Embrace the Day (4 page)

She almost winced at the gentleness she heard in his tone. She raised her small chin proudly.

"Quite sure, Mr. Adair. But don't start patting yourself on the back. I don't feel at all beholden to you for this."

"I'm not asking you to. Nor am I asking you to forgive me. But I do hope you'll tolerate me for Prudence's sake."

She stopped walking and stared at him. "Prudence?" she asked, her voice rising a little. "How do you know Prudence?"

"Not as well as a man should know his wife," Roarke said simply.

Genevieve's knees began to feel weak and watery. She leaned back against a nearby building for support as Roarke quickly explained what had happened. Angela Brimsby, that viper, was Roarke's cousin. She'd duped the sod into marrying Prudence.

"Gennie?" Roarke was frowning at her. "Are you all right?"

She straightened up quickly, hoping he hadn't guessed at the thoughts that shot through her mind. Drawing a deep breath, she said, "Prudence is my only friend. I'm pleased we'll both be in Virginia." Seeing his face soften, she scowled. "But if you ever do a thing to hurt her, Roarke Adair, I'll find out. I'll find out, and I won't be merciful."

To her surprise, he grinned broadly. "I dare say you won't, Gennie. But don't worry. I've given you little cause to trust me, I know, but I'll do right by Prudence."

"See that you do," she said stiffly, and fled down the street to the tavern.

Genevieve's parents and
brothers were assembled in the empty taproom, where she waited the next morning for Henry Piggot.

Her mother held out a fraying shawl. "Take this. You'll be needing it to keep warm on the crossing."

Thanking her, Genevieve added the shawl to her small bundle of belongings, which consisted of a single set of clothes wrapped around the clock. Her father gave her a linen purse containing a knife and some eating utensils.

"You'd best be looking out for wild Indians," said her brother Tom. "I've heard stories down at the docks—"

"I've survived seventeen years in the meanest slum in London. I have no fear of savages."

The door swung open. Piggot arrived, and Genevieve said a subdued goodbye to her family. She felt the finality of it without regret. The family had always been like strangers living in close quarters, never really seeming to reach one another. The bond, Genevieve realized, had to be deeper than blood alone. It had to be forged by love… a thing that had never touched the Elliots.

For the first time in her life, Genevieve left the teeming city of London. Sitting quietly beside Piggot in a hired coach, she marveled at vast expanses of rolling meadows, neat thatched farmhouses, and fresh-faced people going about their business at a relaxed pace. It was like another world here in the countryside, everything soft and green, so blessedly quiet, the sky a blue she'd never seen before.

When they reached Southampton, they found the tiny walled port shrouded by a gentle springtime fog that swirled above the river Test and beyond the West Quay, where the
Blessing
was anchored.

Genevieve looked out upon the world from a seat atop an empty wooden barrel, watching barks and small shallops being laden with weathered crates. Her favorite sight was that of departing ships, their sails puffed out proudly by the wind, disappearing over the horizon to ports unknown. Now that her destiny had been laid, she was anxious to be on her way.

Finally, Piggot escorted her unceremoniously to the West Quay. The
Blessing
lay ready, her full bow and sleek stern cutting a handsome profile against the sky. A small group of women had just boarded. They were an oddly matched lot, bound, as Piggot explained, to find husbands or work as bonded servants in Virginia.

Genevieve eyed the group curiously, pitying them. There was a mousy girl, painfully plain, who quailed before a brash, loud-talking young woman with painted lips and unnaturally yellow hair. Older ladies, widows perhaps, clutched nervously at the rail, their eyes revealing their worries about what awaited them. Genevieve was glad she wouldn't be subjected to the humiliation of bonded servitude.

She climbed the wooden gangplank and set foot on deck. Barefooted crew members in loose breeches and leather jerkins scurried about and climbed through the rigging, making ready to unfurl the sails.

"Wait here," Piggot said. "You'll be shown to your quarters with the other women."

She nodded and relaxed against the rail. The soft, salty breeze lifted her dark curls, cooling her face and shoulders. She hugged her bundle close and smiled into the wind.

Suddenly, a movement caught her eye. She looked around in time to see Prudence and Roarke stepping onto the deck.

It
was
Prudence, but not the retiring young governess Genevieve knew. The girl looked glorious. Pale, as usual, but not in an unhealthy way. There was an unmistakable air of assurance about Prudence that Genevieve had never seen before. She hesitated, her eyes going to Roarke Adair, the handsome, vital presence at Prudence's elbow. He bore himself stiffly, yet calmly, surveying the activity with sharp blue eyes. He bent and murmured something to Prudence, who nodded and watched him as he strode toward the stern, where blocks of chalk were being brought aboard to be used as ballast, later to be ground into plaster in the colonies.

Once Roarke was gone, Genevieve made her way to Prudence, stepping over lengths of stout rope and wooden grates.

"Hello, Pru."

"Genevieve!" Prudence embraced her. " 'Tis a miracle, is it not, that we're to be together in Virginia? And neighbors at that, Mr. Piggot says. Your Cornelius Culpeper has property near Dancer's Meadow, in Albemarle County."

Genevieve couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. "If you could call my being gambled away in a card game miraculous."

Prudence's face fell. "Roarke told me. He's sorry, Genevieve."

"Never mind. I wasn't happy about the way this came about, but now that it's done, I'm ready for an adventure." She gave Prudence a sideways glance. "You aren't angry with me, are you, for blurting out everything to the Brim?"

"No, Genevieve. Lord knows where I'd be if you hadn't spoken out."

Genevieve swallowed. "Still, I'm sorry. I've since realized that it's not a good thing to go meddling in other people's affairs."

Prudence smiled. Genevieve was glad to see her smiling again. "Never mind. We're still the best of friends, are we not? Truly, I think fate brought us together on this ship. Roarke has promised we'll see each other often."

Genevieve frowned at the way his name trilled on Prudence's lips. "You really don't mind, do you?"

"No." Prudence fingered a small gold locket on a thin chain that had been concealed inside her gown. "I've not been able to simply wash my hands of Edmund, but in time, I think, I'll put him from my mind."

Hesitantly, Genevieve asked, "And what of Roarke Adair?"

"There now, I know you don't like him. But you mustn't judge him. He only suggested what he thought best for you." Prudence gave her a canny glance. "Much as you did for me, Genevieve, in speaking your mind to the Brimsbys."

Chastened, she nodded. "But he seems such a rough, wild sort."

"He's been ever so kind," Prudence insisted. Her hand strayed to her midsection. "He'll be a fine father."

Genevieve stared. "He knows, then? He understands?" Somehow she couldn't imagine Roarke Adair welcoming another man's child.

"Oh, no." Prudence said quickly. "I dare not tell him now. Later, after we've been married some weeks, I'll surprise him."

"Prudence! Bloody sakes, you mean you'll let him believe the babe is his?"

"Of course. It'll come early, but that often happens, I'm told."

Quiet laughter issued from behind them. Prudence's face drained of color as she and Genevieve spun about to find the source. The brash yellow-haired woman from the docks was lounging at the rail, picking absently at a bit of dirt under her fingernail and grinning broadly.

"Mornin'," she said in a husky voice. "I'm Nell Wingfield." She stared at Genevieve and Prudence until Prudence fell back against a grate, looking faint. Nell laughed again and wandered off, swaying her hips so audaciously that one of the sailors in the rigging nearly lost his footing.

"She heard," Prudence whispered faintly. "That woman heard us talking."

"There now, and what if she did?" Genevieve replied.

"You're right," admitted Prudence, relaxing visibly. "Roarke would never believe a tale told by the likes of
her
. Besides, in a few weeks he'll be too excited about the baby to listen to gossip."

Genevieve shook her head slowly in disbelief. She'd always thought Prudence above deception. "I've no great compassion for Roarke Adair," she said, "but still, I think the poor sod deserves to know—"

"Never," Prudence said flatly. "I don't want an innocent child to suffer for the mistakes of others. Actually, it was Mrs. Brimsby's idea. She forbade me to tell the truth and warned me what it could do to the child."

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Genevieve pitied Roarke Adair. What a convenient dupe he'd been, arriving at the perfect time to save the reputations of the Brimsbys and Prudence Moon.

"I must go," Prudence was saying. "Roarke has secured a cabin for us, and I'd like to get settled. Where will you be staying, Genevieve?"

She grimaced. "Below, with the other women. I suspect Mr. Piggot has plenty of Mr. Culpeper's money, easily the four pounds for private quarters, but he's not about to part with it for my sake."

"Poor Genevieve. Please, if you need something—anything—do call on us. Roarke is exceedingly generous."

Genevieve turned away. There was nothing hard about refusing the generosity of Roarke Adair. Spying some of the other women descending a narrow ladder, Genevieve decided to follow them, to see where she would be spending the next several weeks.

The women's quarters were small even by Genevieve's standards. Eight narrow bunks lined the sides of the lower deck. There was a tiny area for stowage beneath each one and not enough headroom to stand. Six of the women had claimed bunks, and Genevieve took a seventh. She looked bleakly at the damp, lumpy mattress. It smelled of mildew and was probably crawling with vermin.

Then Nell Wingfield came in, cursing volubly as her ragged red skirt caught on a splinter. Her garish presence seemed to fill the tiny space.

"Is this the only one not taken?" she demanded, indicating the single empty bunk. When no one responded, she looked about. "Well, it ain't to my liking. I prefer this one, beneath the lantern beam." She stood, arms akimbo, before the mousy girl who occupied the bunk. The girl resignedly began to gather up her things.

"Leave Amy be, Nell Wingfield," one of the older ladies said.

"Shut up, you," Nell snapped. She turned again to Amy. "And you—get your arse up."

Genevieve felt herself grow tense. The women would have to live in these close quarters for weeks, and it wouldn't do to have Nell placing herself at the top of the pecking order right at the start. She jumped up, undaunted by Nell Wingfield's brashness, outraged by her bullying.

"You've no right to that bunk," she stated angrily.

"And who have we here?" Nell purred, falsely congenial. "Ah, the conspirator from above decks… A pretty little piece, and feisty, too." She frowned suddenly and shoved Genevieve away. "One side, wench. I'll sleep where I please."

Cheeks flaming with anger, Genevieve grabbed Nell by the sleeve and, with a great push, flung her on the empty bunk.

"Sleep there, and don't be bothering Amy again."

Nell was upon her instantly, hissing and scratching like a great buxom cat. Emitting foul curses, she took Genevieve's breath away with a fist to the stomach.

Genevieve was no stranger to brawling. Half her childhood, it seemed, had been spent defending herself against bullies. Guided by the wisdom of the East End streets, she wrestled Nell to the planks, finally subduing her by straddling her and pinning her hands beneath her knees.

Nell cursed and thrashed, but Genevieve held fast, her wiry, compact strength well able to best Nell's larger size. "For the last time, Nell, you're to leave all the others alone."

"You damned little chit," Nell ground out. But she ceased her struggling, and Genevieve knew she'd surrendered—for the moment. Genevieve walked calmly to her bunk, acknowledging Amy's tremulous smile of gratitude with a nod. For the second time in her life she'd made a friend. Behind her, Nell cursed again.

She'd also made an enemy.

Genevieve witnessed the
Blessing's
departure from a tiny skylight above the bunks. The women had been instructed to stay below, out of the way of the busy crewmen. She heard the tattoo of running feet above decks, the squealing of chains and pulleys, as the tide swept in and wind swelled the sails.