Prize of My Heart (15 page)

“This book. Is this—?”

Brogan grabbed her wrist before she could touch it. This surprised her, for she hadn’t realized he’d been standing so close behind. “Drew has been waiting patiently to show you to your cabin,” he said.

Lorena saw eagerness in the boy’s wide-eyed expression and offered him her hand, the book forgotten. “Of course. Show me your surprise.”

Drew led her back to the closed cabin door. With a turn of the latch she opened it to reveal a modest stateroom as luxuriously built as the great cabin but decidedly feminine in décor.

Decidedly familiar also.

Lorena spun about and sat on the bed with a bounce. She ran her hands over the blue-and-white-diamond coverlet. “This is from my own bed in Duxboro.” Gaily wrapped packages lay across her pillow, but her gaze did not linger, as there was much to see. The cabin held many of her own personal items, from her grandmother’s framed sampler on the wall to the rug beneath her feet.

“And those draperies on the porthole there, I believe they are sewn from the very same silk brocade Mrs. Culliford helped me select with the purpose of making pillows for the settee in my room. And here is my trunk, I see.” She leapt off the bed to look inside and found it filled with her clothes and slippers, the book she’d been reading before her unfortunate departure, and her needlework and embroidery basket.

“I feel so at home. But that, I suspect, was the whole intent, was it not?” It was more statement than question. Still, Lorena directed those words to Brogan, who remained standing at the threshold as though he preferred observing from a distance.

She offered him a grateful smile, then bending down scooped Drew into her arms. Brushing the curls from his face, she pressed a kiss to his temple. “As miserable a time as I had, knowing I was sailing away from home, we are now going to have the most wonderful adventure returning together.”

He nodded, then wriggled from her embrace to climb on the bed. “Open your gifts!”

“They’re from your family,” Brogan said. Lorena sensed a sudden reserve in his tone and bearing, in stark contradiction to Drew, who quaked with excitement.

The child presented her with a small painted tin. “This is from me.”

Lorena seated herself beside him as they conspired to open first the lid and next a layer of tissue paper. They peered inside together, heads touching.

She made certain to gasp with delight. “Maple sugar fudge. Thank you, sweetheart, you thoughtful boy. How long you must have been waiting for me to open it, when we both know how well you enjoy candy. Shall we celebrate with a piece before supper?”

His enthusiastic nod was answer enough. Drew reached into the tin with one hand and then the other.

Lorena then offered the tin to Brogan. “I know you won’t mind, Brogan. You and Drew are two of a kind in that you both share a taste for sweets.”

He surprised her by refusing with a shake of his head. Moments ago he’d endeavored to make her welcome merry, and now that she was indeed bursting with gaiety, he seemed to have gone strangely pensive.

Lorena puzzled over him, then selected a piece of fudge for herself and bit into it.

Drew handed her one package after another. There was a small painted fan from her father, a pair of white silk stockings embellished with embroidery from Mrs. Culliford, and a shell comb from Temperance. Lorena skimmed their notes, preferring to read them in private later when the day’s excitement did not have her thoughts so distracted.

One very small gift remained. It bore no note.

Drew dropped it into her palm.

Lorena loosed the ribbon and peeled back the paper. A shiny silver thimble shone up at her. She held it up and saw that it was etched with tiny hearts and cupids.

She knew immediately whom it was from and scooted off the bed, before thoughts of propriety or self-consciousness dissuaded her, and stood openly before Brogan with affection shining in her eyes. “Thank you.” Two simple words, but in her heart they meant so much more, words she could not express. “I will cherish it always.”

As she gazed into those intense blue eyes, what shone back awakened her soul. Burning like a flame, a reflection of her own passionate feelings, a surrender, a humbleness that for a moment allowed her to peer into the heart of his being. And what she saw was a man haunted by pain and guilt.

It seemed he wished to tell her something, but whatever Brogan’s thoughts, he chose to keep them hidden as she watched him withdraw into himself.

“George said some awful things about me,” she said. “He spoke in anger. I want you to know they aren’t true in the least.”

All vulnerability in his expression disappeared. He gave her no more response than a nod. Lorena presently was feeling too weary and uncertain to push him further.

“Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll have you called to supper.”

He spoke as though relations between them were proper and formal. Lorena suspected not. She suspected their guards had been lowered in the realization they shared more in common than either of them could have imagined. Perhaps much of it had to do with their mutual affection for Drew, but during their short time apart, feelings of friendship and attraction had grown into a deeper respect and caring.

Brogan paced his quarterdeck and stood facing the sea. His throat constricted, strangled by the emotion rising inside him. Emotion Brogan did not comprehend. He’d succeeded in his mission. Lorena was safely aboard the
Yankee Heart
. He’d been wrong to believe she’d ever willingly flee with Louder. There’d been no love for the shipwright in her eyes, nor even sympathy. Brogan never believed Louder’s lie about having Lorena, not unless the weasel had forced himself on her, and Lorena’s spirits were too high for a woman who had undergone such an ordeal.

No, what bothered Brogan was that within a short period of being reunited with her, Lorena had managed to touch something inside him he’d thought long dead. A frozen place in his heart was melting, leaving him vulnerable in a way he strove never to be again.

It frightened him in a respect, thinking from force of habit that he might be punished for allowing such tenderness to affect him, and yet Brogan had no idea exactly what he was feeling that made him afraid.

B
ehind the drawn draperies, lantern light cast quivering shadows throughout the great cabin.

“Who would care to give the blessing?” Lorena asked. She glanced expectantly around the supper table.

Brogan nodded to Jabez. It was the mate’s habit to give thanks, because if left up to Brogan there’d be no prayer. Yet before Jabez could begin, Drew announced, “I should like to say it.”

Brogan made quick note of Lorena’s proud smile. No mother had looked more adoringly upon her son and certainly not Drew’s natural birth mother.

“By all means,” he said, experiencing a tightening in his chest as he clasped his hands with those of Lorena on his right and Drew on his left.

“Almighty Father,” the lad called in his clear, sweet voice. “We come before you with grateful hearts for bringing Lorena back. I especially give my thanks. Please let her not be taken from me again. And everyone else here does feel the same. Show your favor to Captain Talvis and Mr. Smith and the ship and the crew and may they always remain under your care. Amen.”

Jabez cleared his throat and Drew opened his eyes. The mate smiled approvingly, then nodded to the repast set before them.

“Oh! And thank you for this food,” Drew added.

Here sat the folk who mattered most to him, Brogan reflected. The closest he’d known to a family meal, including any he’d shared with Abigail during their married life. He gripped the hands he held that much tighter before releasing them. “Amen,” he said.

“That was wonderful, sweetheart,” praised Lorena.

Brogan gave the lad a wink before contemplating his bowl of creamy chowder. He dipped in his spoon and brought a sample to his lips, first inhaling the scent of bacon before actually tasting the corn chowder. He let the flavor settle on his tongue before swallowing. Made from a lobster base, the corn was sweet and the potatoes hardy. It was delicious, and yet . . .

“Warrick,” he called to his young steward now setting before him a serving platter of golden-brown fish cakes. Brogan gave them a queer eye. “I’m curious as to our cook’s choice of dishes. I specifically told Mr. Mott to prepare a meal with the best of our provisions. We are celebrating Miss Huntley’s safe return, and he sees fit to serve us the fare of a public supper?”

“I see exactly what the dear fellow has done.” Lorena beheld the platter of fried fish cakes with an expression of shining delight. “As wholesome a meal as this likely appears, these dishes are among my favorites. Fred Mott has obviously prepared them in my honor.”

“And there is bread pudding for dessert, miss,” Warrick added.

“Bread pudding? I do love bread pudding. Did you hear that, Drew?”

The boy nodded excitedly as his mouth was full, and while he chewed, a bit of mushy potato escaped the corner of his mouth.

“I see I’m not the only one who enjoys a public supper. And what have you to say, Mr. Smith?” she asked. “You seem to be enjoying the chowder and cakes.”

“Aye, miss. You’ll hear no complaint from me.”

Brogan’s attention was drawn to her long, slender hands as Lorena lifted the teapot and began to pour Jabez’s tea and then a cup for herself.

She had changed into a pretty pink calico frock with large puffed sleeves that tapered in from elbow to wrist. A wide, ruffle-edged satin ribbon cinched her high at the waist. The modest, straight neckline covered her collarbone yet disclosed the lovely curve of her long white throat as it met her shoulders. It was there that the lanterns’ quivering light played on the paleness of her skin.

“And you, Brogan, as a man who admittedly prefers the simplicity of gingerbread, you can’t deny Fred Mott’s Yankee fare makes for a satisfying meal. And yet you scowl. Are you displeased?” She offered him a cup of tea.

As he reached to accept, his fingertips brushed hers. They both held the saucer, yet neither took full possession.

No longer could Brogan dismiss his feelings for her as mere regard for her delicate beauty. His heart betrayed him, harboring affection for a woman who had fouled up his plans. What part had she played in the taking of his son? What knowledge did she hide? He still did not know.

“I find the chowder very tasty.” He accepted the teacup and sought to hide his woolgathering by reaching for the fish cakes. As he ate, he glanced up, surprised to find Lorena observing him.

“Drew tells me you and Mr. Smith share tales of your travels at dinnertime, and that the stories are even more exciting to him than the exploits of Captain Briggs. Imagine my surprise to hear it. I did not think anyone could rise above Captain Briggs in Drew’s esteem . . . in any regard.”

Her tone held a challenge, her eyes mild curiosity as though she insisted upon an explanation.

Brogan swallowed, then followed her gaze to the cloth sea captain lying idle on the table beside Drew. Instead of falling into whispers with his doll, inventing his own stories, as Brogan learned was common of Drew at mealtimes, the lad now took animated interest in the dinner table conversation.

Even now, Drew followed their exchange. He set down his tumbler of milk, licking his upper lip. “Are we going to hear a story?”

“Aye, I believe it is indeed time for a story.” Brogan leaned toward Lorena. “Mr. Smith and I have many stories, but this evening no one has a more interesting tale than you. So tell us, Lorena, for we’ve wondered, what turn of events led you to be shipbound for England with George Louder?”

She cleared her palate with a sip of tea and then swallowed uncomfortably.

She stalled and Brogan had to wonder why. “Now that you are on my ship, I feel an even greater responsibility for your welfare, a sense of duty separate and apart from my command of this vessel.” What he felt was fierce protectiveness, similar to his feelings for Drew and far stronger even than any emotion he’d felt for his late wife. “You claim you were not injured, and to my eyes you do not seem to have been. Still, I understand you have been through a trial, and I don’t mean to be insensitive, but you sit here in good spirits. Therefore, I believe we deserve an explanation. So, tell us. What happened to prevent you from disembarking the
Lady Julia
?”

“Be warned. You are not going to like what I have to say,” she mumbled into her teacup before carefully returning it to its saucer. She stole a warning glance at Drew before meeting Brogan’s gaze.

“Let me start by explaining that George and I became friends when we were both children. But as we grew older, his priorities changed to follow wealth and success, whereas mine remained with home and family. When he made his decision to depart to England in search of his fortune, he asked me to marry him. I refused as gently as I could. He grew most insistent, and recently I thought he had at last accepted that I did not have the love of a wife to give him. We agreed to part as the friends we had always been. To that end I baked his favorite mince pies for the trip and invited him to tea in the summer kitchen before seeing him off to Plymouth. Little did I know, he never had any intention of taking no for an answer. He somehow slipped a vomit powder into my tea.”

“Vomit powder?” Outrage on her behalf boiled inside Brogan. He felt it hot and urgent, the way he’d felt the injustice of England’s tyranny or Abigail’s deceit. “Louder poisoned—”

“I accused him of the exact same, yes,” Lorena commented with a finality that warned Brogan against further interruption and pointedly put a halt to his rising anger. She continued in a composed voice. “As the powder was beginning to take effect, George deceived me into believing Drew had boarded the
Lady Julia
. We took off in search of him. While looking in the hold, I became violently ill and hit my head. I could not distinguish my own dizziness from the movement of the brig, and in either case I was too sick to move. By the time I was found, taken to a stateroom, and revived, we were well out to sea.”

Brogan gaped, letting his horror be known. His brows knit as he pinned Lorena beneath the displeasure of his stare. “So this is why you’ve waited till now to tell me? To the last, you protect that weasel.”

“I was protecting
you
,” she shot back.

“Me?”

“From yourself. She gave him a pointed stare and to such degree that Brogan quieted and let her continue. “You did the right and wise thing in not acting on your anger. Especially when it would have served no good purpose but to distress Captain Winsor and his passengers, not to mention the wrong example it would have set to a certain 
impressionable
young passenger of your own.” With a sharp jerk of her head, she indicated Drew. “Thank you for choosing the most appropriate course and behaving like a gentleman.”

“George was bad,” Drew growled. He slammed a fist down on the tabletop.

“George did a bad thing,” she said to Drew, “but then you and Captain Talvis arrived as an answer to prayer. And now George is gone from our lives.”

Lorena sighed. She fidgeted with her fork, twirling it between her fingers. “You were right all along, Brogan. George was not to be trusted. I didn’t want to believe evil of a childhood friend. I failed to accept the man he had become.” Her voice grew thick. “Bless you and Mr. Smith and dearest Drew for coming to my rescue. I should not be having such an enjoyable evening otherwise.”

Jabez slipped her a look of awe. “Well spoken, miss.”

Brogan raised his teacup. “To your voyage aboard the
Yankee Heart
. May it reside in your memory as fondly as corn chowder, fish cakes, and bread pudding.”

Her laughter pleased him, and dinner proceeded with everyone’s energies directed toward Fred Mott’s good Yankee fare. It was a satisfying meal in all respects, so much so that after dessert was consumed, they lingered over another cup of tea.

As he sipped, Brogan noticed Lorena’s eyes wander the length of the cabin to his bookshelves.

“Earlier I noticed what I suspect is the Holy Book on one of your shelves there,” she said. “Is it your personal Bible, Brogan?”

He answered cautiously. “Aye.”

She offered him a sweet smile. “It looks to be well read.”

“It is old.”

“I’ve had a look through my trunk and it seems my family neglected to pack my own Bible. Would you mind—”

“You are welcome to it,” Brogan heard himself reply a little too quickly. “I have little use for it myself, other than to keep it on hand for the ship.”

The soft expression in her velvety brown eyes grew saddened at his words. “Oh? I had thought otherwise. You seem to know Scripture. And in getting to know you, one would think the Good Word had left its impression and that you carried it in your heart. Your Bible sits by your desk in a place of honor. Do you not turn to it for prayer and guidance?”

Jabez cleared his throat and grinned into his cup of tea.

Brogan grew uncomfortable with this conversation. “I’ve trained myself to rely on hard work and bravery, on study and careful thought to carry me through life and battle.” He’d learned not to trust his hopes to a God who would close His ears to the prayers of the baseborn.

He rose from his seat and strode to the far end of the cabin, where he retrieved the Bible off the bookcase. As he held the worn leather-bound pages in his hands, Brogan felt his unworthiness like a darkness surrounding his heart. “Yet there was a time I read it faithfully,” he said in reflection.

A time of shining youth when Brogan was grateful to be at sea. No matter how hard he must work, he was learning a trade. He was free of the orphan asylum. He was traveling far from those whose cruel misjudgment viewed the circumstances of his ill birth as a crime instead of a misfortune. It was a time when some measure of virtue and innocence still lived in him and Jabez’s teachings could stir his faith. Enough to inspire Brogan to believe that God would show mercy to an honest, upright heart, even if that heart belonged to the lowly and baseborn. Enough to make Brogan believe there was more to life than survival.

Then along came Jefferson with his embargo against all shipping to and from foreign ports, leaving hundreds of seamen unemployed, their families left to starve. Soon just trying to survive became all there was.

But life changed after Benjamin’s birth. Brogan had a son. Someone in the world he was connected to by blood. Someone he was responsible for. Suddenly he understood what it felt like to truly love. He grew fiercely ambitious, determined to make a future for his family.

He found not only employment but purpose, for himself and Jabez among the American private sector, businessmen both eager and equipped to participate in the naval war with England. They would be doing more than earning a living. They would fight for the rights and freedoms of their country.

As Brogan sailed the open seas, his wife grew distant. Soon Benjamin became the only link to the love they once shared. He worried about his son during those absences, knowing Abigail resented his time away and grew impatient with the confinement and caretaking of an infant. There were times he even suspected her of being with other men.

Brogan’s last wavering flame of hope for his family had been snuffed out the day Abigail told him Benjamin was gone. It was as though the Almighty had noted his unworthiness and turned His face.

Or perhaps His face had been turned all along.

Sometimes Brogan thought the only thing keeping him alive during the war was his desire to find the boy.

The cabin had fallen deathly silent, all eyes upon him. Embarrassed, Brogan shook off his dark thoughts and returned to the table to offer his Bible to Lorena. “Here. I hope it will comfort you. It has done little for me.”

She observed him with a sweetly curious expression, then turned to Jabez seated beside her. “Do you know why he is angry at God, Mr. Smith? He hasn’t stopped scowling since this conversation began.”

Jabez nodded knowingly. “Unfortunately, miss, the cap’n believes the Almighty does not smile favorably upon him, keeping those things he desires most out of reach.”

She straightened, taken aback. “But how can that be, Mr. Smith? Captain Talvis is a successful and acclaimed war hero. He is possessed of wealth and master of his own ship. What more, pray, does he desire?”