Prize of My Heart (21 page)

And convenient, because this meant that Brogan would be otherwise occupied when her father arrived. She had to prepare Papa. Her stomach twisted awaiting his arrival, knowing what damage could be wrought from the truth. Brogan deserved nothing less, but the man she had come to know and love was not likely to walk away from such a confrontation with her father unscathed.

Lorena shuddered, departing with her platter to the main house. Temperance arranged the fare on the sideboard while Lorena laid the table, until an unmistakable commotion in the front hall caused her to drop what she was doing.

“Children!” her father called. “Children, I’m here. Lorena? Drew? Where are you?”

Lorena hurried from the room to join him in the foyer. Papa stood on the Oriental rug before the opened black-lacquered door, through which could be seen a vista of the bay and Brogan’s three-masted
Yankee Heart
. He appeared dusty from his travels, even fatigued from the heat. His buff-colored beaver hat tipped precariously to one side, and as he reached up to remove it, his eyes shone with tears.

“Oh, my darling child.”

Lorena rushed into his outstretched arms. He pressed his cheek to hers, and she felt a little girl again, hungry for her papa’s embrace, comforted by the quiet strength of his voice and the soft brush of graying whiskers that grew low in front of his ears.

“Are you well? Were you harmed?” Papa stepped back, holding her at arm’s length and assessing her with a long, loving stare.

Lorena smiled, blinking back tears. “I’m well. Very well. Better than when I left, in fact.”

“I’ve been lost without you, Lorena. I’ve paced the wharf every day, watching and waiting for your return.” He frowned in a despairing way that Lorena found endearing. Tell me, how did it happen, you getting stuck on that brig? And the letter from George. I don’t understand.”

Lorena explained.

“Vomit powder! Why, if I am not the biggest fool to ever breathe sea air. And to think I trusted George. I trained and encouraged him. He grew into a superb architect. I was proud. I knew of his feelings for you, even gave him my blessing. All the while I never suspected what harm . . .”

Papa shook his head as though to clear the direction of his thoughts. “Well, you are home safe now, thanks be to God and the decency of Captain Talvis.” He searched the hallway toward the back of the house. “Where is he? And where is Drew, that little rascal? Wait till he sees the collection of stones I’ve been gathering for him.”

She’d no chance to respond, for by then a noisy procession could be heard at the back of the house. Lorena grabbed her father’s arm.

“I haven’t time for long explanations, Papa, but be forewarned. Brogan is going to ask to speak to you in confidence, and when he does, he will make a shocking confession. You’ll be surprised to learn he is the one person we never expected to surface when we brought Drew into our home. The widow’s husband was underestimated by us all, for as it turns out, she was not a widow at all.”

“What?” Papa’s eyes held many questions, but with a squeeze of his forearm, Lorena halted them and continued on. “Brogan is true and fiercely faithful to those he cares about.” She smiled in reflection. “You were wise to put your confidence in him. Still, you’ll be angry when he tells you his reason for coming to Duxboro. But, remember, he was a victim as much as Drew. Be compassionate. Drew loves him. And so do I, Papa. I hope to marry him.”

“Marry?” Papa sputtered under his breath, his expression a mask of shock and confusion, before his attention was claimed by Drew’s squeal of joy.

As Papa turned, Lorena glanced down the hall to where Brogan strode hand in hand with the child. Drew had retained his crown of fat buttercream curls, except now they lay closer to his head in respectable fashion. Brogan’s shaggy hair had been trimmed to the nape, parted slightly off-center and combed forward to frame his lean cheeks and long side whiskers.

She took a careful look at him.

He wore a pair of gray broadcloth trousers with a strap passing under the heel of his black boots. His crisp linen shirt was not tied with either cravat or neckcloth. Instead, ruffles of an even finer linen adorned the front of the shirt as well as his wrists. The effect made for a stark contrast. Soft ruffles on a thoroughly masculine man. White fabric against his darkened skin. Tender blue eyes shining out a rugged face.

As Lorena held him in her admiring gaze, they exchanged smiles.

Drew meanwhile broke away from Brogan and jumped into her father’s arms, where he proceeded to bend Papa’s ear with embellished yarns of their adventures.

Papa stepped forward, Drew clinging to his coattails, and offered Brogan his hand. “God bless you, good fellow. I sincerely cannot thank you enough. I had every confidence you’d bring my children safely back to me and you have.”

As they exchanged a handshake, Lorena caught Brogan’s wink. “As it turns out, sir,” he said, “it was my pleasure.”

Papa beamed with pride and pleasure. “Captain, I insist on housing your entire crew in one of my boardinghouses for the duration of your stay. This evening a celebration supper shall be served them in the dining hall. As for yourself and Mr. Smith, you will dine with my family and me and shall spend the night as honored guests in my home. Mrs. Culliford, please see to their rooms at your first opportunity.”

The housekeeper smiled warmly. “Sir, from the day you first informed me of your wishes, all these details were arranged, awaiting only the arrival of the
Yankee Heart
. Now that she has arrived, Temperance and I have anticipated your desire to gather at the table with your children and hear of their adventure. So, before the meal we’ve prepared grows any colder, may I suggest you continue this conversation in the dining room?”

Papa’s eyes crinkled at their corners, shining with the warmth of his smile. “Excellent. A cup of tea would be most welcome. I can tell you, Mrs. Culliford, I am prepared to allow plenty of time for family in the future, devoting myself less to business and even abandoning my plans for a shipping enterprise, if necessary. How well I have learned the importance of that, suffering as I have without my children.”

He glanced again at Lorena and Drew, almost as if he found it impossible to believe they were actually sharing the same space.

Lorena felt Brogan’s eyes upon her and turned. A lump caught in her throat. Despite the gravity of the confession before him, his expression shone with the hope and repentance he carried in his heart. A man of justice and honor and loyalty, he stood prepared to humble himself before her father with the truth.

She slipped a hand into the pocket of her apricot gown and closed her fingers around the silver thimble he had given her. Smiling her love, she gave him a nod of encouragement.

“Sir, before I accept further of your generosity, it is imperative I share a private word with you,” Brogan announced. “There is much you don’t know about me, and it cannot wait any longer to be revealed.”

Papa sobered at that. He looked shaken, uncertain what to expect. “My daughter informs me you have something to discuss, Captain. Come, let us retire to my study. Excuse us,” he apologized to all. “Don’t wait on us, Lorena. Take Drew and eat while the food is warm.”

“Yes, Papa.” Lorena knew she would not be able to swallow a morsel herself, but for the child’s sake she turned to him and said, “Mmm, is that molasses bread I smell? How long has it been since we’ve squashed gooseberries in a bread and butter sandwich?”

She led Drew into the dining room, one ear harkening to the sound of her father’s study door as it closed shut.

A
fter years of agonizing why his son had been taken from him—bitter, angry, haunted by imagination and secrecy—Brogan took heart. At last he’d be granted the peace of mind in knowing what had happened to Benjamin three years ago. Finally, he would get answers. Huntley would deal with him honestly, as Abigail never had.

The shipbuilder closed the door behind them and gestured to a pair of winged chairs on an Oriental rug before the fireplace. They were tall, handsome pieces, jacquard-upholstered in vibrant red.

Brogan declined the seat and paced across the wide-plank pine floor to an east-facing window on the opposite side of Huntley’s desk, a desk littered with architectural drawings and drafting implements. He gazed out the panes to a sweeping view of land and sea. Hundreds of questions sprang to mind, yet before he could voice a single one, he must disclose his relationship to Ben.

Mustering his courage, Brogan turned from the window. “Mr. Huntley, you should know that I am privy to the true identity of the boy you call Drew. I have known from the beginning, in fact, because
Benjamin
was my reason for coming to you.”

“Oh.” Except for a slight paleness of complexion, Nathaniel Huntley’s face disclosed nothing. “I hope you won’t mind, Captain, but I believe I shall have a seat.” He lumbered to a wing chair and eased his burden down onto its cushioned seat, gripping the armrests for support. “And here I was convinced you came to me for a ship.”

He heard betrayal in the man’s tone and reminded himself Nathaniel Huntley had good reason to feel wronged, though Brogan himself had also been wronged. Brogan was well aware he was not perfect; he had made mistakes, but in his heart he sought forgiveness and to please God.

He squared his shoulders. “I came for my son. I am the boy’s natural father. I am the husband of the late woman who surrendered Benjamin to you. Abigail Russell Talvis. We were a family, or so I thought, until the day she sent our son away and refused to tell me where.”

“The widow. Not a widow at all, as it turns out,” Huntley said in a tone laced with distaste. It was the first time he’d acknowledged acquaintance with Abigail in Brogan’s presence. “And now it seems my own daughter has fallen in love with you.” Crooking his neck, Huntley began to massage the base of his skull as though to ease an ache. “You did not exaggerate, Captain. This is all most revealing. But I would like to know why you didn’t come to me when you first arrived in Duxboro. What were your intentions that you chose to keep your identity hidden?”

Brogan stepped forward and took the chair opposite Huntley’s. Poised on the edge of his seat, he explained everything just as he had to Lorena, beginning with his meeting Abigail along Boston Harbor. He told of Benjamin’s birth and the joy and purpose it brought to his life. He made clear his resolve to be a good father and provider, and how, to his mind, he had been growing successful at both—until Abigail snatched it all away.

Huntley made no attempt to interrupt, but listened quietly. Brogan detailed his search and how he finally came to discover the whereabouts of his son. He explained his desperate plan to commission the
Yankee Heart
and then sail off with Ben.

“My intentions might not have been honorable,” he admitted, “but at the time all that concerned me was my son. Abigail swore I’d never find him. Soon after, she perished in a blaze that destroyed our home, and I knew, even if I were to locate Benjamin, there was no one to speak for my paternity.”

Huntley’s pensive silence grew unbearable. When at last he spoke, Brogan thought he glimpsed perspiration on the fellow’s brow. “Then tell me why, when you had the opportunity, did you not depart with Drew as planned? Why instead did you go after Lorena?”

“Because, sir, I understand how it feels to have a child you love suddenly snatched away. How far would a father go to save his child? Would he launch a ship after her?”

Huntley blinked, his eyes moist, at which point Brogan sprang off his seat and strode to the mantel. His eyes landed on an oil painting hanging above. Likely an ancestral portrait, for its somber-faced gentleman subject bore a strong resemblance to Nathaniel Huntley.

Impatient for answers of his own, yet knowing he had more to confess, Brogan whirled about to face the man. “When I realized I would need to spend time with Lorena if I were to get anywhere near my son, I had no idea I would fall in love with her or that her love would so change my heart. It is my great desire to wed your daughter, sir. I understand how disturbing this news must be for you, but believe me when I say things have worked themselves out to the benefit of all. Lorena, Drew . . . that is, Ben, and I have been happy together on the
Yankee Heart
. I am prepared to do all in my power to give them the bright future they deserve. If that necessitates first proving my character to you, then so be it. I am determined. Lorena has forgiven me, and now I beg your forgiveness, as well. If not for you, my son would have perished alongside Abigail. I don’t know how it came to be that he was placed in your home, but clearly he has thrived and been well loved here. For that, I shall remain forever in your debt. But as I’ve explained to Lorena, all the charity in the world cannot replace the bond of blood. I shall remain a part of my son’s life, and he shall know a father’s love. However, it is my hope you should give us your blessing, sir, to be a family.”

As Brogan waited impatiently for an answer, he noticed Huntley’s hand begin to tremble. What vile thing had Abigail done that, even dead, she could cause a man of Huntley’s sophistication to be distraught over a discussion of her?

Huntley leveled his gaze with Brogan’s and, leaning back, folded his hands over his rounded belly. “I shall not withhold my forgiveness, Captain, nor my blessing. Your character is proven in faithfulness and deed. Further, it would seem I owe you an apology, for I never doubted my brother when he told me you were dead. Indeed, I never gave you a second thought. You were a complete unknown. The child was the only innocent. Now here you have resurfaced, alive and hale, a hero to your country and a hero within my own home. You are worthy of my daughter’s hand.”

At those words Brogan felt more happiness than his heart could contain. He thought of Lorena and Ben, of their beautiful faces and the way they smiled at him with adoration and trust. His burden lifted. Joy exploded inside him, the future dawning brighter than he could ever have imagined. “Thank you, Mr. Huntley, sir.”

He could scarcely believe his good fortune. There remained just one final matter to put his mind at rest. “And now I feel I deserve some answers of my own. Lorena directed me to you as the one who should give them. What was your relationship to my wife that you should have aided her in her scheme?”

Huntley rose to address him. “Lorena was wise in sending you to me. You’ve traveled a long, difficult road searching for the truth, and I am the only person alive who can give it to you.”

Turning, Nathaniel Huntley crossed the room to a Chippendale secretary and idly skimmed his fingertips over its opened cherrywood desktop. As he glanced up, the sadness in his eyes unnerved Brogan.

“My brother Stephen and I had little in common as far as siblings go,” Huntley said. “Stephen followed his own path and at a young age married into the Bainbridge family of Boston. You’ve heard the name, I take it?”

“Aye.” Every Bostonian had, but Brogan failed to see what Stephen Huntley’s marriage had to do with either himself or his son. Before he could voice his impatience, however, Huntley raised a hand to silence him.

“Indulge me, Captain. Please. For without the whole story, you might not believe me.”

Brogan nodded. The whole story. At last.

“The Bainbridges are one of Boston’s oldest and most respected families, merchants by trade, and Stephen’s marriage to Ellen Bainbridge assured him the highest possible social standing and great prosperity. The couple enjoyed prominence in Boston society and produced five beautiful children. Stephen had wealth, power, and family, but like many men of affluence, all was not enough. He kept a mistress.”

Brogan made the connection and found he was hardly surprised. “Abigail?”

Nathaniel Huntley’s forlorn expression confirmed it. “With time, Stephen’s marriage began to suffer. He did not hide his infidelity as well as he believed. His good name was threatened, not to mention what effect a scandal would have on his wife and children. To make matters worse, this mistress, a widow who for years believed she was barren, conceived.”

A cold tremor rocked Brogan to his very bones. What was Huntley implying? He searched the shipbuilder’s eyes, eyes so gravely serious they spoke louder than words.

“Abigail was with no other man at the time she was with me,” Brogan asserted. “I know this for a fact.”

“No, Captain, she was with child before she met you and deliberately led you to believe you were her baby’s father. I regret I must inform you that you have been the victim of a cruel deceit. Drew . . .
Benjamin
is not your son. He is the offspring of my brother Stephen. My nephew. But not even he, poor child, knows this. Lorena and I have allowed him to believe his father perished at sea.”

Brogan struggled against accepting such a possibility. He couldn’t think. He felt numb. Abashed. With all he had endured for his son’s sake . . . no, it could not be true. It was inconceivable.

“I would have thought it beneath you to concoct such a wretched lie in order to keep my son,” he fired out, though in his heart Brogan knew Nathaniel Huntley was not a man to speak falsely.

Huntley’s cheeks paled between a set of ginger-brown side whiskers tinged with gray. “Sadly, it is the truth, Captain.” The man’s brow creased as he stepped away from the secretary to draw closer to Brogan. “My brother welcomed the prospect of an ill-born son as much as he did the tainting of his good name. Marriage was out of the question, and his mistress—your wife—was unwilling to release her hold over one of the richest, most powerful men in Boston society. She held a strange power over Stephen, but they decided they would not see each other for a short time. Meanwhile, she was to marry and pass her pregnancy off on another man.”

Brogan stalked the room like a caged animal, as if by pacing he could walk off the pain and humiliation that filled every pore of his being. He thought back, recalling the day he first set eyes on Abigail as she passed over the cobblestones in her chaise. He recalled the interest in her smile. She returned to that same waterfront locale by the shops, seemingly innocent but hoping to meet him again as though by chance.

Brogan knew all along she had been singling him out, and it had flattered him. No ordinary seaman would dare approach such a fine lady, but Brogan had been just bold enough to open the millinery shop door for her. Abigail was equally bold enough to inquire after his name.

In his vanity he let himself believe she truly loved him, for why else would she have married him? He was but a common sailor in want of employment.

Here he thought himself clever in outwitting her and recovering their son, but she would have the last word again, reaching beyond the grave to deliver this final, crushing blow.

The truth hit him with such force, Brogan could scarcely breathe. It took a moment to realize Huntley was still speaking.

“. . . grew increasingly jealous of his lover’s husband. Stephen desired to resume the affair, but one person stood in his way. A seafaring youth caught in the middle of his treachery, whom I now discover was you, Captain.”

Brogan quit pacing to grab on to the mantel for support. The yellow cream walls closed in on him, and it was all he could do to remain in the same room with Huntley and listen to the rest of his sordid tale.

“Aside from the knowledge my brother kept a mistress, I was unaware of what had been going on, or even of Benjamin’s existence, until Stephen appealed to me just weeks before I took custody of the boy. Stephen confessed to having used his influence to secure Abigail’s young sailor a position with a privateer sailing out of Bristol, Rhode Island. He later made arrangements to finance a privateer schooner, secretly arranging for this sailor to be promoted to captain and sent on a dangerous mission with a sloppy crew and little experience in commanding them. A certain death. He swore you were gone, never to return for the boy. Benjamin was alone in the world, I believed. But it seems Stephen grossly underestimated you.”

Brogan felt as though he were drowning in a sinking black hole, listening to Huntley’s voice from underwater.

His greatest accomplishments had been a lie, from his marriage to his placement among the crew of the
Black Eagle
to his captaincy on the
Wild Pilgrim
. Most important, his son did not belong to him! Abigail and her lover had stripped him of all pride, and hate for them overwhelmed him. His wrath demanded to be vented, but on whom? Both his enemies were dead.

“Stephen admitted things had gone awry,” Huntley was saying. “He said he should have sent the woman away to have his child, then disposed of him in an orphanage. By the grace of God, Stephen came to me instead. He knew I would never turn my nephew away. I was outraged at my brother’s behavior, but I kept his secret, for I knew exposure could only bring suffering to my brother’s family, not to mention the damage to Benjamin. With me, the boy would be loved and cared for, free from the scorn of his illegitimacy. I took legal action to assure he carried the Huntley name and would become heir to all that entailed.”

Nathaniel Huntley frowned with deep regret. “My sympathies, Captain, but you should know Benjamin did not forget you. When he first came to us, he cried for his papa in his sleep. You see now why we continued to let him believe his father did not leave him, but died at sea.”

A great pang wracked Brogan’s chest in the form of tears he could not shed. Until he’d come along, the lad rightfully believed both his parents were dead. The truth would break his heart.

Brogan had one final question. “The fire that took Abigail. Your brother was rumored to have been seen near the blaze. Was Stephen with her that night?”