Chapter Two
Soft dough pressed between Josephine’s fingers as she folded the elastic mixture over on itself.
With a grunt, she threw her weight into her palms and smashed down one last time.
She pulled one end over the other to form a tight ball before plopping it into a basket.
A strand of hair stuck to her damp forehead and she swiped her hand to push it back.
Blasted heat. She leaned in front of the open louvers, willing even a hint of a breeze to bring her some relief.
The glimmer of the sea between two buildings caught her eye and she groaned. A swim sounded lovely. In fact, she very may well kill for one. But with too many new ships in the harbor, it wasn’t safe.
Speaking of new, a trio of masts that hadn’t been there yesterday towered above the rest. Ships that size were rarely seen in Tortuga.
Had Thorne returned? Surely, he wouldn’t risk it when on the run from the navy.
Maybe a wealthy merchant’s ship? She picked up a handkerchief and tied her hair back.
With her chores finished, there was ample time to go investigate before starting dinner.
Outside, the sun bore down on her, the heat penetrating her skin within seconds. Probably should have opted for a brimmed hat. With a shrug, she continued. Wasn’t like she would take long, only one street separated her from a clear view of the harbor.
A few steps later, the ship came into view and her eyes went wide.
A sleek Sloop of War, fully ship-rigged, rested at the docks.
Crisp white sails draped from perfectly straight yards.
Out of habit, Josephine counted the cannons gleaming in the sunlight on one side.
Eleven Twenty-two guns made her a formidable ship that dwarfed every other boat in sight.
Very few could afford such a vessel, which meant…Her pulse quickened as her eyes flew to the mainmast. Though it draped limp, there was no mistaking the stars and stripes of the United States flag. A naval jack hung at the stern, signaling the ship belonged to the US Navy.
A small schooner floated behind it and her heart stuttered.
The same ship her father had lent.
Could it be? A lightness filled her chest, almost immediately extinguished as she remembered Colette’s words from the night before.
Still, she picked up her skirt and turned down a small footpath.
It wound down the steep hillside, a convenient yet strenuous shortcut that cut the journey to the water in half.
Her feet skimmed over loose rocks and ruts and she drew to a stop when a group of men came into view, standing on the dock next to the ship. A small cry caught in her throat.
The lieutenant.
Standing there in uniform, talking to her father.
He’d survived.
She ran the rest of the way down the path.
When she drew near to the dock, she stopped and glanced down. What was she thinking? Streaks of flour marred her skirt, and her plain blouse clung to sweat-dampened skin. Brushing her hands up to her head, she groaned. Wisps of hair had escaped her handkerchief and stuck out in every direction.
She couldn’t face him looking like this.
From where she stood, she could not see the other side of the dock where the men had been standing.
If she turned back, she could go home and change.
And then what? What excuse would she have for coming to the docks all dressed up?
What if the ship left by then? She bit down on her lip.
If he left before she got a chance to see him, she’d never forgive herself.
Her gaze slid to the tavern, not far from the docks. Colette would help make her at least presentable. It would only take a few minutes. With a grin, she hurried that way.
“Josephine, what are you doing down here?”
Her father’s voice brought her to a stop and she gave a feeble attempt to press her curls beneath her handkerchief before slowly turning. He strode toward her, alone. Thank goodness.
“I came to see the ship.” She pointed at the sloop.
“Ah yes. She’s a beauty, isn’t she? The USS Tempest, newly constructed.”
With a nod, Josephine started walking again, a curse dancing upon her lips. If only she had finished her bread a little earlier.
Footsteps came from behind her as he caught up. “While you’re down here, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
She stopped in her tracks.
“I think it’s time you get married.”
Josephine spun to face him, panic twisting in her gut. “Wh-What do you mean?”
“You’re three and twenty. While I have long hoped that Tortuga would become a prosperous island, it has not. And while it has remained outside of the conflict in Haiti, I fear for the future. If the French are overthrown, my position will be in danger.”
The revolution in Haiti had been going on for over a decade. Though her father rarely spoke of it, the pirates and merchants at the tavern did. Josephine was not naive. “But what does that have to do with me getting married?”
Her father gave her a tight smile. “If the revolution succeeds, we would have to return to Europe. But that would be hard on you. I have no connections there, no standing. It would be a difficult life. Cyrus Wentworth has just written to me asking for your hand, and I believe he is a good match for you.”
Josephine stepped back, a stark coldness sliding through her veins. “Cyrus Wentworth? I don’t even know who that is.”
“Oh come now, he’s the American sugar merchant who has dined at our home many a time.”
“That old man?” Josephine recoiled at a recollection of gray hair and a rotund belly. “You can’t be serious.”
He frowned. “He’s not that old.”
“He’s older than you!” She crossed her arms across her chest, her heartbeat pounding a wild tune against her skin. “I will not marry him. I would rather go to Europe with you.”
With a sigh, he turned to face the sea. “I want you to be secure. We have lived a good life here, never in need or want. Cyrus has dined with kings, bankrolled naval contracts, and buried two wives. You’d want for nothing.”
“Papa, I can’t.” Josephine’s voice cracked. “I do want to get married. But not to someone three times my age whom I don’t even know.”
“Well, he’ll be arriving here next week on a merchant run, so you’ll have some time to become more acquainted with him.”
“I said no. This conversation is over.” She spun away but he followed.
“Josephine!”
She ignored him and continued, picking up her pace.
“Josephine, don’t do anything rash. The newly promoted Lieutenant Caldwell will be joining us for dinner tonight.”
*
Don’t do anything rash.
Josephine harrumphed and set the last platter of food on the table.
What did he think she was going to do, elope with the first pirate she met? Not that she could have even done that, as the presence of the Tempest had caused the entire island to go dormant.
Of all the men, Cyrus Wentworth.
She shuddered.
He was certainly not whom she pictured last night during her tirade to Lola. Of course, her father would choose an old stuffy merchant. Hell, maybe she should take interest in a pirate. Even a smuggler would be better than someone old enough to be her grandfather.
A knock came from the front door and she smoothed her skirt and took a deep breath. The lieutenant. A deep breath filled her lungs. She would not let the discussion with her father from earlier hamper her evening.
Her father had just gone upstairs to change so she approached the door.
Once there, she paused and ran her hands over her hair to make sure it hadn’t come loose.
It rested in a simple chignon with a few curls teased free.
Dinner had nearly been burnt as she tried to juggle getting ready and cooking all at the same time.
Her pulse raced as she reached for the doorknob.
“Miss Montclair.”
The baritone of his voice washed over her the moment she opened the door.
Instead of stepping back to let him in, she stood transfixed.
A white cravat spilled from a navy double breasted frock coat with gold braiding at the cuffs, and immaculate buff breeches clad to long legs.
She jerked her attention up to where a bicorne hat hid the majority of his blonde waves.
Even more handsome than she remembered.
Her breath caught as he returned the perusal, his gaze traveling a slow path from her face to her feet, then back up, pausing for a long moment on her chest, where she’d purposely left a button free on her best blouse. Heat spread through her when blue eyes finally settled on hers.
“I thought of you often.”
“You did?” She cringed at her blurted response. “I mean…Well, what I meant…”
A grin spread across his face as her cheeks burned.
“I also thought of you—your safety—while you were gone.”
His smile broadened. “Thank you.”
“Lieutenant Caldwell, I’m so glad you made it.” Her father’s voice from behind her made her jump.
The lieutenant removed his hat. “I appreciate the invitation.”
She stepped to the side and followed the men to the dining room. Her father sat and motioned the lieutenant to the seat next to him, but he crossed over to where Josephine stood and pulled her chair out for her. She murmured her thanks as her cheeks burned anew.
Once Lieutenant Caldwell took his seat, he gave an appreciative glance across the spread in front of them. “This looks wonderful.”
A lightness filled Josephine’s chest. Poached snapper, sweetened plantains and steamed greens were all Caribbean staples, but her bread and banana tart brought a French flair to the meal.
They sat and her father poured a glass of madeira for the lieutenant and himself.
Caldwell lifted his glass. “America is in your debt. Because of your ship, I was successful in rescuing my captain and men.”
“I’m very interested in hearing the story. I must say, when you said you were following Thorne, I did not expect to ever see you again.”