Nine

She recoiled as though he’d struck her. Instinct prompted Nathaniel to reach out and draw her to his side, shelter her, protect her. But the gaping wound inside his heart, the fear of betrayal, since learning of Conover’s claim, kept both his hands on the wheel and his gaze fixed on the endless road of water before him, a bleak and empty road in the night, as his future too easily could become.

Trust the Lord’s plan.

Not easy with the woman he was more than a little certain he loved standing beside him white-faced in the moonlight, her hands pressed to her middle as though she were about to be sick. Worst of all, she remained silent. She didn’t deny the accusation.

How far could a gossamer thread of faith fray?

His right hand throbbed as he gripped the pin to signal the engine room to slow the boat once again, and fixed one eye on Camilla. “So there’s truth in it?”

“N-no. That is . . .” She covered her face with her hands. “Yes, it’s true, but it wasn’t on purpose. I did not know . . . I did not realize . . . This is why I needed to ensure I got onto that boat west.”

“Because you’re running from the law.”

“No, not the law.” Her head shot up and she glared at him. “I would rather end up in the Marshalsea Prison for debt than what Conover has in mind for me.”

“And what is that?”

“He threatened to sell me for debt.”

He may as well have been standing over a cold boiler in a blizzard for all the warmth he felt in his limbs at that moment. “So you’re the one in debt? Are you the one with the gambling habit, not your brother?”

“No, I have never gambled in my life, except for coming to America. It was my brother.” She held out her hands palms up. “When he ran out of money and unentailed property to game away, he began to borrow from a cent per center.”

“A what?”

“A moneylender with usurious interest.”

“Conover.”

She took a shuddering breath. “He—my brother—told Conover I needed the money and put up my mother’s jewelry as collateral. But when Ashby—my brother, Marcus Lord Ashby—fled for the continent, Conover came after me for the jewels.”

“And you fled with them instead of paying the debt?”

“No, I turned them over to him.”

“So how could he claim you were a thief?”

She pressed one hand to her lips. “They were counterfeit, paste replicas. He found a London jeweler who claimed a female fitting my description, probably someone my brother found, had them copied.”

“Was it you?” He hated to ask. He would have hated himself if he had not.

She gasped. “You can ask me that?”

“I just did.”

“You do not believe me?”

“I—” He wanted to. Every fiber of his being ached to say yes. His sense of betrayal that she hadn’t told him in the days, in all the hours they had spent together, warned him her silence meant she had something to hide, especially since she chose to run away to the west rather than stay and face down her accuser. “I don’t know if I should.”

Her shoulders straightened, stiffened. “Then I need say no more. I shall remain in my cabin until we reach Albany, and you may turn me over to Conover there.”

“To be sold as a-a—” He couldn’t say the word in front of a lady.

“It won’t matter to me if you think me a liar.”

“I don’t want to.” He pounded his fist on the wheel. “But you are running away like a thief.”

“And how can I prove my innocence to a greedy moneylender, when you, who have paid court to me, who shares my Christian faith, however fragile it is right now, won’t believe me?”

He flinched. “I want to believe you, but why didn’t you trust me with the truth?”

“Because I was afraid you would turn away from me.” She drew in an audible breath. “And you have. I understand. What man who is trying to save his boat wants a woman with that kind of a burden on her head? It’s why I will stop at little to go west even if Joanna did not wait for me. I have no choice, especially now that Conover has come after me.”

“Shouldn’t he be going after your brother?”

“My brother is dead.”

“You couldn’t tell me that?” He was too angry to give her sympathy. “Something so important in your life? I feel, Miss Renfrew, like maybe you have just been using me to get north, and you don’t care about anything between us at all.”

“I do.”

“But not enough to tell me the truth.”

“Too much to burden you with my disgrace.” She laid her cool, smooth fingers against his cheek. “I had no business getting close to you, but I couldn’t help it. You were . . . You are the most amazing man I have ever met. If I were to let myself love anyone . . .” She stepped back. “But I am not. I am sorry I let this go too far.” With that, she turned and walked away from him.

He gripped the wheel, feeling he could rip all eight feet of it from its moorings in the deck and run the boat aground. At that moment, he didn’t care if he went aground. What was two hundred tons of wood and steel in comparison to losing the lady of his heart?

“That’s it, isn’t it, Lord?” He stared into the night, oddly light-headed and lighthearted, the burden of years slipping from his shoulders.

He understood now. He had been valuing the wrong things. Bent on proving his father and brother wrong about him being a failure as a steamboat pilot and then part owner, he had placed his faith in making money rather than serving the Lord. He had been so angry with Camilla because he knew her debt came between them. As much as he claimed to care about her, in his heart, he didn’t want a female burdened with debt for which he might end up responsible. His accusations rejected her, pushed her away. Like the way his father and brother let their success and scorn of his ambitions come between family, he was allowing money to come between him and the lady he didn’t want to live without.

By the time he reached Albany, he knew what he must do.

The boat had ceased moving. Camilla lay on her bunk, gray light from the porthole washing over her, unable to believe she had finally fallen asleep and awakened to no more shug, shug, shug of the paddle wheel. Unless something had gone wrong, they had reached Albany. Today, she would learn her fate.

If only she had a decently ironed gown and hat to wear when she made her appearance at Joanna’s house.

If only the idea of leaving the Marianne didn’t break her heart in a hundred pieces.

If only she could grasp harder to the filament of faith she still possessed, that God had a perfect plan for her life and all would be right in the end. But was not the unknowing yet still believing what faith was? Trusting in the Lord. Not something she was good at since she learned of Marcus’s treachery—trust. She hadn’t trusted Nathaniel, and he believed her capable of having the jewels copied. If she had, would she be going upriver in crumpled gowns and a straw hat good for nothing beyond lining a bird’s nest?

Her hair felt like that bird’s nest, tangled from her restless night tamping down tears, forcing down a desire to run up to the pilothouse and tell him she loved him. As though he would believe her.

Heavy eyed and heavier limbed, she donned her best dress, only a little creased from lying at the bottom of her valise, and combed and braided her hair into submission. Valise in one hand, reticule in the other, she exited the cabin for the last time and descended to the cargo deck in search of the captain.

Billy stood at the head of the gangway directing the unlading of the cargo. He gave her a cold look and shouted orders to two more crewmen before giving her his attention. “What do you want?”

“Captain Black.” She held out her five-dollar gold piece. “I never paid him for my passage or meals.”

“He doesn’t want it. He told me to tell you to keep your money.”

Nathaniel hadn’t even waited to collect the money she owed him, he so much didn’t want to see her.

She shoved the coin back into her reticule. “I’ll be on my way then.”

Billy didn’t so much as glance at her.

Her valise feeling as though it weighed more than her entire body, she descended the gangway and headed along the wharf, still crowded with vessels and their crews, cargo, and passengers. She had written Joanna’s Albany address on the back of the letter inviting her to come to America. The third person Camilla asked knew where to find Niblo’s hotel on Broad Street. The walk was long and her bag heavy. Her heart weighed heavier, paining with each step away from the steamboat landing, away from Nathaniel.

Through a rain of tiny ice crystals against her face, she trudged past brick houses and lovely trees. The town spoke of prosperity and newness, a place to start life again.

Like the rest of the area, Niblo’s looked like a fine place, if one had the money to stay. Cold and wet, Camilla knew her bedraggled appearance wouldn’t garner her a warm reception in the lobby.

The man at the desk inside gave her a frosty glare. “We are not hiring at present.”

“I am not seeking work.” Realizing she just might be shortly, she hastened to add, “I am seeking Mrs. Arnaud.”

“Indeed?” The man gave her a sweeping glance that would have made any English peer’s butler proud. “Who is asking?”

Hope flared. “Is she still here? Please tell her Camilla Renfrew has arrived.”

“Mrs. Arnaud,” the supercilious clerk said, “has departed for Michigan.” He shuddered as though saying so pained him, then lowered his nose enough to add, “But she left Miss Renfrew a letter.”

Camilla’s heart began to pound. She couldn’t breathe. Everything would be fine. Joanna had made provision for Camilla to follow. She understood the hesitancy to come, the delay . . .

The clerk gave her a letter. Hand shaking, Camilla slit the seal with her thumbnail and unfolded the heavy vellum and read. Then she read it again. The precise handwriting began to swim and blur before her eyes until only one paragraph stood out . . .

We’ll have gone by the time you read this. You didn’t respond for so long I presumed you weren’t coming and hired someone else. I am praying for you and have full confidence you will find work here in Albany . . .

The letter crumpled in her hand, the lobby darkening before her eyes, Camilla spun on her heel and stumbled to the door.

“Miss, your bag,” the clerk called after her.

“Air. Need air.” Camilla flung open the door to the freezing rain.

And tumbled into the arms of Frederick Conover.