“Ladies, please.” Eliza’s wide eyes flashed a warning.
Esmée smiled at her, dispelling the tension, or so she hoped.
But Lady Griffin was not finished. “What of the danger to your sister and her unborn child with your frequent forays to the poor?”
Esmée replied, “I am seldom in Williamsburg and am vigilant about my own welfare in York. If I find myself ill, I shut myself off from everyone, especially my sister. No one has cause to worry.”
“Glad I am to hear it,” Lady Griffin concluded with a chill smile. “As for the almshouse, I suppose a shopkeeping, bluestocking spinster must be passionate about something.”
Though the slight stung, it held a pithy truth.
Eliza opened her mouth to leap to her sister’s defense, it seemed, then caught Esmée’s warning glance and quieted. Only the Almighty could change Lady Griffin’s heart. Or her own, for that matter. Biting her lip lest their banter develop into a full-blown row, Esmée drew a relieved breath as talk returned to the ball. But her mind remained on the almshouse and how to better it.
CHAPTER
fifteen
Captain Lennox, might I have the pleasure of your accompanying me home for supper tonight?” Quinn said.
Henri pushed up from his chair after two days of meetings in the middle room at the governor’s palace, stomach rumbling in answer. “Obliged, Lord Drysdale.”
“You’ve yet to meet my lovely wife. She’s quite fond of company and conversation.” Quinn, known far and wide for his hospitality, clapped a hand on Henri’s shoulder. “And I hope you’ll find our new French chef second to none here in Williamsburg, even the governor’s own.”
After a few more minutes exchanging farewells with a dozen or so officials, they left the governor’s residence and began their walk down Palace Green. A late afternoon drizzle had done little in the way of dampening the revelry. Market Square was glistening, numerous stalls and hawkers offering all manner of Virginia goods.
“Fresh air is never more welcome than after being sequestered in the palace or the House of Burgesses,” Quinn said with a relieved smile.
“Mind if we stop by the fruit seller?” Henri eyed the booth across the wide street. “Lady Drysdale might enjoy a pineapple or some bounty from the Summer Isles.”
“No purchase quite like a gift.” Quinn swung his walking stick with élan. “Do I detect a note of wistfulness in your tone? A longing for the Caribbean, Captain?”
“Mayhap. It nearly became home, as I was away from Virginia for so long.”
“My family has a sugar plantation in Barbados. Dreadfully hot. Mosquitos as big as dinner plates,” Quinn lamented. “I’m due to return soon on necessary business after the birth of my firstborn.”
“I prefer Saint Barthélemy with the hidden coves of Anse du Gouverneur and the sandy beaches of Saline.” Henri’s pleasant tone turned wry. “French buccaneers, iguanas, andle chocolat.”
Quinn smiled his amusement. “You speak fluent French, no doubt.”
“Oui.” Henri shrugged. “Je peux communiquer de façon simple.”
“There is nothing simple about you, Captain,” Quinn replied as Henri selected two lush pineapples and paid in pieces of eight. “And I can’t help but wonder whether you will risk the governor’s dangerous proposition or decline and simply sail away to fairer destinations.”
“I have some time to consider it, though the sea, sun, and sand are a powerful elixir,” Henri confessed, his head still full of the arguments for and against the proposal in the governor’s chambers. “At least we all agree something must be done to stop the French by sea lest we be ruled by the French on land.”
“Agreed. But at what cost? Your very life, mayhap. And those of your men.”
“War is the trade of kings, after all.”
“Indeed.” Quinn tipped his hat to someone in passing. “I’d much rather speak of our shared opposition of the slave trade.”
“’Tis rare to find one with such convictions, especially in slave-heavy Virginia.”
“A tragedy I strive to rectify, though I may see little done to abolish it in my lifetime.” Quinn turned to him, his ever genial eyes grave. “But at least I can begin making changes on the sugar plantation I mentioned, replacing Africans with indentures.”
“You have an air of Granville Sharp and other staunch abolitionists about you.”
“I was trained at London’s Temple Court with the best of them. And I’ve been inspired by your past burning of theSwallow, an audacious act that gained considerable attention and made a great many men and women consider their stance on the matter. Far more effective than printing a broadside or waxing eloquent about it in the newspapers.”
