Prize of My Heart (9 page)

Lorena stared at his strong, extended hand.

“I am puzzled, Captain. I believe your desire for Drew’s good opinion to be genuine. Your regard for children bespeaks wisdom and compassion, yet you discredit such sensitivity by assaulting George when he never raised a fist to you. What inspired such anger?”

“My reaction was in defense of you.”

“Really? To my ears, it sounded like you were defending yourself. But as you say, there is more to you than what can first be perceived on the surface.”

Lorena waited. When no further response was forthcoming, when Captain Talvis held his expression in check and did not protest as she stepped with George into the open air, it was all she could do to hold back the tears.

She grew suspicious, clever girl.

Brogan remained in the deserted carpentry shop for near an hour, staring out the empty doorway, considering her.

What was it about Lorena Huntley that drew him?

Her loveliness and grace, obviously. That refreshing combination of innocence and intelligence? The lively spirit beneath her modest exterior? Perhaps her love for his son.

He only knew he was fast developing new respect for the girl, which if he wasn’t careful could grow into something more.

He could not help but feel she had taken the advantage, not the other way around, as Louder had claimed. She evoked sentiment in him that Brogan did not care to feel, making what he’d thought such a seamless plan increasingly more difficult to carry out.

But was attraction to Lorena Huntley more powerful than his duty to his son? Of course not! Then what was he to do? He’d have to make amends. Again. He’d have to exercise gentlemanly restraint at all times if he was to gain Lorena’s goodwill and trust. Without them, he could not hope to get close enough to restore his relationship with his son.

He’d been wrong to let anger get the better of him, but Louder had no right calling him a thief to Drew, no right to increase the distance between father and son with slander.

Brogan massaged his pounding temples. He was quickly running out of time. He had not come to Duxboro to make nice with Miss Huntley or defend himself to a weasel. He had come to claim his child.

He must push these feelings aside for the attainment of a much higher prize—his son—and stop allowing himself to be distracted by that graceful young dove.

He must not entertain thoughts of Lorena. No matter her beauty or how great her charm, he must keep his wits about him.

Somehow, this gentle, soft-spoken slip of a girl had proven a more formidable opponent than any he had yet faced.

A
ugust temperatures rose high enough without suffering the added heat of the baking ovens. To spare the household unnecessary discomfort, the summer kitchen had been built—a one-room structure located to the rear and separate from the main house. Outside its cottage door, Lorena’s flower, herb, and vegetable garden grew.

Scarlet poppies, cucumber and muskmelon vines, lettuce and cabbage heads sprouted alongside pink sweet Williams and the more savory parsley, thyme, and sage. Leafy greens like parsnips, beets, and radishes crowded around the leaden sundial until not one patch of naked soil remained.

Each time she passed, Lorena was reminded of the abundance God had provided her family. They had much to be thankful for, and yet, as she bent to the harvest—noting the imprints of Drew’s plump bare feet running in and among the green beans and the holes he’d left digging for worms—she felt an alarm go off in her conscience.

It was that same queer nervousness, an impression not in her head but in her heart, an uneasiness that warned she was headed into an area of potential harm.

Uncertainty of the future weighed heavily on her shoulders, yet what reason could she have for worry? By nature, she was careful in thought and deed. The household ran smoothly. Each of them was in good health. Her father’s business prospered.

Her thoughts wandered, so too her gaze, along the ground where movement by the old crab apple tree caught her eye. Among its gnarly roots she spied a pair of black buckled shoes with thick heels and lean calves covered in white silk stockings.

Lorena jerked upright with a start. “George, how long have you been hiding there?”

They hadn’t spoken since exiting the carpentry shop yesterday. Lorena had returned to the house while George joined her father and a group of other shipwrights in conversation on the fitting wharf.

“Not hiding. I’ve been waiting for you.” He cleared his throat and removed his topper hat, stepping out from beneath the low-hanging branches to be plainly seen. “I cannot bear to leave Duxboro with ill feelings between us.”

Lorena felt for his bruised face, though she could not help but remain leery of George’s intent. “I would not wish that, either.”

“You have been a dear friend. I hoped for more, but if I cannot win your love, Lorena, then I would preserve our friendship,” he said, joining her in the garden. “I promise there will be no more talk of coming to England with me, and no matter what you may tell another yourself, I shall never speak of what I saw in the carpentry shop, to your father . . . or anyone.”

“George, you saw only two people in conversation.”

“Meeting in secret. Because of which I am now forced to walk about with a battered jaw and blame it on my own clumsiness.”

Her spine stiffened when Lorena realized she had no defense. George’s point was well made. She had been meeting the captain in secret. She’d sent him to the carpentry shop, where she knew they’d be alone. Alone, for a moment, when Brogan had caressed her cheek. He had gazed into her eyes with abandon and she into his.

“Lorena?”

She snapped her attention back to George with a blink of her eyes. She tried to see the situation from his perspective. Perhaps in his own misguided way, like Drew, George had been looking out for her. Perhaps she could give him the benefit of the doubt.

“George, let us not speak of this again. Let us accept that there are certain things on which we shall never agree. You choose ambition and fortune, while I hold fast to home and family. Each of us to our own path. I am sorry I accused you of being disloyal. I strive to be Christian in my views, but I am as human as any. You are of course free to go wherever your heart leads. You have much talent and much skill to offer any shipyard, and so I wish you success wherever you travel. May your vessels be heralded throughout the world, for in the end I do believe our lives work out according to God’s will.”

His intensity eased with a sigh of relief. “Lorena, you have no idea how much your blessing means to me. In that respect I beg a favor, if I may. I ask that you and Drew accompany me to the docks to see me off when I set sail.”

She had never seen his expression so humble, so hopeful. There was no question she would accompany George. She could not in good conscience allow someone she’d known since childhood to embark on such a journey without a proper farewell and a party on the dock to wave him off.

“Of course . . . of course we’ll come,” she said.

George beamed with pleasure. As Lorena watched his departure, she wondered why she did not feel the relief she’d expected. Soon George would be out of her life. No more offers of marriage, no further contention with the captain. They had agreed to part amicably. His doings need no longer concern her, so why this nagging foreboding?

Greater than ever, she felt the need to shake it off through her outlet of baking. Lorena entered the kitchen and mixed ingredients for a cake batter. Only a fool would choose to work with the ovens on what promised to be another sunny day. A fool or someone in search of solitude to toil away the demons that plagued her.

She worked at the breadboard table, blissfully lost in the task and her busy hands.

“I’ve heard it said that no one prepares sweets to rival those of Lorena Huntley. For just as like creates after its kind, so does the sweetest woman in all of Duxborotown bake the most toothsome desserts.”

Surprised to find she had a visitor, Lorena lifted her gaze to where Brogan leaned against the doorjamb in buff trousers, a striped waistcoat, and rolled shirtsleeves. He wore no hat. Sunshine gilded his sandy hair, and with his smile, his sharp masculine features softened.

Perspiration trickled down the back of her neck.

He studied her with a sprig of mint between his teeth, probably expecting her to blush and titter at the compliment, which could not even be credited as his own, for the captain had just quoted her father.

Wiping her brow with the back of a hand, Lorena stepped away from her large earthenware bowl of batter to blow at a stray tendril. “Come for an early check on your ship, Captain?”

“Captain? I see I’m going to have to earn my way back into your good graces before you’ll address me by my given name.” His heels beat the floorboards as he strode inside, tossed the sprig into the hearth, and then joined her at the breadboard table. “As it happens, that is precisely my reason for coming, Lorena, so let’s get to it, shall we?”

He braced his hands on the back of a yellow-painted Windsor chair. “I confess. Perhaps I was trying to win your favor with my attentions to Drew. But please, don’t fault me for that. It does not diminish my affection for the boy.”

Lorena gave him a stern eye. “After your roughness yesterday, I find you a bad influence. I have a mind not to let you anywhere near that child.”

“You’ve been listening to Louder.”

“I’m not one to be influenced by anything George or anyone else has to say. I form my own opinions.”

“Good, then there’s hope for me yet.” His eyes pleaded for understanding, and as Lorena gazed back at his rugged face bordered by long side whiskers, she found him impressively handsome.

Her thick hair was bound inside a kerchief. Its heavy coil threatened to unfurl. She felt sticky and wilted and likely had at least one smudge of flour on her face, but if she felt self-conscious about her appearance, she preferred not to show it. She glanced down, testing the firmness of her batter with a finger.

He followed her movements with his eyes, stared at the contents of the earthenware bowl, then leaned over it to take in its aroma. “Is that molasses I smell?” His tone was expectant.

Before she could reply, he reached for her wrist and raised her hand to his mouth to taste the gooey batter on her finger. His eyes glittered with delight. Lorena knew at once he recognized the flavor.

“Gingerbread. And here I thought you were angry with me. I’ve been pacing the wharf, reluctant to confront you for the reception I’d get.”

Lorena snatched back her hand. “Insufferable man. You actually believe I am baking for
you
?”

“Aren’t you?” he asked.

She wiped her finger on her apron, unable to remove the feel of his lips from her skin. He overwhelmed her senses, awakened her to feelings she’d do well to turn away from.

“Very well, Captain, you have extracted a smile out of me, as was your intent the moment you entered my kitchen. I have experience with little boys and I see through their games. That does not forgive your savage behavior yesterday.”

“Aye, my actions were impulsive. I was wrong to strike George Louder. Still, I do not care for his accusations. That fellow uses his tongue as rashly as I raised my fists. The thing is, I’ve learned to react when threatened. Sometimes I forget I am no longer at war. And Louder poses no threat. At least I have no reason to believe he does, but something about him warns me he’s not to be trusted. Why is that, Lorena? Is there something more I should know about him?”

“Why would you ask such a question? What do you know of George?”

He regarded her with an assessing stare. “Nothing. It is you who know something, I believe.”

“I know that very soon he shall be leaving my father’s employ to make a fresh start in England.”

“England?” He took the news with great surprise and some measure of suspicion. “Lorena, may I ask the nature of your relationship with him?”

She found Brogan’s question presumptuous, but refusing to say anything could very well give him the wrong impression. And strangely, Lorena did not wish that.

There might have been a time she felt romance blooming between a young George Louder and herself. Having grown up in the same environment, they had things in common, confidences to share. But with maturity had come ambition, and George’s pursuits had turned exclusively to his studies. No longer the eager, playful friend of her childhood, George’s passion had become shipbuilding and his drafting. This pleased her father, certainly, as George had grown into one of Duxboro’s most skilled shipwrights.

Lorena, however, felt an estrangement from her friend and focused her affections on the motherless boy who had joined her household. With her days filled, she forgot any romantic interest in George. But George, who didn’t require emotion, who seemed to understand nothing of romantic love, believed career success alone would win her hand. Marriage to him was to be just one more triumph on his list of achievements. Perhaps for many women, a man’s ability to provide financial security was reason enough to consider him, but it wasn’t enough for Lorena. Not nearly enough.

“I have known George from girlhood,” she said. “Ours is a friendship based on long acquaintance. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more you say, and yet you traveled to meeting with him on Sunday. I’ve seen the possessive glances he casts your way. Nothing more and yet you jump to Louder’s defense at a bit of justly deserved bullying, but leave me rotting in the wet marsh grass while I lay unconscious.”

She’d grown increasingly flustered by his speech, but
rotting
? His word choice affronted her. “And for that you have no one to blame but yourself!”

“True.” He nodded with a wry, crooked grin. “I take responsibility for getting knocked on the head. But, Lorena, yesterday you spoke of being confused. What about that which lies beneath your exterior, eh? What secrets do you keep, I wonder. Could it be you don’t know or trust me well enough to share them? And yet you demand to know my innermost thoughts. Which leaves us exactly where we were before Mr. Louder so rudely interrupted. With a desire to get to know one another. Do you still have that desire, Lorena?”

She pondered her answer, then at length said, “Captain . . . pardon me, Brogan, promise me there will be no more fighting between you and George. I will not have Drew looking to you for example, only to have him believe fighting and war bring excitement to a young man’s life. I do not condone violence.”

“Neither do I. I give you my word. I’ll not raise my fists again no matter what insults are flung my way.”

“Well, in that case, you are invited back to the house this afternoon for a slice of freshly baked gingerbread and a tumbler of Mrs. Culliford’s cool raspberry water. Perhaps you might apologize to George, and I could convince him to return the gesture.”

His brows knitted together. His smile disappeared and so did he.

But Brogan returned later in the day, and then the following morning he called again. He spoke with her father, who sent them off with his blessing, a picnic lunch prepared by Mrs. Culliford, and the loan of his chaise for a drive into Duxborotown. They took Drew for a drive along the two-mile main street, watching the bay and counting the masts that lined the shore. Lorena could tell Duxboro pleased Brogan. It was, after all, a town given almost entirely to the sea and its related industry.

At the town square they turned the corner of Harmony Street onto Washington. Here stood the squarish white Federal houses of Duxboro’s shipping magnates, in addition to boardinghouses for the single young men who worked the shipping trades. All along the lane, to the east, was a clear view of the bay as most of the town’s trees had been hewn in the building of ships and homes.

On foot they climbed the heights of Captain’s Hill. Brogan spread the picnic blanket, and Lorena unpacked their lunch. She removed biscuits, cooked sausages, and a covered dish of thick ham slices, and then pointed across a panoramic view in the southerly direction of Plymouth.

“See there, Brogan, the southern end of that peninsula?” she said as he stretched his long legs, reclining back on his elbows. “That is the area we here in Duxboro refer to as the Nook. There lies the garden plot, where tradition has it that Elder Brewster brought the first lilacs to the New World when the Pilgrims came to America two centuries ago. Today lilacs bloom throughout Duxborotown every spring.”

He chuckled. “And I take it you favor lilacs, eh, Lorena?”

“I pick them for her,” Drew piped up, “don’t I, Lorena?”

“Yes, sweetheart. You are a very thoughtful boy, but please don’t pull off your shoes.”