She must check in on the women and babies first thing. Eliza had mentioned leaving soon, perhaps with Nathaniel on the morrow. The jolly would return them to York. Would Alice and Ruenna leave too? If so, ’twould just be her and Henri here on their end of the island and Lucy in the adjoining cottage. Construction would soon begin. Esmée could plant the remainder of their garden and welcome summer when it came.
The rooster’s renewed crowing brought Henri round. He blinked, eyes half-shuttered against the sun. And then he got his bearings, rolling toward her and tickling her without mercy.
She laughed till the tears came, her words breathless. “Stop, Husband, lest we bring all the islanders to our door!”
“Nay, ma chérie. We are honeymooning. They wouldn’t dare.”
To escape him, she rolled away and hung her feet over the side of the feather mattress. “I must see to your breakfast like I’ve dreamed of doing for years. Hot chocolate and toast for you to start.”
He reached for her again, but she eluded him, dressing hastily in the silk gown she’d discarded. She wouldn’t return to her workaday clothes just yet. Peering in his shaving mirror, she wound up her hair as best she could, secured it with pins, and topped it with a lace cap, aware he watched her every move.
He pushed himself up on one elbow. “You’re blushing. It becomes you.”
She blew him a kiss as she started for the kitchen, her stomach a-rumble. The cottage was chill. The hearth’s fires had gone out in the night. She stirred the kitchen coals with a poker, then went in search of wood. And drew up short just past the threshold.
An unfamiliar boat, a sloop she did not recognize, was docking at the pier. Wariness needled her. One man in particular drew her notice. Was that the Williamsburg sheriff? His grim expression soured the high mood from their wedding day.
It was then she heard a feminine shout.
Eliza?
Her sister’s voice crested before Eliza spun on her heel and returned to her cottage with an emphatic slamming of the door. Hard enough to make the dishes rattle, surely.
Esmée returned inside posthaste. “Henri,” she called.
“I’m nearly dressed,” he replied from the bedchamber.
“I fear we have company.”
He entered the parlor but drew up short at the window. His face showed no surprise or alarm, though her own heart ticked like a wayward clock. When he stepped outside, she followed, standing with him to watch the men on board disembark.
“Go inside and I’ll join you shortly.” His low tone brooked no questions. No argument.
She pulled her attention from the sheriff to Henri’s now guarded face. “All right.”
Head down, she took the shell path to her former cottage. Eliza stood looking out the window. As soon as Esmée let herself in, Eliza whirled on her.
“Why is that blackguard Osborn here with his minion magistrates?” Eliza’s eyes lit with cold fire. “They were skulking for half an hour before landing.”
At her outburst, Alice and Lucy scurried to the kitchen, babes in arms.
Esmée joined Eliza at the window. “I sense their coming bodes ill.”
“It can’t be about Father or they’d have told me when I confronted them.” Eliza crossed her arms. “I shouted at them in most unladylike fashion when they docked. Asked their intent. They said they came seeking the captain.”
Esmée’s stomach clenched. Had Henri hidden something from her?
Eliza remained at the window, her expression a picture of disgust. The sun climbed higher, calling out the tense expressions of the men deep in conversation. Lucy and Alice were speaking in low tones in the kitchen.
Esmée kept on her cloak and went to the fire, chilled by more than the cold morn.
“My, how stern the sheriff looks. I’ve rarely seen him sober.” Eliza sniffed. “Well, the captain shall soon send them packing, I’ve no doubt.”
But the men remained through toast and tea and the babies’ next feeding. Eliza paced while Esmée dandled Ruenna in her lap, trying to pray her way through the untimely interruption.
“At last, they’re leaving.” Eliza released a pent-up breath and joined Esmée at the hearth.
In moments, a knock at the door signaled Henri. “No need to look contrarie,” he said, eyes on Esmée. But she knew that look. He said no more, but she sensed he was withholding something so as not to alarm them. Or waiting to be alone with her before he enlightened her further. “The men are on their way back to the mainland.”
To her amazement, Eliza did not question him further. If she had, he might not have heard her, for Ruenna began crying her loudest and Alice hurried in, intent on helping.
“You two are on your honeymoon,” Eliza said, unsmiling. “No need to stay here a moment longer.”
Esmée soon left the cottage with Henri, looking over her shoulder to see the unwelcome boat moving slowly west toward the mainland.
CHAPTER
seventy
This was not how she’d envisioned her honeymoon. The knot of disappointment inside Esmée widened to alarm as she stepped from the Relentless’s jolly onto the York dock with the help of Henri’s firm hand. Eliza stepped out after them, her veiled hat aflutter. Lucy and Alice had remained behind on the island with the babies. They couldn’t risk returning them to York with smallpox still a menace.
Esmée cast a look down Water Street to where the sign Shaw’s Chocolate swung in the early March wind. The town seemed fractious today, the taint of tar and brine and fishmongers curling Esmée’s nose under a leaden sky. The weather had kept them from returning yesterday, the wind contrary, the waves high.
A carriage took them up the hill to the Shaw townhouse. Patches of green burst through the gloom along with the first of spring’s blooms, pear trees and daffodils foremost. So focused was Esmée on her inner turmoil that the colors seemed muted, a shadow of themselves. Few folks were about, lending to her worry the smallpox was far from over.
Esmée turned her postponed plans over in her mind as she would soil with a garden spade. She should be sowing sweet marjoram and hyssop and thyme in their kitchen garden and expecting the laborers to arrive with the building stones for their home. But instead they were headed to Williamsburg because her new husband had been accused of something nefarious.
Father was not at home, nor was he expecting them. Mrs. Mabrey greeted them and made them comfortable in the parlor. Henri wanted to wait and inform Father that they were en route to the capital.
Eliza seemed to turn inward, saying little, her expression a mystery beneath her veil. She wasn’t wanting to return to the Williamsburg townhouse, to the place where she’d known such happiness with Quinn. She’d confided this when Henri had told them he must meet with authorities in Williamsburg. But at the last Eliza decided to accompany them. Perhaps putting off the inevitable somehow made it more painful as a widow.
Esmée, seated near the fire with Eliza, kept her eyes on Henri, who stood looking out a draped window. When the front door opened and shut with a familiar thud, she knew Father was finally home.
“Company—the very best kind.” He came in, his pleasant expression somewhat guarded as he set aside his hat and walking stick.