“Accept that you made an error and don’t make it again. If sailingis truly what you desire, you have much to learn.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle.”
“For now, you will do your part onshore. If I’m not mistaken, we have a ball to attend tonight.”
Samantha groaned. “I’m not going.”
His brows raised. “As mistress of this house, you will go. You’ve missed too many events lately and we don’t need people talking.”
She bit her tongue and he shook his head. “Trust me, Samantha, this is not news I wished to come home to today. One of my best captains injured and two men dead. But worse? By beating him, you’ve made the lieutenant more zealous in his quest to take down piracy. Word has it that in the week since you got back, he’s garnered the governor’s support for more ships. My men will be in much more danger each time they sail.”
Samantha’s heart dropped. She hadn’t considered the ripple effect of her actions.
“I’m . . . I didn’t think—”
Uncle Henry strode forward and placed an arm around her shoulders. “You’re young, Samantha, only twenty-four. So many of these things must be learned through experience.”
His face softened and some of the tension drained from her.
“Do we have to go tonight?”
He chuckled. “It will do you well to show your face in society. And I have an important meeting.” He stayed by her side until they reached her bedroom door.
Inside her room, Samantha kicked off her slippers and crossed the plush Turkish rug to flop onto her bed. Sunlight reflected off pale blue walls, bathing her in mottled warmth. A humid gust blew through the open window to shift her curls against her damp face.
She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and lifted a silent thanks that her uncle hadn’t grounded her. Being ashore during the hot summer months would be the worst kind of punishment. Shealready missed the cool sea breezes and the wind in her hair. A week after coming ashore, she still couldn’t sleep well without the gentle rock of a ship upon the waves.
Samantha stared at the ceiling and replayed her uncle’s harsh remarks about a good captain not making choices based on his crew’s emotions. In truth, the decision had not been made on behalf of her crew, but on her own excitement to finally witness a real battle. After years of hearing stories of the adventures her uncle’s men partook in, how could anyone fault her for wanting a taste of the life that had always been dangled just beyond her reach?
Her throat burned anew. This adventure had cost two men their lives. It turned out a battle was not all glory. It was filled with sweat, blood, and despair. They’d won. But at what cost?
A soft knock on the door jostled her from her spiraling thoughts. Anna, her maid, entered, dwarfed by a monstrous heap of silk and lace. Samantha’s ball gown. With a groan, she sat up.
Under the maid’s skillful hands, Samantha’s breeches and blouse were stripped off to be replaced with a chemise and horrendous stays followed by her petticoats and gown. The lace edging on her puffed sleeves clung to sweaty skin and Samantha forced herself to take a steadying breath. If she wasn’t careful, she’d have a heat stroke before they even left.
Anna twisted and pinned Samantha’s hair into a pretty mass atop her head and teased a few long curls out to cascade down her shoulders. The pale blue muslin of her gown bore a striking resemblance to her walls, gathered at her waist and flowing gracefully to the floor.
After clasping a long pearl necklace around Samantha’s throat, Anna dusted powder across her cheeks and nose in a vain attempt to hide her freckles. Samantha ran a finger across her skin. The stubborn spots returned with a vengeance each time she sailed.
Anna stepped back and clapped her hands together. “Such an improvement!”
Samantha rolled her eyes. Her maid was forever trying to get her to dress “normally.” It had become a common occurrence for her breeches to go missing on wash day. But Samantha could not be deterred and would continue to buy new pairs. Someday, Anna would give up. Until then, Samantha would continue to fund the discreet tailor who kept her legs free of restrictive skirts.
Samantha descended the curved staircase to meet her uncle in the great foyer. The soles of her satin shoes clicked across the gleaming marble floor while he guided her to the door and they made their way to the waiting carriage.
“You look enchanting, Samantha.”
She nodded her thanks and let a footman help her up. After several minutes of arranging her skirts, she was finally able to sit. She folded gloved hands in her lap and stared out the window.
Great oak trees with moss-covered branches lined the road to the Hermitage Plantation. The great estate rose from its perch on a hill overlooking the river. Soon, they joined a line of carriages snaking up the palm-lined drive. Lanterns flickered from curved lampposts, chasing dusk’s shadows away. When a footman opened the door to help her down, she couldn’t help the burst of awe in her chest. Twice the size of the impressive Warstein Manor, the home could be likened to an ornate fortress.
Huge Grecian columns flanked the steps to the double front doors, and each upper room sported its own balcony. Bright light streamed from the windows and when they entered, thousands of candles twinkled from chandeliers and sconces. A crush of guests awaited in the ballroom, where a string band played. Every party Frenchman John Montelet and his beautiful young wife threw had the city socialites clamoring for invitations. If one wanted to rise among the ranks of the elite, Hermitage was the place to start.
Servants scuttled about carrying trays crowded with champagne flutes. One turned her way and Samantha frowned. Not servants.Slaves. She pushed back the hot wave of anger that rushed through her. No surprise there. Her uncle remained one of only a few refusing to take part in the abhorrent practice in coastal Georgia.
“Samantha! Thank goodness you’re here.”
She turned to find Abigail Ross, her best friend, striding her way.
