Lady in the Mist - Laurie Alice Eakes [127]
Dominick’s head went up, his expression turned haughty. “We’ll destroy you in a month.”
The demeanor, the tone, and the words shouted of his birthright—British aristocracy, pride in his family, in his country. He believed, without equivocation, that England would trounce the United States in armed combat.
She wished he wasn’t right.
“You have no Navy to speak of, and a handful of privateers can’t take down the strongest Navy in the world,” Dominick said, pressing home his point.
“But even men on the losing side make money in war.” Tabitha reached down and plucked a sprig of mint from its shady corner beneath the cedar tree. “And both men have ambitions that cost a great deal of money.”
“How do they make money in war other than privateering?” Dominick asked as he rejoined her on the bench.
Tabitha stared at him. “Building ships. Making weapons, making clothing. Providing preserved meats and ship’s bread. I expect there are others. Ship chandlers too.”
“Ah, trade. Not something I was taught.”
“What were you taught?”
“Latin and Greek, history and philosophy, mathematics and reading . . .” He shrugged, then smiled, tucked the sprig of lavender into the neckline of her gown, and let his fingertips rest on the faint scar on her throat. “Wooing lovely young ladies.”
“A pity you aren’t a better spy.” She removed his hand and raised it to her cheek. “You could be using those skills in a land where they’re appreciated, instead of here, where having land or being a shopkeeper means more.”
“Ah, you wound me.” He smiled, but the fact that it didn’t reach his eyes suggested he spoke the truth despite his light tone.
“I’m not a very good spy either.” She kissed his palm, the healed gash where the knife had pierced him between thumb and forefinger, evidence of him being a poor butler. “We have no more than suspicions against two upstanding citizens of Seabourne and a stronger suspicion against a man whose family is loved here, even if he himself isn’t since abandoning me at the altar.”
“Do you want him back?” Dominick asked. “I mean, if we knew where to find him and I wasn’t here, would you accept his suit?”
“If he’s involved, then he’s a traitor too, and the answer is—”
“Mr. Cherrett?” The cry came from the garden gate. “Dominick Cherrett.” Breathless, Dinah raced toward them. “Oh, sir, you’re here.” She tripped and landed on her knees on the path.
“What is it, child?” Dominick hastened to raise her to her feet again. “What’s happened?”
“Kendall.” Dinah’s chest rose and fell like bellows in the hands of a nervous blacksmith. “Mayor Kendall’s home and furious about you being gone since dawn.”
“Then I’d best be on my way.” He looked at Tabitha. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”
Tabitha glanced from Dinah’s anxious countenance to Dominick’s too-expressionless face, and stood. “I’m coming with you.”
“You can’t,” Dominick protested. “You’re injured.”
“I’m coming to explain your absence.” Tabitha took his arm, leaning on it more heavily than she wanted to. “So he understands you weren’t up to mischief.”
“It’s not him being here that’s the difficulty,” Dinah gasped out. “It’s Mayor Kendall’s study. He says someone’s been searching it and a key is missing.”
32
______
The eight bells signaling the noon hour rang through the ship like the tolling of a church spire calling mourners to a funeral service. Despite the stifling heat of the bread room, Raleigh shivered like a man with ague. He knew what was coming. He’d witnessed the ceremony often enough, the ritual so rigidly adhered to in the British Navy that it held an aura of religious fervor.
Raleigh wished for religious fervor. He settled for knowing nothing he had done was beyond God’s forgiveness, if not man’s. Or, in his situation, woman’s.
“Don’t forget to tell her,” he told Parks, as he had so many times that he’d lost count. “If you reach Seabourne, tell Tabitha she must forgive me and not blame God for my abandoning her.”
“I won’t forget.” Parks