Chapter 25
The next morning, Annabelle sat beside a fire with Beattie as they boiled water for tea.
She watched as boats rowed back and forth over the sunrise-pink water, resupplying the two ships in the bay.
She and Grieg had given Madame Dauphiné’s tonic to the sick crewmembers the afternoon before, and he believed that within a few days they would have enough healthy men to set sail and that the others would heal on the journey.
Crewmembers hauled barrels of fresh water and fruit down to the shore.
It seemed everyone was eager to get away from this place.
In spite of the activity around her, Annabelle felt peaceful.
The dark apprehension that had spread over her thoughts for the past months was lifted.
Court was safe, the crew was safe, and Hawke .
. . Her cheeks heated as she watched Hawke direct the men with Court.
He stood tall in his black clothes, the hair beneath his hat blowing in the breeze.
She sighed, and then hearing Beattie chuckle, she blushed again, this time in embarrassment as she looked at her friend.
“’Tis good to see ye so happy, my Belle,” Beattie said.
“I am happy,” she told him. She looked back at Hawke, now in conversation with Shadbolt.
“Seems yer path’s looking clearer, now.” Beattie patted her hand.
She thought of their conversation months earlier in the galley. At the time she’d never have thought her path may lie with Hawke of all people. But now, everything had changed. She had changed.
A hint of unease niggled at the back of her mind as she thought of her mother and Annabelle’s own life in Society. Could she leave that behind? But London felt so far away, and she pushed the worries back, focusing on her friends, on this beautiful morning, and on being in love.
Tim approached, carrying a basket of fruit. “Good morning, Belle.”
“Good morning, Tim. Would you care for tea?”
Tim shook his head. “Told Hawke I’d help load the ships.” He took a mango from the top of the basket. “Saved this one for you. Nice and ripe, Li Chen says.”
“Thank you.”
“Lots of rocks on the island,” Tim said. He took one from his pocket, handing it to her.
She looked it over, noticing the sparkling parts that must have caught his eye. “It’s a lovely one.”
When she handed it back, Tim held up a hand. “You keep it.” He continued down to the shore.
Annabelle smiled, putting the rock into her pocket.
Beattie took the boiling pot from the fire and poured the hot water into the waiting teapot. Captain Blackham had an exquisite Chinese porcelain tea set that Beattie had been pleased to take charge of as well as a fine assortment of tea leaves.
Murray joined them, and while the three enjoyed a delicious breakfast of tea and fruit, Hawke started up the beach toward them.
Belle poured a cup of tea and added sugar, carrying the hot drink over the sand to meet him.
“Good morning, Hawke.”
He thanked her, taking the tea.
They hadn’t spoken since returning to the camp the day before, and she wondered if his reason had to do with the fight with Blackham.
Afterward, Hawke had left the camp looking upset, and Annabelle didn’t blame him.
She’d been horrified by the brutality of the clash and fearful that Hawke would be hurt, or worse.
Surely he was managing similar emotions.
She didn’t believe anyone could get past such an encounter without some lingering distress.
Remembering her own fight with Blackham still filled her with terror.
“I hope you slept well,” Annabelle said.
He sipped the tea, looking at the ships in the bay. “I did, yes.”
Hawke was clearly distracted, and Annabelle wasn’t certain whether she should try to engage him in conversation or if he would prefer to be silent. She decided to just remain near and let him speak if he chose.
He finished his tea, and Annabelle took the cup from his hand.
Hawke didn’t seem to notice.
Annabelle listened to the sound of the waves, the calling of the seabirds, and the voices of men working, all the time becoming more and more restless. Hawke’s silence was so unlike him that she worried something was wrong.
“Belle, I need to speak with you,” Hawke eventually said.
Something in his tone made her stomach quiver, but she shook off the unease. “Yes, of course.”
Hawke looked beyond her and then back at the bay. “I have to leave.”
Annabelle stared at him, thinking she must have misunderstood.
She followed his gaze to The Cormorant, seeing the scene with fresh eyes.
It wasn’t just supplies being loaded. A crew was aboard, the sails were being trimmed, the tide was high.
Her thoughts turned sluggish, and her heartbeat seemed to slow.
“Hawke . . .” He hadn’t said we have to leave.
He was going, and he meant to leave Annabelle behind.
“I must.” He took off his hat, turning to face her. “I’m sorry, Belle.”
She studied his face, searching for any clue as to his reasoning. “I thought you . . . we . . .”
“I know.”
Tears flooded her eyes, choking her throat. What did he know? That she was in love with him? That she saw her future with him?
“You do not know.” She gasped out the words and turned away before her sobs could break through.
She was mortified by her naivete and the sentiments she’d allowed to develop.
He must believe her to be an inexperienced girl who considered a kiss to be a promise of devotion rather than simply an amusing diversion.
Hawke caught her hand, stopping her. “I know that I want to be with you more than I have wanted anything in my life.” He turned her around, resting his hands on her shoulders.
“I know that leaving will split my heart open, that I can hardly breathe when I think of being apart from you.” His eyes shone with the intensity of his words.
“But I also know I can’t be with you. I can’t be who you need, Belle. ”
Her tears spilled over, and her words came out in a whisper. “Who I need is you.”
He brushed the tears from her cheeks. “You are a lady, and you belong somewhere warm and beautiful and safe. Not . . .” He waved a hand, the motion encompassing the island, the camp, the ships.
“And so you have decided what is in my best interest.” Anger and frustration were much easier to tolerate than hurt, and she pulled them around her heart in defense.
“My opinions, my feelings, do not matter because I am just a silly young woman with romantic ideas who does not understand how the world works.”
“Of course I don’t believe that.”
Annabelle stepped back, pulling away from his touch.
“And what of our deal?” she asked. “You promised to see us safely home to London.”
“I have reneged on the terms of the deal,” he said. He glanced back toward the ships. “You owe me nothing.”
Annabelle folded her arms. “Go then.” Her heart ached, and she fought to hold on to the anger.
“Belle—”
“Do not call me that.”
Hawke dropped his arms and let out a ragged breath. He studied her face, as if waiting for her to say something, but what was there to say?
Annabelle looked away.
“Goodbye, Lady Annabelle.”
As he walked away, Annabelle waited for him to stop, to reconsider, to come back. But he did not.
Hawke joined Court on the shore. The older man put a hand on Hawke’s shoulder as they talked.
Annabelle turned, looking for somewhere she could be alone. She started for the tree line but stopped when she heard Grieg calling her name.
Grieg waved as he and Shadbolt came up the beach toward her.
She knew the truth before they even spoke. She saw it in their faces. They were going too.
“No, no, no. Please.” She closed her eyes against the tears, knowing their farewell would be final. “You can’t leave. Please.”
“Oh, my beautiful Belle.” Shadbolt brushed back her hair and held her face in his hands. He kissed her forehead. “You have been my dear one all these years.”
Grieg wiped tears from his cheek. He held out his arms, and Annabelle fell into them.
Sobs tore from her chest. “Please don’t go, Grieg. I’m not ready to say goodbye.”
He held her tightly. “I will miss our summers together,” he said in a creaking voice. “I wish for you a wonderful life, little sister.” He kissed her cheek and tapped her jaw softly with his fist, giving a teasing growl. “Arr, no more tears, now, matey. Buccaneers don’t cry.”
An hour later, Annabelle sat on the sand as she watched The Cormorant leave the bay. The ship sailed farther away until, at last, the crew were merely dots on the deck.
She pulled her knees close to her chest and sobbed, surprised that she still had tears left. How had everything changed so quickly? Her friends were gone. Her hopes were shattered.
And Hawke . . . if only he’d stayed, if only she could extinguish her feelings for him. If only she could stop this hurt. She squeezed the rock Tim had given her. Love doesn’t burn away. It would be so much easier if it did.
“Oh, Belle.” Court sat beside her. He put an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned against him, drawing in a shaky breath.
“I thought he . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
“I’m sorry, my dear.”
Court took her hand and placed a felt pouch into it.
She looked at him, brows raised in a question.
“Hawke left it for you,” he said, motioning for her to look inside.
She put the rock back into her pocket, then untied the knot and loosened the drawstring, tipping a small object into her palm. A carved wooden fox with chipped paint, worn with age.
Annabelle held Mr. Fox tightly in her fist as she gave in to a new wave of tears. If only.