Edward and I stood outside of my shop as men carried barrels from my storeroom and set them on my dray.
“Mama,” he said. “I’m checking the list.”
“Good, my boy. Use those fingers.”
My son looked dapper in pants of emerald green and a matching coat. I took extra effort to dress him well. I had to make sure that no one mistook my boy for someone to bother. Helping Governor Samuel with his party should further make sure that everyone knew this was my Edward, and we were no threat.
My fears for him had increased. My girls and Kitty stayed inside, but ten-year-old Edward wanted to be the man of the house.
“Good job, son.”
He smiled and flipped his paper, counting the tablecloths the governor’s secretary ordered to celebrate his second appointment to the position.
“Mama, I can go with Mr. Polk to deliver these goods. Simmons Street is not that far.”
It wasn’t.
Simmons was known as Government Street because the courts and councils gathered there. It was only a few blocks away. My son, my only son, had been doing better, not as sickly. Today was one of the first since moving to Grenada that he awoke with no wheezing.
“Can I, Mama? I want to make sure they don’t cheat you.”
I clasped his shoulder. “Promise not to overdo things? Then yes, my little man. We’re almost done.”
He coughed and smiled. Then I realized he’d been holding it for a chance to go. With a hug, I let him know he didn’t have to pretend. I wouldn’t stunt his dreams. “Tell Polk I said to drive slow and careful with you.”
Cells sent Polk to keep an eye on us. He’d been sending books and gifts to Edward and my little girls every two months.
I should send him thanks, but I let Charlotte’s be enough. The man rarely did anything without something in it for him. I had to keep remembering this, especially when Edward wore his black tricorn.
Sunshine bathed the street. My half sleeves even in cotton would stick to me. I glanced at my shop. The whitewashed brick building with its jet fish-scale-tiled roof was something to be proud of.
“Miss Dorothy.”
That voice. I hadn’t heard it since London. I spun to see my friend, Mrs. Kitty Clarke.
Arrayed in pink and white like the monkey apple flower, this fancy woman wrapped me in a big embrace. “When my husband said he’d visit your governor, I had to see you.”
“Come into my shop. I’m honored you stopped by.”
With a smile that only a kitten slurping milk could share, Mrs. Kitty wandered inside. Her expression went blank as she circled.
Her nose crested high as she poked decanters. Nothing gave her away. I hated and loved that about her.
“Happy with your choice, Dorothy?”
Wasn’t going to answer that heart question, instead I pointed to my shelves. “You can see I took back ideas from London. Now please, look and spend money.”
She laughed, and I savored an easier breath.
“This shop is magnificent. The china, even the Wedgwood, could be from a shop on Bond Street.”
Clapping my hands, I almost danced, but that would be undignified. “When they said other governors and their wives were coming, I hoped to see you. Hoped you’d stop by and offer your approval.”
“We talked about waiting for approval.”
“Fine, then I’m waiting for your money.”
Kitty pointed to a china teapot. “I will take that and the linen with the purple trim. It will look wonderful in our new home. We’ll be leaving Jamaica soon.”
“Back to England?”
“Canada. Clarke continues to be promoted. It’s my duty to support him.”
Waving his checklist, Edward ran to me. “Mama, Grandma says the governor has sent a note for more champagne. Do we extend credit to him? No money came.”
“You must, Dorothy,” my friend said. “A party without bubbly champagne is a dull one.”
She winked at me and I dipped my chin to her, then turned to Edward. “We’ll invoice him. Put the bottles in the dray, but make sure that his secretary signs the invoice for the addition.” I counted up her items. “That will be six pounds and four shillings. I’ll have these crated and taken to the governor’s.”
She fished into her bag, a silky, satin thing.
When I saw the clipping crinkle and spill onto her glove, I felt my cheeks heat.
That was one of those sketches the prince used to find me in Dominica.
“Where did you get it?”
“A friend in London sends me the oddities from home. It was in a magazine, then reprinted in a newspaper. This predates our boat ball. Sort of looks like you.”
“Might be with our mutual friend.”
Kitty’s gaze was warm and frank, but she said nothing about another chance with the prince or my choice to leave. She wasn’t one to judge other women’s decisions, even if I wanted her to say she understood.
Looking for approval was rotten business.
“Here.” I shoved an invoice to her hand. “Please print your name up top.”
She did and offered the invoice back, but in the exchange the old sketch dropped to the floor. A boot fell upon it.
A shaggy, dusty leather boot.
Thomas bent and picked up the paper. “I presume this is yours.”
Mrs. Clarke adjusted the feather in her bonnet. “Seems you have business, Dorothy.” She gave me a hug and took the paper from Thomas. “I should make this into a miniature to remember you.”
Thomas’s face reddened and her smile widened. “Keep in touch, Miss Dorothy. Promise?”
“Promise,” I said and waved good-bye.
“It’s true? You went with him?” His puffy cheeks glowed. “You left our daughter for him. Do you hate me that much?”
“It’s none of your business what I did. I went away and came back, the same as you’ve always done. The same as all men do.”
He rubbed the scruff of his neck. “If you don’t want my baby, give her to me. All I ever wanted was—”
“No. You think you want a family? You want your fhortún, your dreams. Don’t pretend differently.”
“That’s what you want too.”
“I’ll have it all, Thomas. I went away for me, but I returned for my family. Can you say the same?”
“You don’t think I would’ve come back? If I’d known—”
“We’re no second prize.” I moved to a shelf and straightened the display of bowls, the red and green ones Kitty sculpted. The dainty bottle with the lips and curves of a singer was one of her best.
When I turned, Thomas remained, frozen like the ice I’d sampled in London.
“Sir, what can I help you with? My shop has very fine goods. We can supply your household with servants, too.”
Thomas stepped closer. “You and Prince William. Are you still in love with him?”
“None of your business. If there’s nothing to purchase—”
“Do you still care for him? For me?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does, for the prince is not here. I am.”
Taking a cloth from my pocket, I dusted a shelf. No green dust, no specks. “He’s in London. His whereabouts are well known.”
Thomas swore under his breath, and for a moment I felt powerful. “I wasn’t the one who forgot us. The bloated belly and swollen feet and the sadness so thick I was blinded by it—that was mine, mine alone.”
“Doll, I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. A prince of the world chose me, and I chose him. Now I’m in Grenada for Charlotte.”
“You don’t leave much for a man. Do you, Doll? No room for him being wanted or missed. Or him wanting and missing you.”
“Thomas, you made a choice.”
“Let me see my daughter. I’ll love her and cherish her. Be the best father.”
Edward came into the shop. “Mama, all is ready. I checked and checked—Mr. Thomas!”
My son ran to him and Thomas scooped up my boy.
“You’ve come back,” Edward said, gulping air.
Thomas set him down easy. “Yes. Grenada’s home for me.”
“Edward, go with Polk for the deliveries. Don’t forget to get the paperwork signed.”
“Yes, Mama. Mr. Thomas, you stop by the house. Grandma, Kitty, and Eliza would love to see you.”
“I want to, son.”
I willed my face not to respond, not to steal the joy Edward had from seeing this man. When my boy ran off to the cloakroom to join Polk, I waggled my finger at Thomas. “Don’t come without a proper invitation.”
“But you will let me in? There’s hope.”
He turned and powered through the door.
I let him go knowing I’d have to let Thomas visit to keep him from using his legal skills to steal Eliza.