Captain Rose's Redemption (Harlequin Historical) Read online

  ‘Lady Shepherd, I understand you held regular salons in London,’ Lady Spotswood entreated.

  ‘I did.’ Discussing art and music with learned men had offered her a brief respite from the pain of her life with Giles, but this happiness had cost her dearly. Nothing illicit had taken place at her petite dinners, but society, led by Giles and his mistress, had rushed to invent tales of entertained lovers for everyone to devour. The deepest cut had come when Lord and Lady Chatham had chosen to believe the gossip instead of her. They’d been kind to her when she’d first arrived in London, showering her with gifts and offering her a taste of the life she’d lost with the hurricane. She been so taken in by them, she hadn’t noticed them manipulating her into meeting Giles and encouraging the engagement. They’d been too busy trying to forge an alliance with his family to exploit in the House of Lords to care about what their ambitions might cost Cassandra. Cassandra took up her wineglass, in need of a bracing sip. ‘They were most educational.’

  ‘Educational for you or the men you invited?’ Mrs Baker sniggered.

  Cassandra tightened her grip on the stem of the glass, not surprised to see the stories had reached this shore, but it made her wary. This was how it had started in London with the viciousness of society’s comments increased by Giles’s encouragement, until almost everyone, including the Chathams, had turned their backs on her, like some at this table had after her parents’ deaths. Yet here she was among them again, still chasing after people who didn’t really care about her to achieve something she wasn’t even certain she wanted.

  Of course I want it, for Dinah.

  ‘It seems London gentlemen aren’t the only ones enamoured of your charms.’ Mrs Baker nodded down the table to where Mr Fitzwilliam stared at Cassandra. He avoided the women’s scrutiny by returning his attention to the men.

  ‘At least he doesn’t fall for false gossip and stories.’ Cassandra set down her wineglass, making the crystal clink against the polished wood, refusing to allow the woman’s insults to defeat her. No one admired a weak person and she would garner their respect with strength if she could not win it with affinity.

  ‘Having met you, it’s impossible to believe any of the stories from London are true,’ Lady Spotswood complimented, ever the refined and polite hostess. ‘Knowing something of how London gossip works makes it even harder to give them credence.’

  Cassandra breathed a touch easier, grateful for Lady Spotswood’s support. With all the recent attacks on her and her husband by Reverend Blair and others, Lady Spotswood understood what it was like to be treated like a pariah and the value of kindness from others, especially those of superior rank.

  Cassandra was about to say more when one of Mr Fitzwilliam’s comments caught her attention.

  ‘I hired a schooner at my own expense to hunt down the pirates off our coast, especially the Devil’s Rose.’ He slid a speaking glance to Mr Preston. ‘Unlike some gentlemen, I don’t wait for the Crown to protect my interests but see to them myself.’

  ‘If the Devil’s Rose attacked Chesapeake Trading Company ships with the frequency it does yours, I would, too,’ Mr Preston snorted from beneath the long, black wig framing his sharp face and aquiline nose. Mr Fitzwilliam’s boasting smile wilted about the corners.

  ‘Has your ship been successful?’ Cassandra asked, nervously fingering the thick lace along the edge of the half sleeve of her lavender silk gown with sprays of roses printed on it. It would be to her benefit if Richard was killed or his ship sank, then she might never have to deal with him and his awful bargain, but the image of Richard shot in a skirmish or disappearing beneath the waves pained her more than her memories of the deceit. Richard’s real death would extinguish for ever the small spark of hope his being alive had kindled inside her. Like his memory had done in the long hours of her lonely marriage, his mere existence helped her believe that the troubles she thought too difficult to surmount, like an old love returning from the dead, were not so impossible to overcome after all.

  ‘We haven’t found those cutthroats yet, but I’m confident the fiend who attacked your ship will soon be brought to justice.’ Mr Fitzwilliam raised his glass to Lord Spotswood. ‘As our esteemed Governor was forced to act on his own to rid us of Blackbeard, I intend to do the same with these current villains.’

  ‘My decision to end Blackbeard’s scourge had more to do with securing evidence against North Carolina’s Governor than killing the pirate. Governor Eden’s encouragement of these rogues has caused problems for years.’ Lord Spotswood finished his wine and waved away a footman attempting to refill his goblet. ‘If you catch these brigands, Mr Fitzwilliam, the King himself will congratulate you.’

  Mr Fitzwilliam’s chest swelled so much it nearly popped the buttons off his grey embroidered waistcoat.

  ‘Especially if you find evidence of any other esteemed men colluding with them,’ Lord Spotswood added. ‘The King is eager to root out those who assist pirates in their disgusting trade and bring them to justice. If I wasn’t fending off a recall—’ he looked pointedly at Mr Preston, who didn’t flinch from the silent and severe accusation ‘—I might pursue these criminals myself.’

  Mr Fitzwilliam’s puffed-out chest collapsed, his guilt obvious to Cassandra and anyone else who cared to look for it. If only she had evidence against Mr Fitzwilliam to give to Lord Spotswood, but nothing Richard had sent Uncle Walter over the years was strong enough to convict a man of Mr Fitzwilliam’s standing. Now, Richard might be in danger from Mr Fitzwilliam’s ship.

  I must find a way to warn him. Cassandra picked up her wine and took a long sip. Richard’s bargain already hung over her like a sword. She was a fool to even consider warning him. If anyone discovered her trying to send him a message, it would ruin her.

  A footman approached Lord Spotswood and whispered in his ear.

  ‘Lady Shepherd,’ Lord Spotswood called down the table. ‘Your daughter’s nursemaid is here and says she must speak with you.’

  ‘Then I’ll see her at once.’ Cassandra rose, a different worry guiding her actions. If Jane was here then there must be something wrong with Dinah. Her daughter had so far avoided the seasoning fevers those not native to Virginia usually caught in their first few months here, but it didn’t mean she would never fall ill.

  ‘I’ll escort you.’ Mr Fitzwilliam stood with the other gentleman and began to shift around his chair, but Cassandra stopped him with a wave of her hand.

  ‘There’s no need. I will handle this matter.’ She didn’t want the tiresome man hovering about while she saw to her affairs. Ever since the gathering at Butler Plantation, she’d avoided being alone with him and soliciting another unwanted proposal. She would continue to do so.

  She left the dining room and passed through the hallway with its wide staircase and into the main hall, eager to reach Jane. The rich wood panelling stood in contrast to the white dining room and made the entry hall appear darker and more imposing than the moonlit night suggested. The rows of crossed swords and pistols hanging on the walls, and the sharp circle of muskets with bayonets meeting in the centre of the high ceiling, added to her unease. Jane stood beneath the weapons, pale with worry.

  Cassandra hurried to her. ‘Jane, is something wrong with Dinah?’

  ‘No, my lady.’ Jane peered around, then shifted closer, dropped her voice and held out a small bundle wrapped in an old red handkerchief. ‘A man brought this to the house after you left.’

  Cassandra took it and unwrapped it. The silver snub of the duelling pistol glinted in the candlelight. She flipped the handkerchief back over it and clasped the ominous message to her chest. Of all the times Richard could have chosen to send the pistol, while she was dining in the Governor’s Palace was the worst. ‘Where’s the man who gave you this?’

  ‘Waiting for you in the woods at Belle View.’

  Good, he was not nearby. It gave her a chance to think and
to decide. She fingered the weapon through the thin material, her future, Dinah’s and maybe even Richard’s hanging on what she chose to do next. She owed Richard no allegiance. She could hand the gun over to Lord Spotswood to deal with Richard as he might. It would end the threat hanging over her, but she couldn’t do it. Mr Fitzwilliam had won so many battles against Richard and in many ways against her, too. She couldn’t be the one to give him the final victory, nor could she forget Uncle Walter’s plea for her to help Richard who’d sworn he’d only call on her if he truly needed her.

  Perhaps he’s come for a pardon and for me? Her excitement faded along with the laughter of the burgesses carrying out of the dining room. A pirate, no matter who he might have once been, wasn’t likely to be so sentimental and she shouldn’t be either. This was a deal and nothing more. He wanted something practical and it was up to her to either discover what it was or turn him in.

  ‘Is everything well?’ Mr Fitzwilliam entreated, striding into the hall, his presence making Cassandra’s back stiffen.

  ‘Call the carriage,’ she whispered to Jane. ‘We’ll leave at once.’

  She faced Mr Fitzwilliam, struggling to keep her mind free from the panic engulfing her. Now was no time to lose her wits. She had no idea what she would do once she was away from here, but she needed privacy to consider the matter and she couldn’t do it under Mr Fitzwilliam’s irritating scrutiny. Cassandra dropped her hand to hide the pistol behind the heavy folds of her skirt. She had no explanation for why her maid had brought her a weapon and she didn’t intend to invent one. There were others lies that were more convincing. ‘Dinah is ill and I must go to her.’

  ‘Let the nurse see to her,’ Mr Fitzwilliam said dismissively with a wave of his hand.

  ‘I’m her mother and I’ll attend her,’ Cassandra said through clenched teeth. She’d had similar conversations with Giles before and she did not appreciate Mr Fitzwilliam’s husband-like tone. ‘Surely you understand.’

  The slight frown tugging down the sides of his lips told her he didn’t, but he thought better of pressing the point. ‘Then allow me to come with you and be of some assistance.’

  Curse the man and his persistence. ‘No, I wouldn’t want to distract you from the business of making progress with Mr Preston tonight.’

  He tossed a glance at the dining room before fixing back on her, his self-interest prevailing over any concern for her or Dinah. ‘Yes, you’re right. Please allow me to call on you tomorrow and see how your daughter is fairing.’

  ‘You mustn’t. Her fever might be contagious,’ she exclaimed before settling herself, not wanting him anywhere near her or her household but still she had to be polite. The false and meaningless pleasantries required by society demanded it. She was tired of it all.

  ‘You’re right.’ He reached for her hand, and she proffered it, careful to keep the other with the pistol hidden in the folds of her wide-hipped skirt. His skin was cold despite the heat of the evening. She tolerated his touch even while wanting to rush to meet whoever waited for her at Belle View, but she was trapped again by necessary courtesies. ‘I hope for the speedy recovery of your child and for you to remain safe.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She withdrew her hand, grateful for the jingling equipage of her small conveyance rolling to a stop out front. ‘Please, give my excuses to Lord and Lady Spotswood.’

  ‘Of course,’ he vowed with a solicitousness tinged with annoyance.

  Without another word, she hurried down the front steps of the palace, took the driver’s hand and stepped inside the small coach. Jane sat beside her and within seconds the driver had them beyond the iron and brick walls of the Governor’s Palace and down the wide Duke of Gloucester Street.

  Cassandra tried to calm herself in preparation for whatever waited for her at Belle View, but her stomacher bit into her ribs and she couldn’t draw in a proper breath. Richard had called for her, putting her in danger at a time when Mr Fitzwilliam was determined to root out pirates. If Mr Fitzwilliam’s hired men had followed Richard’s ship then they might have followed his crewman and they would catch her meeting with him. Heaven knew what would happen to her then. She fingered the garnet necklace, knowing exactly what would happen. Her jewels would be exchanged for a length of rope.

  Fear and anger made her shake the way they had the morning Richard had ignored all her pleas to stay in Virginia and sailed away. He never should have placed her in this position. She dropped her hand to her lap and swallowed hard, the rock of the carriage more annoying than soothing. She needed to pace, to move, but she could only sit and watch out the window as the white clapboard houses with lights burning in the windows came and went. The spire of Bruton Parish Church towered dark and ominous over them and the graveyard beside it at the turn to the road leading out of town.

  Very soon, the lights of Williamsburg faded away, and Cassandra clasped the pistol close, the situation far more perilous and vexing than when she’d traversed this road two hours ago. She still had no idea what she would do once she reached Belle View.

  Chapter Six

  A long hour passed during the coach ride through the dark Virginia countryside. Jane sat across from Cassandra, as pale as she’d been aboard the Winter Gale. Unlike then, Cassandra could offer her no reassuring words because she still had no idea what she would do. She should protect her family like she had with the pirates, turn the man and the pistol over to the authorities and be done with them, but her heart made this choice as difficult as any other. Richard had called for her and in his request was Uncle Walter’s, and her own weakness to be wanted once again. Cassandra opened the handkerchief and slid her hand along the smooth barrel of the pistol. The metal was warm from where she’d held it, her heat echoing Richard’s from mere hours ago. She wondered what he’d thought about while he’d prepared to send it. More than likely it was only his selfish need for supplies or the papers that had prompted him to call for her.

  She covered the metal and stared out the carriage window. The dense forests of Virginia pine and hickory lining the country road made the darkness even thicker and concealed any trace of the houses and farms situated up the long lanes snaking off the main road. She raised her hand, once again considered rapping on the roof and ordering the driver to turn around so she could give Lord Spotswood the pistol, but she didn’t do it. If she returned to the Governor’s Palace, she would have to admit to lying about Dinah and explain why she hadn’t brought this evidence forward sooner. Lord Spotswood might arrest her for withholding such valuable information and she would find herself in deeper trouble than she was now. Nor could she betray Uncle Walter’s last wish for her to help Richard in so blatant a fashion.

  Uncle Walter, why did you ask such an awful thing of me? If he hadn’t, she could have ignored the man waiting for her and he might go away, never to trouble her again. Or he or Richard might seek revenge. She’d seen the levels Giles had stooped to in order to destroy her when he believed he’d been duped into thinking her a wealthy colonial heiress by the Chathams. Richard might do the same if she didn’t honour his request.

  No, he wouldn’t be that cruel.

  Uncle Walter would never have continued to help him if Richard had been so heartless, yet Richard had held her to this bargain, even when he’d known the danger it placed her in. He’d attacked ships and frightened innocent people all the while stealing goods. He was no longer the Richard she’d loved, but no matter how many times she told herself this, she still couldn’t believe it. Beneath the weapons and the mask, the Richard she’d once cherished was still there. It’d been there in the sweep of his hand along her cheek when he’d comforted her and in his kiss—or had even that been another of his many deceptions?

  What am I going to do?

  The answer came to her at last when the coach made the turn for Belle View and the sight of the tobacco fields in the moonlight made her realise she couldn’t sacrifice Belle View or Dina
h’s future for an illusion. She would retrieve the papers from the fireplace and give them to the pirate, sending him back to his Captain with a few choice words and a command to never trouble her again. The documents would serve Richard better in his possession than tucked away in a hole in the wall. There was nothing she could do for Richard. She was no solicitor or woman of influence, simply a dowager baroness trying to rebuild her home and her reputation. Giving him the papers would, in a small way, honour Uncle Walter’s wish and, along with returning the pistol to its case, sever her ties to Richard for good. He was gone, maybe not dead, but dead to her, and she must accept it. If he wanted to come home, he could find his own way. It wasn’t up to her to wait for him or to save him.

  The plan should have heartened her, but instead it seemed as dreary as the shadowed tobacco-drying house on the edge of the field. She was tired of saying goodbye to people: her parents, her uncle and now Richard for the second time.

  The full moon, beginning to wane, hung near its apex, making the straight, packed-dirt road almost white and revealing the staid outline of Belle View. The closer they drew, the more the silvery light shone on the grey-slate roof of the house, casting the brick front of it into deep shadow. The darkness hid the dust dulling the red bricks, the overgrown ivy and the peeling trim work.

  The carriage slowed when it approached the top of the circular drive, and Cassandra clutched the pistol tight in her hands and sat up, ready to face whatever was to come. ‘Where’s the man waiting?’

  ‘In the trees to the left of the dock,’ Jane answered.

  The driver pulled the horse to a stop in front of the wide front door. The rows of upper and lower windows along the front of it glittered with the moonlight, the rooms behind them dark except for Dinah’s. Mrs Sween slept with Dinah tonight, the lamp burning low for protection against nightmares. Hopefully, the housekeeper wasn’t awake. It would make sneaking off to meet Richard’s man easier.