The Wedding Cake (The Wedding Series) (6 page)

“I said I realize how busy ye are, so I’ll get right to my point in coming.”

“Busy, yes, I am.” Her gaze followed his to the desk where papers were spread. She straightened a pile only to notice the ink on her fingers. Why hadn’t she washed her hands? And why did she care?

“I’ve come to ask yer advice and perhaps for yer help, Miss Murphy. As ye no doubt know, yer father has made me a very generous offer.”

“He’s told me.” She also knew the captain had yet to give Papa an answer. “He seems to have much confidence in your abilities.”

“Aye, he does.” The captain leaned forward. “And that is where the problem lies.”

“I don’t understand.”

His grin was self-effacing. “I’m not sure I see myself as he does. Do not mistake me. I know I can captain a ship with the best.”

“Oh, really,” she couldn’t help injecting with a lift of her eyebrow.

He chuckled. “Would ye have me full of false modesty, then? I’d have thought ye’d appreciate a person who is aware of what he can do as ye yerself are.”

“I’m hardly that.”

“Oh, really,” he said, mimicking her. “It seems to me a woman who can help run a business such as Murphy Import and Export, who can make up her mind to bake a wedding cake, and—”

“Let’s not discuss the cake, shall we?”

“Does this mean ye’ve given up, then?”

“No.” She realized her tone was unnecessarily firm and softened it. “No, I shall bake that cake.” She opted not to add, “if it’s the last thing I do,” deciding it sounded too melodramatic.

“Good,” he said, smiling again. “And I hope I’m there to taste the results of yer labors.”

“We shall see,” was the best she could do. “But I’m certain you didn’t come to discuss cake.”

“Nay. ’Tis my own problem that concerns me at the moment. I’ve had very little formal schooling since I spent most of my youth on board a schooner. And I’m wondering how good I could be in assisting yer fine father.” He shifted in his seat. “He puts much store in yer skills and I was hoping ye could look at mine and give me an honest assessment.”

“You wish me to judge whether you are competent enough to accept my father’s offer?”

“Aye, that’s about the size of it. And if ye find me capable, a bit of help with learning the ropes would be appreciated.”

She looked at him, astonished. Perhaps the man didn’t realize how much she disliked him, if indeed she did dislike him. There were moments when she couldn’t decide. Certainly he should never have kissed her. No, never. But then she should have told him who she was. That, however, was neither here nor there now.

It didn’t matter if he’d kissed her ten times, or twenty, she would do what was best for her father, and her continuing to help him with Murphy’s Import and Export would, of course, be best. But since that wasn’t possible, perhaps Captain McGregger was the next best thing. And she was being given the opportunity to discover the truth for herself objectively, with a completely open mind. The idea of leaving Boston and Papa didn’t seem quite so repugnant.

“Yes, of course, I shall be glad to help you, Captain McGregger.” She had a sudden flash of how difficult her assignment might be. He did say he lacked schooling. Lifting a paper from the pile on the desk, she handed it to him.

“A bill of lading,” he said. “From the
India Queen
, my vessel, by the look of it.”

“Yes, it is.” Good, then he could read. “I’ve been adding the numbers.”

“So I see.” He stared at the column a moment. “But if ye will pardon me for saying, I think ye’ve made a mistake. It appears to me it should be eight thousand nine hundred aught seven.”

“Really?” She rose and circled the desk, looking over his broad shoulder at the figures written in her neat hand.

“Aye. If ye add four hundred and seventy-two to one thousand two hundred and eighty-five then six hundred and thirty-four and nine hundred and twenty-seven...” He continued down through the numbers almost faster than she could keep up. “The answer is eight thousand nine hundred aught seven.” He turned his head to look up at her and she realized how close they were, and how drawn she was to get closer still. She stepped back abruptly.

“I thought you said you were unschooled.”

“ ’Tis formal schooling I lack. Ciphering has always come easy. A way to spend those lonely nights at sea.” He stood, suddenly very tall and powerful before her. “Counting the stars in the heavens.”

Did he really do that? Stand on the ship’s deck, a freshening breeze ruffling his black hair, singing in the sails, his legs spread against the ship’s sway, his face turned toward the sky? She could see him so clearly in her mind’s eye, could hear the gulls squawking.

Gulls? She blinked, realizing it was excited voices she heard—Cornelia’s and Lucretia’s. She moved away from Captain McGregger as her sisters burst through the door.

“There you are, Cinnamon. We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Ohhh, and Captain McGregger. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Stop flirting with him, Lucretia, and show Cinnamon the post,” Cornelia said. “It’s so exciting. Do tell us again what he looks like.”

“Who?” Cinnamon grabbed for the letter her sister waved in front of her face.

“Why, the duke, of course. Your fiancé. That’s who the letter’s from.”

Cinnamon’s gaze caught the captain’s for a moment before she looked down at the heavy vellum sealed with the duke’s crest.

S
eptember seventh. Cinnamon read the date again and sighed. The duke and his envoy would arrive in Boston for a three-day visit exactly one month before their scheduled nuptials. A month that he planned to spend on a hunting trip in the West. The land of savages, he called it. Alone. Not that she wished to accompany him. She was far too busy.

She lifted the watch pinned to her bodice and let the duke’s letter flutter to the table. There really was no need even to keep it. She’d memorized its few lines nearly a week ago when it had arrived.

Her mother acted as if the duke’s missive contained words of love and fond wishes to see his fiancée’s face again. Cinnamon laughed at the very idea as she smoothed the grosgrain skirt of her afternoon dress. There was a tap at her door and she smiled. The captain was right on time.

In the library, they reviewed shipments of rice for the last year. It was normally boring work, but Cinnamon found sharing the task with Captain McGregger made it much more interesting. He sat diagonally across the desk from her, his head bent, a lock of black hair tumbling over his forehead. He’d pushed it back two times, and she resisted the urge to do it for a third.

“Do you have any questions?” she asked, trying to pull her mind back to the business at hand.

He glanced up and swiped at his hair again. “I don’t think so. The cargo seems to allow for a decent profit.”

True enough, and a fact she imagined he knew before she had shown him the records. “It isn’t just your questioning your ability to become my father’s successor that’s worrying you, is it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t—”

“You’re not certain you wish to give up the life of a sea captain.”

His grin made her light-headed. “Very astute of ye, Miss Murphy. But then I’ve never doubted ye were a smart lass.”

“Tell me about it. Your life at sea.” She leaned forward, the ledger books forgotten.

“ ’Tis freedom and adventure. No two voyages exactly alike. There are typhoons that come out of nowhere, and pirates with giant curved swords, and seas as high as this house to conquer.” His eyes, bright with memories, met hers, then sobered, intensified. “And there’s endless ocean and a loneliness that can swamp a man and make him long for something he’s never had.”

She forgot to breathe. She was so absorbed in his words that at first she could almost feel the spray on her face, taste the salt air, and experience this man’s desire and pent-up passion.

“Oh.” When reality returned, she sucked in air and shifted in her seat, trying to regain control. “Well, then,” Her gaze snagged on the ledgers open on the desk and she flipped the page, pointing to the head of the next column. “I suppose we should get back to work.”

Though he readily agreed, she could not concentrate on what she was doing. Her mind kept wandering to thoughts of balmy sea breezes—and of him.

~ ~ ~

Cinnamon checked the tilt of her green felt hat. Fetching, she would call it and just the exact shade to bring out the tiny flecks of green in her hazel eyes. Actually it was Captain McGregger who had pointed that out to her one day when she met him at the docks. But she had to agree he was right as she hurried down the stairs.

Her father was in the library, tapping his foot when she entered. “Did I keep you waiting long?”

“Well, I did tell Captain McGregger we’d meet him by half past one.”

“And we shall,” she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

But she hadn’t counted on her mother descending the stairs at the precise moment they headed for the front door.

“Mr. Murphy, a word with you, please.”

Cinnamon thought she saw her father flinch, but he had a pleasant demeanor when he turned to face her mother.

“Of course, Mrs. Murphy. I would be only too delighted to speak with you, but unfortunately I’m already late for an appointment.”

“And you’re taking Cinnamon with you?”

“She desired the fresh air.”

“Fresh air, indeed.” Her mother continued down the stairs. “Do you think I don’t know where you two are going?”

“To the docks, Mama. We are visiting Murphy Import and Export.” Her mother had never kept secret that she thought Cinnamon’s involvement in the “business,” as she called it, was beneath her. But her father usually won out on this front. Besides, Cinnamon made certain that she limited her activities to times when she wasn’t expected to be doing something socially acceptable. At least she’d tried to do that and had succeeded fairly well... until lately.

“And I suppose you will meet Captain McGregger there.”

There was no question in her voice, and Cinnamon feared her mother already knew the answer. It appeared her father did, too. He straightened his shoulders.

“Now, Kathleen, we’ve discussed this. The boy will take over running the business when I retire. It’s in your best interest that he knows what he’s about.”

“And is it also in my best interest for him to steal one of my daughters away?”

“Mama, I don’t think the captain has any interest in Lucretia.” Cinnamon realized this didn’t put her sister in a very good light and quickly added, “Or she in him.”

“It’s not Lucretia who concerns me, young lady. And do not try to shush me, Mr. Murphy. I know exactly what you are trying to do. Such a vexing husband you are, and after I’ve worked so hard to pull this family up to its rightful position in society.”

~ ~ ~

“What did Mama mean?”

They were in the carriage, slowed by a line of horsecars, wending their way toward the docks. Cinnamon could smell the salt and the tar in the air, and she could imagine the scent of spices from far-off India.

“About what?” Her father seemed too intent upon his watch chain stretched across his generous paunch.

“You know what I’m talking about. Mama and her remark about Captain McGregger stealing one of her daughters. It’s obvious you two have had words.”

“Your mother and I are always having words, in case you hadn’t noticed, Cinnamon. Her latest suggestion is that we pack up lock, stock, and barrel and move to Back Bay.”

“I’m well aware of Mama’s desire to have us situated in a mansion like Mrs. Randolph’s. As I’m also familiar with your desire to change the subject. We were speaking of Ian McGregger.”

Her father sighed. “Your mother thinks I’ve devised some nefarious scheme to throw you and Captain McGregger together.”

“I see.” She could hardly deny she’d ever thought of the captain in a romantic way, any more than she could deny they’d kissed. Still... “I’m betrothed to Lord Westfield.”

“As I’ve pointed out to your mother.”

“Well, yes, I should hope so.” She felt her face grow warm and twisted her head to the side, hoping to catch a whiff of breeze, as well as hide the blush she theorized was the cause.

“But you know your mother,” Patrick said, stretching his legs out as the coach started off again. “She can’t seem to get the notion out of her head.”

“Perhaps I should talk to her,” Cinnamon offered, glancing toward him before continuing her appraisal of the granite warehouses lining Atlantic Avenue. “I’m certain I could convince her that there is... Well, I find no fault with Captain McGregger, certainly.”

“Most assuredly,” her father agreed.

“He seems an upstanding enough man.”

“Courageous.”

“Yes, yes, that, too.”

“And certainly a fine specimen of a young fellow.”

Her eyes narrowed. “No one is denying that the captain is very handsome.” For the first time she wondered if her mother was right. Could Papa have planned her meetings with Ian McGregger? Shaking her head, she continued, “But the fact is I have no involvement, romantic or otherwise, with Captain McGregger—other than what benefits Murphy Import and Export.” Period.