“A chapelandgarden? How delightful! Then I shall be doublyrelieved all winter, knowing none here are in need.” Esmée felt one burden lighter. How quickly life could take a turn. Only recently she’d been sitting at her father’s table feeling as spent as the guttering candles, and now this.
Might the captain have done the benevolent deed? Or ... had the sea chaplain decided to somehow curry her favor by giving to a cause dear to her heart?
“I’ve need of guidance.” Ned paced before the hearth as rain drummed a steady rhythm on the cottage’s shingled roof. Since their return to the island, the weather had been fitful. “You’re the best one suited to offer advice, given you were once fond of the woman I now favor.”
Henri leaned back in his wing chair, feet extended to the roaring fire. He could feel the heat through the worn soles of his boots. “Since I failed in that respect, mayhap you’d best consult Southack or Robbins.”
“Southack, who cavorts with every native woman he sees? Or Robbins, so prudish a first mate he can’t speak of a woman without a feverish blush?”
“What are you in need of knowing?” Henri asked grudgingly.
“How to proceed.” Ned raked a hand through lank hair and came to a sudden stop. Leaning into the mantel, he seemed so perplexed that Henri bit his tongue lest he laugh. “I’ve gained her father’s approval. Now hers is needed. But how do I call upon her? What should I bring?”
“Bring yourself.” Henri moved to add another stick of wood to the fire. “State your intentions and see what she says.”
“But—”
“Take care to not overthink it lest you appear a straw man. Speak from the heart.”
“How easy you make it sound.”
“You’ll know soon enough if she favors you.”
Ned looked to the Bible open on the table as if contemplating hismost biblical option. “Perhaps I should ponder the Song of Songs first.”
Henri uttered a warning. “Careful lest it inflame you before your time.”
“What?”
“’Tis a biblical celebration of marriage, not courtship. An unabashedly sensuous book.”
Ned assumed an injured look. “I am a chaplain, remember. I well know what it says, though in all truthfulness, I’ve not visited its passages in some time.”
“Here’s another caution.” Henri cleared his throat, bracing himself against the onrush of carefully stowed memories. “Speak no French.”
“French? Miss Shaw does not care for it?”
“It may remind her of my doing so and slow your pursuit.”
“Touché, Captain.” Understanding lit Ned’s features. Then a shadow darkened his brow. “I confess she bears a striking resemblance to Verity.”
Verity. Ned’s betrothed who’d died of fever. As he’d never met her, Henri was in the dark.
“Same hair and eye color,” Ned murmured mournfully. “Same penchant for confections.”
“If your attraction is based on a dead woman,” Henri told him curtly if kindly, “’tis rocky ground upon which to proceed.”
“Well taken.” Ned began pacing again, no small feat given the close quarters, and looked so troubled Henri sensed something more was on his mind than courtship.
“What weighs on you, Ned? Surely not the lovely Miss Shaw.”
Ned shook his head. “The thought of living with my maiden aunts on a sprawling plantation is ... daunting.”
“’Tis nothing like the sea.” Henri stared at the dog irons, pondering Ned’s predicament. “Though if you can handle shipboard conditions as well as you did, several women and a great deal of acreage seem less burdensome.”
“I’m considering a pastorate. A parish. There are many in need of shepherding in various places in Virginia and elsewhere.”
“Why not preach and minister to the Africans within your sphere at Mount Autrey?”
