He took a backstreet toward the Raleigh, trying to recall what it was he needed from Carter’s store. He tipped his hat to a trio of straw-hatted young ladies who tittered and gawked at him as he passed. Comely as they were, they didn’t hold a candle to Esmée.
Why was his every thought ensnared by her?
He pressed on, his coattails whipped about by the strengthening wind. Nigh on three o’clock. His stomach rumbled, making him consider supper options. After a day crowded with people and war talk, he wanted nothing more than the sanctuary of his lodgings and a fire to ward off the evening’s chill. Quinn had lent him a book from his growing personal library. Fielding’s The Journal of a Voyage to Lisbon.
But first, Carter’s store.
How good it felt to be out in the open air. Even without a harbor view, Williamsburg had a charm all its own. Eliza had wanted to send a maid in her stead, but Esmée felt the need to walk about alone while her sister napped. She hastened from Nassau Street toward the town’s wide-set thoroughfare with a decisive step, as if anxious to outpace any memories of yesterday’s tea. Mount Autrey cast quite a shadow in her thoughts. But for the moment she didn’t care to contemplate being courted by the sea chaplain, despite Eliza’s glee as they returned to the townhouse in the coach.
“Just think, Sister, we could be nearer neighbors. Mount Autrey lies just beyond Williamsburg. Not only that, you’d be ensconced at one of the oldest plantations in all Virginia, though the old aunties might take some getting used to.”
“You can put all that out of your head once and for all.” Esmée fingered her chatelaine, lingering on the tiny silver lighthouse. “I’m in no more danger of becoming an Autrey than you are being crowned queen of England.”
For once Eliza had made no reply.
Pulling her cape closer about her, Esmée slowed by Williamsburg’s jeweler. A woman jostled her as she went past, causing her to hold tighter to her pocketbook. Pickpockets were commonplace, be it here or York. She looked through the store’s large front window, assessing pinchbeck broaches and necklaces displayed next to sobering mourning jewelry and the pointe naive diamond rings capable of writing on glass. She’d always been most drawn to simple posy rings with their poignant inscriptions exchanged by lovers.
Far off yet not forgot.
God above increase our love.
In Christ and thee my comfort be.
Meet me at midnight.
Yours in heart till death depart.
Charmed, she nearly pressed her nose to the glass but for her wide hat. The longing building inside her became a full-fledged ache.
Early in their courtship, Henri had hinted at giving her a posy ring. Why had he not? Rather, why did it matter? She turned on her heel with renewed purpose and walked on to Carter’s store. Up the bricked steps and through the jingling door she went, always at home among her fellow merchants.
“What d’ye buy, Miss Shaw?” the shopkeeper asked, despite being busy with other customers.
“Pounce and wax.” Esmée took in the many shelves and displays crowded with all manner of tempting goods in a dizzying array. She missed the familiar York shops, but truly Williamsburg dazzled.
The shopkeeper’s voice carried pleasantly. “What you seek is at the back, in the south corner opposite the men’s coats.”
Thanking him, she slowly made her way in that direction, perusing cheesecake pans and ambergris wash balls, buttons and hand fans and handkerchiefs, China toy tea ware and imported garden seed. An embroidered bergère hat with velvet ribbons begged closer perusal, yellow silk roses adorning it. As she took the hat from its stand, she glanced past the display to the man in the near corner before a gilt-edged looking glass. And froze.
Henri?
What an arresting picture he made, even with his back to her. The coat he tried on was of fulled wool, suitable for winter, with a collar and deep cuffs. It fit his wide-set shoulders snugly before falling to the tops of his black boots. This one was a smoky gray, while the shop clerk held another in Prussian blue.
“Do you have a preference, sir?” the clerk asked.
A pause. Henri had a knack for weighing his words before speaking.
“The blue one,” Esmée whispered behind their backs.
Brow arched, the clerk turned toward her, as did the captain. Surprise crossed both their faces, and then Henri shrugged off the gray coat and exchanged it for the blue one. With a bob of his head, the clerk bowed and excused himself, leaving them alone.
“Blue it is,” Henri said with aplomb, turning back to the mirror.
Taking a deep breath, Esmée stepped clear of the hat display, forgetting she still clutched the bergère. Her head swam traitorously. She’d not eaten since breakfast, and then only sweet cake.
He looked at her reflection in the mirror, meeting her eyes. “So you are not only a chocolatier but a purveyor of men’s garments.”
“We are old friends, are we not?” She came to stand beside him, her wide petticoats brushing the leg of his breeches. “And as your friend I can make recommendations about your coat. Though the gray is handsome enough, you are altogether elevated in blue.”
“Your turn.” He faced her, gaze falling from her face to the hat she held. “Try it on.”
He reached out a hand to hold the bergère as she pulled the hatpins from her hair and removed the plain bonnet she wore. As she set the hat in place, the admiration in his eyes warmed her all over. She scarcely consulted the looking glass. Yet she must have the hat.
“I know nothing of women’s fashion, Miss Shaw, but it does become you . . . more than a little.”
So they were back to formal names, were they? The sting of it poked a hole in her swelling pleasure. Still, she smiled at him, caught up in this cozy corner while the world spun around them.
“Thank you, Captain. I believe I shall buy it.”
He took off the greatcoat and folded it over one arm while she removed her new hat. Stepping to the mirror, she pinned her old hat back into place.
“What brings you to Williamsburg?” The intensity of his gaze nearly made her forget his question.
“My father had meetings of which I’m sure you were a part. And I’m always happy to see my sister.”
“Lord Drysdale was absent today. Please give him and Lady Drysdale my regards.”
“I shall. We expect him home late this evening.” She paused, awkwardness building. But she was unwilling to end their chance encounter. “Are you lodging in town?”
“At the Raleigh, as palace quarters are full. But alas, Williamsburg has no harbor. And no Shaw’s Chocolate.”
That cheered her, though he’d yet to darken their door. “You miss the sea.”
“Aye, among other things.”
Other things?
She would not let herself think she was one of them. Her eyes met his again, and she found his gaze warm and lively, as if holding some invitation.
He gestured for her to go ahead of him. She did so reluctantly, having forgotten the time. The clock on a far wall told five o’clock. Esmée wanted to still the mechanical hands stealing the moment away from her. She could easily have stood there all night. But the store was closing soon, and a queue of people waited to purchase their goods. Somehow a gentleman got between them, ending any further conversation.