“A delightful breakfast awaits us.”
At the close of her door, Esmée went to the window. With the tower unlit till tomorrow, the darkness was profound save the square of yellow gleaming from the captain’s own cottage. Though she couldn’t see it, she could hear the surf beating against the beach and the moan of the wind that drove it there. Yet she’d never felt so secure. So ... serene.
Was God’s leading not the way of peace? She sought the hearth again, already at home in her chair, thankful for all the little things Henri had superintended for her comfort. Or was she making it more significant than it actually was? He would, in truth, have done the same for any keeper, would he not? She settled back in her chair and tried not to think of his leaving. She mustn’t let her present happiness and the blessing God had given her depend on the captain and his future.
CHAPTER
thirty-seven
The following day Henri pulled on his boots, the gray day beyond his cottage like a woolen blanket, in direct contrast to his sunny mood. The island smelled clean, as it always did after a windy lashing—of wet rocks and sodden sand and foamy treasures pushed ashore from the deep.
His first thought on awakening had been Esmée. Mayhap her last thought had been of him. He’d seen her at her parlor window around nine o’clock when he’d returned from his usual rounds before retiring. He nearly couldn’t sleep. Thank heaven she wasn’t on the other end of the island, miles distant. He chuckled. Thank heaven Hermes and crew were.
He stood and exchanged last night’s rain gear for a woolen coat, his red Monmouth cap for a tan cocked hat. Used to being alone on his own stretch of beach, especially in the morning, he left the cottage to a pleasant surprise. Esmée was walking away from him as the tide went out, her purple cape aflutter. Every now and then she bent over to pick something up and examine it. Just like her shelling that day they’d first met.
He headed toward her, coming up from behind slowly so as not to startle her. “Good morning, Miss Shaw.”
“A fine day to you, Captain.”
He wanted to sayEsmée, but a new formality had crept in with her position. It weighed on him, but he let it pass. “What have you there?”
She held out something blue and jagged. She’d said on her arrival she was hoping for a pearl.
“Sea glass.” He took the piece and held it up to the light, its green tint visible. “Likely from a bottle of spirits. Pearls suit you better.”
She smiled at him, her upswept hair pillowing a bit loosely about her face, two long curls over her shoulder. “I’ll keep looking.”
Farther down the beach he heard laughter. Cyprian was on hand, entertaining the maidservant, who had an egg basket on one arm. No doubt he’d visited the hens roosting at the Flask and Sword as a way of introduction. Clever, that.
“Tell me your maidservant’s story,” he said, falling into step beside her.
Esmée kept her eyes on the sand. “Lucy is but eighteen, orphaned after her parents died of fever. She was at the almshouse long enough to take a dislike to it. Being skilled with a needle, she was on her way to being bound out to a mantuamaker. When I gave her the choice to come with me, she readily assented. But I do wonder about keeping her isolated here long.”
“At the moment she seems happy enough.”
Laughter erupted again, Lucy’s mingled with Cyprian’s.
“Is that a monkey I spy on the shoulder of your cabin boy?” Esmée asked. “The renowned Hermes, I take it.”
He chuckled. “You’ve yet to be formally introduced. Cyprian is my steward and has charge of Hermes for the time being.”
“I’ve never seen a better dressed youth.”
“Once he laid eyes on fair Lucy, he must have decided to bedeck himself in the finest garments to be had from the common chest.”
“Ah, the slops chest, Father called it. Plunder.”
“Aye, from seized enemy vessels.”
The lad did look a tad ludicrous, having traded his humble workingtrousers and shirt of yesterday for ruffles and silk. But Lucy seemed to be enjoying the attention, and Henri would rather they be here than in the alleys and gin shops ashore.
“Tell me his story.” Esmée looked at him, another wisp of hair tumbling down. With a gloved hand she looped it behind her ear, jarring the bonnet that matched her gown.
He was having a devil of a time trying to stay his hand and not right it for her, staunching his urge to throw her hat to the wind, take out all the pins, and tumble her hair further. “Cyprian is Portuguese. I found him begging at the port of Lisbon. He’s served aboard theRelentlessfor several years and is well into manhood, though he looks younger.”
“They’ve known such hardship already.” Esmée’s expression turned pensive. “Their laughter does me good. Let them have their amusement while they may.”
They walked on in silence for a time, pausing now and again to examine something interesting on the beach. When he gave a little bow and held out another piece of sea glass, she curtsied prettily in return, making them both laugh.
