Elizabeth Meyette - [Love's 01] (4 page)

“Not tonight, Millie,” he replied. He watched the girl turn and sway her hips provocatively, no doubt in the hopes he would change his mind.

Jonathon rose and went out into the night. Settling George’s estate and readying the ship for departure were enough to busy a man. But the problem of what to do with Emily taxed his mind the most.

Emily pressed back into the deep, blue velvet cushioned seat of the coach. Her throat ached with tightness as she fought off another spell of sobbing and recalled the events of the morning.

Saying good-bye to the loyal household servants she had known all of her life had been difficult enough, but as she turned to Etta, she had broken down uncontrollably. Etta had been like a second mother to her. Ever since her mother’s death, Emily had turned to her beloved housekeeper for advice, consolation and care. So many people were being snatched from her life, but Etta was the dearest next to her brother and father, now gone. She had clung to Etta while the older woman stroked her hair.

“There, there, darlin’. It will all work out for the best.” Tears streamed down Etta’s face, too. She had no say in this matter, and she had to trust that George Wentworth had only the best in mind for his precious children. She instinctively liked Captain Brentwood and was not blind to the effect he had on Emily. In any event, she was powerless to prevent Emily and Andrew from being taken to the colonies. She loved them like her own, and her heart was breaking just as Emily’s was. But she had been instructed to stay in England and care for the Wentworths’ house and staff. She hugged Emily to herself for the last time.

“This is not good-bye forever, missy. We will be together again,” Etta whispered as she pressed her lips against Emily’s hair and then let her go.

“Good-bye, Etta,” the girl choked out before she ran to the waiting coach. Andrew followed her out, also visibly moved by the farewells. He climbed in across from her. Neither spoke as the driver climbed into his high seat rocking the carriage as his weight shifted. Andrew glanced at Emily and, as one, their heads turned for a last look at the only home they had ever known. The driver slapped the reins and the coach crawled down the road.

A misty drizzle shrouded the silent carriage, and leaden clouds hung low in the gray sky. Puddles parted before the lumbering wheels, and then flowed back together after the coach passed, unmindful of the disturbance. The streets were empty on this early morning, the scene matching the somber mood of the lovely girl who stared, unseeing, at the dismal town.

A contrasting energy pervaded the atmosphere at the waterfront. Men scurried about loading cargo, yelling orders, climbing up and down the gangplank, the rigging and the decks as they readied the ship and made last–minute preparations for the journey.

Emily gazed out at the ship that would take her away from everything she knew, her secure, familiar world. The
Destiny
, a three-masted merchant ship, carried twelve guns. Windows lined the raised quarterdeck and the bowsprit sloped gracefully up from the forecastle. Fully loaded with cargo and provisions, she sat low in the water. Emily was impressed with the ship’s beauty and the efficiency of her crew, but she felt detached from it all, like an observer who would be totally unaffected by what was happening.

She noticed a familiar coach waiting by the gangplank, Michael Dennings’ coach. She leaned back and closed her eyes, drained, unable to face him. Her coach halted a few steps away and rocked as the driver descended. He opened the door and pulled down the steps to allow them to alight from the carriage. Michael was there at once offering his hand up to Emily, a look of grim determination on his face. Emily sighed, took his hand, and descended. He looked down at her.

“Emily, I must protest. You cannot board that ship.”

“Can I not, Michael?” she asked, feeling defeated and very tired.

“No! I insist that you come back with me right now. I repeat my offer of marriage. This is terribly wrong, and you know it.”

Emily caught a movement above Michael’s shoulder and, looking up, saw Jonathon leaning on the ship’s rail. Dressed in a deep green coat, crisp white cravat and tan breeches, he looked the part of a sea captain — at ease on the ship, yet obviously in command. His thick hair was tousled in the wind that swept across the water. She saw white teeth flash in a smile at her, and she could not deny the fluttering sensation in her stomach or the sudden weakness in her knees. Nonetheless, she raised her chin and affected an air of indifference. A strange excitement tickled within her as she sensed her resistance to this voyage waning.

She looked at Michael. “Perhaps this is not as wrong for me as you might think, Michael. I would not be a wife content to live under the domineering rule of your mother. We would both suffer were we to wed, for you would find me rebellious and strong-willed,” she paused glancing up at the still-smiling Jonathon, “much as the colonies to which I sail. Perhaps I am better suited to them than to London. You will always be my dear friend. Good-bye, Michael.” Rising on her toes, she placed a kiss on his cheek. Head held high, she turned and climbed the gangplank.

“Emily, please — ” Michael called after her, but she did not turn back. She heard the coach door slam and the wheels start down the cobbled street. She continued up to the ship. She had burned her bridges and was on her way to a new world.

• • •

Jonathon approached spreading his arms wide. “Welcome aboard the
Destiny
, Em,” he grinned. “Your beauty does her great honor.”

Emily shot him a scathing look. “I hope she is a swift vessel for I want to be away quickly,” she said coolly.

“Swift she is, my lady, and sound. We shall have a pleasant voyage made more so by your presence,” he bowed, smiling broadly. Though she knew that he was teasing her, Emily felt pleased, and strangely warmed by his words.

She brushed past him with a derisive laugh. “Spare me your false flattery, Captain Brentwood.” She walked along the deck noting that the ship was well tended. Oiled wood gleamed and neatly coiled ropes lay along the deck. Sailors who passed touched their caps and smiled a welcome, but none lingered, for they knew their tasks and went about them. As she passed, though, many paused a moment to take note of her. Andrew had followed her aboard and was greeting Jonathon. As the two looked across the deck where Emily strolled, Jonathon clapped Andrew on the shoulder.

“Do not worry, Drew; she will overcome her disinclination to depart. Much as she wants us to believe her reluctance, she would die of boredom with Michael Dennings. Note her eyes; you may catch a glimpse of anticipation. Now, shall we get to work?”

Andrew smiled up at the Captain. “Aye, sir.”

With the last of the provisions loaded, the crew hastened to raise anchor and set sail. Though each man had his own duties, they worked in a rhythm that mimicked a well-trained militia. One by one the sails were raised as men climbed rigging, set ropes and made ready. Slowly the
Destiny
began to glide through the water. Emily watched as everything familiar to her faded in the distance. The rain had ceased, but the air was heavy with moisture. The mist surrounded Emily and joined the salty tears on her cheeks. Her throat ached with sobs to which she would not yield. A heaviness lay on her chest crushing her with the weight of her own sorrow. Quickly brushing the tears away, she squared her shoulders and set her jaw. She would face this new life challenge with courage and dignity. She became aware of the activity around her.

Men hurried about climbing the masts, working the rigging, and setting the proper sails. Emily turned, searching for her brother. At first, she did not recognize him as he had changed from his breeches and longcoat to loose pants and a heavy woolen shirt conducive to tending a ship. She almost passed him thinking he was one of the crew.

“Andrew?” she gasped.

“How do I look, Em?” He laughed.

“Whatever are you doing dressed like that?”

“Jonathon said I could join his crew. By the time we reach Virginia, I shall be a seasoned sailor.” He puffed out his chest proudly.

“Where is Captain Brentwood?”

“May I be of some assistance, Miss Wentworth?” A tall, lean man approached. His gray hair curled about the nape of his neck, and a beard of the same color lent him a distinguished look. “I am Mr. Gates, second in command.”

“I am looking for Captain Brentwood,” she answered. “Would you please take me to him?”

“Of course.” He gestured toward the quarterdeck, and Emily followed him there. They reached the door of the Captain’s cabin; Mr. Gates rapped loudly. Jonathon bade them enter, and after doing so they stood and waited for him to finish writing and look up.

“Captain, Miss Wentworth asked to see you,” Mr. Gates informed him.

As Jonathon rose, a crooked smile crossed his face. “Mr. Gates, Miss Wentworth is always welcome in my quarters.” He eyed her from head to toe causing Emily to blush profusely. Mr. Gates cleared his throat strangling a chuckle.

“Aye, Captain,” he said, looking at Jonathon expectantly.

“Thank you, Mr. Gates. That will be all.” The door closed quietly.

Although small, the room was handsomely furnished. A large mahogany desk covered with charts and ledgers commanded one corner lit by windows that lined the wall behind it. The dreariness of the day was chased out with cozy lanterns. A single bed fit snugly against one bulkhead and precious space had been made at its head for numerous books. An ornately decorated sea chest and a small armoire held Jonathon’s personal things, and a table and two chairs completed the furnishings. All were polished to a high sheen, and the room was invitingly neat and clean.

“Will you join me in a brandy? I know your penchant for the drink,” Jonathon grinned wickedly.

Emily glared at him, painfully reminded of her inability to manage that libation on their first meeting.

“No, thank you, Captain. I have come to talk about Andrew. He tells me that you have allowed him to join the crew. I must protest for he is too young to be climbing around working a ship. I fear for his safety.”

“He is a good sailor. He has been working the ship since I put in to port. Let him be, Em. Your father would have brought him along on his next voyage, in any case.”

“Please, Captain Brentwood, I have lost everyone who is dear to me save Andrew. If anything should happen to him, I do not know what I would do. Please do not allow him to do anything dangerous.”

“For a sea captain’s daughter, you are a mite skittish,” he mocked.

“The sea claimed my father, Captain,” she replied. Jonathon looked into her eyes for a long moment.

“All right, Em. I shall make sure he is careful.”

Emily nodded her thanks and swept out of the room. Jonathon tossed down his brandy. It was going to be a long voyage.

• • •

The drizzle lasted into the next week. When the sun broke through one afternoon, Emily realized that her spirits lifted as well. The fresh, salty air was invigorating and she enjoyed feeling its full effects as she strolled along the deck. The gentle creaking of the wood and rigging became a comforting sound, and she quickly acclimated her step to the rolling of the ship. She had often visited her father’s vessel, the
Spirit
, when it was in port, and being on the
Destiny
brought memories of happier times vividly to her mind. Instead of making her melancholy, however, these memories helped Emily to feel more at home.

She walked along the deck watching the steady motion of the sea. The sun was descending in the western sky, painting the horizon with a soft, rosy glow.

“It will be a fair day tomorrow.” Mr. Gates was at her elbow. “Sometimes, Miss Wentworth, we need only watch the signs to know if we sail to fair or foul,” he smiled at her.

“What if you do not know what the signs are, Mr. Gates? What if you have never been to sea before?” she asked, wondering at his meaning.

“Then you must trust your instinct. You must reach deep inside for your answer. But many times we refuse to listen, even to ourselves and what we know to be true,” he replied.

“Perhaps we learn as we go along, Mr. Gates.”

“Perhaps, Miss Wentworth.” He tipped his cap and moved on. Emily stared after him, slightly disturbed, but unable to put her finger on the reason.

She walked slowly to her cabin, reluctant to go below. But she had not much time to freshen up for supper. She, Andrew and Mr. Gates joined Jonathon in his cabin for the evening meal. Although close quarters, the conviviality of the men made the meals enjoyable and Emily found she looked forward to these times.

Her cabin was smaller than Jonathon’s and the space was again used as economically as possible. A bunk tucked into one bulkhead, and a small armoire, table and chair took another. Darkening windows gave evidence of the setting sun so Emily lit the lantern above the table. She chose a muslin gown of deep burgundy, having saved her finer dresses for her arrival in Virginia. This dress had a square neckline edged in ivory lace. The tight fitting bodice flattered her slender waist and shapely bosom. She brushed her hair until it shone in the lantern light and tied it back with a burgundy ribbon. Wisps of her honey-colored hair escaped the ribbon and settled about her face, try as she did to capture and hold them back. Sighing, she gave up the effort, unaware of the softness they lent to her loveliness.

A tap sounded on the door. “Em, may I come in?”

She opened the door and Andrew stepped in. Emily gasped as she was struck by his rugged good looks. He wore light blue breeches and a royal blue coat over a spotless white shirt. His face was tanned and his hair bleached by the sun. He flashed a white smile and bowed low.

“May I escort you to supper, my lady?” His eyes danced as he straightened and offered her his arm.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she answered, her lilting laughter filling the cabin. She slipped her arm through his, and they walked the short distance to Jonathon’s cabin.

• • •

Jonathon and Mr. Gates rose simultaneously and almost collided as each reached to hold Emily’s chair. Mr. Gates deferred and Jonathon took Emily’s arm and seated her. The meal passed quickly with good conversation. Emily enjoyed Mr. Gates’s yarns, although she suspected he embellished them. Many of his stories were sprinkled with the heroic deeds of Jonathon, who seemed uncomfortable when these were mentioned. He deftly steered the conversation away from himself and gave Mr. Gates a disparaging look. Andrew began to stifle yawns until Jonathon finally ordered him to bed.