Chapter Two

 

When the Morgans’ door closed behind Rosalyn, it was as if one of the most unsettling chapters in Grant Watermann’s life had closed. Aye, and him with a life no sober man would call “settled,” not by the wildest stretch of the imagination!

Orphaned at five, he'd been shifted from pillar to post and back again his entire life. He'd known the grief and confusion of a young child, when his mother was suddenly snatched away by the plague. Then, moving from London to Liverpool with his siblings, he'd had a difficult time adjusting to a stepmother. Molly had been a warm hearted, blowsy blonde, crazy in love with the Old Man, but with incredibly poor mothering instincts, often verging on neglect.

Roaming the streets at a tender age, Grant had very early learned to make up for what he lacked in size with shrewdness and a fast pair of fists. Time and again his fast legs had carried him off, dodging trouble when it came, mostly in the form of the local constable!

Finally, Molly had thrown up her hands in despair, and his father had stepped in. Dealing him a few thumping good blows to get his attention, his Old Man started him out as cabin boy, performing all the dirtiest jobs on board ship. “Fend for yourself, lad,” his Old Man told him. “Don’t look to me, if you find yourself in a tight corner.”

If anything, being the Captain’s brat only made his life at sea tougher. But he survived and very early developed a knack for blocking his emotions. He was doing pretty well for himself—until Rosalyn Morgan came barging into his life. And though he persisted in using his caustic brand of humor and toughness as a shield, somehow she had managed to penetrate his armor.

He had to admit that in all his rough-and-tumble years at sea, nothing had prepared him for a woman like her: beautiful, intelligent, courageous—in short, the perfect woman. Except when she defied all his preconceptions about how a woman should behave when it came to male dominance and female submissiveness! Aye, she certainly knew how to stand up to him then!

Watching her hurry up the Morgans' steps, and out of his life, he felt a strange tug-of-war in his heart between relief and regret. On the one hand, he was now free to return to a less complicated life of wine, women, and more women. Aye, he was well rid of her, he told himself. She only confused his priorities anyway. As to the alternative, he preferred not think about it.

Jamming his cap back on his head, he climbed back in the carriage to wait while Charles finished with Mercy. What he needed, he decided, was a casual fling to relieve a man’s body hunger—something Rosalyn, for all her talk of independence, never permitted herself to consider. Aye, he told himself, with all the females who are ready, willing and eager, it should be easy to undo the spell Rosalyn had cast over him! Why, by this time tomorrow, he should have a certain Puritan wench purged from his mind and affections with no difficulty at all!

When Charles finally managed to tear himself away from Mercy Wallins, Grant was chilled to the bone. “How about a nip of brandy to take away the chill?” he suggested.

“Sounds good,” said Charles, rubbing his hands together vigorously.

After hoisting a few, Grant returned dockside to discuss the Fair Winds' repairs with Gil Trowbridge and son Samuel. Next he put out feelers for tobacco merchants, only to discover that English currency was tighter than usual. Getting his price would require time and persistence.

“That pretty well sets me back on my duff,” he remarked to Garrison, as they headed off to the best lodgings on the waterfront, a little inn called the Wayfarers’ Hostel.

“Aye, but it can’t be helped,” said Bill Garrison. “Besides, the Thames is due to be freezin’ over. In a few days, it may well be impassable! We're better off getting stuck here in London than out in the North Atlantic in this weather.”

Grant laughed. “Aye, 'tis the God’s honest truth! Ready to tie one on tonight, eh, mate?”

“Aye, but it’s so cold, it may take a while to thaw out me dick!” Garrison laughed, beating his arms to keep the circulation going.

After a hot bath and a shave, nothing tasted better than good English beef and a pint to wash it down, before Grant and his officers rolled on down the street to let off steam at Maudie Clinton’s. Every night was a “Welcome Home” celebration for sailors come home from the sea. That night was no exception, and after the beer and whisky and ribaldry downstairs, a sailor’s best welcome could be found on the upstairs side of Maudie’s parlor. A fresh assortment of girls were always eager to please Maudie’s clientele, drawn from ships throughout the seven seas.

“The toll’s a mite steep, Maudie,” Warburton complained, waving off the madam.

Mrs. Clinton shrugged. “Some madams charge less,” she admitted with a lewd wink, “but the pickings here are choice. Take your time looking, gents. I guarantee you’ll find a pretty little thing what suits you.”

In no time Grant, Bill Garrison, and Wally Smythe had picked out a trio of doxies with a penchant for uninhibited partying. Warburton decided to take his pleasure from a bottle.

Miss Louise was a slightly plump pigeon with soft white arms, a deliciously responsive neck, and curves in all the right places. Two sheets to the wind, Grant had just enough alcohol in him to enjoy her ample charms. The only thing he found unsettling—aside from her loopy giggle—was her dark hair: Reminded him of the very woman he was trying to forget.

Finally, physically sated, but still emotionally empty, he rose from her rumpled bed and started pulling on his breeches.

“Don’t go yet, sweetie,” she crooned, rolling onto her belly to watch him. Her voluptuous breasts gave her a wanton air that her low-cut bodice had only hinted at, when they'd climbed the stairs to her room a few hours ago.

“You’re a live one, Louise. A real beaut.” He laughed heartily, but even to him, the sound was hollow and lacking in mirth. Crossing to the dresser, he dropped a handful of gold coins. “I wish I could stay, luv, but I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

He gave her lips a casual buss and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Slightly disgusted with himself, he was glad tomorrow marked the start of putting the Fair Winds back in shape for the return journey. He still needed to find a prosperous buyer for all that fine Carolina tobacco. Hopefully repairs on the ship wouldn’t cut too heavily into the profits.

As he left the brothel, he asked himself why, after being at sea so long, the pleasures of a warm-blooded woman seemed to have lost their appeal.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Entering the Morgans’ house, Rosalyn paused to doff her cloak and regain her composure. Saying goodbye to Grant was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. She loved him, a secret she would never admit to a living soul, for their differences far outweighed the things they held in common. She let out a sigh, knowing she had no choice but to set aside her feelings and look to the future. Even so, there would always be a place in her heart that belonged exclusively to him.

Now she must meet her aunt and uncle, who were gracious enough to open their home to her. Following the housekeeper, she found them enjoying a cozy fire in the parlor.

William Morgan, a middle-aged gentleman, rose from his chair as she made her curtsy, first to his wife and then to himself. “Well, girl, it certainly took you long enough to get here,” he said.

Not prepared for such a cool greeting, Rosalyn exclaimed, “Pray forgive me, Uncle, but I have been at sea for many months. In truth, I had neither the means to write, nor was I sure we would survive the storms and make it safely into port!”

Mrs. Morgan looked up from the needlework in her hands. “Your father wrote us months ago, when you left Boston. Last November I believe it was,” she said with a resentful sniff.

Hoping to correct any false information they might have received from her father, Rosalyn hastily explained the circuitous route she had taken. “Being a merchant ship. The Fair Winds stopped in the Carolinas to fill the hold with goods to barter. From there we sailed for Jamaica, where the captain traded most of our remaining cargo for sugar and rum. Then we returned briefly to the Carolinas and bartered once again, this time taking on a large cargo of tobacco before sailing for England. We made excellent time, all things considered. We encountered winter storms at sea twice, and fortunately survived, as you can see,” she explained breathlessly.

“Well, thank the Lord you’re now safely under our roof, where we can keep a close eye on you,” her uncle said sternly.

At this juncture, Mercy, having bid Charles goodbye, was announced by the housekeeper. After being introduced, and having said all that was proper, including exclaiming over her hostess’s embroidery, she politely requested to be excused to oversee the unpacking of their trunks, since they were traveling without a maid. This being acceptable to the Morgans, Mercy made her way upstairs to get them settled in.

“A charming girl, Miss Wallins!” Aunt Prudence said in a tone that clearly contradicted her words. “Will she be with us long, do you think?”

“I believe she has family in London,” Rosalyn replied, “but since we are such good friends, neither of us wished to be separated just yet.”

“Yes, yes, quite so,” said Uncle William. “Still, I imagine she has plans of her own. And what about you, my dear? I expect you plan to be with us for some time?”

“Hopefully I won’t have to presume upon your kind hospitality for long,” Rosalyn said, deciding to reveal her plans before any misunderstanding arose. “Perhaps you can help me secure a suitable position—you know, employment?”

“Employment!” The mention of such a distasteful notion made Aunt Prudence’s nostrils quiver as if she smelled something noxious. “What an absurd idea!”

“I don’t regard work as degrading,” said Rosalyn, defending her plan. “After all, my father is a working man. He makes sails for a living.”

“Well, it simply will not do! The only positions that are available would be most unsuitable. With your beauty and graceful manners, you should do quite well for yourself, Rosalyn.” Never one to mince words, Aunt Prudence came straight to the point: “What we must do is find you a suitable husband.”

The very thought of marriage made Rosalyn feel nauseous. “I know you mean well, but the marriage my father arranged for me has brought me nothing but grief. I hope never to make that mistake again! No, thank you, Auntie. I much prefer to support myself financially.”

Her uncle scowled into the fire. “I disagree. Marriage has many practical advantages.”

“My mind is made up, Uncle.” Rosalyn was surprised by such a barrage of unfriendly advice on such short acquaintance. “Between the income my late husband left me, and my earnings as a governess or perhaps a companion for an elderly lady, I should be able to manage quite well financially. My needs are quite modest, I assure you.”

Taking up her needlework again, her aunt screwed up her lips. “In any case,” she said, “we shall see that you meet the right people. And who knows? You might meet some perfectly charming young gentleman, who will dissuade you from such a rash course of action.” A tiny smile played around her aunt’s pursed lips. “In fact, we are invited this weekend to a hunt at Lord Somers’ estate. A great many eligible young men from good families will be in attendance. Do you have a riding habit?”

“The one I had was ruined in Jamaica,” Rosalyn said, reluctant to go into all the shocking details. She still had nightmares about her narrow escape from Captain Cudjoe and the black Maroons. “However, I am sure that between Mercy and me, we can—”

“Oh, I’m afraid Miss Wallins would never fit in!” her aunt interrupted.

“Aunt Prudence! I cannot believe you said such a thing!”

“Unless you wish to bring her along as your maid?”

“She is not my maid, Aunt Prudence. She is my dearest friend!” Rosalyn protested.

Uncle William cleared his throat. “I totally understand. On a dangerous voyage, one tends to overlook polite conventions. But you must realize where you are now, Rosalyn, and what our social position requires.”

“Thank you for your advice, Uncle, but I could never treat Mercy as a servant!”

“Then leave her behind, is my advice,” her aunt said, snipping a thread.

Shocked by her relatives’ snobbishness, Rosalyn hastily excused herself, using the pretext of going upstairs to write home. She had no wish to be rude to her aunt and uncle, but neither would she compromise her friendship.

Eager to learn Mercy’s plans for the weekend, before she turned down her aunt’s invitation, she tapped on Mercy’s door and peeked in to find her friend busily compiling a list.

“I hope I’m not intruding?” she said.

Smiling, her friend shook her head. “Not at all. Come in! I’m already busy making a list of people to invite to my wedding.”

Wanting to spare her friend’s feelings, Rosalyn sat down next to her. “Now, I must ask you something. My aunt has asked me to go away with her to the country this weekend.”

“Oh, I am glad!” Mercy’s face lit up. “Now I can spend time with my uncle and his family without feeling guilty for deserting you! In fact, the Hills will probably expect me to stay with them—until Charles and I wed, of course.” She looked searchingly at Rosalyn for her reaction.

Rosalyn let out a sign of relief. “Mercy, you must do as you please! And with so much to do, consider me a second pair of hands, to help in any way you desire. In fact, why don’t we spend some of my father’s money on your trousseau!”

“Oh, no, Rosalyn, I couldn't possibly!” Mercy exclaimed.

“Oh, but I insist! I love shopping, don’t you?” She did an impromptu pirouette toward the window and gave Mercy an appealing look. “Do say 'yes!'”

Mercy set aside her list with a sigh. “Thank you, Rosalyn. You are a true friend! I only wish I wasn’t having second thoughts about getting married.” She bit her lip, looking perturbed.

“Why, what is to hinder you?” Rosalyn asked, surprised. “Of course, if you don’t love Charles, I'd fully understand. But if you love him, what could be simpler than to marry him?”

“That’s just the trouble, Rosalyn,” Mercy confessed, nibbling on the tip of her quilled pen. “I know I ought to reciprocate the feelings he has for me, but I’m just not sure. . . He’s so patient and decent and kind and patient. How can I be sure he’s the right person for me?”

“You’re asking the wrong person, Mercy. You must follow your heart, I expect.”

“Forgive me for burdening you with my troubles,” Mercy said solemnly. “You have enough on your mind without having to worry about me.”

“Indeed, I do!” Rosalyn got up and started to pace. “I need a good paying position right away! I shall go mad if I have to stay under this roof very long!”

“They seem like good people,” Mercy said, trying to be tactful.

Rosalyn lowered her voice confidingly: “Aunt Prudence is already talking about finding me a ‘suitable husband.’”

“You don’t need help in that department,” Mercy declared. “You have only to set your hooks into Grant Watermann, if you haven’t already.” Again, with a searching look.

“Fie, Mercy! I’d never fish in that pond! Besides, Grant feels as I do, that marriage is a trap,” she said with a defiant toss of her head. “Nothing but drudgery, heartache, and misery.”

Mercy gave her a cautionary look. “Aye, and is not the life of a governess equally lonely and unpleasant?”

“I daresay it may take some getting used to, but at least I shall be able to live as I choose,” Rosalyn argued. “It’s not fair that men have all the adventures, while we women are expected to live out our days as slaves to their passion!”

“Oh-ho! Well, I hardly think the past four months have done either of us any harm! And I know I would never want to be a man,” Mercy said in spirited rebuttal. “Being a woman suits me just fine!”

“Say what you will. I want financial independence,” said Rosalyn, defending her position hotly. “You want to be in

control—”

“Control? Is that what’s bothers you?” Her friend laughed. “No matter what, life is always a little bit out of control. Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be!”

Rosalyn threw up her hands in surrender, not really wishing to quarrel. “Mercy, I need a riding habit for the weekend. Can you recommend a good seamstress in London? One who's affordable?”

“My second cousin, Antoinette Gison, is an excellent seamstress,” Mercy replied. “I know! Let’s go see her this afternoon. It’s not far from here, and afterwards we’ll drop by and meet my uncle, Elihu Hill, and his wife Betsy and their children. If we time our visit just right, they serve the most delightful tea at four!”

“What are we waiting for?” said Rosalyn, eager for a new adventure. “Let’s get decked out in our finest and go shopping! I want you to be the best dressed bride in London!”

Their visit two hours later to Antoinettte’s shop opened Rosalyn’s eyes to the ways of English aristocracy. While Mercy and her cousin caught up on family news and looked over wedding finery, Rosalyn tried on clothes from the ready-wear rack. She was admiring her trim figure in a rich burgundy velvet riding habit, complete with pink piping, a ruffled collar and cuffs, when a carriage bearing the royal crest pulled up outside Mlle. Gison’s establishment.

A flamboyantly dressed gentleman, sporting the more daringly fashionable suit of velvet and an ornate dress sword, jumped down from the royal coach. Possessed of the most startling blue eyes and shoulder length blond hair, he escorted his beautiful lady friend into the shop with a deep bow and a flourish of his plumed hat.

“The Earl of Albemarle,” Antoinette whispered to Mercy and Rosalyn and, excusing herself, rushed forward to greet her prestigious patrons. “Good afternoon, Monsieur Keppel,” she said, laying on a thick French accent. “Eet ees . . .um, ‘ow we say, un plaisir to welcome you and Mademoiselle Chastaine to my humble establishment once again!” She swept a curtsy and, speaking in animated French, began to discuss the silks the young woman was examining.

The young Earl moved about the shop, fingering the fabrics on display, posing and gesturing like a dandy. He took snuff and flicked the residue from his sleeve with a handkerchief that had as many lace ruffles as a woman’s. His cologne, decidedly masculine, was unmistakably expensive.

From the shadows Rosalyn and Mercy stood observing these newcomers to Antoinette’s shop with more curiosity than awe. Rosalyn couldn’t help wondering why the Earl of Albemarle took such pleasure in masquerading as an indolent fop. In any event, he and his companion made for entertaining viewing.

“How may I serve you today, Lady Chastaine?” Antoinette asked, after the two had made an exhaustive examination of yard goods.

The Earl’s pampered lady shrugged, looking bored. “I need a ball gown to wear at Kensington Palace two weeks from today.” She shot a flirtatious glance at her gallant escort.

“With a figure like yours, any gown would cause a sensation, Mademoiselle. I shall attempt to do you justice,” Antoinette promised, digging through her latest imported samples.

“I want it very décolleté, very daring, yet have the simplest lines,” said the lady.

“Yes, yes! I ‘ave your measurements, so eef we can decide on the fabric, I shall design you something tres magnifique!”

“I want to see the sketches,” interposed the young Earl, speaking with a heavy Dutch accent. He placed his arm familiarly around Lady Chastaine’s waist.

“Mais oui! I shall ‘ave the sketches delivered tomorrow to the Palace.”

“No, send them ‘round to Lady Chastaine’s house on Chelsea. I often stop by, so she and I may discuss any changes together,” he said with a smoldering look at his lady friend.

“As you wish, my lord,” said Antoinette with a deep curtsy.

As Rosalyn moved unobtrusively toward the dressing room to change back into the dress she had worn into the shop, the Earl paused in his instructions to the dressmaker. His sensuous full lips parted slightly, and he boldly appraised her figure in the burgundy habit, raising his quizzing glass with a faint smile, before returning to discussing fabric swatches with his lady.

“This seems suitable, does it not, darling?” Lady Chastaine asked, gazing into his eyes.

With only a passing glance, he nodded his approval.

Handing the swatches back to Antoinette, they prepared to leave. The Earl was extremely attentive escorting the lady to his carriage and getting her comfortably situated. Apparently he had forgotten something, because quite unexpectedly he returned to the shop.

“I forgot my cane,” he murmured, retrieving it from the table. “Most opportune, since I don’t remember when I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you, mademoiselle.”

Annoyed by his bold manner, Rosalyn gave him a cool stare. “No, my lord, I am quite certain we have never met,” she said.

Antoinette came bustling to the rescue. “Excuse me for neglecting to introduce my cousin, Miss Mercy Wallins, and her dear, dear friend, Mrs. Rosalyn Watermann.”

The Earl looked surprised, but evidently he didn’t consider a lady’s marital status much of a hindrance to pursuing his amours. “Charming, ladies,” he said, bowing low over Mercy’s hand and then addressing Rosalyn. “I hope we meet again soon. Perhaps—” he paused significantly, “—tomorrow afternoon at two here in Mademoiselle Gison’s shop?”

Rosalyn balked at his blatant attempt to set up a flirtation, but Antoinette intervened, hoping to help the Earl’s cause. “Mrs. Watermann is a widow, visiting her uncle, Mr. William Morgan, on Chelsea Street.”

The Earl smiled. “If I may be so bold, I’m surprised you are not on the hunt for a new husband.”

Blushing, Rosalyn withdrew her hand. “Please excuse us, my lord,” she inclined her head politely, "Miss Wallins and I have another appointment, and I must change clothes.”

He clicked his heels and made a gallant bow. “A bientot, ladies.” He nodded to Mademoiselle Gison and returned to his waiting carriage.

Antoinette turned to Rosalyn, all agog. “Oh, Mrs. Watermann, if you knew who that was, you might not be so quick to brush off his attentions!”

“Indeed? I didn’t much like his manners.” Rosalyn turned toward the draped doorway to the dressing room. “Mercy, will you help me? We mustn’t be late for tea.”

Antoinette followed, gently chiding. “He is the King’s closest and most trusted friend! When Queen Mary died three years ago, William was inconsolable. Only Arnold Joost van Keppel—the Earl, that is—was able to restore the king’s spirits and bring his mind back to affairs of state. You should feel flattered!”

“I suppose he’s all right, if you like pretty men.” Rosalyn handed the riding habit to Antoinette, saying, “I’ll take this with me.”

“He may act like a dandy, but he’s an outstanding horseman and attends all the hunts,” said Mercy’s cousin. “Even King William, despite his poor health, loves a good steeple chase.”

“If the Earl is so wonderful, why don’t you become his mistress?” Rosalyn asked, hoping to shock Antoinette into dropping the subject.

The couturiere only laughed “What makes you think I wouldn’t?” she said coquettishly.

“Perhaps if you design an outrageous ball gown for his current mistress, he will fall desperately in love with its creator,” Rosalyn advised, shrugging into her gown.

Quietly taking in all this spirited repartée, Mercy yanked Rosalyn around and began to button up her gown. “It’s a good thing your Aunt Prudence isn’t here to hear such talk,” she hissed in her friend’s ear. “She would ship you back to your father on the next ship leaving!”

“Then we must behave circumspectly around her, mustn’t we?” said Rosalyn, archly checking her appearance in the mirror.

After paying for her new outfit from funds provided by her father, Rosalyn and Mercy set off to visit the Hills family. To her surprise, the family lived in a charming house with freshly painted shingles and high gables in a respectable section of London. Not as new as many houses in the area, it was well cared for, with a clean-swept brick walkway leading up to the dark green front door.

“Mercy, you didn’t tell me you came from a family of means,” Rosalyn exclaimed.

Mercy shrugged. “My parents—both dead now, God rest their souls!—lived in a much bigger house. Alas, I am the black sheep of the family,” she confessed. “I committed the unforgivable sin by eloping with a young man I met while on holiday one summer.”

Rosalyn smiled. “You are such a romantic, Mercy!”

“I was very young,” Mercy said, blushing, “and he was handsome and, oh, so irresistible. My first love! I pretended to be pregnant, just so my father would let me marry Todd.”

“Todd. What a lovely name.” Rosalyn tried to picture their first meeting.

“He was even lovelier than his name, but alas,” she sighed, “it takes more than love to keep a body warm. Lacking the ability to make a decent living, he died in debtors’ prison.” After a poignant pause, she shook off her sadness. “Let’s go in and meet my uncle’s family,” she said brusquely. “But be warned: they're a lively bunch!”