Liz awoke the next morning, rested and calm, at peace. So much of the guilt she had carried from all the lies to Lord Barton had lifted from her shoulders, and she finally felt free and light. She was at last able to present herself as she really was. And hopefully she would be free from a marriage to Lord Nigel Pinweather as well. But she was also sad. Did Lord Barton really not wish to marry her? She had given him plenty of opportunity to speak for her, and while her feelings for him were engaged, his obviously were not enough.
A knock at her door made her smile. Jeremy was to wake her so they could have a reading lesson. The captain had agreed to a lighter chore schedule so that he could learn. At last she felt as though she was making a difference for good. She paused. How long had she longed for this? Not very long. Not in England, for certain. She cringed to think of who she was then. She had had little patience for the lords around her who were focused on the inane, and yet she herself had had little substance in her own life. What had she offered to those lords from whom she’d expected so much?
She was proud of her work at Barton House. And she missed it already. This morning she would have been supervising the cleaning of the chandeliers in the two front rooms and in the underused ballroom. A pang of regret niggled at her with that thought. The servants’ ball. Her efforts to honor and entertain the servants had been most rewarding. Now that she had lived as they lived, she wanted to express her appreciation in a meaningful way, wishing she had done so for her own servants many years previous.
Well, now Lord Barton would have to find a new housekeeper. She could help the woman understand the plans they had set in motion so far. No small amount of sadness accompanied that thought.
The knocking became more insistent. “Come in, Jeremy.” She allowed her smile to return.
He carried books in his arms, and they began. Eager to learn, he flew through the early lessons on letter recognition and began stringing words together quickly.
They took a break, and Liz ventured on deck. The sun felt lovely on her skin, and for once she didn’t worry that she might freckle. What did it matter?
She walked along the deck rail, watching the activity in the river dockyard. The yard was so much less crowded this morning than it had been on the day she arrived. Few boats besides the Matador waited at the dock. She had heard only one was preparing to leave, and it wasn’t a passenger ship, so the merchants below moved slowly, their wares on display for the few who might walk by to notice.
A hack coach arrived, and she leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the passengers. Four men stepped down, paid the driver, and then carried trunks across the yard. She leaned forward on the rail, counting colors in the flower cart while absentmindedly wondering where the men were going, until they moved closer and one of them shouted, pointing at her.
Oh no! Oh dear! She ran back farther toward the center of the deck, out of their eyesight, but what to do? They had spotted her, recognized her. She called to the captain. He did not answer, but she heard movement below. She crouched low and crawled toward the rail again, peering over the edge.
A great comfort filled her at what she saw. Mr. Richard Allen stood with three other black men, all of them tall and large. They blocked the entrance to the gangplank leading to the Matador.
The captain approached from behind. “Oh, I see we have some visitors. You stay hidden, now; we will take care of them.”
He whistled, and four of his crew joined the men at the gangplank. Liz couldn’t hear what they said, but one stranger tried to protest only once. Richard Allen’s men straightened to their full heights. Then the four men from the hack backed away, their hands in the air, but they still scanned the ship. Liz ducked low.
Her breath came faster, and a great worry tightened her stomach. Now they knew she was here, and they would never leave.
She stayed crouched low in the same position until the captain returned. A soft voice spoke in her ear. “Fear not, child. One on high has you in His mighty hands.”
A peace filled her at these words, and she turned. “Mr. Allen. Thank you for stopping them.”
“We came by to see how you were doing here. It just felt like a good idea.”
She remained crouched low until she was back far enough not to be seen by anyone below and then to the opposite rail. “I have to leave.”
“Where are you going?” Lord Barton’s voice was a balm to her worried heart, even if he wouldn’t offer for her, had kissed her but made no promises.
She longed to run into his arms. “The men from before came. They saw me.”
“What? When? Are they here now?”
“Now, don’t go starting trouble.” Mr. Allen’s voice soothed Liz.
“Don’t you think we should finish this once and for all? Tell them she doesn’t want to come and to leave her alone, tell her father there’s no hope?” Lord Barton clenched and unclenched his fist in agitation.
“I think they are instructed to bring her back no matter what.” Mr. Allen studied his fingernails. “And I’m not sure it’s her father who’s sending them.”
“What?” Liz frowned in confusion.
Mr. Allen frowned. “Word is you have a jealous fiancé who thinks you’ll bring a good amount of money to a marriage. He’ll stop at nothing to get you back.”
She scoffed. “Lord Pinweather? He couldn’t squash a fly.” This conversation was more ridiculous by the minute.
“But his men certainly could,” Lord Barton said.
Dear Mr. Allen searched Liz’s face, his kind eyes warming her. “Is there any reason this man might believe he is your fiancé? That you had agreed to marry him?”
Embarrassment flooded her. “I told him I would.”
Lord Barton’s face would have been comical, except it wasn’t. His mouth hung open, and then a flash of frustration crossed his face. “You are engaged to be married?”
“I suppose I am, technically.”
“Have the banns been read?” he demanded.
“Well now, I don’t know. I didn’t stay long enough to hear them, did I?” She was getting tired of having to answer to Lord Barton about every little part of her life.
“Well, that would have been an important detail to share, especially last night.” His voice shook in anger.
Richard Allen cleared his throat, his eyebrows raised.
“I forgot,” Liz said defensively. “I don’t consider myself engaged to be married. Trust me; the whole thing felt as ridiculous as a farce. Besides, I sailed to a new continent the very next day.”
“Have papers been signed?” The color drained from Lord Barton’s face.
She would not be surprised if her father had signed everything. “They could be. My father certainly seemed anxious to get it going.”
Mr. Allen ran a hand down his beard. “Lord Pinweather is talking about inheriting a substantial amount of money.”
“I don’t know what he is talking about there. As far as I understood, my father was not even responsible to pay the dowry; I overheard a conversation, and he said Lord Pinweather was paying handsomely, helping him get out of debt, in order to marry me. If he’s under the impression I have more to my name, I don’t know how to access it or even if it’s true that I have an inheritance.”
Lord Barton nodded. “This is what I understood as well.”
“What?” Liz said. “What could you know about it?”
“I mentioned I knew of you and your family in England. Just before your first Season, many men understood you were being offered in exchange for a good price,” he said quietly, wincing.
She faltered; her knees went weak, and she would have fallen had Lord Barton not hurried to her side and put an arm around her waist.
“He offered to sell me?”
“I’m afraid so. If you want to look at it like that.”
Richard Allen cleared his throat. “I don’t think you can look at it any other way.” His eyes showed such a kind empathy that Liz found strength. “I’m sorry, child.”
“Thank you.”
She didn’t know what to think about any of this new information. It crowded around in her brain, cluttering up her normal thought process.
“So those men are perhaps sent by Lord Pinweather to bring me back to him, and he is under the impression that I am worth some money?”
The captain nodded.
“That doesn’t make any sense to me at all.” She began pacing. Her panic picked up again. “But I am not marrying that man. What if I give him whatever money he is talking about? Will he leave me alone?”
“Why would you have to marry him? Have you no say in the matter?” Anthony said. She stopped and stared at him until he shook his head. “No, I suppose, depending on the situation, you might not have any recourse. How old are you?”
“I will be eighteen in two months.”
Lord Barton’s face looked pained. “I had never, until this moment, thought about it from the woman’s perspective.”
“Nor had I, to be honest.” She felt helpless. She would have to run again. As long as her family and Lord Pinweather could not find her, then she would not have to marry the odious man. She had some money saved. She’d hardly spent any of her wages from her work at Barton House. And she still had her jewels and her money from Heidi. “I’ll need my things from my room.”
“What are you thinking, Elizabeth?”
“I’ll have to leave, of course.”
The men all responded at once. The consensus was obvious. None of them thought running was a good idea.
Grateful and flustered at the same time, she asked, “Well, what do you suggest?”
The captain said, “Well, now, they already checked Barton’s house, so you might be best back there, at least for a little while.”
“Until they trace the ship back to him; surely people know who owns the ships,” she said.
“They do, to a point. More often the ships are known by their captains, and Barton here is a new owner,” Captain Jennings explained. “No one is sure about much as far as he is concerned.”
A sliver of hope shook away the pang of loneliness that had made headway in her heart. “So I could return to the house for a time?”
“You could.” Lord Barton’s expression was serious. “You would be safe there.”
She returned his gaze, questioning him silently. He seemed to understand what she sought. Would it be all right, with everything that had passed between them? Was this a good idea? His subtle nod comforted her, and she said, “I would like that. When can I come home?”
His eyes lit. “The staff will be so happy. They have been on silent revolt since you left. Even my tea is cold. They blame me, think I did something to offend you. Not sure why they would think that.”
She mumbled, “Certainly not because you offend me every other day.”
He laughed. “Also, I wondered—we all wondered—if you could help us . . .”
“With the servants’ ball?”
“Precisely. None of us know what to do with all your plans.”
“I was hoping you would say that.”
Richard Allen chuckled. “I am happy things are working out.” His tone again became serious. “Pinweather’s men may be back. Perhaps you should stick to the house.”
She nodded. “I will.”
Lord Barton said, “And Captain, can I ask you and your men to keep an eye out for Pinweather’s men and tell us if they leave?”
Mr. Allen added, “You might want to keep a vigilant watch tonight. Every night. I suspect they will return.”
“Then we should go home straightaway.” Her heart sank. “But what if they are watching the ship?”
“It is likely they are.” Mr. Allen tilted his head, eyeing her with a curious expression. “We will wait for dark. How comfortable are you in breeches?”
“What?” Lord Barton looked from person to person, incredulous. “Absolutely not.”
Liz laughed. “What harm can it do? No one will suspect I have turned into a man.”
“I cannot be a part of this.” Lord Barton crossed his arms. “Everyone will see you—all of you—displayed.”
Her lips curved in a half-smile. “Then I’ll ask those who know I am a woman not to look. The others will just think I am a man.”
He guffawed. “They will not!”
The men turned to stare at him. Richard Allen looked as though he would tease Lord Barton. Everyone was amused except for Lord Barton. He looked as though he would stubbornly continue his protest until, with a burst of air out his mouth, he acquiesced. “If you must, then, wear a cloak and cover yourself with a blanket in the carriage.”
“If it will make you more comfortable,” Liz said.
“It will.”