“Perhaps.” Eliza looked at her hand, where the ruby ring Quinn had given her rested. “Given time, will any man want me?”
“The right man will.” The words were out of Esmée’s mouth before she’d given them thought, and they now became a silent prayer.
Eliza’s eyes held doubt. “As for a second husband, the very thought sickens me. For now I need to consider returning to the townhouse and sorting through Quinn’s belongings, his study, and his many papers. He was in some sort of a quandary before he fell ill. Some matter concerning the governor’s council, other burgesses, and such . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she put a hand to her brow. “I feel a headache coming on.”
Excusing herself, Eliza left the cottage. From where he stood by the hearth, Henri gave Esmée a concerned glance, but her smile offset it.
“So tomorrow is your wedding day.” Nathaniel looked nonplussed about Eliza’s abrupt departure. “Are you going to observe custom and marry in the morn? Or do you need more time?”
“Time enough to give Mistress Saltonstall leave to concoct a bride’s cake,” Henri said. “I promised her.”
Had he? Amused, Esmée discarded her notion of a small affair.
Nathaniel chuckled. “Your crew will want to be on hand, of course, for the frolic after. But what of the admiral?”
“Father knew he wouldn’t be here, given the timing and circumstances,” Esmée told him, regretful but resigned. “But he’ll be happy to hear you married us.”
With a knowing smile, Nathaniel reached for his wool coat hanging by the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll hie to the Flask and Sword and alert Mistress Saltonstall that her services are needed. You won’t mind being left alone, I daresay.”
“Nay,” Henri said emphatically, to Esmée’s delight. Clearly, wedding cake was the last thing on his mind.
CHAPTER
sixty-eight
The bride’s cake was hurriedly baked, a plump confection stuffed with dried fruit, spirits, and nutmeats. The punch was enlivened with citrus brought off the Intrepid and poured into an ornate silver bowl. Mistress Saltonstall was pleased to host the wedding reception at her ordinary and would try to keep Hermes calm amid all the fuss, Lucy told Esmée as she returned from helping at the tavern the next morn.
“Will the whole crew be at the nuptials, Miss Shaw?”
“Nay, only the festivities after.”
“Glad I am to be part of it.” Lucy’s eyes misted. “Ye look like a bride. But more than that, ye look happy. Happier than I’ve ever seen ye.”
“That I am,” Esmée replied, embracing her.
Though the morning was one of fog and bluster, a gentle wind banished the clouds by midafternoon. Esmée left the cottage, followed by Eliza and Lucy. Alice remained inside by a window, minding the babies as the women walked down the beach to where Henri waited.
Esmée kept her eyes on Henri, struck by how commanding he was even away from the ship. The look that graced his face when he saw her made her teary-eyed. He loved her. There could be no doubt. Why had she ever wondered?
Joining hands, Esmée and her groom stood on the stretch of sand before their house site, the sun fickle but warm upon their shoulders. Clad in her best lavender silk dress, lace cascading from her sleeves and pearls about her neck, she looked up at Henri, who was resplendent in black breeches and a fawn-colored coat. Freshly shaved, his hair trimmed and queued, and hinting of castile soap, he left her weak-kneed.
Eliza was somber in her black taffeta gown and hat, her veil swaying with the wind. She and Henri’s sailing master, Tarbonde, stood as witnesses. The festive mood turned hallowed as Nathaniel read the age-old marriage rites, a Bible open in one hand. Though Esmée missed Father fiercely, not even his absence dimmed her happiness.
Henri looked down at her, his eyes conveying what he did not say. Did he sense her unspoken thoughts?
My love, you have my heart, my whole heart, from this day forward. There’s been none but you, nor will there ever be, come what may. You are the Almighty’s choice for me.
“You may kiss your bride, Captain Lennox,” Nathaniel said at last.
Not one kiss but two sealed their vows, promising a night of bliss to come. The sun shone down as they began a walk to the Flask and Sword, determined to return by dusk to mind the light. Esmée looked forward to climbing the tower steps with Henri alongside. For now they led the small wedding party, though Eliza returned to the cottage to remain behind with Alice and the babies.
The fiddling could be heard from quite a distance. Esmée’s anticipation quickened, though what she wanted was to be alone with her groom. But she wouldn’t deny the crew their enjoyment of their captain in his newly married state. They went up the tavern’s wooden steps into the taproom, where tables and chairs had been pushed back along the walls to allow for dancing. Huzzahs erupted at the sight of them. Hermes scampered hither and yon, not screeching but clearly excited by all the fuss.
Esmée’s eyes went to the bride’s cake and punch bowl, as she’d hardly eaten that morn. But such was forgotten as Henri led her out for the first dance. Lady Mary Menzies’s Reel. There were no finely stepped minuets here. Just wild, happy romps where an abundance of men joined arms in a ring and cavorted around the two of them.
A sea breeze kept them cool, wafting in through wide-open windows. Cake was consumed and punch downed as the sun slipped west in a haze of pink and cream. With a look at the watch he kept in his pocket, Henri winked at her, signaling it was time to make their escape. And escape they did, just the two of them, while the merriment continued unabated.
“If only I could return you to our house and not our cottage,” Henri said as they skirted the site.
She squeezed his hand. Lucy had helped her move all her belongings to Henri’s that morning. “But your—our—cottage is quite cozy.”
“Aye, that it is.” His grin told her he minded not a whit. “The night is just beginning. Time enough to light the tower, then kindle our own fire.”
She flushed, warmth drenching her. At the top of a sand dune they turned and took in the sunset, now little more than layered rose ribbons on the horizon.
He brought her hand to his lips. “Not long ago I was smelling black powder and dodging bullet lead. All this seems more mirage, Mistress Lennox.”
“I pray the mirage never ends, Captain, and ’twill be smooth seas for us in the years to come.”
He looked down at her, gathering her hands in his. “Now seems a good time to tell you I won’t be returning to sea. I’ve told the governor the same. My maritime career is finished.”
Finished. And said with such finality. “Are you . . . sure?”
“Without a doubt. My future is you. Our children. Indigo Island. And something tells me you’ll not voice a single objection, ma belle.”
Laughing, she snaked her arms around his neck as he swept her off her feet into his arms and walked toward the lighthouse standing stalwart in the distance.
CHAPTER
sixty-nine
Esmée opened her eyes to a rooster’s crowing. Lying quietly, she pondered yesterday’s events with a thankful heart, Henri’s bulk warm and disheveled beside her. His boots stood near the bed along with his queue ribbon and her lavender gown. Raising a hand, she admired her posy ring, feeling every inch married. Would that they could stay abed all day. But life continued all around them, the sun streaming across the coverlet and rousing them to greet the day.