Tap, tap, tap.
Faith shoved a pillow over her head and rolled over. “Go away.”
Tap, tap, tap.
“Miss Faith. You got to get up now.” Molly’s voice filtered through the door.
Faith fought against the sleep that pressed her deep into the mattress, but then she decided nothing could be important enough to disturb it and allowed it to consume her again.
The door creaked open, and footsteps clicked across the room, followed by a blast of bright light as her curtains were drawn back. “Sorry to disturb you, but you are needed downstairs.”
Morgan cawed from his wooden perch next to Faith’s bed.
Straining to sit, Faith huffed and rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?” She held out her hand, and Morgan flew to her. “Where is Loretta?”
“Noon, young missy.” Molly clamped her hands on her hips. “Far too late for a proper lady to be sleepin’. And I sent the chamber maid on an errand.” Molly eyed Morgan. “And a proper lady don’t live with no bird, neither.”
“But I just retired to bed—” Faith snapped her mouth shut.
“I know when you got yerself to bed. You and that scrap dog Lucas out roamin’ the streets all night doin’ God knows what.” She clicked her tongue. “Shame, shame, shame on both of you.”
“It is not what you think, Molly.” Faith swung her legs over the side of her bed while Molly sifted through her armoire. It’s actually much worse. Faith smiled.
“It’s not my business to think. I jest keep prayin’ for you, and for Lucas, too.” Molly broke into a song that sounded like a cross between an African chant and a Christian hymn.
Blinking her eyes in an effort to keep them open, Faith stared at Molly as she selected a gown and undergarments and approached the bed. Two oval black eyes set in glowing skin the color of cinnamon stared back at her. Standing barely over five feet tall, the slender cook more than made up for her size with her determination.
Faith snickered. “Good heavens, what is the rush?” She set Morgan down on the blue satin coverlet.
“Heaven will be good, not that you gonna see much of it.” Molly tossed a green silk gown, stiff petticoats, and a bodice onto the bed beside Faith. “And the rush is that handsome captain be down below awaitin’ you.”
“Mr. Waite? Why ever would he be here?” Faith jumped to the floor and tore off her nightdress, anxious to find out what the man wanted and to be rid of him as soon as possible before he ingratiated himself with her family.
Molly strode to the door, shaking her head. “Well, if I’d known that would get you up, I’d a said so in the first place.”
After quickly donning her gown, Faith flew down the stairs, but then she halted at the bottom to thread her fingers through her hair and pat her eyes, hoping the puffiness of sleep had subsided. She held a lock of her hair up to her nose and drew in a deep breath. Lemons. She smiled. At least the lemon oil she had sprinkled through her hair masked the scent of the sea—something she knew the captain would smell in an instant.
Turning, she burst into the parlor, intending to make a grand entrance. But she was too late. Hope had already draped herself over poor Mr. Waite.
Grace sat stiffly on the sofa, while Edwin stood beside the admiral’s desk, a sheaf of papers in hand.
Plucking Hope’s arm from his, the commander turned toward Faith. His dark eyebrows rose as he straightened his blue coat and took a step toward her. The tip of his service sword clanged against the table, and he glanced down. But when he raised his gaze, his blue eyes met hers with such intensity that Faith’s heart took on a rapid beat. She chided herself. She was supposed to be getting rid of him, not allowing his good looks and commanding presence to turn her insides to mush.
“Miss Westcott.” He bowed, and a strand of his dark hair brushed against his cheek.
Her breath quickened. “Mr. Waite.”
“Forgive me if I disturbed your rest.” He grinned.
“Rest? Nay. I was reading.” Faith waved a hand through the air and gazed off to her right.
“Our sister always sleeps half the day away,” Grace said with disdain.
“Grace.” Hope patted her silky golden hair, pinned up in a fashionable coiffure, and stared at her sister. “You should not say such things. What will Mr. Waite think of us?”
Mr. Waite shifted his stance, his black boots thumping on the wooden floor. “I will not keep you and your sisters long. I have come to extend your father’s farewell and to go over my obligations with Edwin.” He nodded toward the steward.
“Farewell?” Faith huffed. “So my father has fled in the night like a coward.”
Darting to her, Hope clutched Faith’s arm. “Can you believe Father left us without saying good-bye?” Tears glistened in her sister’s eyes, and Faith’s heart sank. It seemed her father’s true love was and always would be the navy. “I am sure he had good reason.” She offered her sister a weak smile.
Two black bags sitting by her father’s desk caught Faith’s gaze. Surely this pirate hunter was not planning to take up residence in their home? Had he not resolutely turned her father down? “Are we to assume, Mr. Waite, that you find yourself equally lacking in fortitude—so much so that you cannot deny my father’s preposterous request?”
Mr. Waite gritted his teeth. “I assure you, Miss Westcott, I find the arrangement as displeasing as you do. But I fear I was given no choice.”
“Ah.” Faith raised one brow. “So he left without speaking to you as well.” She flattened her lips. It certainly sounded like the kind of conniving tactic her father might employ. He had never been able to take no for an answer.
“He was called away suddenly.” Mr. Waite’s tone held no conviction.
“He could not wait a few hours?” Hope sobbed and crossed her arms over her lavender brocade gown—the one that brought out the gold sparkles in her hair and the deep blue in her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder if he loves us at all or simply wants to marry us off and be rid of the responsibility.” She swiped a tear from her cheek. “I wish Mother were still with us.” She hung her head, her voice tinged with sorrow. “We may not see Father for a year.”
“Six months, in fact, miss,” Mr. Waite interjected. “At least that is the time period he indicated to Edwin.”
Edwin nodded in agreement from his position beside their father’s desk.
Forcing back tears from her own eyes, Faith plucked a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to Hope. “Father loves us in his own way, Hope. And Grace and I are still here. We will not leave you.”
Grace rose to join them. “Faith is right. We will never leave you. And you know Father was never good at saying farewell.” She eased a lock of Hope’s hair from her face and smiled, her green eyes beaming with warmth and love.
Mr. Waite cleared his throat. “I have no doubt he was quite upset at having to leave so suddenly.”
Faith cocked her head. “And all along, I was under the misunderstanding that good Christian men were not supposed to lie.”
The captain snapped his blue gaze in her direction. “‘Twas merely my opinion, miss, and therefore cannot be judged as either false or true.”
“Then should we expect to be assaulted with your good opinions on a regular basis?” Faith retorted. Perhaps if she were rude enough to him, he would leave.
“So as not to offend your tender sensibilities, I will attempt to keep my opinions to a minimum.” He gave her a mock bow.
Tender. Of all the …
“The truth of the matter, Mr. Waite, is that we know our father far better than you do.” Faith turned and stomped toward the bookcase, trying to mask her anger. “The Royal Navy is his life. I fear we have always come second.”
“As Mother did as well.” Hope twisted a lock of her hair around one slender finger until it appeared hopelessly entangled.
Grace stilled Hope’s hand and began to untwine her hair. “Human love is fraught with shortcomings. Only God’s love satisfies.”
Faith snorted and waved off her sister’s religious platitude as she turned to face them.
Hope eased the loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I have found no satisfaction in God’s love.”
Grace clutched her sister’s shoulders. “You should not say such a thing! And you should not speak poorly of Father either.” Releasing her, Grace took a step back, her conflicted gaze shifting between Faith and Hope. “We must honor him as God’s Word says.” Yet even as the words left her mouth, they rang hollow through the air.
Faith flung a hand to her hip. “It is hard to honor a man who intends to do the same thing to us as he did to our sister Charity. Can you deny that, Grace?”
Hope began to sob again.
Grace slid onto the sofa and shook her head. “I cannot deny that what he did was wrong, even cruel. But the Bible says we must honor him anyway.” She sighed and clutched her gown, twisting it in her hands as if trying to make sense out of the pious rules she dedicated her life to following.
“And how can I honor a man I hardly know?” Hope swallowed and lowered her gaze. “Even when he is home, he seems to find no pleasure in us—only fault.”
“Then why are you so distraught when he leaves?” Faith wrinkled her brow.
Hope glanced at Faith, a wounded look in her blue eyes. “Because I keep hoping that someday he’ll grow to approve of me and maybe … maybe even love me.”
Faith’s heart shriveled. “Father will always be Father. But we will always have each other, and we have just as much love to give you as any father or mother.”
“Even more,” Grace added, and Hope’s sobs slowly softened.
Faith’s gaze landed on the captain. She had forgotten he was still standing there. His annoyed gaze wavered over them and then shifted to the door as though he wanted to make a dash for it and never return. What a handsome vision he presented, even in his flustered state—tall, broad shouldered, commanding in his blue navy coat. A bit of stubble peppered his strong jaw as if he had been too hurried that morning to shave.
“If you ladies would be so kind as to take a seat,” he finally said then turned toward Edwin, who stood staring out the window, no doubt bored by what he often called the Westcott sisters’ theatrical display. “Edwin, the papers, if you please.” Mr. Waite held out his hand.
Faith eased onto the sofa where Grace had taken a seat. Hope slid next to her and squeezed her hand.
“So am I to assume, Mr. Waite, that you intend to become our guardian—despite your earlier protest?” Faith shot him a challenging look.
His sharp eyes locked upon hers. “It seems for the time being that I have been given no choice in the matter. However, allow me to assure you ladies”—he directed a stern gaze at each of them in turn—“you will no doubt find my methods of command no less strict than you are accustomed to.”
Faith found her admiration for the man rising. Regardless of the difficult position imposed upon him by their father, Mr. Waite had no intention of shrugging off the responsibility as some men would have. Yet despite her regard for his integrity, it did naught to aid her plan to be rid of him. In fact, quite the opposite, especially if he intended to rule the house with an iron hand. For with their father gone so often, she and her sisters were not accustomed to discipline. And now was certainly not the time to start.
“Mr. Waite, surely you understand this is not your ship and we are not your crew. Are we to be flogged and made to scrub the deck whenever we misbehave?”
Hope giggled.
“If you do not misbehave, Miss Westcott,” Mr. Waite said, perching on the edge of the admiral’s desk and taking the papers from Edwin, “you will not have to find that out. Now.” He shifted through the documents in his hand. “Your steward and I have gone over the admiral’s wishes, and we are in complete agreement on every rule.”
Edwin moved beside Mr. Waite, arms crossed over his chest, a superior look on his puffy face. But Faith knew how to handle him. It was this new intruder, this resolute captain, who gave her pause.
“Miss Hope,” he began. “I will address you first since your father left specific instructions for you.”
“He did?” Hope’s eyes lit up. She scooted to the edge of her seat.
“It is your father’s express order that you have no dealings with a”—the captain peered at the paper—“Lord Arthur Falkland.”
Hope shot to her feet. “Impossible! I will not suffer it. Arthur—Lord Falkland—is my beau. We are courting.”
“He is also a scoundrel, dear Hope. Everyone in town knows it.” Grace twisted the button at the top of her throat.
“Nevertheless …,” Mr. Waite sighed, rising to his feet. “It is your father’s desire that you not see him nor a Miss Anne Cormac.” He broadened his stance as Faith imagined him doing when commanding his men aboard his ship. But to his obvious chagrin, it did not have the intended effect on Hope, for she began to sob, fisting her hands at her sides.
“Anne is a friend of mine, and if my father cared enough to stay home, he would know Lord Falkland to be a gentleman.” She fell sideways on the sofa, and Faith threw an arm around her and glared at Mr. Waite.
The captain tugged his collar. “You may address this issue with the admiral when he returns. In the meantime, you will abide by his wishes or answer to me.” He pressed that rebellious strand of hair behind his ear, and Faith suspected he wished he could restrain the three of them as easily. But she had to admit she rather enjoyed the pink hue rising up his face, the twitch of his lips, and the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His eyes met hers, and he raised a brow as if he saw through her charade.
He flipped the papers in his hand. “Under no circumstances are any of you to travel this city unescorted. Lucas, Mr. Huxley, or myself, when I am not at sea, must be with you at all times whenever you leave this house.”
“’Tis impossible.” Grace shook her head defiantly, drawing the captain’s shocked gaze.
Grace sat up straight and folded her hands in her lap. “My charity work takes me all over the city. Surely you know that when the good Lord calls us on a mission, we must go immediately. I cannot always wait for an escort.”
“What happened to honoring our father?” Hope snickered.
Grace raised her pert nose in the air. “God’s work comes first.”
Mr. Waite sent Grace an indulgent, if somewhat stiff, smile. “I appreciate the divine nature of your work, Miss Grace, and I am sure Edwin or Lucas will happily accompany you whenever possible, but these are the standing orders, and they will be obeyed.”
Shifting her gaze away, Grace sank back into the sofa.
“Or what, Mr. Waite—will you lock us in the hold of your ship?” Faith teased.
“If I have to, Miss Westcott.” His lips curved in a sardonic grin. “And I would not test me on that if I were you.”
The thumping of regimental drums began pounding in Dajon’s head, cautioning him to conclude his business and be gone—back to the sanity of his ship. He flipped through the papers, determined to spout off the remaining rules without further interruption.
“All monies will be under my control,” Dajon continued in a hurried tone. “Aside from necessities, which will be provided, please come to me or Mr. Huxley for anything you need.”
“I daresay, Mr. Waite.” Faith’s lips twisted in a mocking grin. “We are big girls and can handle our own money.”
“I care not for what you perceive you can and cannot do, Miss Westcott. It is only what you will do that concerns me.” He threw back his shoulders and gave them all his sternest look.
Faith widened her eyes. “Do you never break a rule, Mr. Waite?” The pert look on her face was at once alluring and infuriating, and he nearly choked at the tantalizing hold it had upon him.
“Not if I can help it, Miss Westcott.”
Intelligence shone behind her sparkling auburn eyes. Was she testing him? He marched to the fireplace and faced them with his most intimidating stare. Surely if he could command a ship full of men, he could control these three women.
Ignoring him, Hope turned toward her sister. “What about that new gown Father promised to buy me?”
“You have no need of another gown, Hope.” Grace shook her head. “You should give the ones you have to the poor.”
Hope gave her sister a scowl.
Dajon cleared his throat and raised his voice. “These are the rules. When I am not present, Mr. Huxley is in charge. Is that understood?”
Edwin pointed a jagged finger at the girls. “Mark my words. Your father will hear of every infraction.”
Hope tossed her nose in the air. “I will not give my gowns to the poor and go about town wearing rags like you do, Grace.” She stomped her foot.
Scooting to the edge of her seat, Faith took her sister’s hand in hers. “Come now, Hope; of course you will not be forced to sell your dresses. Ladies, let us not forget we have a guest.”
Hope eyed Dajon. “He is not a guest anymore. He is our new father—or might as well be. He is just like him.”
Dajon dropped his gaze and rubbed the sweat from his forehead. He felt like a zoologist charged with taming a flock of screeching, fluttering jungle fowl.
A bird squawked somewhere upstairs, confirming his assessment.
When a knock sounded at the front door, he prayed it was the admiral returning home, having discovered his orders were in error.
“Pardon me.” Edwin gave Dajon a look of pity and left the room as the girls continued arguing.
“Sir Wilhelm Carteret to see Miss Westcott,” Edwin announced when he returned.
The white-wigged, sickly man slithered into the room with one hand on his hip, the other hanging in midair, and leered at Faith like a sly serpent.
A pained expression crossed her features as she rose slowly to her feet. “Sir Wilhelm, this is unexpected.”
His eyes narrowed. “I heard your father left suddenly and thought you might need company, but I see Mr. Waite has beat me to it.” He pursed his lips in a semblance of a grin and bowed toward Dajon.
“Sir Wilhelm.” Dajon set the papers down on the desk, feeling as if he had been snatched from the lion’s den. “You are most fortunate in your timing. My business here is finished.”
Hope sprang from the couch and rubbed her temples. “Forgive me, but I feel a headache coming on.” She nodded to Dajon and Sir Wilhelm and hurriedly made her way to the door like a rabbit under a hawk’s gaze.
“I shall help you to your chamber, sister.” Grace followed quickly on her heels, leaving a befuddled Faith in her wake.
Throwing back her shoulders, she faced Sir Wilhelm. “Mr. Waite has offered to take me for a stroll.” She turned to face Dajon. “Have you not, Mr. Waite?”
Dajon could not mistake the pleading look in her eyes, nor the disgust he’d seen souring within them the moment Sir Wilhelm had entered the room. Did she hate this man so much that she preferred Dajon’s company? He shifted his gaze between her urging glance and the rancor burning in Sir Wilhelm’s eyes. By thunder, the last thing he needed was to prance about with this red-haired beauty on his arm. Yet the other two girls seemed to hold her in some esteem. Perhaps he could recruit her assistance in keeping order at home. Before he realized what he was doing, he agreed with a placating nod.
“Perhaps we can visit some other time, Sir Wilhelm?” Faith’s sweet smile dripped with venom. “But do inform us ahead of time when we can expect your visit.” She turned to Edwin. “Please take Mr. Waite’s things to the guesthouse.”
With a flutter of lashes and a smile that would melt any man’s heart, Faith thrust an arm through Dajon’s and pulled him into the entrance hall and out the door, leaving a rather disgruntled Sir Wilhelm behind.