“It can’t be about Father or they’d have told me when I confronted them.” Eliza crossed her arms. “I shouted at them in most unladylike fashion when they docked. Asked their intent. They said they came seeking the captain.”
Esmée’s stomach clenched. Had Henri hidden something from her?
Eliza remained at the window, her expression a picture of disgust. The sun climbed higher, calling out the tense expressions of the men deep in conversation. Lucy and Alice were speaking in low tones in the kitchen.
Esmée kept on her cloak and went to the fire, chilled by more than the cold morn.
“My, how stern the sheriff looks. I’ve rarely seen him sober.” Eliza sniffed. “Well, the captain shall soon send them packing, I’ve no doubt.”
But the men remained through toast and tea and the babies’ next feeding. Eliza paced while Esmée dandled Ruenna in her lap, trying to pray her way through the untimely interruption.
“At last, they’re leaving.” Eliza released a pent-up breath and joined Esmée at the hearth.
In moments, a knock at the door signaled Henri. “No need to lookcontrarie,” he said, eyes on Esmée. But she knew that look. He said no more, but she sensed he was withholding something so as not to alarm them. Or waiting to be alone with her before he enlightened her further. “The men are on their way back to the mainland.”
To her amazement, Eliza did not question him further. If she had, he might not have heard her, for Ruenna began crying her loudest and Alice hurried in, intent on helping.
“You two are on your honeymoon,” Eliza said, unsmiling. “No need to stay here a moment longer.”
Esmée soon left the cottage with Henri, looking over her shoulder to see the unwelcome boat moving slowly west toward the mainland.
CHAPTER
seventy
This was not how she’d envisioned her honeymoon. The knot of disappointment inside Esmée widened to alarm as she stepped from theRelentless’s jolly onto the York dock with the help of Henri’s firm hand. Eliza stepped out after them, her veiled hat aflutter. Lucy and Alice had remained behind on the island with the babies. They couldn’t risk returning them to York with smallpox still a menace.
Esmée cast a look down Water Street to where the signShaw’s Chocolateswung in the early March wind. The town seemed fractious today, the taint of tar and brine and fishmongers curling Esmée’s nose under a leaden sky. The weather had kept them from returning yesterday, the wind contrary, the waves high.
A carriage took them up the hill to the Shaw townhouse. Patches of green burst through the gloom along with the first of spring’s blooms, pear trees and daffodils foremost. So focused was Esmée on her inner turmoil that the colors seemed muted, a shadow of themselves. Few folks were about, lending to her worry the smallpox was far from over.
Esmée turned her postponed plans over in her mind as she would soil with a garden spade. She should be sowing sweet marjoram and hyssop and thyme in their kitchen garden and expecting the laborersto arrive with the building stones for their home. But instead they were headed to Williamsburg because her new husband had been accused of something nefarious.
Father was not at home, nor was he expecting them. Mrs. Mabrey greeted them and made them comfortable in the parlor. Henri wanted to wait and inform Father that they were en route to the capital.
Eliza seemed to turn inward, saying little, her expression a mystery beneath her veil. She wasn’t wanting to return to the Williamsburg townhouse, to the place where she’d known such happiness with Quinn. She’d confided this when Henri had told them he must meet with authorities in Williamsburg. But at the last Eliza decided to accompany them. Perhaps putting off the inevitable somehow made it more painful as a widow.
Esmée, seated near the fire with Eliza, kept her eyes on Henri, who stood looking out a draped window. When the front door opened and shut with a familiar thud, she knew Father was finally home.
“Company—the very best kind.” He came in, his pleasant expression somewhat guarded as he set aside his hat and walking stick.
They greeted him, and Henri spoke with a composed ease that made him all the more irresistible to Esmée. “First the good news. Your daughter and I are now wed as of day before yesterday, and your granddaughter is well and remains safely on the island with her nurse.”
“My felicitations can wait. What, pray tell, is the bad news?” He looked in concern at his daughters. “My study might be best suited for such.”
He and Henri passed through the adjoining door to the room in question, their voices a dull monotone once the door was closed.
“What mischief has led to this?” Eliza’s sharp question unnerved Esmée further.
“I know little except that the sheriff and his men were sent by unnamed officials to summon Henri to the governor’s chambers.”
They fell silent as their father’s voice grew more strident. Though she couldn’t make out the words, she knew he was as confounded and disbelieving as she. Tea was served, and they made small talk with Mrs. Mabrey, who inquired about Ruenna.
The thoughtful question hung on the air. Eliza said nothing for several uncomfortable seconds, leaving Esmée to answer. “She’s as bonny a babe as ever drew breath. Tiny but healthy and very fond of being held.”
Did Eliza miss her? Esmée certainly did.
When Mrs. Mabrey excused herself, Eliza turned to Esmée in exasperation. “You think I’m a terrible mother, don’t you?”
