Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (26 page)

Bethlyn smiled and embraced Tansy. “I will never be able to repay you for this. Thank you so much.”

“That’s quite all right, dear, but we may have a problem with Mr. Sparrow.”

Bethlyn’s hopes plummeted for the moment. She’d forgotten about him, already mentally sailing away from Windhaven. Sparrow was as tenacious as a bulldog. Tansy, however, smiled in reassurance. “You leave all to me. I know how to get Mr. Sparrow’s mind off you for a while. I’ve never known him yet to turn down my elderberry wine, and with a smidgen of sleeping powder in it, I think Mr. Sparrow won’t notice for a number of hours that you’ve left.”

~ ~ ~

 “Aw, Tansy, I don’t feel right about this,” Jack Tolliver told his wife, who waved farewell to him from the dock. “It ain’t right to interfere in another man’s business.”

“Get on with you now, Jack, and be quiet.” Tansy’s bright smile could be seen as the boat skimmed away, and she called to Bethlyn, “Have a fine life, dear. And you, Nate, stop bobbing around and sit down or you’ll be swimming to Philadelphia.”

“Aye, aye, Grandma.” Nate made a mock salute and sat obediently beside Bethlyn.

Jack heaved a sigh, causing Bethlyn to feel more than guilty. She watched as he maneuvered the boat away from the island and listened to Nate’s happy chirping for the rest of the morning. By noon, she wondered if Sparrow had wakened yet from the effects of Tansy’s elderberry wine, and again she felt a sense of guilt. But she buried the feeling, deciding that she was right to escape Hawk. The man had had no business accusing her of being a spy, of keeping her a prisoner. As much as she craved the hateful man’s hands on her and knew her wanton heart would belong to him always, she had to escape. No future awaited her with Hawk.

A pleasant breeze scurried the boat along, and by nightfall Jack spoke kindly to her, apparently realizing that he must make the best of the situation. They stopped by a small grassy bank somewhere on the Delaware River near a settlement which Jack told her had been founded by Swedes over a hundred years ago. Here they opened a basket packed by Tansy, filled with smoked salmon, topped off by biscuits and sweet-tasting strawberry jam. Then they fell asleep to the gentle sway of the river beneath them.

Before dawn the next morning, they were off again, the water fanned by a gentle breeze from the east. It was nearly noon when the day turned very warm and the bright blue sky disappeared behind large, purple-black clouds.

“Damn!” groaned Jack. “We’re gonna be wetter than three mackerel in this downpour. I was hoping to make Philadelphia early this afternoon.”

Jack’s prophecy proved true. Large drops of rain pummeled the boat and the occupants. Bethlyn and Nate took refuge beneath a large blanket while Jack made certain the boat stayed on course. The rainstorm turned out to be short in duration, but when it was over, the blanket lay in a sodden heap in a corner of the boat. Bethlyn, Nate, and Jack didn’t look much better.

Bethlyn’s hair lay plastered to her head and water dripped down her face. The green gown with the beige lace, the one she thought was her prettiest, now lay wetly against her skin. Two of her gowns, which she had packed within some brown paper and tied with a string, were now equally as wet. The silk shoes on her feet, green to match her gown, bore large water stains. Bethlyn doubted the shoes would last much longer, the fragile things having been made purposely for sweeping turns around a dance floor. Pushing her drooping strands of hair away from her face, she sighed and wished that Hawk had brought all of her shoes from the ship instead of only one pair. But if she must make do in her wet gown and shoes, she would, though she had anticipated making a grand and elegant entrance into the offices of Briston Shipping. Yet it didn’t matter any longer how she looked when her husband saw her again. Most certainly she didn’t wish to stay married to him, not after having belonged to Hawk.

Hawk. His face and figure rose up before her eyes, and she closed them tightly, not wanting to see him or think about him. But no matter, his image floated behind her eyelids and she opened them again to find Nate smiling sadly at her. “I’ll miss your cookies,” he told her.

Bethlyn stifled a sob. Suddenly she knew she’d miss Nate and their talks, she’d especially miss Tansy, and the way the setting sun bathed the island in a peach tint every day. With each watery mile, Windhaven became more and more a memory. But for some odd reason, Hawk seemed closer and closer to her.

~ ~ ~

Three hours later, she kissed Jack and Nate farewell. She assured Jack she’d be perfectly fine, and he told her that if she changed her mind and decided to return to Windhaven she could find him at the High Street Market until dawn the next morning. Bethlyn knew she wouldn’t seek out the Tollivers again, as much as she’d miss them. The Tollivers reminded her of Windhaven and Hawk, and she didn’t want to think about Hawk anymore. She had to live her own life now, even if it meant confessing to Ian Briston about her involvement with the infamous privateer, Hawk. Her husband certainly wouldn’t want her for a wife then, and she’d be blissfully free of Briston, free to return home to England and start a new life. Perhaps she’d even marry again, but that idea held no appeal at the moment.

She couldn’t imagine being intimate again with anyone but Hawk.

After gaining directions to the offices of Briston Shipping from a street vendor, Bethlyn clutched the soggy package which contained her two gowns and headed south on Front Street. The cobblestones dug through her thin slippers with each step, and she hoped her destination wasn’t too far off. The bustling activity of the town caused her to feel qualms of discomfort. Never had she been out alone in the midst of so many people, usually sequestered within the confines of Aunt Penny’s phaeton, with Jeremy beside her. People hurried past, some carrying baskets of produce, while wagonloads of squawking poultry rolled in the general direction of the market. Children raced by her, the adults seemed to trot at a quick pace. She wondered if no one walked leisurely here. A wave of homesickness for Jeremy and Aunt Penny washed over her. She felt so alone and more than a bit frightened, but she wouldn’t allow Philadelphia to intimidate her. She had lived through too much with her father all of those years ago to cower like a timid child now. Besides, within the past month she’d become a woman at Hawk’s hands. That knowledge was enough to push her onward.

She began to wonder how much longer to Briston Shipping when her attention was diverted by a number of British soldiers, attired in traditional scarlet uniforms, milling about the sidewalk in front of a tavern.

They hovered around a tall, olive-complexioned young man, dressed in a red coat with two gold epaulettes. He wore a white wig, the queue held in place by a jaunty scarlet ribbon. The young man held up a sketch pad for their inspection and some of the officers burst out in laughter.

“John, you’ve captured that American dog’s profile perfectly. I wonder what General Washington would say if he could see your sketch of him. Bet he wouldn’t be too pleased with that long nose you’ve given him,” one of the junior officers observed. The rest of the men agreed just as Bethlyn brushed past.

“Now who is that haughty vixen?” she heard someone say.

“I haven’t a clue,” the officer named John responded, “but I’d love to sketch her.”

“Heavens, John, look at her. She looks like something fished out of the river. Must be a fishmonger’s daughter who fancies herself a lady.”

Bethlyn couldn’t help but blush to hear the man speak so disdainfully about her. Her hair had dried out by now, but she suddenly realized that her silk gown was covered in dried water spots, as were her shoes. She looked a mess, but she’d never allow anyone to believe she thought so. Instead, she squared her shoulders and turned her head back toward the soldiers in a defiant gesture and said in her best modulated tones, “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

Some of the officers stood with their mouths open, but others, like the young officer named John, bowed gallantly.

Barely two minutes later she came to a gray building which consisted of three floors. The shingle on the front proclaimed it as Briston Enterprises. Bethlyn’s heart beat loudly and for a second her knees quaked. This wasn’t how she imagined meeting her husband after all these years. She’d wanted to impress him, to allow him to see that the shy, plump child he’d married was gone and a beautiful, self-assured woman had taken her place. But at the moment, she looked neither beautiful nor self-assured. In fact, she most closely resembled a dried-out water rat, but she couldn’t help her appearance. Ian Briston would have to accept her wretched appearance, now that she’d come all of this way. Or not accept her at all, which was quite fine with her. However, the man did owe her a warm bath, dry clothes and a roof over her head. She was his wife.

Entering the cool interior of the foyer, she was amazed at the beautiful but practical furnishings. Persian rugs dotted the oak floors, and industrious heads bent over Sheraton desks. At her approach one of these heads glanced up at her. A pudgy little man eyed her curiously over the horn-rimmed glasses perched on his long, thin nose.

“May I be of assistance?” he offered in a curt, businesslike tone.

“I should like to see Mr. Briston.”

His watery eyes raked her from head to foot and he sniffed. “Mr. Briston isn’t in.”

“Then may I speak to Mr. Gibbons?” she said, remembering the name of her husband’s secretary, the man who always chose her birthday, Christmas, and wedding anniversary gifts.

“He’s not in today.”

“I see. Do you know when Mr. Briston shall return?”

“I can’t say, miss.”

“It’s Mrs. — Mrs. Ian Briston.”

The man cocked an eyebrow at her. “What did you say?”

 “I said my name is Mrs. Briston. I wish to speak to my husband upon his return. I don’t mind waiting in his office.”

“I just bet you won’t mind waiting.” The little man stood up, his pale face turned red. “I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing, but I want you out of here now, otherwise, I’ll call in the law.”

Bethlyn was so stunned for this hireling to speak to her in such a fashion that all she could do was stare with an open mouth. Finally she turned cool eyes upon him. “I assure you, sir … What is your name?”

“Mr. Eakins.”

“Mr. Eakins, sir, I am Bethlyn Briston, wife of your employer. I advise you to please treat me courteously.”

“You are an audacious strumpet!” Eakins intoned and gestured to a large, brawny man who sat by a corner desk. “Escort this young woman out of here, Demming.”

Demming firmly placed a large hand around Bethlyn’s upper arm and pushed her to the door. “You’re making a mistake. Mr. Eakins!” she cried and would have fought, but she didn’t dare, for the cold-eyed Demming was more than twice her size and three times her weight. “I’m Ian Briston’s wife!”

“Bah! If you knew anything about Ian Briston, woman, you’d know that he isn’t married and never has been. Away with you now!” Mr. Eakins returned to his desk and his work while Demming shoved Bethlyn bodily out of the door and forced her to stumble onto the street. The door was slammed tightly closed.

Never had she been so humiliated. She found herself kneeling on the cobblestoned street, the object of curious glances by the passersby. If she wouldn’t have been so stunned by being ejected from her husband’s business, a business which she herself partly owned, she’d have risen to her feet and angrily entered the office again to rebuke that horrid little man with such scathing language that he’d be unable to speak.

However, her circumstances of the last few weeks, the sense of loss she felt over Hawk, and the sudden knowledge that her husband must never have mentioned his marital state, caused her to nearly weep right there on the street.

“Get out of the way, you stupid wench!” the driver of a large carriage screeched to her. She barely had time to glance up to see the large coach thundering toward her, her first inclination was that the horse and the turning wheels would soon splatter her body upon the cobblestones. She froze, but in an instant she found herself on the sidewalk, pressed against a red-coated chest as the coach flew past her.

“Have a care!” her rescuer screamed to the fleeing coachman. “Are you all right? Please, miss, tell me you’re not hurt. You’re so still I can scarcely feel you breathing.”

Through a fog Bethlyn realized that the man who held her in his arms spoke to her. His hand smoothed back her tousled hair from her eyes while a comforting and strong arm held her securely around the waist. Her heart beat so hard that she could hear the deafening beats within her ears. Even her mouth had grown dry from fear. However, she slowly grew aware of the man and the fact that more curious faces stared at her.

“I should like to sit down somewhere,” she mumbled weakly.

“Certainly, miss. Come this way. Are you able to walk?” Bethlyn nodded, but her legs almost gave way when they started off, growing a bit stronger under the man’s guiding hand.

Minutes later they stopped at the tavern she’d passed earlier. This time none of the soldiers was about, and the man lowered her to a sitting position on a bench outside. Suddenly a cup of water was pressed into her hand, and she drank it down, feeling better after a minute or so. At least she wasn’t frightened any longer, only terribly weary. Glancing up at the young man, she recognized him as the soldier with the sketch pad. In fact, now that she could see him up close and saw the insignia on his uniform, she realized he was a captain. He sat beside her, an attentive arm placed around her waist.