A history that’d somehow helped ease her stress, or Grace wouldn’t have tried to touch him. If her stress had remained high, she would’ve believed the contact. Obviously, she no longer needed an imaginary companion to help her. Restoring the house and grounds, working to make a permanent place for herself—dependent on no one else—those were the best decisions she could’ve made. The past months atSweet Dreamshad done their job. Luc was part of the past. She prepared for bed. When she picked up theOnly Love’s log book, she put it back down. Grace wouldn’t read it. She no longer needed help to sleep. She opened the antique armoire, which she’d taken from the attic and restored, placing the book on the high shelf, well out of sight. She climbed back into bed, wound the music box, shut off the electric lamp, and relaxed into her pillow. She could sleep easy, because she’d never see the troubling man again.He isn’t real.
The dogs woke her around sunrise. She stretched, relaxed and smiling. “Today’s going to be a great day, guys.” They sat, tails thumping the floor, their front paws moving restlessly.
“Yes, I know you need to go out. Just let me get dressed.”
Soon, the three of them left the house by the ground level back door. Mercury and Mars raced off to do their business, then chase after rabbits and butterflies. Several days passed. Grace settled into a comfortable routine. She rarely gave thought to the ship she’d imagined and never found. She purposely denied the existence of her imaginary corsair. She never sat on the dock at night anymore. Grace was too busy, and she’d been sleeping well. One day blended into another, until the morning she was supposed to tour the fields with her land manager, and she couldn’t find her camp hat. She searchedevery room, the stable, the new toolshed and even newer storage barn, where harvested corn and beans waited for the buyers to come for them.
She started the search again in her bedroom. Grace opened the armoire and found the hat on the high shelf.
I swear I searched that shelf first.
She grasped the brim and pulled.
The hat should have come easily.
Instead, it resisted.
The chin strings were probably stuck on a splinter or something. She lifted the hat—which wasn’t easy given the height of the shelf—then tugged harder.
The hat released finally, along with the forgotten logbook, which tumbled down, nearly striking her nose as it dangled from a knot in the chin strings, wedged somehow into the space between the spine and the bound pages.
She cursed in her head and freed the book. In too much of a hurry to get on with her day, she left the log on her bed.
The tour of the fields took most of the day. Grace was gratified to see the beetroot stecklings sprouting leaves. When she and the land manager parted at the house, she cared for Maymie, then took herself inside, poured a tall glass of iced tea and went upstairs to take a cooling bath instead of exhausting herself with work on her account books.
With the entire evening ahead of her, she let the dogs out and paced the kitchen, uncertain what to do next.
“I could use a good novel,” she told Mars and Mercury when they returned, flanking her as they tended to do.
“Woof,” Mars barked. Mercury tilted his head, as if nodding.
“You honestly think I should start reading that logbook again?” Of course, her own mind prompted the suggestion, not the dogs.
What harm could there be?I haven’t conjured Luc or that ship in weeks.
“Fine, let’s go up to the bedroom. I’ve got a nice comfy wingback from the Queen Anne period and a needlepoint footstool to rest my feet on while I read.”
Mercury whined and looked across the kitchen to the pantry.
“Yes, I’ll bring a couple pieces of rawhide for you two.”
Before she settled into her chair, Grace opened the long window, pushing aside the curtains she’d made to let in the night air and the light of the full March moon. Then she picked up the logbook and sat. Near the door, the dogs munched noisily on their rawhide.
She ignored her own bookmark and let the log fall open at random. Anchorage at the mouth of Mal Chance Bayou, 8 December 1814.
That would’ve been about three weeks before the Battle of New Orleans. Had the captain and his crew taken part in the battle?
Most historians focused on the action between American and British troops. Few reported on the various naval actions that preceded the dramatic New Year’s Day battle. She read on.
We will remain here until after the New Year. All the men have been given shore leave. Some plan to travel to visit with family. I suspect they’ll not return. No matter, New Orleans always has plenty of men willing to set sail. I am relieved to have most of the crew gone. I will see Grainne tonight. The name was familiar, almost intimate. Where had she seen or heard it?
Perhaps if she kept reading, she’d remember.
Astracamino will bring her then make himself scarce. He must suspect how important she is to me, though I have not confided in him. I won’t until she agrees we should marry. Finally, after all the wasted years, happiness is within our grasp.
So, theOnly Love’s captain was resuming a love affair from years before. How romantic.
I’ve adorned the sleeping alcove of my cabin with a lover’s care. Incense burns on the brazier. Rose petals decorate the bed. Quite the adventure, that. Louisiana is suffering a cold spell. Finding roses in December is hard enough when the weather is warm. Fortunately, one of the local landowners has a conservatory and was persuaded to sell every rose he owned, with the promise that I would personally deliver replacement plants in the spring. The bed is draped in gauze and the sheets are silk. Comfits and cakes from New Orleans’ finest bakery await at the side of the bed along with crystal and the best French Champagne. The crew and I went to great lengths to get that wine from France through the British Blockade and into NewOrleans. The profit was significant, enough that I was able to reserve a few bottles for my own use.
