Surrender the Dawn (40 page)

Crane stormed back into the Fountain Inn, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Shoving his way through the crowd, he entered the side room, grabbed a glass of punch wine, and tossed it to the back of his throat, ignoring the gasps of a few ladies nearby. When he lowered his glass, it was to the curious gaze of Lieutenant Abner Tripp.

“Something vexing you, Mr. Crane?”

“Yes, indeed.” He tugged the lieutenant to the side, out of the hearing of curious ears. “You told me that if I confiscated Miss Channing’s prize winnings, you’d take care of Mr. Heaton for me.” Setting his empty glass on the tray of a passing butler, he grabbed another full one. “And I just saw him in a rather passionate embrace with the lady outside.”

The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, it seems my initial plan failed.” He gazed across the chattering crowd. “Though I cannot imagine why. The man should have been caught by a British warship or sunk.”

Crane sipped his drink. “But instead, he sails into town on that heap of wood and tar with more earnings. How am I to impress upon Miss Channing her need to marry me when that tavern mongrel”—he growled—“continually feeds her money and charm. And the woman soaks it up like the gullible hussy she is.”

“Indeed, I quite agree.” Lieutenant Tripp rubbed the scar on his face. “It is inconceivable that the man continues to have so much success at sea. And in such a short amount of time. And I daresay, I find his avoidance of the blockade quite baffling.”

Crane drained the remaining wine from his glass. “So, we have established that the man is a good privateer. How does that work in our favor?”

“Because, kind sir, I do not believe he is as skilled as he pretends. No”—the lieutenant leaned closer to Crane, lowering his voice—“I suspect foul play.”

“I am of the same mind, sir!” Crane shouted, happy to find a partner in his suspicions, but quickly slammed his mouth shut at the lieutenant’s look of censure.

Tripp smiled at a passing couple then shifted his slitted eyes around the crowd. They halted on a man hovering over the refreshment table. “Ah, and there is the solution to our problem, sir.”

Crane’s muddled vision found the dandy in question, a man the lieutenant had pointed out before as Mr. Keene, the boatswain aboard Mr. Heaton’s ship. “What does it matter, sir? All Heaton’s vermin are loyal to him.”

“Perhaps, yes. But I’ve heard Mr. Keene likes his drink. And I’ve also heard his tongue loosens considerably the deeper into his cups he becomes.”

Crane smiled. “What do you say we set up a meeting at a nearby tavern with the man?”

Stretching, Cassandra pushed aside the curtains and sat in the window seat, peering down at her solarium. Laughter shifted her gaze to the back garden where Hannah and Darlene held hands and twirled in a circle, singing “Ring around the Rosie.” She smiled. Sunlight coated her in warmth, and she drew a deep breath of the fresh dewy morning. An odd sensation over came her. One she hadn’t felt in years.

Happiness.

After Mr. Heaton’s …
Luke’s
declaration of love two nights past, she’d hardly slept a second. Closing her eyes, she pictured him standing in the moonlight, a loose strand of his black hair grazing the stubble on his jaw. The look of adoration in his eyes. The tender love in his kiss. The feel of his strong arms around her. He loved her! And he had vowed to change.

Perhaps she was a fool to trust him. But she couldn’t help it. She’d never been more sure of anything or anyone in her life.

Opening her eyes, she hugged herself and smiled. She had enough money to provide for her family and was being courted by the most fascinating, strong, capable man.

“You’re in love, miss.” Margaret’s voice jerked Cassandra from her daze, tossing her heart into her throat.

“Sorry to startle you. I knocked but there was no answer.” The perky maid flitted into the room, carrying a pitcher of water and a grin on her rosy face.

Cassandra slid off the seat. “What did you say?”

“You are positively glowing this morning, miss. You must be thinking of him.”

“Why, whoever are you referring to?” Cassandra gave her a coy look.

“Why”—Margaret lifted her brows—“Mr. Heaton, of course.”

Cassandra moved to her bed and grabbed the post. “Yes. I admit it. I do love him.” She touched Margaret’s arm, stopping her. “Have I gone mad?”

“Love is never madness, miss.” Margaret continued to the dressing table and poured water into a china basin. She began humming a hymn.

Cassandra clutched the folds of her white nightdress. “But his reputation …”

“We have all made mistakes. People change, miss.”

“I hope you’re right.” Cassandra settled onto her bed. “But what will Mother think?”

“Your mother will accept him, in time.”

Cassandra wished she harbored the same confidence.

Her maid’s eyes flashed. “Perhaps God has not abandoned you after all?”

“Perhaps.” Cassandra flipped her long braid over her shoulder. Yet she was not quite ready to concede on that point. “We shall see. But do help me get dressed, Margaret. Luke is coming to call, and I want to look my best.”

Two hours later, a knock on the front door sent Cassandra’s heart spinning as she sat in the parlor reading a storybook to Hannah and Darlene.

Her mother looked up from her crocheting. “Whoever could that be? We aren’t expecting anyone.”

Before Cassandra could answer, Mr. Dayle, with a smirk on his face, announced Mr. Heaton. The handsome privateer stepped into the room. He had combed his hair and tied it neatly back and even shaved for the occasion. Cassandra lifted a hand to her cheek, remembering the scratch of his stubble on her skin.

An unavoidable smile flirted on her lips, no doubt noticed by her mother.

Frowning, she tossed aside her crocheting and rose from her seat. “Mr. Heaton. This is most unexpected.”

But his eyes were on Cassandra. His smile warmed her. Turning, he dipped his head toward her mother. “Your daughter invited me to call, Mrs. Channing.”

Her mother’s incredulous gaze sped to Cassandra.

“Do sit down, Luke.” Cassandra gestured toward the sofa. “Forgive me, Mother, I forgot to mention it,” she lied. In truth, she didn’t know how to tell her mother that she and Mr. Heaton were courting.

Leaping from the sofa, Darlene barreled into Luke. He swept her up into his arms. “There’s my little runaway.” Darlene giggled and gestured for Hannah to join her.

“Hannah, this is Mr. Heaton,” Cassandra said. “He’s the captain of the privateer I’ve hired.”

The little girl inched toward him, thumb in her mouth. She curtseyed and mumbled something that resembled, “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

“I’m happy to see you well, Miss Hannah.” Luke smiled down at the little girl. “I heard you were ill.”

Hannah plucked her thumb from her mouth. “Miss Margaret says God healed me.”

Bending over, Luke set Darlene down and held out his hand to Hannah. Much to Cassandra’s surprise, the little girl didn’t hesitate to reach for him. He placed a kiss upon her hand. “You are both as beautiful as your older sister.”

They giggled, and Hannah gave him a wide grin.

Cassandra shook her head. His charm on women held no boundaries.

Luke faced her mother, who stood staring at the display as if the devil himself had just charmed her daughters into selling their souls to him. “Mrs. Channing, a vision of loveliness as always.” He gave her that beguiling grin that had melted a thousand hearts.

It softened the look of horror on her mother’s face. “You flatter me, sir.” She looked away. And for the first time, Cassandra saw a blush rise on her mother’s cheeks. Had she ever seen such a reaction to her father’s attention? Luke’s blue eyes found Cassandra again, and a look of affection stretched between them. Her heart fluttered like a thousand birds in flight.

Out of the corner of her vision, Cassandra could see her mother pick up her handkerchief and wave it about her flushed face, eyeing them with suspicion.

“Didn’t you say, dear, that you need to go to the chandler for some more candles? You should gather Margaret and go before the heat becomes unbearable.”

“Mother, we have a guest. I can go anytime.”

Resigned, her mother sank back onto her chair.

Mrs. Northrop entered with a service tray and slid it onto the table. “Mr. Dayle suggested you’d be wanting tea for your guest, miss.” She poured three cups and scurried away.

Luke lowered himself onto the sofa.

Darlene slid beside him, but Hannah squeezed in between them and gazed up at him curiously. “Are you a pirate?”

Luke smiled and a chuckle escaped his lips. Twisting his face, he hunched over and growled. “Arg, ye be right about that.” Sending both girls into a fit of giggles.

“Oh my.” Her mother heaved a sigh. But Cassandra blinked at the sight, unable to reconcile the town ruffian with this man who appeared so at ease with children.

“Do you ever fire your cannons?” Darlene battled Hannah for a spot beside him then finally moved to sit on his other side.

“Girls, this is hardly appropriate conversation.” Mrs. Channing’s sharp tone pierced the joy that had infiltrated the room.

“Fire my guns? Why, all the time.” Luke’s eyes beamed as he picked up his tea. The china cup appeared ill placed in his large, tanned hands. “Perhaps I’ll let you come aboard and fire one sometime.”

Darlene’s face lit in excitement. “I’d like that very much.”

“Me too! Me too!” Hannah jumped up and down, nearly spilling the tea in Luke’s cup. He set it down on the table.

A loud bark preceded Dexter, who romped into the room on all fours. The massive dog charged toward Luke and tossed his front paws onto Luke’s lap before he could move out of the way. Not that he would have done so, for he seemed to welcome the dog as he chuckled and ran his fingers through the animal’s fur—even allowing Dexter to lick his face.

Shocked, Cassandra stood. “Get down, Dexter.” She dashed toward them. “Luke, please forgive him. He’s not normally so affectionate with strangers.”

“Oh, my head.” Grabbing her bell, Mrs. Channing, shook it, sending a
ding ding ding
bouncing over the walls.

Luke rose to his feet, shifting the animal from his lap. “It’s no bother.”

Dexter barked and leapt onto the spot on the sofa that Luke had just vacated. Darlene and Hannah began wrestling with the animal.

Ignoring the mayhem, Cassandra stared at Luke, longing to be alone with him. “When are you setting sail?”

“In two days.”

“So soon?”

“I’m afraid so.” His blue eyes adored her. “The war takes no respite.”

Mrs. Northrop stomped into the room and turned expectant eyes to Cassandra’s mother, who stopped ringing her bell and waved toward the cyclonic havoc occupying the sofa. “Please take that unruly beast out to the garden,” she ordered.

Clutching Dexter by the collar, Mrs. Northrop led him away with a huff.

“Hannah, Darlene,” her mother barked. “Both of you settle down as well or you’ll be joining Dexter.”

Much to Cassandra’s surprise, both girls sat back and folded their hands in their laps.

“Did you hear the musket shots last night?” Her mother’s attempt at breaking the spell that kept Cassandra’s and Luke’s gazes locked on each other was obvious.

Severing the connection, Luke faced the elder woman. “I’ve heard rumors of British troop movements to the south. Some say they are heading for Washington.” He lowered himself to sit between Hannah and Darlene, stretching his booted feet out before him.

“Surely they won’t attempt to capture our capital?” Cassandra took her seat again, envious of her sisters’ close proximity to Luke.

“Who can know?” He shrugged. A strand of hair that had loosened during the chaos slid over his jaw. “But General Smith has the fort on alert and has ordered the entire militia to be on the ready.”

“What is militia, Cassie?” Darlene asked.

“They are citizen soldiers, sweetheart.”

An unsettled silence permeated the room.

Her mother eyed Luke as if she wished she could summon Mrs. Northrop to take him out back as well. She took a sip of tea. “What is the purpose of your call, Mr. Heaton?”

Cassandra squeezed her hands together and cleared her throat. She had best just blurt it out. “Mother, you should know that Mr. Heaton and I are courting.”

Mrs. Channing dropped her cup with a clank on its side, spilling her remaining tea into the saucer. “Oh my.” Closing her eyes, she raised a hand to her brow. “What of Mr. Crane?”

“What
of Mr.
Crane, Mother?” Anger overcame Cassandra’s concern
for her mother’s nerves.

“He’s made his interest in you quite clear, my dear.”

“That he has,” Cassandra said. “But I hardly think that mentioning it in front of Mr. Heaton is appropriate.”

“But Mr. Crane is …” Her mother opened her eyes and shook her head as if trying to shake off the words she’d just heard. “He’s …”

“Much more respectable than I? Much more stable? Honorable?” Luke leaned forward on his knees and cocked his head. “Is that what you intended to say, Mrs. Channing?”

“Since we’re being forthright, sir. Yes. That is precisely what I was going to say.”