Holly Page 4

  I will have the messenger wait for a reply. Please tell him if any of the items mentioned are not acceptable.

  My most humble wishes for your good health,

  Royce Kincade

  Holly re-read the captain’s letter three times before composing her reply. It read: “Captain, I have received your letter and its generous arrangements. I have no changes to suggest.”

  After sending the note to the waiting messenger, Holly sat very still, as if any move she made might shatter her good fortune. It was happening. She was to be wed.

  Mrs. Royce Kincade.

  She shivered.

  “I catch any eyes straying below the waist, you’ll spend the wedding in the carriage. Is that clear?”

  Royce hadn’t thought to find any humor in his wedding day. But the sight of Nick Black lecturing his minions, from his elegantly garbed secretary and man of business to the hulking, well-armed bodyguards who followed him everywhere—with his gaze lingering longest on Fetch, the lively lad he seemed to have taken on as some kind of apprentice—forced him to turn his head away to hide a smile. Black’s intent was good, Royce had to admit. The men were eager to see their guv’s wedding, but it was doubtful any of them were prepared for most of the wedding guests to be sporting protruding bellies. Hence, the warning.

  It was good advice for the groom, as well, Royce conceded. As he searched the outreaches of London for a suitable home for his bride, he’d fixed the thought of Venturer in his mind, never allowing his recollection of a girl with straight dark hair and luminous brown eyes, to extend below the nicely rounded bulge of her breasts. Better that way. By the time he returned from his next voyage, he would have talked himself round, adjusted to the thought of becoming a husband and a father at almost the same moment. As it was . . .

  If the notorious Nick Black could settle into domesticity—or some semblance thereof—then Captain Royce Kincade could certainly do the same.

  “Kincade!”

  Heeding his employer’s imperious call, Royce turned to his First Mate, Thomas Blount, and led him toward the lead coach in the cavalcade about to set off for Boone Farm. Blount, a man near Royce’s own age, boasted a round, weather-beaten face marked by a pair of blue eyes that shown with more geniality than his captain’s. The two men had been friends for over a decade.

  Royce climbed into the coach and settled back against the rear-facing squabs. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look as if he were at ease. Mr. Blount, who had long since learned when to keep his mouth shut, imitated his captain’s stance. A stranger entered behind them, quickly followed by Nick Black, both men settling themselves onto the opposite seat. After brief introductions, Black offered Royce a wry smile. “It’s all right,” he said. “I haven’t been this scared since the first time I was up before a magistrate.”

  Royce choked. Thomas Blount grinned. The stranger’s brown eyes gleamed, even as he turned away to hide a smile.

  Not another word was said all the way to Boone Farm.

  “I’m going to cry,” Holly declared, as she turned this way and that, attempting to see herself in the wavy, all-too-small looking glass. “It’s the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen. I actually look . . . pretty.”

  “You look gorgeous!” Belle declared. “The captain will be quite bowled out.”

  The gown of pale azure silk featured a tightly fitted bodice with modest puffed sleeves, completely covered in seed pearls interspersed with sparkling brilliants. From just below Holly’s breasts the gown flowed away from her body in a great tide of soft silk, rippling unadorned all the way to her slippers, where more pearls and bright crystals peeped out from beneath the gown’s hem. Her long dark hair was swept high and banded in matching silk with decorations that matched the gown and slippers. Holly had worn far more elaborate gowns in the past but none that had the significance of this gift from Cecy, Belle, and Lady R.

  Her wedding gown. The gown of Holly Hammond who was about to become Holly Kincade.

  It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be happening.

  But there was Cecy, shimmering in Alençon lace layered over a gown of blush silk and sparkling with strategically placed crystal beads handsewn to the places where they might best call attention to the elaborate design of the lace. In a burst of camaraderie Cecy had discarded a feathered headdress to wear a bandeau similar to Holly’s, except hers featured the same type of crystal beads sparkling from the lace overgown.

  “What a pair!” Belle proclaimed. “I can hardly wait to see your men’s faces.”

  Juliana Rivenhall took a shuddering breath, wiped away a tear. “And remarkable as the men are,” she said, “I wonder if they truly appreciate their good fortune in acquiring graduates of the Aphrodite Academy.”

  All three of her former students laughed, as they were meant to, easing the tension which had grown as taut as a drawn bowstring. Juliana peeked out the door. When she found the corridor empty, she beckoned to the others. “Come, girls. It’s time.”

  They descended the stairs, two by two, Belle lending Cecilia her moral support, Juliana gripping Holly’s arm tightly. At this critical moment there was no room for a suddenly disastrous fall.

  Since Boone Farm’s small rooms could not accommodate such a large number of wedding guests, the matron, Mrs. Jamison, and the girls had made every effort to transform the farm’s home garden into a pleasing site for a wedding. Not an easy task when the home garden’s primary task was growing vegetables, and only row upon row of short green shoots could be seen in May. However, rosemary, thyme, and mint added unique scents from a kitchen garden that was springing back to life. And against a wall on one side of the courtyard was a small cluster of flowers, mostly tulips, early iris, accented by a heavily blooming bleeding heart. Bleeding heart, Juliana noted as she passed by. How singularly appropriate.

  No! This was not a wedding like hers. Cecy and Holly were not innocents sold to the highest bidder. Their men did not lust for sexual adventures of every variety under the sun. Well, she didn’t know Captain Kincade of course, but Darius had been happy to launch an investigation, finding the captain remarkably conventional for a man willing to wed a courtesan and her bastard. Juliana allowed herself a moment of satisfaction as the four women stood sheltered behind the spread of a large spiraea bush covered in white blossoms. All three of her former students had done well for themselves. She could only hope Holly appreciated Nick Black’s generosity. An entire merchant vessel. None of her girls had ever been valued at a price so high. But Holly had an odd kick to her gallop. One never knew—

  “Oh, look!” Belle cried, “Mr. Wolfe is standing up with Mr. Black. I didn’t even know they knew each other.”

  Juliana, after taking a few seconds to absorb the shock, added her head to Cecilia’s and Holly’s as they peered around a clump of flowering branches. Darius was standing up with Nick Black! He hadn’t said a word, the beast. In all fairness, at their last meeting the topic had not been foremost in either of their minds. Darius and Nick Black were new acquaintances, meeting only because of Juliana’s desire to avenge Cecilia’s beating at the hands of her lover. Clearly, they must have seen something in each other. Two strong men, ruthless in business, who didn’t always stick to the letter of the law.

  “All is ready,” Mrs. Jamison announced, her round face beaming in a rare moment of pure pleasure. Marriages at Boone Farm were scarce as hen’s teeth, and she was clearly enjoying the moment to the fullest.

  Cecy went first, walking with dignity down the dirt path between the vegetables. Belle, wearing her own wedding gown, the color of classic June roses, followed. Then Holly, who kept her eyes on the path, refusing to take a chance on seeing doubt or regret in her bridegroom’s eyes. And last, Juliana, who had put off her customary half-mourning for a gown of pale leaf green in a shade that would not overshadow either bride.

  A collective sigh, mixed with surprise and awe, was heard from the women of Boone Farm, who’d had no idea Holly could look so grand. Tears
welled in dozen pairs of eyes, and no matter how much they wished her well, hearts filled with envy. And hope. If Holly had found such good fortune, perhaps . . .

  The five men standing in front of the makeshift altar—a deal table covered by Boone Farm’s best white linen tablecloth—were not the only males to appreciate the striking picture the four ladies made. Fetch, who had never in all his fourteen years attended a wedding, gaped, his customary strutting street-kid attitude overcome by awe. The rest of Nick Black’s entourage simply sucked in their breaths and soaked up the glowing beauty of the brides and their attendants, along with the solemnity of the occasion. Even Lord Ashbury, seated in the front row, his eyes fixed on his wife Belle instead of the brides, smiled. As did the vicar.

  No hole-in-the-corner affair, this remarkable occasion at Boone Farm. Everyone involved could hold their heads high.

  “Dearly beloved . . .” Absolute silence as the vicar intoned the familiar words, each couple repeating their vows in turn. Hearts swelled, and broke, the sun casting rainbow glints through tears that threatened to become torrents.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

  Holly heard a sob and feared it might be her own. A firm hand took her and arm and turned her toward their audience. Oh, dear Lord, even Mrs. Jamison was crying! And Lady R was simply standing there, head bowed, looking as if she’d just attended a funeral instead of a wedding.

  “Come,” a voice said in her ear. “The vicar has laid out the parish register in the parlor. We must go in and sign it.”

  Numbly, Holly let the captain lead her down the path past the odd assortment of young women seated on an even odder assortment of chairs dragged out of the house for as grand an occasion as Boone Farm had ever seen. The captain. Her husband. Royce Kincade. Who, in spite of his veneer of good manners, had to be mad or a thoroughly callous bastard to marry her for the sake of owning his own ship.

  And there was Cecy ahead of them, gliding past the sprouting vegetables and hanging onto Nick Black like a limpet. Nick Black who, with a flick of his finger, manipulated people’s lives, moving them like chess pieces around his London-sized board.

  Lookin’ a gift horse in the mouth, dearie?

  On your knees, girl, and give thanks!

  Not-so-well-bred imagined thoughts nagged Holly every step of the way inside, continuing their scold even as she signed the parish register, “Holly Elizabeth Hammond Kincade.”

  “Over here,” the captain rumbled in her ear and steered her toward a quiet corner of the parlor. “I will return tomorrow to tell you of the arrangements I have made. I trust you will find them satisfactory.”

  More satisfactory if she’d had some part in it!

  Dear God, five minutes married and already a shrew!

  No, Holly amended. She had always been a shrew, the bold , sharp-tongued one, the rebel. Poor Captain Kincade. He was paying a higher price for his ship than he knew.

  It was the well-trained courtesan, however, who responded to the captain’s question. “I shall be pleased with whatever arrangements you make, Captain. And now I believe we are expected to sample the refreshments. There has been a great flurry in the kitchen these past two days.”

  The captain’s intent blue eyes stared down at her, as if he sensed the existence of the seething layers that lay beneath her calm but could not quite pinpoint what was wrong. Other than the obvious, of course. He had just married a woman eight months gone with another man’s child.

  “Shall we?” He smiled and held out his arm.

  Mad. Definitely mad, for only someone quite insane would smile so kindly while acting as if his wedding had been as traditional as marrying his childhood sweetheart after the calling of banns in the village church.

  Holly accepted the captain’s arm, and they went in search of the long refectory table groaning under the weight of food fit for a proper country wedding.

  Chapter 6

  Breathless from climbing the stairs after her new husband’s promised visit, Holly sank into the ever-welcoming rocking chair. Her hands clutched the wooden arms as if they were the only thing she dared cling to—something solid, familiar . . . and not Royce Kincade. She drew a shuddering breath even as her common sense chided her for a mix of anger and doubt that made no sense.

  The man had married her. She had no right to feel uneasy. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t made his reason clear. At the vast cost of a merchant ship, Nick Black had purchased her respectability—using a ship’s captain who seemed so honest and forthright she would have sworn he’d never take the bait. And yet he had.

  What nonsense! Captain Royce Kincade had sailed the world for Nick Black. He could not possibly be a saint.

  Oof! The babe seemed as upset as she. That kick felt like a blow from a fist. No, ’twas more like a somersault. Holly squirmed, trying in vain to find a comfortable position.

  You’d think it was all his fault, her inner voice taunted. The man’s just told you he’s made arrangements fit for a high-flying courtesan instead of the modest demands of a wife, and for some reason you’ve taken offense.

  Holly huffed, more than ready for a battle with her better judgment. He was likely following Nick Black’s orders, she countered.

  Now there’s a plumper if I ever heard one!

  Holly heaved a sigh. She had to admit the thought of Captain Royce Kincade slavishly following Nick Black’s dictates simply didn’t fit his character. The captain had spoken to her with the cool authority of a man accustomed to giving orders, not taking them. In five days he would be leaving for Boston, he’d told her, followed by Charleston and several ports in the West Indies, before returning to London, probably not until spring of the following year. He would come to Boone Farm to say goodbye the night before he sailed. By that time he would have completed the financial arrangements needed to keep her and the babe in comfort, and he hoped to have word of a suitable cottage as well.

  His words had been blunt, spoken crisply, though undoubtedly more gently than the tone he used on deck. Holly had no difficulty interpreting his unspoken message as well. The captain’s attitude had been all business, with no hint of emotion. The requirement of marriage to a pregnant courtesan accomplished, he was now free to practice his trade. Complete with whatever women he had stashed away in Boston, Charleston, Jamaica, and his other ports of call.

  Well, perhaps not the last. In all likelihood the good captain was a Scots Presbyterian, brought up in as stiff-necked a religion as one could find. Oh yes, that was more like. Royce Kincade’s upright character mocked her, even as he gifted her with his charity, acquired his miserable ship, did his duty. Smiled softly while gritting his teeth. No wonder he was offering stability one moment and gone the next, leaving her to fend for herself. He might have accepted Nick Black’s offer, but the price must have included a sharp blow to his conscience.

  She should be glad to be rid of him!

  He’ll be leaving you with all the friends and funds you could possibly need.

  Be silent! Holly spat at her inner voice. If I want to feel sorry for myself, I shall!

  A tear slid down her cheek, dripped off her chin. She was in a house full of women who understood her fears, all of them now worse off than herself. She had stalwart friends and the support of Nick Black’s man of business. That she was sitting here whining, and big as a house, was nothing but her own fault. Her once lively mind seemed to have gone the way of her body, reduced to a heap of sluggish doubts and fears. Indulging in maudlin fantasies that benefitted no one.

  Holly seized her wayward maunderings, reining them in with ruthless intensity. Eyes narrowed, lips firmed into a thin line, she fought to find the girl who had vowed to be the best wife a man ever had.

  Hard to do when he’s thousands of miles away!

  But he would be back, and then . . .

  Holly’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes went wide. What if he never came back? What if he and his precious ship were swallowed up by a hurricane? Taken by pirates?


  Oh, dear God, not that. No matter how prideful, stiff-necked, and business-like the captain might be, she wanted him back. Had they not been joined by ancient ritual? He was hers.

  The Venturer, Dockside, London

  Head in his hands, elbows on his desk, Royce Kincade contemplated his sins. Every last one of them, from childhood misdeeds to women he should have shunned, from sailors to whom he should have been kinder to his crowning escapade of marrying a lightskirt and acquiring a ready-made family. His sister, he hoped, would be sympathetic, but if this revelation ever reached his Aunt Nell and his Gramma Hay . . . Hell and the devil! Stoic lowlanders they might be, but he feared the news would give them both an apoplexy.

  He probably should have thought of that.

  Without raising his head, Royce opened his eyes and glared at the letters he had just completed—the ones informing his closest relatives he had married a widow with a child. Well, by the time he returned, it would be true. Almost.

  Royce straightened up, his gaze sweeping his cabin, illuminated by the light of the two overhead lanterns. His mind’s eye reached out to the foredeck, climbed the tallest mast to the crow’s-nest, where he viewed Venturer from prow to stern. His. All his.

  Or would be in less than two years’ time.

  And all because of a foolish girl who had not practiced the precautions she’d learned at the Aphrodite Academy. Oh yes, he hadn’t hesitated to find out all he could about his bride. He wasn’t that much of a fool. A tavern wench miraculously polished into a lady by the Baroness Rivenhall. Her child’s father, the scion of an enormously wealthy banking family.

  Royce’s lips curled as he enjoyed a chuckle at the Everard family’s expense. Their wealth and prestige had not kept Charles Everard and his father from nearly pissing their pants when he paid them a visit accompanied by Nick Black. The amount of the hastily written bank draft had exceeded even Black’s expectations. For Royce, it meant the added boon of not having to pay out a penny of his own for the cottage Guy Fallon had finally found. Or for maintenance and the servants to staff it for years to come.