“Nothing remotely eloquent about smelling a vessel before it’s sighted. Or men, women, and children chained and lying in filth after only two days at sea.” Though it had been eight years since the tragedy, the misery was burned into his memory like an African brand. “I have no words for those who captain such ships or claim human cargo, many of them our fellow Virginians.”
“Woefully so.” Quinn’s eyes flashed. “’Tis a trade of the greatest inhumanity and an affront to God Almighty.”
“Yet slavery remains the cornerstone of the British empire clear to the Caribbean.”
“You had a taste of slavery yourself, being impressed in the Royal Navy, taken from your home and family and all you held dear.”
“It hardly compares to the evil done the Africans, but aye, a small taste. The experience opened my eyes to those held against their will, their God-given rights violated.”
They walked in silence for several moments, beyond the busy marketplace. Henri breathed deeply of the autumn air. Fall, despite its melancholy bent, had always been his favorite season.
“I’m a poor host bringing up such dark matters.” Quinn quickened his pace, his voice lifting. “Let us dwell on the present instead. You are our honored guest, and I’m certain Cook has prepared something that will tempt your French sensibilities. My wife will entertain us after supper with the harpsichord, and if you choose to stay on, there will even be illuminations on Palace Green after dark.”
They turned up Nassau Street with its deep shade and elegant townhouses, the gardens surrounding them still abloom and untouched by frost. A few welcoming lights shone in windows, liftingHenri’s pensive mood. If he refused the governor’s offer, he could settle down. Have a wife who might even play the harpsichord. Hire a cook to turn out endless tantalizing dishes. Beget children to chase after. Cultivate landlocked friends like Quinn. It sounded ... idyllic.
Impossible.
They mounted brick steps to a door opened by a stone-faced butler in livery.
“Good evening, sirs.”
The foyer, fragrant with cooking herbs, was dominated by a curving staircase. Hats and coats discarded, they passed into a spacious, blue-paneled parlor. Feminine voices could be heard upstairs, and then came a light tread on the steps. Henri faced the doorway, ready to greet Lady Drysdale, whoever she might be. His acquaintance with Quinn was just a few days old, but they’d found common ground in the governor’s oft heated meetings. Henri was impressed with the younger man’s sound judgment and thorough knowledge of colonial affairs.
“Quinn, is that you?” The lovely voice heralded the appearance of a young woman in rustling crimson silk, her throat wrapped in rubies.
Henri’s mind whirled.
Lady Drysdale née Eliza Shaw?
The wrench in his gut was offset by Eliza’s trilling laugh. “Dear husband, have you played a prank on our unsuspecting captain?”
Though she seemed every bit as taken aback as he was, Eliza recovered well. Henri looked down at the pineapples he held, wishing himself back at the governor’s palace. Had he judged Quinn wrong? Was this some sort of tawdry prank?
But it was Quinn who appeared the most confused. He shot a glance at Henri, then returned to his wife. “I was unaware Captain Lennox was known to you.”
“Well...” Eliza flushed the hue of her gown. “Long ago, yes. We retain a great respect for him, of course, though we did not think to cross paths again.”
“We?” her husband prodded.
A sigh. “My sister and myself. And Father, of course.” Eliza swallowed and darted a glance at the foyer. “But mostly Esmée.”
Understanding seemed to dawn on his host’s face. “Blast!” Quinn blanched. “Forgive me, Captain. At least take back your pineapples—”
“A peace offering,” Henri jested, still trying to grasp Eliza’s very advantageous marriage to one of Virginia’s foremost officials.
Thanking him, she came forward and took the fruit from his outstretched hands. “How did you know pineapples are my preference?”
A sudden movement in the foyer caused all eyes to shift to the doorway. Esmée, of course. Admiral Shaw was just behind her, obviously as delighted as his oldest daughter was not.
“Captain Lennox!” he all but thundered in the distressed silence. “What brings you to our door?”
“Lord Drysdale invited me to”—Henri’s gaze hung on Esmée—“to cause a commotion.”
They laughed, all but Esmée, whose tentative half-smile didn’t reach her eyes. She came toward them, as comely as ever in a shimmering blue gown. He preferred it to her yellow ensemble at the ball. Blue was always eye-catching, mayhap because it reminded him of the sea. The silken fabric seemed like water poured over her, so flattering was the fit, every inch of cloth and lace accentuating her buxom figure.
“Best have it out in the open.” Esmée came to stand between her father and Eliza. “Once upon a time Captain Lennox and I had a ... an understanding.”
“Of the romantic sort,” Eliza finished with a genuine smile. “But ’tis ancient history, and today dawns anew. This evening, rather.”
