When her gaze met his, he was overcome with love for her. And second chances. The emotion shining in her eyes raised such a knot in his throat, he wondered how he’d be able to voice the order to weigh anchor once it came.
The door shut on the wind and cry of gulls, and then the ensuing hours became a blur of delight. Punch. Sweet cake. Unending jigs and reels and country dances. Lucy in her gown had a ready supply of partners, Cyprian foremost.
When the first shades of evening began to gather, the merriment slowly faded. Though she’d danced with a great many men, Henri included, Esmée looked as lovely as when she’d first set foot in the Flask and Sword. Suddenly he wanted to be alone with her, if onlyto tell her what he couldn’t withhold any longer. The governor’s paperwork had been crystal clear.
He and Esmée exited the tavern, taking the path that would return them to the cottages. Tonight the heavens were spangled with stars, diamond bright, reminding him of their going up-scuttle atop the York townhouse long ago.
“Day after tomorrow we sail,” he said.
Was she as loath to hear the words as he was to say them?
Without so much as a pause, she held up her hand and admired the posy ring. “When you are gone and all this seems like a dream, your gift shall remind me I am indeed to be married.”
He came to a stop on the path. Moonlight cast her in silvery light. Tenderly he kissed her. “Adieu, mon ciel étoilé.”
Goodbye, my starry sky.
CHAPTER
forty-five
Early the next morn Esmée arose and did as she’d begun to do every morning, crossing to the window to look out at Henri’s cottage and the lighthouse before dressing and breakfasting. She’d just finished eating when Lucy answered the knock at the cottage door. Henri stepped inside with a greeting, gaze slanted toward the kitchen, where Esmée was rising from the table.
“Good morn to ye, Captain Lennox.” Flushing furiously, Lucy bobbed a quick curtsy before snatching up her cloak to fetch firewood and hastening out the door.
“I do think she’s afraid of me,” Henri said with a slightly puzzled look. “Or my exaggerated reputation.”
“She’s in awe of you, rather,” Esmée told him with a smile, gesturing to the refilled teapot. “Won’t you join me?”
“How about a walk?”
In moments she was bundled up in her sturdiest shoes and cloak, hood covering the remaining curls from the frolic. A walk would do her good. She must do something to offset her moody thoughts.
A blast of wintry air buffeted them as they stepped outside, arm in arm.
“A cold courtship,” Henri said wryly, pulling his coat collar tighter.
She held on to her hood. “Good thing my heart is far warmer than the weather.”
“We’ll take the pine path instead of the beach.”
There amid the evergreens they were somewhat sheltered from the wind.
“Feels like snow,” he said, his breath a milky cloud.
“Am I wrong to wish we’d be snowbound?”
“Ships are rarely snowbound. But ice is another matter.”
Would they have snow for Christmas? She wouldn’t voice her melancholy that he’d be away for the holiday. Nor would she ask what they did to observe it aboard ship. Precious little, she wagered.
Now that they were away from the fire, the day felt bone-bitter. They walked on, the path winding in places and often picturesque, a cove here or there, the sky and ocean a shining pewter. Finally they came to a sandy rise where the trees gave way. She’d not been to the leeward side of the island. The view was breathtaking.
“’Tis the driest part of the island, protected from prevailing winds. A fine place for a foundation.” Henri gestured to a rock border. “I had my midshipmen lay out stones to mark the boundaries.”
“Our home,” she breathed, a bit awed.
Arranged so plainly and paired with his sketches, the vision assumed a reality previously denied her. A blessed start.
