“’Tis a thoughtful move toward matrimony, if that is what you both want.”
Torn between two hats—a straw bonnet with a cluster of silk violets and a beribboned bergère—Esmée turned this way and that before the looking glass. “Has Henri asked Father for my hand?”
“Perhaps he’s waiting for his family’s reception of you first. No doubt ’twill be as warm as ours of him. His mother is French, remember. I hope you’ll say a few words with her in her native tongue.”
Esmée had finally decided on the bergère. “How I wish I was as fluent as Eliza.”
Now she hardly recalled their coach ride south to the old port town steeped in the tobacco trade. But all the rest seemed near as yesterday. There in the entry hall of a large brick townhouse, Henri had introduced her to his family as if she’d been royalty. Their kind regard of her had been equally memorable.
His mother, expressive and garrulous, took to her at once. She had Henri’s ocean-blue eyes, calm as the sea on a summer’s day. His father, a giant of a man, was a bit stern, his dark hair unpowdered, his dress Quaker-plain. And his sister, Hermione, as lovely as her name, was blessed with the same blue eyes and coal-black hair, a dimple in her chin.
And now they were all ... gone. While he’d been away at sea, she guessed. How did the captain come to terms with that? Esmée wrestled with the emotion the dusty memory wrought. It seemed out of place here in this still room years after the fact.
If only the tea would assuage her headandher heart. All her carefully stowed feelings, any remaining tenderness toward him, had been hardened by long, barren years. Or so she thought. Seeing him again—his once beloved features, the silky hair she’d run her fingers through, the broad shoulders that seemed a bulwark against the world—made her realize the great void she’d experienced in his absence. Though Eliza and others had tried their hand at matchmaking and a few would-be suitors had come forward, Esmée had spurned them all, politely but firmly. Much to Eliza’s dismay.
“My dream is to have children close in age,” Eliza had confided. “Cousins are truly one of life’s best gifts.”
“I may well never marry. Not everyone is called to it. You’d best have as many children as the Lord allows to make up for my lack.”
“Well, I shan’t stop conspiring.” Eliza winked at her brazenly. “’Tis what I do best!”
“Scheming is more like it,” Esmée shot back, close to tears and trying to hide it. “Praying gets better results.”
But somewhere along the way even she’d stopped praying. Whereas once Captain Lennox’s safety and well-being on the seas were first in her heart, she’d jettisoned those petitions. Her fervent prayers went the way of her hopes and became floating wreckage. As the years passed, it hardly seemed to matter.
Hers was a heart adrift.
And the captain’s sudden, unexpected return reminded her of all that.
“Daughter, are you unwell? I smell medicinal tea.” Her father entered his study, a concerned eye on her as he stowed his walking stick and cocked hat. “’Tis rare I see you home so early in the day.”
She forced a smile. “I might ask you the same, Father.”
Yawning, he took a seat behind his desk. “One gets little done the day after a ball, I’m afraid.”
Esmée poured a second cup of tea. Father disdained the stuff. “Shall I have Mrs. Mabrey bring you some coffee?”
“Nay, I drank my weight in it this morn. A bit of brandy will do.” He uncapped the decanter on his desk and poured the amber liquid into a waiting glass. “Though what I crave is your mother’s milk punch.”
She studied him sympathetically as he drank deeply. “Perhaps we shall make some at Christmastide.”
“I saw you standing at the Dutch door earlier, gazing into the coffeehouse.” Rebuke was in his tone. The previous eve’s late hour had turned him not only tired but testy.
“You know I like to peruse newspapers left by your customers. Since Eliza has invited me to the capital for an extended stay, I must keep current lest I be branded a bumpkin.”
“I’ll be happy to tell you any pressing news.” He leaned back in his chair, gaze drawn to the windows at the screech of gulls. “For instance, Captain Lennox has returned to Indigo—”
“Father! Ineedno telling.” Her rare outburst rattled the teacup in her hand, sloshing liquid onto her skirt.
He stared at her, fanning the flame in her face. “Pretend all youlike. I’m not your doting father for naught. You’ve been completely addled since you first heard of his return. I only thought to take the worry from your countenance with news he’s left the mainland.”
She dabbed at the damp on her skirt with a handkerchief, her headache thundering again. “If my countenance is clouded, ’tis because I’m missing Mama, like you. And truth be told, I’m dreading Williamsburg society, where I am referred to as Lady Drysdale’s spinster sister or Captain Lennox’s jilted sweetheart.”
“Not the respected businesswoman of York and patron of the parish almshouse.”
“The former is far more savory.” She gave a brittle smile. “Perhaps I shall try my hand at raising support among Eliza’s genteel friends. That was my intent at the ball before I was ... um...”
“Unmoored by Captain Lennox’s arrival.”
