01 - Captured Dreams Page 6

  “Is that so?” Mary asked, sitting down again with a knowing look on her face.

  The young woman blushed. “Well, perhaps I was. I suppose I should have approached her tonight only with the idea of introducing myself.” She closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging. “You are right. I did not plan everything as clearly as I should have. If Helena had climbed out of her window with me tonight, I had no waiting carriage, nor had I prepared you and William to receive her once we arrived here. I had not gone so far as seeing to the matter of securing a passage back to England. I’m not sure I even have enough money for that.”

  She rubbed her temples, a feeling of gloom taking control of her. “As always, I only focused on the result I wished to achieve and charged after it with no thought as to the consequences. The sad thing is, though, that this is the only way I know of doing things. And now, because of it, I might not ever have another opportunity to make things right.”

  Mary’s hand gently caressed Portia’s tangle of curls. Her voice was kindly when she spoke again. “Tell me what happened at Admiral Middleton’s ball.”

  Reluctantly, Portia told her all that had happened at the mansion, including how she had clambered down the rose trellis and run off with the Admiral’s servants in pursuit. In her mention of Pierce Pennington, however, something told her that it would be better to make her initial meeting with him in the garden less antagonistic than it really was.

  “Mr. Pennington was really quite understanding,” Portia quickly finished, pulling the robe tightly around her. “He even arranged for his groom to drive me back to the house.”

  She knew that in Mary’s eyes, scaling mansion walls and being chased by a mob of servants—as bad as that might be—was not half as deplorable as the other things she had done tonight with the Scotsman.

  “’Tis unbelievable that you were not seriously hurt,” Mary whispered with concern.

  “’Tis more astonishing that I was not caught by Admiral himself,” Portia said honestly. “Although, if I was, I had prepared a fairly good story to use in my defense.”

  Mary let out a breath wearily. “I do not think I should like to hear it. But I also want you to tell me you shan’t try anything so reckless again.”

  A long moment of silence fell in between them. The warm air wafting in from the small windows brought with it the familiar scent of flowers in bloom. She thought of the flowers she had smelled in the Admiral’s gardens.

  “I am still determined to meet with Helena,” Portia said quietly. “I cannot stop now.”

  “But do you intend to meet with her or abduct her?”

  “Only meet her,” Portia promised. “I know now that I must have frightened my mother terribly tonight, knocking on her window while she was asleep. Next time, I will think of a more civil approach.”

  Mary stood p again and walked to the small window at one end of the room, opening it all the way. With her golden hair pulled tightly back and a frown etched on the intelligent face, she was the very picture of concentration when she turned to Portia.

  “The Admiral is a man not well liked by the Sons of Liberty and the Caucuses. I’m certain that his home is well guarded at all times. I think a more civil approach, as you say, will prove much more successful.”

  “You are going to help me with this, aren’t you?”

  “I am going to help you get an answer about whether Helena Middleton is really your mother or not, if such a thing is possible. That, I believe you have a right to know. But as far as the rest of your plans, I want no part in them.”

  “I should be so grateful for any help, Mary.” Portia was too excited to say anything more. The other woman’s interest and participation eliminated all lingering doubts of success.

  “Perhaps we might even ask for Dr. Deming’s assistance in taking you there.”

  Portia shook her head. “Without explaining my reasons, I did ask the same thing of him the first time he suggested whose picture was in my locket. He told me then that he could not help, since he rarely goes as far as Copp’s Hill. In fact, the only times that he attended to Helena was when the Admiral’s personal physician had traveled to Newport for a fortnight.”

  “This makes it even more difficult than I thought,” Mary said, her disappointment showing. “Unfortunately, aside from your friend Bella’s father, William has no connections with the Admiral or those close to him.”

  “Asking Captain Turner is out of question, too.” Portia added quickly. “After leaving unannounced the way I did tonight, I doubt he shall be calling on me again anytime soon. Not that I would want him to. Going to the ball with him was more trouble than I imagined. His attentions are rather…well, pronounced.”

  “But you shall not be climbing any walls again,” Mary stressed.

  “I hope that will not be necessary.”

  “What about the gentleman who arranged for you to get home tonight?”

  “Mr. Pennington. I was told he is a Scot,” Portia offered.

  “He is, indeed. He comes from a very influential family from the Borders. His brother is an earl, and they are very wealthy, I understand. Also, they are involved in shipping…or rather, he is, I believe. I should think that he must be invited to all the important events.” Mary looked at her thoughtfully. “I assume you made a good impression on the gentleman.”

  Searching for an answer to that, Portia’s mind went blank. Somehow, she doubted Mary would consider throwing herself at the man meant making a good impression.

  “You are terribly pale, Portia. Are you unwell?”

  “No…no. ‘Tis the candlelight.” She rose quickly to her feet and moved away, pretending to look at the damaged gown. “His groom drove me to the house. Why is it important that I left a good impression with Mr. Pennington?”

  Mary smiled. “You must have fallen from that trellis harder than youare admitting. He might be able to help you with your plan.”

  “How could he help me?”

  “Pennington has far more connections than anyone else we might know. In addition, he is a fellow Scot. He was invited to the King’s Birthday Ball, which means he could get invited to the Admiral’s home again, or perhaps even introduce you there if you sought his assistance.” Mary lowered her voice. “Also, if Miss Middleton agreed to go back with you to Wales, Mr. Pennington might be the answer to your dilemma there, as well. Perhaps he could be persuaded to assist you in securing a passage on one of his own ships.”

  Portia’s thoughts turned to the man’s departing words. He had no desire to see her ever again. He would never be sympathetic to her cause.

  “I would have needed to make an excellent impression to ask favors of that magnitude,” she whispered, feeling ill.

  “Indeed, the fact that you made a very favorable first impression might just open those doors for you.”

  “Indeed,” Portia said weakly.

  She had no chance.

  CHAPTER 5

  “True, the meeting did not take place,” Nathaniel Muir said in a low voice as the two men rode their horses down King Street toward the Long Wharf. “The muskets and powder were not turned over. But three necks—yours included, my friend—may have been saved from the noose as a result.”

  “What do you mean?” Pierce asked.

  “Last night was a trap. Many officers may have been in attendance at Admiral Middleton’s ball, but twice that many were lying in wait on the waterfront.”

  “How do you know this?” Pierce asked. Nathaniel had still not arrived back from Newport by midnight last night.

  “You should rise sooner. That has been the talk of the town all morning.”

  “If you value that ugly face of yours, Nathaniel, you’ll bloody well tell me what you know.”

  “Very well, my impatient friend. Ebenezer sent me word this morning. A couple of soldiers leaving an alehouse on Queen Street last night were coaxed into a fight by some of the lads. Naturally, they were soon joined by a few apprentices from the rope maker's. They all raised enoug
h of an uproar that an entire company of redcoats—who just happened to be waiting for smugglers—all came running. After that, all hell broke loose. Our friends say it was pure luck that we didn’t have another massacre on our hands.”

  “Did the lads get away?”

  “I believe they did.”

  “Good,” Pierce said as they rode out onto the thirty-foot wide thoroughfare that extended the entire length of Long Wharf.

  Pierce gazed out along the busy wharf, the largest in Boston. Jutting out into the inner harbor over 1800 feet, it served a thousand ships of all sizes that docked there in the course of a year, emptying their holds and loading them up again for the voyage back to England’s bustling ports. Even now, with heavy pressure against the trade of British goods being applied by the rebellious Boston political groups, dozens of ships were actively being worked on by hundreds of tides men and carters.

  The smell of tar and wood smoke mingled with the salty harbor odors, and Pierce breathed in the scents deeply. To his thinking, it was the smell of prosperity, the smell of independence.

  The two men stopped at one of the buildings that lined the north side of broad wharf. Pierce and Nathaniel had set up offices above a group of shops and counting houses and beside a warehouse that they used. Behind the buildings, the masts of two fast sailing vessels rose above the shingled roof. The ships belonged to them, two of six they owned. Another ship, which had made an undocumented stop on its return voyage at the free Dutch port of St. Eustatius, sat at anchor in the harbor—just off the smaller Griffin’s Wharf—waiting to take its place here.

  As they dismounted, a groom from the stable located beside the nearby warehouse ran up to see to their horses.

  “Of course, the most pressing question,” Nathaniel asked brightly as they walked to the front door of the building, “is to whom I should be grateful for saving you last night.”

  Pierce said nothing, going in ahead of his partner.

  “Come now, Pennington. She must have a name.”

  “What makes you think there was a woman involved?”

  Pierce could hear the scoffing tone in the other man’s abrupt laugh.

  “Because you are in many ways, a heartless dog, my friend. But you are also punctual, true to your promises, even occasionally heroic. You watch over and worry about your friends. In short, in the ten years that I have known you—”

  “Eleven long years.”

  “Very well, eleven. In those eleven years, I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times you have missed an engagement.” Nathaniel detained him at the bottom of the stairs. “And in each of those occasions, women were involved.”

  “A woman,” Pierce corrected quietly, starting up the steps. “One woman.”

  Emma. He remembered each of those occasions, too. Emma and her wild behavior. Emma and her stubbornness. Emma and her mindless determination to have what she should not have. Her tendency to show up unexpectedly where she should not be. Her penchant for arguing when anyone else would wisely choose silence. Emma and her beauty and innocence…and his own determination to try to guide her, to protect her from herself. Emma and his infatuation with her. Emma, his brother’s wife.

  “Indeed,” Nathaniel admitted, following him up. “But that woman is dead, and you’ve told me often enough that I’m not worthy of mentioning her name. So there must be anther. Come on, you rogue, out with it.”

  “You are worse than a fishmonger’s wife, Muir,” Pierce said, shaking his head. It was true, he had definitely discouraged his friend from discussions regarding Emma. He didn’t particularly care to discuss anything about his family with Nathaniel.

  It was a topic Pierce simply did not care to think about, never mind talk about. He had, in fact, been ignoring the letter he’d received from his brother a month ago. The letter, sitting unopened on the bookcase in his study at the house by King’s Chapel. The correspondence had to be from Sir Richard Maitland, the family lawyer, rather than from the broken earl Pierce had left at Baronsford in Scotland ten months earlier. He could not destroy the letter, but he had not been able to open it, either. If Lyon was dead from his fall down the same cliff that had claimed Emma’s life, Pierce didn’t want to hear about his brother’s demise.

  This morning, though, he had found himself standing before the bookcase, staring at the letter, feeling more tempted than he had in a long time to connect with his family and his past.

  And the cause lay with a certain Miss Portia Edwards.

  She and Emma had personality traits that were similar, qualities that set them apart from other women. Pierce was honest enough with himself to recognize that this was the reason that he had been attracted to Portia from the moment she first opened her mouth.

  Physically, they were very different. Emma was blond, tall, thin, lithe, and stylish. Portia was smaller in stature, a brunette with enticing curves and a strong kick. They did not look the same, but when it came to their rashness, their sharp tongues, and their wildly impulsive temperaments, one women was a mirror image of the other.

  Of course, he had nearly taken a liberty with Portia that he had never allowed himself with Emma. If it were not for Turner’s timely arrival, Pierce would surely have made love to the dark-haired minx. That, perhaps, would have put an end to the comparison between the two women. It might even have settled him a bit.

  At the heart of it, Pierce wanted to forget about Emma. He had escaped his family, his homeland, and traveled halfway across the world to be free of the nightmare. Still, regret continued to haunt him.

  Last night, after Portia had gone, Pierce had found it difficult to shake the feelings. Drinking in the company of drunken sailors at the Black Pearl had not helped. No amount of ale could shut out the guilt that still weighed upon him.

  “At least admit it that it was because of a woman.” Nathaniel pressed, at the top of the landing.

  “Are you so desperate for an introduction, Muir?”

  “I might be.”

  Pierce shot a narrow look at his friend over his shoulder. “The last time I checked, a number of young wives of absent merchant captains were in stiff competition for your attentions. Since when do you need to pick crumbs off my table?” He held open the door to the rooms they used as offices, motioning his partner to enter first.

  “There is no reason why you should twist my perfectly idle curiosity into…” Nathaniel halted abruptly, and Pierce stopped beside his friend at the sight of two armed soldiers waiting beside the high desk of the office clerk.

  At least a dozen possible reasons for the visit rushed through Pierce’s mind in an instant. One of them involved Portia Edwards.

  “Admiral Middleton sends his regards and this message, Mr. Pennington, Mr. Muir.” The taller of the two redcoats offered a sealed message to each of them.

  Pierce looked at his office clerk as he opened the letter. Sean was clearly feeling flustered at the entire proceeding, darting quick glances at the partially open door of Pierce’s office.

  “An invitation to come for a cup of tea,” Nathaniel announced brightly, waving the correspondence at his partner. “How thoughtful of the Admiral to ask me, since I missed the pleasure of attending his ball last evening.”

  Pierce glanced down at his own invitation.

  “Rather short notice,” he commented, realizing it was for today. He looked at his pocket watch. They were expected at the Admiral’s mansion at noon.

  “Please convey our regards and tell the Admiral we shall both be there today,” Nathaniel answered.

  As the soldiers bowed stiffly, a shadow moved beyond the door to Pierce’s office. He had only a glimpse of dark gray skirts. He directed an inquiring look at his clerk, and Sean returned a pained nod.

  Nathaniel took charge of escorting their visitors out.

  “Who else is waiting?” Pierce asked the moment the door had been closed on the men’s backs.

  “No calling card, sir. But the young lady said she is an acquaintance of yours. S
he introduced herself as Miss Portia Edwards. She has been waiting for ye at least half an hour, sir.”

  “I want no interruptions,” he muttered, striding into his office.

  She was standing before the window, looking out at the busy wharf. He closed the door with a bang.

  “Miss Edwards, I thought I made it clear last night—”

  “Good morning, Mr. Pennington.”

  She turned around to face him and for the first few seconds Pierce thought it was a stranger, calling under the same name. The gray dress and plain white shawl presented a very different picture from the woman he had kissed last night. Her hair, drawn back tightly, did little to compliment the round face, and the small straw hat, pinned somehow to the front of her head, looked ridiculous. Portia Edwards looked somewhat pale this morning, older and spinsterish. Standing rigidly before him, she looked nothing like the nymph he’d found running through moonlit gardens on Copp’s Hill. Nothing like the wild creature in a torn ball gown who had assaulted his shin and then stolen his carriage.

  “What happened to you?”

  “Pardon me?”

  He walked closer, scrutinizing her from several different angles. There was no sign of the silken curls he had touched last night, and even Oliver Cromwell would have approved of her clothing. The unembroidered muslin dress, the high stiff collar, and whatever contraptions she was wearing beneath it hid completely her geneous breasts and beautiful curves. The statue-like posture and the indifference she showed at his close, personal inspection was yet another disappointment. As he considered this, Pierce was surprised to realize he had actually been impatient to meet her again.

  First, though, he needed to draw out the night-dwelling woman he recalled so vividly.

  A faint scratch on Portia’s face was the only evidence of the near-disaster she had wrought last night.

  “What is the purpose behind this disguise?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir.”

  “I was told that Miss Portia Edwards was waiting to see me.”

  “So?”