Pirate of My Heart: A Novel (17 page)

So, it was true. The Colburn girls must have been talking about Angelene, not her. What a fool she’d been. She bit her lower lip trying to keep the tears back as she climbed into the carriage and stared out the open window, praying the pain slicing through her stomach would go away.

Chapter Seventeen

C
ome in.” Andrew Townsend accepted the morning post from his butler and then waved him from the room. He flipped through the letters wondering if today might be the day he would hear from the Rutherfords as to how
the plan
was proceeding. After his pirates had failed to dispatch his niece, a fact he’d only learned about a few weeks ago, he’d been forced to rely on that letter to the Rutherfords. How hard could it be to arrange an accident for a naïve Englishwoman in the wilds of America? It was taking far too long.

He paused over a grimy looking envelope. At last! It was from Virginia. He closed his eyes and clutched the missive to his chest. It was so close—just within reach. Finally he would own all of the Arundel fortune, every plot of land, every tenant, every investment . . . every last shilling, even Kendra’s paltry dowry. She had no right to it. It was all meant to be his—every last dirt clod. His plan was about to be complete. He broke the seal with shaking fingers and scanned the message.

Dear Lord Townsend,

My name is Martin Saunderson and I have some news concerning your niece that I believe you will find quite valuable. You see, I am a friend of Franklin Rutherford, a close confidant, you might say. He explained that you were intent on getting rid of a certain young woman for her dowry and hoped Franklin would see to it with a generous reward, of course, at the end. Alas, our dear Franklin has had other ideas. He offered me half the dowry if I would marry Lady Kendra, saying that only he had the right to give her away as a bride to the man of his choice. At first I declined, having never thought to marry. But after meeting her, well, I’m sure you can understand my change of heart.

Of course the more I considered the idea, the more I realized that as her husband I should have every legal right to the full inheritance. Why share any of it with either of you?

Andrew put down the letter and threw his head back with a savage curse. He should have known better than to trust a couple of grasping colonists! Picking up the letter, his hand shook with rage as he continued:

On the other hand, it would be so much easier to have your cooperation as the chit has not as yet come up to scratch. There is a sea captain she has her heart set on, a Dorian Colburn. I believe you know him? My instincts say you’d rather not have him in the family fold, as the Colburn family can be a force to be reckoned with. I would like to suggest myself as an alternative. I can be very accommodating and believe we can come to some sort of compromise that will suit us both.

Andrew threw down the letter and pushed away from the desk, the vein in his forehead throbbing with rage. He was being blackmailed by an American! It was unconceivable! He stood, walked over to the crystal decanter on the sideboard, and poured himself a brandy. It burned down his throat but brought no relief. He reared back and flung the glass as hard as he could into the empty grate of the fireplace. He balled up his fist and slammed it onto the sideboard, causing the other glasses to rattle and move across the table, then braced his arms on either edge and leaned over it, his fair hair flopping in his face. “Alright. Get a hold of yourself. There must be a way to salvage this.”

He took a deep breath, turned, and walked back over to the desk. Picking up the paper, his chin held high, his eyes narrowed, he read the remainder of the letter:

Land in England means little here across the pond, but money—gold—that is a very different matter. It’s quite simple, really. You keep the land and pay me what it is worth in gold. You’ll have your estate intact and I will be able to support your exquisite niece in the manner in which she is accustomed. It’s all very agreeable, no? If you are wondering what I will do about the Rutherfords, make no mistake, they will be taken care of and bother us no more. I will take Kendra west, far away from anyone she knows, and start a new life with her so buried in the American wilderness that you may forget she was ever born.

In the essence of the time it takes to receive a reply from you, know that I will be pursuing my courtship of her. I hope you find my suggestions an acceptable alternative.

Yours,

Martin Saunderson

Andrew pulled out a fresh piece of paper and wrote a stiffly formal reply. He set the wax with the Earl of Townsend’s seal and rang for his servant. “Find the quickest messenger to get this on board the first ship sailing to America. Spare no expense.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Kendra, an invitation has come for you” her aunt called from the back door.

Kendra stood up, a ripe tomato in hand, her lower back aching from working in the garden these past two hours. My goodness, but was it hot. Her cheeks radiated heat and sweat trickled down her back in what felt like enough to fill a bucket. Upon hearing her aunt’s call, she turned, ducked under the low archway of dangling ivy, and hefted the basket of beans and tomatoes higher on her arm. Her apron flapped in the hot summer wind and her big, floppy garden hat flapped against her cheeks. Had it ever been this hot in England? She didn’t think so.

A letter. The thought brought only anxiety to her already quickened breathing. Whoever could it be? And what could they want? It seemed everyone wanted something of her and there was so little left to give. She could feel it leaking out, as if someone had cut her and the lifeblood was trickling out, little by little, until all that was left was a limp version of what used to be herself. After Dorian’s betrayal she’d realized how much strength she had been gaining from the hope that someday they would be together. Now.
Oh, Lord. Now.

She didn’t want to cry any more tears and she didn’t know what else to pray, except for strength.
Please, Lord. Give me what I need for these people, this place, the here and now. This day.

She quickened her steps, trying to put some courage into her backbone. Ouch! Her thin slipper trod upon a large stone, making her jerk her foot back and stumble. Tears sprang to her eyes as her foot began to throb. She sank down onto the dirt path and brought round the injured foot. Her slippers were in tatters. What had she been thinking to come here with no more than dancing shoes in her trunk? And she couldn’t ask her relatives for new, sturdier footwear. They were barely able to keep body and soul together as it was. She took off the delicate satin and looked at the quick forming bruise on her sole. She touched it and cried out, and then looked around to see if anyone had heard. It wouldn’t do to bring more hardship upon her poor aunt. She would just have to manage through the pain.

The thought of her aunt, a younger, happier version, came to her mind in a sudden way. Kendra closed her eyes and saw her as a young woman with Eileen, Kendra’s mother. She imagined the sisters dressed in frilly muslin with bows and ribbons and lace. She imagined them laughing together and smiling at each other, her mother tall and willowy and her aunt plump and grinning from ear to ear. She saw them at a dance, twirling with dark-coated, elegant gentlemen, bright-colored slippers flying. She saw them flying and happy.

And then she imagined her dear father. He was so tall, so reserved, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her mother. She had heard the story from him many times. He’d gathered up his courage and asked her mother to dance.

Kendra smiled, thinking of it. Her shy father and her stately mother. He’d been brave indeed to ask the beauty of the country, the most sought after woman in a decade, to dance. And she’d loved him. She must have. Who could not?

The tears finally came, racing down her cheeks one after the other so fast that she knew she’d been bottling them up for some time now.

“Oh, Mother. Father said you wanted me to choose. That you said I would know. But I was so wrong. I thought I found him, but I didn’t.”

“Kendra, what are you doing there in the dirt, girl?” Her aunt broke in on her imaginary world. “Didn’t you hear me? You’ve got a letter! It’s from the Colburn house. Now come open it, I’m dying to know what’s inside it.”

Kendra wiped away the tears and saw her aunt’s excited face peeking around the back door. It was just the face she’d imagined on the dance floor. Full of mischief and fun. In a flash she saw that she’d brought her aunt that. She had brought life back to her. The feeling overwhelmed her—that one person—one person in a household could uplift and give hope and laughter and joy back. Even when making a poor living from the dirt.

“Coming!” She rose, dusted off her skirts, and determined that whatever that letter said, she would make the most of it.

God help her, she would rise to this occasion.

Kendra tore open the plain wax seal and read the invitation. The Colburns were having a weekend house party and she was invited. There was to be a tour of the plantation, quail hunting, musicales in the evening with cards and games, and a picnic on the last day, complete with a horse race. Dorian and John were going to be riding their new Spanish stallions in a race against some other local fellows and their breeds. Buggy races for any ladies brave enough to try. It was to be a grand affair. And she was to bring a chaperone of her choosing, should she like.

“Oh, my!” Amelia clasped her round cheeks, her eyes alight. “That sounds like such fun, doesn’t it, Kendra? I can’t imagine such fun.”

Kendra looked down at her aunt, and even though the last place she would like to be was at the Colburn Plantation, she could not let her aunt down. “Of course you should accompany me. I couldn’t go alone.”

“Do you mean it?” Her aunt exclaimed and then seemed to remember her place. “Well, of course you couldn’t go alone.” She turned her head this way and that. “We have so much to do! Why, the clothing alone will take us all week to wash and press. Come. Hurry along and help me with dinner so we can plan our wardrobes. A whole weekend! I hope Franklin won’t baulk, but don’t you fret. I can manage him.”

Her aunt’s voice faded down the hall toward the kitchen.

Kendra looked down at the signature. Faith Colburn. What would Dorian think to see her there? Did he know she’d been invited? And Angelene? She would most certainly be there. The thought of that brought true despair sinking through her.

She sighed and looked at the ceiling of their meager home. “You had me pray that before seeing this letter, didn’t You?”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but what she did know for certain is that the Lord wanted her to serve her aunt. “As long as You’re there with me. I can do all things with You there with me.”

She hoped she believed it.

Chapter Eighteen

T
he crowd around the stable yard clung to the fence and clapped, their quiet murmurs of excitement reaching him across the yellow-bathed expanse of green pasture. Dorian led the Andalusian into the middle of the field and let loose her head. He backed away, a gentle but firm pressure on her lead line. Her eyes were fearful and uncertain, but turned toward him and his voice.

“Good. Good girl.”

He tugged a little on the rope and she turned, four feet skidding across the grass and kicking up a cloud of dust as she looked at him. Dorian held tight, firm but without too much pressure, as she lifted her elegant, arched neck and whinnied at him. “There now. Come on. Come on.”

Dorian held the lead rope in one hand, a braided leather whip in the other. He flicked his wrist. The whip snapped beside the horse, turning it to the other direction. She took off in a gallop, making Dorian grin. Such a thing of beauty. He laughed, watching her hoofs and black-socked feet pound the earth, dark mane and tail flying, waiting for the next signal from him.
You’ve outdone Yourself with this one, haven’t You, Lord?

They had been at this particular exercise for over an hour now, all the stable hands, John and his father and Faith hanging on the fences, watching. It had been a long time since he’d broken a horse to saddle but it had come flooding back to him. Not so different than training a new recruit on one of his ships. He chuckled at that thought. Green sailors were often more wild than tame, and not too keen on taking orders from a stranger. But this animal, God bless her, she was amazing—spirited, intelligent, and yet quick to trust him. He could sense the push and pull inside her. She clung to her independence, but her eyes rolled toward him in a liquid way when he chirruped at her, telling him she wanted to please him. It wouldn’t be much longer now and he could start with the blanket.

“Don’t think to make it look too easy,” John shouted over at him. “We’ve the stallion to break yet!” The crowd of onlookers laughed and nodded at him.

Dorian cracked a grin but kept his eyes on the high-stepping, Spanish mare. Fredericksburg had turned out to be more surprising and rewarding than he’d imagined. His friend Dirk Donovan had done the impossible—got his hands on some famed Spanish breed, the Andalusians, horses of kings. Dorian had managed to outbid many others for two of the prized mares, thrilling enough. But then Dirk led out a real beauty, a rare Palomino thoroughbred stallion. Tall, at least sixteen hands, and as majestic as any animal he’d ever seen. He loped around the stable yard, a fine cream-colored coat with white mane and tail fluttering.
Dangerous
. That’s what everyone called him. Bucking and wild-eyed, no one had been able to get him on a lead line. Dirk gave Dorian that look of challenge with a hint of laughter, then slapped him on the shoulder and demanded an outrageous price. Dorian looked across the field at the grace of his lines, the elegant savage toss of his head, and paid it. And it had taken all he and John’s combined strength to get the blindfolded animal on board the barge home.

A sudden commotion from the front of the house startled the mare, causing her to rear back and turn before he’d given her the signal. Dorian glanced over to see an ancient black carriage rumble up the drive toward the stables. His sister squealed and turned toward the visitors, but Dorian kept his focus on the mare. She had already noticed his divided attention and wasn’t turning as quickly as she had been to the whip’s snap beside her.

The commotion grew louder and he heard his sister’s high-pitched laugh. His gaze slid back. It had to be guests for the house party.
Please God, don’t let it be Angelene!
Faith had promised not to invite her but Dorian wouldn’t put it past her to come anyway. Why did Faith have to have a party now of all times? Just what he needed, an even larger crowd watching and distracting the horses. Faith needed a husband to keep her occupied.

A flash of blonde hair caught his attention. Kendra. He’d been trying not to think of her since the ball. He enjoyed his single life too much to be brought down by a female and his brush with Angelene had cemented that thought. Just this past week had been another example of his freedom. John had only come back with one mare due to the cost of building the house for Victoria. He would have never been able to spend the kind of money he’d just spent if he was married with a family. That life meant sacrifice and he just wasn’t ready for it. He flicked the whip and glanced back toward Kendra. Her smile from across the green shocked through him as if a lightning bolt had struck. Her startling eyes shone like jewels in her pale face, her smile lighting up her eyes and bringing a squeezing to his heart. Even the curled brimmed hat covered in pink flowers and trailing ribbons around her shoulders seemed endearing rather than outlandish. He forgot to breathe and nearly dropped the whip. Clearing his throat, he looked at the mare. She’d stopped, sucking air with loud puffing sounds coming in and out of her nostrils. His own breath was loud too. He flushed and turned away from the women heading toward them. With gritted teeth, the sweat coating his shirt to his chest, he threw himself back into training the mare.

I shouldn’t have come. This is too hard, Lord.

Kendra studied a large painting in the foyer of the Colburn mansion and chewed on her lower lip as Faith prattled on about their rooms and the planned activities for the weekend while leading her aunt up the grand curving staircase. Kendra motioned toward Faith to go on without her, a silent plea for a moment alone with upraised brows and pleading eyes. The dear girl understood in an instantaneous way. She always seemed to know things like that which made Kendra sigh. This was what it would have been like to have a sister—someone who knew what she wanted without needing to say it aloud. That was Faith, since the moment she’d met her, there had been that kinship connection that Kendra hadn’t known she was missing.

She smiled up at her with closed lips as Faith grinned knowingly back and took her aunt Amelia’s arm, leading her further away, her aunt bubbling with enthusiasm and chatter about the weekend to come.

Kendra took a long breath and stared up at the dark colors of the painting that must be some battle of a war. There was a man, stout chested with a white wig, aboard a boat with several other men. Their faces were so serious, so determined, the water and sky around them so dark and foreboding. She brought her hand up to her mouth and covered it, feeling the moment with them, the salt spray against their faces, their coats, their bravery as they plunged their oars toward a battle that they couldn’t have known the outcome of.
Lord, what do You have planned for this place? And what is my place here? I want to be a part of it, like these brave men.

A sudden noise broke into her thoughts. She turned around with a swish of silk and swaying hat ribbons. Dorian burst through the front door. He was hatless and even more handsome if possible—tan and rugged—wearing only a full-sleeved white shirt and tan breeches with black top boots. He turned his head toward her and his black hair waved back upon his shoulders, having come loose from his queue. Kendra swallowed around the knot in her throat. When he saw her, he stopped, just as his beautiful new horse had done with the whip each time he commanded her. Had he seen her watching him break the mare? She had hardly been able to tear her eyes from the sight but he had been completely focused on his task and had not once looked in her direction.

Dorian stood for several seconds, seeming not to know what to do. He stared at her as if she were a ghost or the swishing snap of the whip.

She turned toward him, finding her mettle. “You needn’t be so skittish,” she remarked, glancing toward his face. “I’ve heard the news.”

“The news?” His black brows went up in question and then down over his eyes, eyes that resembled the gray clouds of a coming thunderstorm on the horizon. He stepped toward her, his boots ringing against the floor, making her breath quicken. He took her by the elbow. “Please, come with me.” He pulled her toward him.

Kendra allowed the pressure of his hand to pull her forward. Side by side he guided her into the drawing room. The door shut behind them with a soft click. He reached toward her but she backed away. “Congratulations, Captain.”

His eyes narrowed. “Captain, is it?”

Kendra turned aside toward the window and looked out at the rolling countryside. Her voice was softer, resigned. What good was it to bait him? Angelene had won. Not that she wanted an American sea captain for husband anyway. Let her have him. They were perfect for each other.

But she didn’t believe it. He was perfect for her, only her.
Oh, Lord! What went wrong? Did I do something wrong?

“Please. Don’t play the fool. Angelene told me that you are to be married.”

Silence lengthened like the late afternoon shadows across the wall. Kendra turned her face slightly toward him. “I wish you every happiness.” She said it to the wall, an empty sound of breath and voice that meant nothing the words said. Despair filled her when he didn’t answer until she could stand it no more. She turned toward the door and rushed toward it, sudden tears blinding her.

Halfway there he stopped her, spun her toward him, held her entrapped within the cage of his strong arms. “Kendra.” He said her name like someone would say a rasped-out prayer. She looked up into his dark blue eyes not knowing what to hope for, what to expect.

“It’s not true. I don’t know what she told you, but it isn’t true.”

She bit her lower lip and looked deep into his eyes. “I’ve heard . . . she was found in your room. That same night we danced. You danced with her like that, I saw you. Then after I left, she was found in your room, in your . . .
bed
. Do you deny it?”

Dorian turned his head away and exhaled with a sharp sound. “She tricked me. She was trying to trap me into marriage. I did not invite her there.”

Kendra reached up and turned his head back toward her. She stared up at him. “I’m sorry, Captain, but from all accounts you have encouraged her from the beginning.” She shrugged and gave him a sad smile. “You named your ship the
Angelina
after all. It’s no business of mine. As I said, I wish you every . . . happiness.”

She turned to go. He reached for her arm but she sidestepped his grasp. “Good-night, Dorian.” It was hard. She closed her eyes as she reached for the doorknob and turned it. She bit down on her lip, wanting to turn around and hear his side of the story but not trusting him, not knowing what game he was about. He had never proclaimed any love for her, only danced and flirted and continually tried to kiss her. A rogue. An American rogue. A pirate—taking what wasn’t his and then throwing it aside when it turned out to be less than what he expected. That was not the sort of man she needed. She turned the knob and walked out, shutting the door behind her, and made her way up the stairs toward whatever room was assigned to her for what would be an interminable weekend. She only hoped there was a quiet place where she could be alone . . . and cry . . . unnoticed.

There was no denying that the Colburn home was lovely, she thought as she made her way down the long hall, looking for her aunt. The second floor had two wings, one on either side of the winding staircase. There were four bedrooms in the east wing but no one in them. In the west wing there were two bedrooms, a small library at the end, and what looked to have been the schoolroom across the hall. Familiar smells of chalk and old books drifted to Kendra as she stepped inside the schoolroom. She couldn’t help but smile, her own schooling rushing back over her. She wandered over to a small bookcase and picked up a primer that might have been one of Dorian’s or his many siblings. She flipped to the letter E and saw a picture of an elephant. An instantaneous and bright memory assailed her. Pain shot through her chest as she remembered her father as her teacher.

“What is an elephant, Father? I’ve seen its picture in the book, but what is it?”

He’d risen up on all fours and used his arms as a great swaying trunk, pounding about her schoolroom as if he weighed thousands of pounds, and then as he neared her, made flapping motions with his hands, huge ears that flapped into her face and made her giggle with delight. The highlight was when he threw back his head and made a loud trumpeting noise that had both startled her and sent shivers of excited fear through her. “You’ve seen one, haven’t you? A real live one! Tell me! Tell me!” She’d climbed up on his knee and grasped his whiskered face in her small hands, tilting him toward her, so demanding, so in love with him, so sure he had all the answers and would always be there to take care of her.