Impatiently Shanna waited as the sails were dropped and the Marguerite coasted to an easy berth at the pier. Several other ships in the harbor were withdrawn from the dock and anchored aside. Through the winter months the larger ones would be careened and repaired, while smaller ones would ply the islands south and west, trading the goods of the Continent for the raw material of the Caribbean.
The gangplank thudded down as the hawses were winched snug. Shanna’s heart nearly soared as high as the sea gulls cavorting overhead, and eagerly her eyes searched the crowd gathering below for the familiar face of her father.
Pitney appeared at her side, two of her lesser trunks tucked beneath his arms, and trailed behind as she descended. As Shanna stepped from the plank, Captain Duprey was there to offer his assistance, having made sure his wife was nowhere in the crowd. His dark eyes begged for some show of warmth in the exquisite oval face, but he was much disappointed, for Shanna hardly noticed him in her haste to be off the ship. As if he were only a servant fit for menial tasks, she thrust a frilly parasol into his hand and glanced anxiously about. Beyond the throng Trahern’s open barouche stood empty. But then the crowd separated as the squire came forward, almost hurrying to meet her. A wide grin parted his lips as he saw her, but he quickly squelched that show of pleasure.
Orlan Trahern was slightly shorter than the men around him, but his shoulders were broad, and his body was square. He moved with a deliberate stride, his weight carried easily, for though he was wide of girth there was a great strength in him. Shanna had seen him best Pitney in an arm wrestle for a mug of ale. When stirred to laughter, his whole frame would shake, though the mirth itself would be muted.
With a glad cry Shanna flew to her father and threw her arms about his stout neck. For a brief moment Trahern’s arms encircled her slim waist, then he thrust her gently away to lean on his long, gnarled walking stick and give her a sober perusal. With a clear, tinkling laugh Shanna raised her wide skirts of pale blue lawn, danced in a slow circle before him, and then faced him again with a low curtsy.
“Your servant, squire.”
“Aye, daughter.” He pursed his lips and contemplated her as if seeing her anew. “ ’Twould seem you’ve outdone yourself and grown even more beautiful in the year past.”
He half turned, settling onto his head the broad, low-crown hat he affected as his eyes fixed on Captain Duprey.
“And as ever you have men trailing after you to do your favors.”
Jean Duprey shifted the parasol in his hands as if he would have liked to find someplace to throw it but then finally handed it back to Shanna. Making the excuse of seeing to his ship, he rapidly retreated before Squire Trahern’s amused countenance.
“Have you become more tolerant of hardships, girl? I would not have guessed it in you to lower yourself to travel on such a humble vessel. ’Tis more your wont to enjoy the luxuries of life.”
“Now, papa,” Shanna beamed. “Be kind. I was anxious to be home. Will you deny that you’re happy to see me?”
Orlan Trahern cleared his throat sharply then peered at Pitney who seemed to be having trouble maintaining a sober face. The squire thrust out his hand to the man as the trunks were set to the ground.
“Aye, you’re fit,” Trahern nodded. “No worse the wear for escorting this lass about for a year. ’Twas oft I questioned my judgment in just sending Ralston to guide you both, but you’re here safe, and I suppose that nothing unduly disastrous has happened.”
Nervously Shanna opened her parasol and, twirling it above her head, managed a brilliant smile for her father.
“Come along, daughter,” he half ordered. “The noon hour is at hand, and we shall share a bite together while you give me news.”
Orlan clapped Pitney upon the back.
“You’ll be wanting to see yourself home I would guess. Cool your ale, and I’ll be along later to best you in a game of chess. Let me get this twit settled properly first.”
The squire led his daughter along without fanfare though the people closed around them to shout greetings to Shanna and thrust out hands in welcome. Word had been passed with the first sight of her, and even now stragglers joined the edge of the crowd. In sheer enjoyment Shanna laughed as old friends and favored ones pressed forward. Women from the village jostled close if only to stare at her gown and coiffure, seeing there the latest of fashions, while children fought to touch a finger to the hem of her skirt. Men were present as well, but those not familiar with Trahern’s daughter were given to hanging back to stare in awe at her fabled beauty. It was slow passage but filled with excitement and the renewal of fond acquaintances.
Assisted by her father Shanna mounted the carriage at last, and the barouche moved briskly away from the dock. Shanna leaned back, watching the familiar houses and trees roll by. Inwardly she braced herself for that which she knew would come. They were clear of the village and well on the road to the manor when Trahern, without glancing at her, broached the subject. His voice was so abrupt it gave her a small start.
“Have ye had enough of thither and yondering, daughter, or have you set your heart upon a husband?”
His brawny hand lay firm upon his stout knee, and it was there Shanna placed her own so the plain gold band on her finger was ready to the eye.
“You may call me Madam Beauchamp, papa, if not by my given name.” Her eyelids fluttered downward, and she ventured a peep at him from their corners. “But alas,” she let sadness creep into her voice, “there is also something I must tell you that is most distressing.”
Shanna felt strange in her tale, for his eyes, the same shade as her own, turned in silent question to her. Unable to meet them, she averted her face. Tears came, though much in part from shame at her deceit.
“A man I met, most gallant, most handsome—we wed.” She swallowed hard as the lie grew more bitter on her tongue. “After one brief night of bliss”—she dissolved in grief for a moment and then forced herself to continue—“he stepped from our carriage and turned his foot upon a stone. Before the surgeons could do aught, he died.”
Orlan Trahern slammed his staff against the floor of the barouche with an unworded curse.
“Oh, papa,” Shanna sobbed tearfully. “I was so late a beloved bride and so soon a widow.”
With a snort Trahern turned from her and sat quietly staring off into the distance, deep in thought. The well-traveled road passed between thick groves of palms and stretched into the sunlight again. The daughter quieted her weeping and, for the most part holding her peace, gave only an occasional sniffle until they reached the sprawling white mansion. Riotous colors flooded the lawn as poincianas unfolded their scarlet blooms, and clusters of fuchsia frangipani graced the air with sweet scent. The neatly clipped lawn spread as far as the eye could see, broken at regular intervals by the great trunks of towering trees that spread thick foliage high at their tops. Only rare shafts of sunlight pierced the crowns, dappling the wide porticos that stretched endlessly along the front and wings of the mansion. Covered archways of whitewashed brick shaded the raised veranda bordering the house on the main floor, while on the second story ornate wooden posts lined the long porch with sections of latticework, lending privacy to the separate chambers. The mansion was weighted down by a steep-pitched roof bedecked with dormers. French doors were an easy access to the porches from most any room in the great house, and the small, square panes of crystal within the doors sparkled with the mottled light, showing the care and attention of many servants.