The lieutenant.
Standing there in uniform, talking to her father.
He’d survived.
She ran the rest of the way down the path.
When she drew near to the dock, she stopped and glanced down. What was she thinking? Streaks of flour marred her skirt, and her plain blouse clung to sweat-dampened skin. Brushing her hands up to her head, she groaned. Wisps of hair had escaped her handkerchief and stuck out in every direction.
She couldn’t face him looking like this.
From where she stood, she could not see the other side of the dock where the men had been standing. If she turned back, she could go home and change. And then what? What excuse would she have for coming to the docks all dressed up? What if the ship left by then? She bit down on her lip. If he left before she got a chance to see him, she’d never forgive herself.
Her gaze slid to the tavern, not far from the docks. Colette would help make her at least presentable. It would only take a few minutes. With a grin, she hurried that way.
“Josephine, what are you doing down here?”
Her father’s voice brought her to a stop and she gave a feeble attempt to press her curls beneath her handkerchief before slowly turning. He strode toward her, alone. Thank goodness.
“I came to see the ship.” She pointed at the sloop.
“Ah yes. She’s a beauty, isn’t she? TheUSS Tempest, newly constructed.”
With a nod, Josephine started walking again, a curse dancing upon her lips. If only she had finished her bread a little earlier.
Footsteps came from behind her as he caught up. “While you’re down here, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
She stopped in her tracks.
“I think it’s time you get married.”
Josephine spun to face him, panic twisting in her gut. “Wh-What do you mean?”
“You’re three and twenty. While I have long hoped that Tortuga would become a prosperous island, it has not. And while it has remained outside of the conflict in Haiti, I fear for the future. If the French are overthrown, my position will be in danger.”
The revolution in Haiti had been going on for over a decade. Though her father rarely spoke of it, the pirates and merchants at the tavern did. Josephine was not naive. “But what does that have to do with me getting married?”
Her father gave her a tight smile. “If the revolution succeeds, we would have to return to Europe. But that would be hard on you. I have no connections there, no standing. It would be a difficult life. Cyrus Wentworth has just written to me asking for your hand, and I believe he is a good match for you.”
Josephine stepped back, a stark coldness sliding through her veins. “Cyrus Wentworth? I don’t even know who that is.”
“Oh come now, he’s the American sugar merchant who has dined at our home many a time.”
“That old man?” Josephine recoiled at a recollection of gray hair and a rotund belly. “You can’t be serious.”
He frowned. “He’s not that old.”
“He’s older than you!” She crossed her arms across her chest, her heartbeat pounding a wild tune against her skin. “I will not marry him. I would rather go to Europe with you.”
With a sigh, he turned to face the sea. “I want you to be secure. We have lived a good life here, never in need or want. Cyrus has dined with kings, bankrolled naval contracts, and buried two wives. You’d want for nothing.”
“Papa, I can’t.” Josephine’s voice cracked. “I do want to get married. But not to someone three times my age whom I don’t even know.”
“Well, he’ll be arriving here next week on a merchant run, so you’ll have some time to become more acquainted with him.”
“I said no. This conversation is over.” She spun away but he followed.
“Josephine!”
