The Bargain: A Port Elizabeth Regency Tale: Episode 2 (10 page)

This one she hadn't seen before. He hustled from the back of the boat. Boots clomping on the deck, he ambled near. "Mornin', ma'am."

He kept moving, and soon he and his pitchy tune disappeared. 

The sailor didn't stare, ogle, or threaten her. No, he acted as if the black woman in the nice dress on The Margeaux’s deck was normal, nothing unusual. Precious had to wipe the disbelief from her face, giving each cheek a good pat. Maybe there was some good for being thought of as the Captain's woman.

He’d been right in allowing the charade. Boy, did it burn her insides to admit him being right about anything. Even now, she could see that impish grin on his face, laughing, smiling at her.

Cupping her hand to her face, she scoured the boat, her eyes trailing planks and the handful of men pulling ropes to adjust the billowing sails. Finally, she spied Lord Welling at the wheel. With her fingers, she measured his height. From this distance, the baron measured only a few inches. 

He wasn't so scary sitting betwixt her fingers. She smashed her index into her thumb, as if that action would lop off his stupid hat or smear his grin, the one she could picture with her eyes closed.
 

His whole body was focused straight ahead. Even at a distance, he seemed rigid, set apart. But this was a lie. He’d masked warmth and caring that sprung free in hidden moments. Before her accident, he'd come a few evenings and played with Jonas, telling tales of the colony and how his friend, Lieutenant Narvel, was a man of honor and valor.

No, the baron wasn't so scary.

Her heart did a stupid dance. No doubt from realizing that he was just a man, one who, so far, didn't mean her harm.

With a shake of her head, she abandoned nice thoughts of a man who called her a varmint, and headed for the ladder leading to her cabin. She’d risked enough for this mouth of air.

"What's Wowski doing today?" The screechy voice assaulted her ears. The worm of a man sent by London had climbed up from the ladder behind her. He came near, fingering the button holes of his onyx jacket. "Looking for your prince?"

Brow raised, she gaped at him.

The squint-eyed man trudged a few more steps. "I asked you a question."

She folded her arms about her. "No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did. I called to Wowski. Or maybe I should say it plain, harlot."

This was the attitude she'd expected of all men, but it still hurt. It still crushed her growing feelings of worth on the inside. Breath burning in her lungs, she made her voice strong. "The name is Precious Jewell. Learn it if you wish to speak to me."

He rubbed his chin and the nasty shadow cleaving to his jaw. "That's not a name. And why would someone call a servant such?"

"Because it's my name. Maybe one too honorable for the likes of your tongue."

She turned her back to him. She didn't need to talk to him or pay him any attention. She wasn't enslaved, and needn't pay deference to anyone, except, well, maybe her employer. But that was it.

"Well, aren't you something? I'll still call you Wowski. But I'd bet the prince's trollop had better manners than you." He came close and almost elbowed her. "By the way, you may have caught Welling's eye and think you can get away with mischief, but passions fade and you may need another friend soon. I could be such."

What was the troll angling for? Did he think her weak enough that she'd want someone who called her a harlot to be her friend? She swallowed gall and tried answer like the baron would. "Can't be a friend to someone who doesn't like my name."

"I won't sweet-talk you, but I can be of more help than Welling. And our relationship would be transactional, information-based. His days of being in charge will end."

Didn't that beat all? The nasty man wanted her to choose him over the baron. On what side of stupid was he birthed? "I didn't think the likes of you would think I knew anything."

He tapped the rail with his stubby fingers. "You're smart. More than I'd given you credit. And since Welling is sweet on you, he'll be careless. You'll be privy to his plans."

So the skunk wanted her to be a gossip. She pivoted and started walking toward the baron's perch. "Well, I should go see what evil he's about."

"I'm not joking." He grabbed her arm as she attempted to move past him. "And my offer is not forever."

Anger whipping through her, she shook free then lifted her chin. The worm wouldn't frighten or hurt her. She wasn't giving him that right. "Get your hands off me, before I slap you into tomorrow."

He dropped her arm and swung his hands behind his back. "Just remember what I said and keep this to yourself."

So the fool was frightened of Welling. Good. "You remember to mind your manners."

She didn't wait for him to reply and headed to Lord Welling's perch. Mr. Grossling was a desperate troll, and that type was the exact kind of fool that could cause trouble. But what harm would he cause? And what would happen to Precious or Jonas, if Lord Welling lost his power?

Through his pocket scope, Gareth spied Precious coming his way, hips swaying, but lips pressed into a frown. Putting the lens into his jacket pocket, he could feel a hint of a smile growing on his face. The two-month-long voyage was nearly over, and she'd all but disappeared when he returned her to the women's cabin. Teasing her would provide a needed distraction.

Hopefully her spirits had bloomed again. He had to know he could count on her reasoning. A level head was a must, for Port Elizabeth had its own troubles.

His fingers tensed along the wheel. He'd navigated the ship past all the dangerous reefs, but the biggest danger still lay ahead: docking and unloading. That would be the most vulnerable time. The Xhosa could attack when all the men were busy carrying supplies.

With Precious, Jonas, and the pregnant Mrs. Narvel on board, the stakes were higher. Yes, they'd wait for night before embarking upon the last miles.

"Lord Welling," her voice held no notes of shyness or deference, "when do we arrive? Is this Port Elizabeth a real place?"

"Oh, it's very real, Miss Jewell." He swiveled his head from his view of the ocean to her. His breath caught for a moment. He'd never seen her in anything but her uniform; well, that, and her nightgown.
 

But this? A floral muslin that tucked about her bosom, alluding to her rounded hips and the small waist he knew existed. Something crossed through him, a mix of awareness of her striking appeal and a jab of raw masculine protection. "The dress... it's…"

She folded her arms. "It's Mrs. Narvel’s. She let me borrow it. It shows my ankles a little. I suppose I'm a little taller."

Of course, he felt compelled to dip his head and study her neat legs. With a sigh, he turned back to the ocean. "You look very nice, Precious. Well, you've had your air. Now go back to your cabin. Your wanderlust has been sated. Go prepare. We dock tonight."

Precious pushed forward and gripped the rail of his deck. Her face lit. "Is that it? There're groves of green and mounds. No buildings."

He moved to her and handed her his scope. “That green you see is a wild jade canopy of trees from a forest, and the brown are dunes. The land is almost split in two with wonderful trees to serve as building materials, and sandy beaches."

"What are they for?"

The breathless quality of her words made him want to scoop her up and show her everything. Instead, he took a couple steps away and gripped the wheel with both hands. "It's land for building, or a barrier to separate those who can't get along."

She nodded and put the scope to one of her pretty eyes. "And what of the people?"

"They are just like in London or Eliza's Charleston."

She turned to him. Her face fell, the joy stripping away, leaving a frown. "Oh."

Catching her gaze, he felt her sorrow, the disappointments she must bear. Well, he must surely have been one for her, too. "Did I treat you poorly in London?"

"No. You didn't pay me much mind. I was glad of that. It's never good when masters... or employers take notice."

Oh, his head was in a fog in London to not notice Precious's fire. Too consumed with trying to please his own masters, his uncle and Eliza, he'd missed her blooming into a fine young lady. "I'm glad I'm not one of the memories you are running from."

She put a balled hand to her hip. "Are you sure? You haven't told me what happened that night I fell. What happened after you fixed my shoulder and you kissed me? You said nothing, but I'm not sure."

"You mean, after you begged me?"
 

The crease between her brows deepened. "Don't make me hate you, too. Tell me."

He wanted nothing of the sort. He needed her to like him, to trust him. "Nothing happened, Precious. My doctoring was limited to your shoulder. I took no other liberties."

Her posture relaxed. 

She seemed a little too happy, and that stung his pride. "Did you want something to happen, Precious? Did you want more than a kiss?"

Her caramel skin glowed about her cheeks. The woman blushed and looked even more beguiling. "Nothing."

She rotated back to the sea and looked again out the scope, but it was too late. She'd confirmed that his attraction to her was returned. 

That would be dangerous knowledge to any other man who had been a faithful widower, but not Gareth. His discipline and the fact that she worked for him had to be enough to withstand the draw. Still, the hope of her looking at him, chestnut eyes sparkling with desire, warred in his breast.

He pushed air out his nostrils. The one woman who could understand his shortcomings was dead. There was no replacing Eliza.

"What of the men in the trees? Do they want you to build?"

"What?" He marched over to Precious. "Let me see."

Her long fingers touched his as she handed him the lenses and energy passed through him. "Over in that thickest grove."

Putting the eyepiece to his face, he saw nothing but leaves. " Are you sure? I don't see anything."

"He was there. I saw him and the glint of something shiny, like a mirror. That's what got my attention."

The concern in her eyes with her long lashes batting made him believe her about what she'd seen and so much more. His head bent, and he kissed the air near her lips. He didn't dare move closer.

At first she didn't move either, but dipped her chin and hid her expression, looking down at the planks.

"Still unsure of me?" With a shake of his head, he pivoted and searched the land again. "Well, your tree dweller is gone. We'll take more precautions. Now, below with you."

"I thought the captain's woman could be anywhere she chooses. I'd love to watch The Margeaux pull into port."

He stuffed the scope in his pocket. "Well, you're not, are you, Precious?" 

She turned and started pacing. "Everyone thinks so. That hateful war department man is calling me Wowski. Is that another British term for prostitute?"

"Wowski? No that's the name the London presses used to describe the affair the Prince of Wales, King George's own brother, had with a island woman. She was a black, or a mulatto, of mixed race." That urge to protect Precious rose up in his bones. "Why was he talking to you?"

She started to pace. The floral gown swayed and silhouetted her lovely form. "I'd slap the little troll if he weren't set on harming you. He is out to get you."

He stopped her and took her hand in his. "You care that much of me... my reputation?

She lifted her head and caught his gaze. "Yes. But why is his or any other man's opinion so important to you? You are so much finer than they. "

A joke wouldn't do for Precious. Nothing but the truth for her eyes beginning to shine with trust. For a moment, he kissed her palm along the cross of its lifelines. "If every physical need a man may have, he'll still want two intangible things: The want of affection from a desirable woman and an ego. Both need stroking upon occasion."

"Captain." The cabin boy stood on his deck. "I made the checks that you asked. The men are getting rested for tonight."

"Miss Jewell." He gently released her hand. "Return to your cabin. At nightfall I am going to guide The Margeaux into port. That way, if anyone is in the trees, they won't be able to see our movements."

She nodded at him with wondrous eyes, ones full of questions.

"Boy, help Miss Jewell back to her cabin. I wouldn't want the captain's lady distressed."

"Yes, the captain's lady." She came close leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Good evening, Captain."

She curtsied and left with the young man. 

Gareth touched his warmed jaw. Was Precious going along with the ruse? Or was there more to this open sign of affection? If everything went smoothly tonight with docking and unloading The Margeaux, he might find the time for an answer.

Silence finally crept in and covered the boat. Precious had the door cracked so she could overhear what was going to happen, but nothing; no creaking from below, very little movement above. Everything was still and quiet but for the unease in her spirit.

Mrs. Narvel put down her embroidery. Her face didn't seem happy. It had lines, as if she had something to dread.

"What's wrong? Mrs. Narvel, are you feeling well. It's not time for the baby."

She seemed to smile but her lips kind of pinched then faltered. "Call me ‘Clara’, and, no, my body feels well."

Precious looked at the door, but then drew her attention to her friend. Whatever was going on out there would keep. "But not your spirit, Miss Clara?"

She nodded. "I don't know what's the matter with me. I'm about to see the man I love. I am going to tell him of our baby. He's going to be so happy."

Precious tucked a blanket about a snoring Jonas. He loved sleeping with her on the pallet. "Then, why are you fretting?"

Clara dabbed at her eyes. Her ruddy cheeks looked ashen. "I don't know. Maybe he'll think I changed. Maybe he'll think I'm too fat."

With a shake of her head, Precious came and sat on the edge of the mattress. "I don't think you have to worry. If he's the man you've been describing, he won't care about weight, ‘specially since it's his doing."