Didn’t matter.
He wouldn’t love her any less. Nothing could stop the true communion of souls.
The commander put his hands on Daniel, patting his shoulder. “Now calm down, boy. You wouldn’t expect her to be able to answer.”
Ignoring the condescension, Daniel stepped back. Frankly he was used to it, and demanding his earned respect as one of the king’s barristers would change nothing. “Where is Phoebe Dunn?”
“I’ll bring her to you. She has to belong to you. No one else colored has come.”
Daniel buttoned his lips. Ends justified the means. He wasn’t here for a fight but for Phoebe.
The lieutenant waved, and one of his reefers brought forward a bundle. The sailor shoved a beautiful Black baby into Daniel’s arms. “Here’s your Phoebe Dunn.”
The child, a year or more old, latched on to his waistcoat, grabbing a pearl button.
He didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t his bride.
“Did anyone else survive?”
“Just a woman. She was taken away by her family. Very bad shape.” The lieutenant folded up his papers with all the passengers’ names. “The gown the infant wore when we plucked her out of the sea was expensive. Should’ve known a fancy gent like you’d show.”
Daniel was Phoebe’s family here, but this baby wasn’t his bride. “If I hadn’t arrived, what would happen to her?”
“We’d give this baby to a dockworker or to one of your people working the brothels. The hospital and orphanages don’t want the Black ones. Glad you arrived. Saved me work. Next.”
Shaking, angry, cheated, Daniel left the line, but he held the little girl tightly to his chest. He couldn’t hand her back, not to this lieutenant who’d be careless or evil with an infant.
His man, Mr. Anthon, his newest employee, jumped down from his carriage. “Sir, where’s the missus?”
Daniel’s throat closed as he shook his head. He couldn’t say Phoebe was dead.
“Oh no, Mr. Thackery. They’re not keeping her! They can’t treat you like this. Let’s—”
“Mr. Anthon, please. Normally I appreciate your outbursts. Not now. We must leave.” Daniel hated chastising the spirited young fellow, but they needed to be away.
Daniel coughed; everything ached. “The door, Mr. Anthon.”
The young man looked deflated but held it open. “Yes, sir. Where to?”
“To my aunt. I think she and her women should’ve returned from Bath. My aunt . . . she’ll know what to do.”
His footman peeked at the child who still clutched Daniel’s buttons. “She’s mighty attached, sir. Suppose your legal work never ends?”
Anthon’s deep brown eyes narrowed; his dark hand clutched the mantle he proudly starched. “Let’s hope, your aunt, Lady Shrewsbury, will solve this little one’s problem. Nothing has changed for abandoned Blackamoors since you or I were young.”
It hadn’t.
Didn’t Daniel see that every day in court? It was only when he personally aided others, much like his beloved aunt, did things change.
He shifted the babe in his arms and watched Anthon adjust the horse’s reins.
The young man was a street urchin turned pickpocket who Daniel reformed. He had a feeling, with encouragement, this footman would become one of his most faithful servants.
It struck him, Mr. Anthon’s wisdom, deep in his soul. Daniel had found a way to honor Phoebe.
“Head to Finchely instead. I think I know what to do.”
“Very good, sir. We can send for Shrewsbury later.”
