Chapter Thirteen
August 28, 1817
The day had been long and tedious, filled with multiple supply runs up and down the coast with very little breeze, which meant progress had been slow. Now, perhaps half an hour until sunset, Brand was running late to meet Elizabeth. They’d agreed to take in the evening air and watch the tide come in on one of the isolated stretches of beach in the less populated areas of Ipswich, and if he didn’t hurry, he’d be the reason she’d wear a worried frown.
Somehow, Elizabeth and the thought of displeasure didn’t go together. He always wished to keep her in smiles and sunshine, yet… he was well on his way to winning that blasted schooner. The name currently emblazoned upon its hull was the Idle Thoughts, but if it were his, he would gladly rename it to… something else.
Something he had no right to, but perhaps she would always smile when she saw it.
Bah!That would mean she’d only stay in his life under his false pretenses. He shook his head as he followed the footpath that would eventually lead to the beach. It wound through the harbor and through a few clusters of homes and wooded areas, but it was pleasant enough. Yes, he could have sailed the sloop there, but being on the water hadn’t brought him the same joy as it usually did, and besides, the walk would help to clear his thoughts.
Of her.
Would she fall in love with him? He recalled the look in her eyes yesterday when he’d consented to pray with her and when he’d kissed her. A shudder of need went down his spine. Oh yes, she already was. A wash of hot self-loathing smacked into him heavy enough that he might drown in it. And then what? He’d leave her once the schooner was his? Sour bile hit the back of his throat. The days he’d spent in Elizabeth’s company had been idyllic, and she’d taken to life as a sailor in stride. She had a knack for it. How many women had he known that would have done that? Most merely wished for a possible tryst. None of them had ever willingly learned the art of sailing or knot tying.
And none had inquired about his past, his family, or anything personal about him beyond how he might service them with his prick.
Except Elizabeth. She genuinely enjoyed being with him for his own sake.
God, I’m scum. Nay, I’m worse than scum. I’m the stuff scum feeds upon and then spits out after finding it unpalatable.
The fact that his own conscience was taking him to task worried the hell out of him, for it meant he was more attached to Elizabeth than he ought to be. How the devil had that happened? Then cold disappointment mixed with sheer panic in the pit of his belly, and not because he might lose the wager if she discovered his deception prematurely. He only had three more days with her. Three! And he still hadn’t managed to bed her, but now he wanted to couple with her, not in an effort to try and win the wager, but because he genuinely wished to be with her, to see her face light with delight, to teach her the ultimate way a man could show a woman how much he cared—
With the devil is wrong with me?What had happened to the life he’d previously adored and excelled at? The freedom of taking any woman he pleased to bed and then not having to do the pretty with them afterward? The sensation of standing on rapidly shifting sand assailed him, and he angrily shook his head. I refuse to fall for the same scam I’m running on her. I’m not developing feelings for her!
“Captain Storme!”
He started at the hail and glanced over his shoulder. A fellow ran toward him with an envelope clutched in one hand. The naval uniform in blue with silver buttons sent a wave of nostalgia over him. “Yes?”
“I’m glad I caught up to you.” The man rocked to a halt when he reached Brand’s location. “I’m Lord Nelson’s private secretary, and yours is the last invitation I needed to deliver. Lord Nelson insisted they be given in person.” He held out the ivory envelope. Captain Brand Storme was scrawled across the front in a heavy, elegant hand.
“An invitation to what?” Though he’d been a part of Ipswich society for the past handful of years and was quite popular in some circles, he’d not rubbed elbows with the upper crust.
“Lord Nelson’s annual ball. In two days’ time.” The younger man shoved the envelope into Brand’s hand. “He wishes for you to join him this year.”
“Why?” Brand couldn’t fathom a reason.
“Who can say?” The man shrugged. “However, he did mention that everyone invited was either high on the instep or an up and comer in society, so consider yourself fortunate you’ve been noticed.” He cocked his head to the side. “Shall I tell him you’ll accept?”
What if I don’t wish to be noticed by society?No doubt word of the affair would find its way to London and remind his family that he needed to come home. But then a new thought occurred. Here was a chance to solidify Elizabeth’s affections and for her to have an opportunity to wear the ballgown he’d bought her that seemingly long-ago day when they’d browsed the shops. “May I bring a companion?”
“Of course.”
Slowly, Brand nodded. “Good, then you may tell Lord Nelson I accept with my thanks and gratitude.” If nothing else, he could give Elizabeth the dance she’d always dreamed of.
“Jolly good.” The man saluted him. “I shall do so indeed. Enjoy your evening, Captain.”
“Thank you.” As the secretary returned up the path he’d come, Brand tucked the invitation into the interior pocket of his jacket. An invitation to what was considered by some the biggest social event in Ipswich of the year. How interesting. What had he done to warrant the notice of Lord Nelson after all these years? The only thing he’d done differently in his life was befriend a lonely missionary’s sister…
Of all things holy on land or sea.Did that mean he appeared respectable now that it seemed he was courting a decent woman? His chest tightened with anxiety while another wave of self-loathing swamped him. Everything he did from here on out would only serve to heap coals of her anger upon him.
Damn.
Not having anything else to do, Brand continued down the path. The heat of the day was fading the longer the sun set. The last handful of days with Elizabeth had been too idyllic and relaxed. She looked at each day as a gift instead of a steppingstone to something else. Could she teach him how to do that? How to court gratitude for everything in his life?
As soon as he set foot into the cove, he spied her, and his heart squeezed. She sat on the sun-warmed sand sans slippers and stockings, her feet half buried, her knees drawn up and her chin perched upon them. Those garments plus her bonnet lay on the sand beside her. Her hair was loose with a yellow ribbon holding it away from her face, and the yellow dress he’d seen twice before on her caught his attention. Perhaps it was a favorite, or perhaps it reminded her of sunshine, for that’s the first thing he thought of when he saw her in it. She was truly the personification of summer.
I need more of that in my life.