That had to be difficult for her. He knew how much she loved designing clippers, and how she loved the building process.

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