Chapter Eight
Josephine yawned and snuggled deeper in her sheets.
The plush mattress and soft bedding might be enough to make her decide to stay abed all day.
Yes, definitely the bed. Not the embarrassment from yesterday’s dreadful fountain mishap.
Her fingers drifted down to her sides, where she remained quite certain the lieutenant’s handprints had been seared into her skin.
With a sigh, she rolled to face the ceiling, unable to stop the heaviness pressing down on her.
He would leave the next morning and shatter all of her ill-formed plans.
Destiny, it turned out, did not like being taken in hand.
Everything had been ruined, her future no better than it had been back on the island.
No. Though her plans to spend more time with the lieutenant had evaporated, there was still an entire city to explore and new faces to meet. She would make the most of her stay in Savannah.
A knock came from her door and Abigail poked her head inside.
“Oh good, you’re awake. I came in earlier but you were still sleeping.
Figured you could use the rest after your journey.
I’m sure you didn’t sleep well on the ship.
” Lola sat perched on her shoulder. “I hope it’s alright I took her down to breakfast with me.
She was making a ruckus and I feared she’d awaken you. ”
Josephine smiled. “Of course. She was probably upset about missing her morning meal.”
Abigail giggled. “She did steal several pieces of fruit.”
“I hope you’re prepared for her to think you’re now her new best friend. She’s highly motivated by food.”
A wide smile spread across Abigail’s face. “Oh, good, because I adore her.” She reached up and stroked Lola’s green feathers.
A flush of warmth spread through Josephine and she knew without a doubt this beautiful woman would become a good friend. She sat up and swung her feet to the floor, stretching.
“Did you sleep well?”
Josephine ran her hands over the sheets. “I think this is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in.”
With a laugh, Abigail went to the window and pulled the curtains aside. “Today’s a busy day. I’ve tea at Mrs. Crompton’s. You can stay here if you’d like, but Samantha said you were keen to see Savannah and the Cromptons live downtown.”
Squinting against the bright sunlight, Josephine stood. “I would love to join you.”
Lola let out a loud squawk as Abigail bounced on her heels. “Good, because I already picked out the perfect dress for you.” She pointed at a gown draped over the end of the bed.
Josephine blinked. When had it been brought?
She must have slept hard indeed if she’d missed that.
Her eyes widened when her fingers brushed against yellow muslin, soft as a sunkissed marigold petal.
She lifted the skirt, her eyes tracing the delicate white embroidery along the hem.
The fabric shimmered faintly, with tiny glass beads catching the morning light along the bodice.
For a moment, she simply stared. Her own best dress was a navy poplin with faded trim.
But this—this was a cloud, weightless and unspoiled by the harshness of sea or sun.
“I could never wear this.” The words came out in a reverent whisper and she met Abigail’s gaze. “I brought my own skirt and blouse.”
“Nonsense.” Abigail picked it up and held it in front of Josephine. “This suits you very well. You’ll want to make a good first impression.”
Could she? Josephine took it and stepped in front of the mirror.
The golden hue softened her, brightening her bronzed skin and giving her dark hair a richness that belied its unruly nature.
This dress belonged in another world, one she had no business in—but for one afternoon, she could borrow it, could pretend she was someone else.
With a deep breath, she smiled at Abigail. “Alright.”
Her friend’s eyes sparkled as she helped Josephine dress. The gown clung in just the right places, and as Abigail arranged her hair, Josephine caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror. This time, she barely recognized the person staring back.
Once ready, they made their way to the waiting carriage.
The door closed with a soft thud, and the vehicle rocked forward in a gentle lurch as the horses fell into a steady clatter.
The sun had burned off the thin veil of mist, leaving behind a warm light that bathed the countryside.
Josephine kept her gaze fixed outside the open window where the world shifted and changed before her eyes.
At first, it was all familiar—the broad, flat expanse of the riverside where merchant ships bobbed at anchor, their sails furled.
The air held the sharp bite of tar and she caught the briny scent of oysters as they passed a fishmonger’s stall along the docks.
Men in rough linen shirts hauled crates onto wagons, their coarse voices carrying over the sound of hooves.
The carriage wheels rumbled over rough cobblestones as the grit of the waterfront gave way to broad streets flanked by oaks casting dappled shadows over all who passed.
Elegant houses of brick and stucco stood behind wrought-iron gates, where climbing roses and jasmine spilled over, their blossoms spilling sweetness into the air.
Ladies in pastel gowns strolled beneath parasols along shaded walkways while gentlemen in fine waistcoats and breeches tipped their hats as they walked by.
It was all so… civilized. She sat back against the tufted velvet seat as Abigail chatted easily about who they might see at tea.
But Josephine only half listened, her eyes drawn to the passing city.
It all seemed too perfect. Too refined. Savannah was a far cry from the wild, untamed edges of Tortuga where vines crawled freely and the sun bleached everything in its path.
Here, the beauty felt deliberate and controlled.
They slowed at one of the squares where a statue stood at its heart.
A group of children in muslin dresses ran around it, their laughter echoing over the street and Josephine’s lips tugged into a faint smile.
“Josephine?”
Her gaze snapped back to Abigail, who gave her an expectant look. “I’m so sorry, I was distracted.”
Abigail gave a wide grin. “We’re here.”
Once they climbed the marble steps, a servant opened the door and ushered them inside.
They followed the sound of voices to the parlor.
Sunlight streamed through tall multi-paned windows draped with sheer muslin curtains, and framed botanical prints lined painted plaster walls.
A Turkish rug, slightly faded but richly patterned, covered the wood floor, the faint scent of beeswax polish lingering.
Near one of the windows, an older woman sat at a mahogany tea table, pouring tea from a silver pot into matching porcelain cups.
The gilt rims and floral patterns on the china caught the light, but their beauty was lost on Josephine as her gaze lingered on the women arranged about the room in chairs and on the settee.
They sat with perfect posture, their elaborate gowns flowing to the floor in effortless grace.
Laughter, soft and deliberate, drifted over the room like the tinkling of chimes.
A practiced ease seemed to flow from them—hands delicately folded, even-toned voices, subtle glances around them—as though rehearsed.
Josephine’s mouth went dry as one by one, gazes flickered her way.
Abigail squeezed her arm and guided her in. “Don’t worry, everyone will love you.”
Once she finished pouring, their hostess stood with a warm smile. “Oh, Miss Ross, I’m so glad you could make it. And who is this?”
Josephine stood straighter. Was it just her or did the room suddenly go quiet?
“Mrs. Crompton, this is Miss Josephine Montclair, daughter of the governor of Tortuga. She’s to be my guest for a short while.”
“Oh, how lovely. We’ve always room for new faces.”
They found two unclaimed seats next to each other. Abigail introduced Josephine to the twins sitting to her left, Louisa and Eleanor Bellefleur, and continued around the room. By the time she got to the last girl, Josephine had forgotten nearly all the names.
“Is Savannah very different from Tortuga?” one of the twins asked.
Josephine grinned. “Oh yes. It is so much bigger and so much more refined. In Tortuga, you could cross paths with a smuggler, a pirate, and a merchant all in the span of the same minute.”
Their eyes widened. “Surely you jest.”
She leaned forward. “It’s a wild island, unfettered from the bonds of society. Lawless, you might say.”
One of the girls started to fan herself and the others looked away from Josephine, finding a sudden interest in their empty teacups.
“What are we all discussing over here?” Mrs. Crompton sat and began pouring everyone’s tea.
One of the girls snickered. “Josephine was telling us how… interesting her island is.”
A lump formed in her throat. What had she said wrong?
The conversation turned to the weather and the latest fashion prints.
Louisa held something out. “Sugar?”
She stared at the little bowl with its elegant silver tongs. She never drank anything in her tea or coffee. After everyone gave her expectant looks, she deposited one lump into her cup. Louisa didn’t move the bowl and Josephine glanced around the room. Oh, for heaven’s sake. She took another cube.
The sugar went round the room, each lady taking her portion, and soon the delicate tinkle of spoons on glass filled the air.
Josephine lifted her cup and took a swallow, nearly gagging at the syrupy taste.
Abigail gave a discreet cough and raised her cup, her fingers poised lightly on the handle.
Josephine dropped her gaze to where her hand wrapped around the cup and sighed, moving her fingers to barely hold the handle.
Her next sip nearly sent the cup tumbling from her grasp. How silly to hold something like that.