Bound by Love Read online

  She looked up at him. He was a grand sight. His curly black hair emphasized his deeply tanned face, and his growing smile was showing strong, white, even teeth. A prize, no doubt about it, Della thought. He wasn’t a bad fellow, and if he was a little too full of himself, why, he had ample cause to be. But with all that he was, there was one thing he wasn’t.

  “I am deeply honored,” she said carefully, making sure to get the wording right. She knew the proper form; she’d had to say it to many other men in the past. “But I cannot accept. But thank you very much,” she added impulsively. “I’m sure that if I could accept, you would be one of the first fellows I’d consider.”

  His hand clenched on hers in a sudden spasm and he stared at her, dumbfounded.

  “I dare say no one ever said no to you before,” she said mournfully.

  “I never asked,” he said in astonishment.

  “Well, I’m honored, but there it is,” she said. She was acutely uncomfortable, and when she glanced up at the helm, she thought she could see the captain himself looking down at them in fatherly fashion and all the sailors smiling. She felt like a cheat and a rogue, and so she stared out to sea. But she nibbled at her lip and her small chin quivered. It made Jack Kelly think a moment before he spoke again, and he didn’t give her up hand.

  “My father’s been after me to pick a lass and settle down,” he said. “He’s after all of us boys, to be sure, but I bear the brunt, since I bear his own name. It’s that way with fellows who were wild in their youth; they get to be regular Puritans when it comes to their families. Before he met my mother, he was a roaring fellow; aye, they even called him Black Jack for his deeds, though my mother is quick to blush and say it’s for his hair.” He grinned, and Della almost regretted her resolve—it was that charming a grin.

  “Still, it’s no secret that it was piracy that first sent my father to the Colonies to seek snug harbor and lick his wounds,” he went on. “But once there, he found working for his fortune better than making war for it. I have great prospects, you know. I’m training with Captain Mason now because my own father’s not sailing anymore, only building ships. But soon as he feels I’m qualified, I’ll be piloting my own vessel and building my own trade.”

  “And my father’s a merchant. I know a marriage between us would have been grand and profitable for all concerned,” she said. He began to protest, mentioning her eyes and her nose and what all, so she wouldn’t think it was her father’s gold that prompted his offer, she thought, so she cut in to say decisively, “But it cannot be.”

  “Then there’s someone else?” he asked immediately. He couldn’t imagine it had anything to do with him, she thought. But there was someone else, so she nodded.

  “Ah!” he said, thinking furiously, “but you liked my kiss.”

  “Oh yes,” she said, for she had. His mouth had been firm and warm and his arms, infinitely comforting. But there hadn’t been anything else but a mild sort of panic as she realized that she’d led him on. She’d led herself on, too. She’d led herself into a shipboard romance with a dashing sailor because she’d wanted to feel another man’s desire, as well as his kiss—mostly because she’d wanted to feel more when he kissed her.

  But he wasn’t Jared—not his fault. Not really hers—and the fellow whose fault it was didn’t have a clue about his guilt. Not his fault, either, for being so strong and smart and noble and handsome and the only man whose hands—not to mention mouth and whatever else she could imagine—she wanted upon her.

  “Ah,” he finally said, his brow unfurrowing, “so he is already wed.”

  “I should say not!” she said angrily. “What do you think I am?”

  “But if you care for him, why else would you still be unmarried?” he asked with such genuine puzzlement that she warmed to him again.

  “That’s very kind of you,” she said, “but the truth is that he doesn’t think I’m such a prize as you do. Oh, he likes me, to be sure. But not as a woman, exactly.”

  “Then what exactly does he think you are?”

  “The truth is,” she said sadly, “he doesn’t think of me much at all.”

  He paused. Then he brought her hand to his lips before he let go of it. “And you’re going to wait forever?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so,” she said quietly, looking down at her shoes as she shifted her feet, “but I’m only twenty, you know.”

  “My sister is twenty and she is married, with a babe and another on the way,” he said, “but I see. So there’s no hope for me?”

  She gazed up at him then. And had she been able to see herself through his eyes, it was possible that she’d have acted differently in everything she did. But she couldn’t see what he did: a lovely young woman with startling blue eyes, white skin, a tiny, tilted nose, and the warmest rosy pink mouth he’d ever seen or tasted. Her hood had fallen back to show that she wore her own hair, black as a fashionable wig would have been white, and the sea wind had tossed it into a tangle of shining curls. Autumn was in the air, and she wore her cape closed against it, but he remembered the look of that shapely little form and how glorious it had felt in his arms. He sighed.

  “Della, m’dear,” he said, so overcome with emotion that he echoed his father’s speech patterns, “the man’s a fool—or worse, he’s blind and has no heart atall. You’re every man’s desiring, and there’s truth itself. Tell you what, m’dear. If it’s all right with you, I’ll say good-bye to you in London town, but look in on you in the Virginia colony one year from today. Who knows? He may have come to his senses by then, and if he has, I’ll be lost, but at least I’ll know it and give up dreaming. But you may have come to your senses, and if you have, why then, I’ll be the happiest man on earth, and the rest of my life will be a dream. Is that all right with you?”

  She nodded. She couldn’t believe that Jared would come to his senses, any more than she believed she’d ever come to hers. But it would have been too cruel to say no to Jack—or to herself.

  “Then we’ll say no more now,” he said, taking her hand and placing it on his sleeve, with his own covering it. “But may I write?”

  “I’d like that,” she said.

  “Where shall I send the letters in England? And how long do you stay?”

  “We’re off to Hawkstone Hall,” she said and then paused. “But for how long, truly I can’t say. I don’t know.”

  “I’ll write to you there anyway, and if you’ve gone, they can send the letter on,” he said, as he began to stroll with her. “I know how it is with relatives: they’re mad to see you, and then two days later they’re remembering why they moved away in the first place.” He laughed.

  She didn’t. “We’re not visiting relatives,” she said. “We’re visiting the earl of Alveston.”

  “Indeed?” he asked with interest. “But Alfred said you were staying with a fellow that was like his own son.”

  “That’s true…” she said sadly, “but he is not my brother.”

  *

  “Seeing all this,” Alfred said, pushing himself back from the table and gesturing at the bare goose bones on his dinner plate, “makes me regret having raised you in the wilderness, child.”

  Della knew he wasn’t talking about the remains of his dinner, because they were in a fine restaurant on one of the best streets in London. She’d spent most of her dinner staring out the window of their snug private parlor, watching the street. She’d been so entranced she hadn’t had a bite to eat.

  “Virginia’s not wilderness,” she murmured, distracted by the sight of two grand ladies exiting from a coach outside. She held her breath at the ease with which they held their huge panniered skirts, tilting them gracefully to the side so that they could sweep out of their carriage and daintily pick their way down the little stairs the footmen had let down for them. They did it just right, in the process exposing only a glimpse of fine white stockings covering trim calves and ankles. She was getting the hang of it just by watching. But she
still didn’t see how they managed not to knock the tiny hats off their high dressed wigs.

  It was a chilly evening, so they wore capes, but Della could step outside her private parlor and see how the fashionable ladies of London looked without them. Their gowns were so exquisite they nearly took her breath away, and she was sure they’d do just that if she had to wear them. The ladies’ bodices were so tightly fitted, so straight and firm all the way down to the V where they ended at the waist, that Della knew their corsets must have been made in hell.

  No wonder colonials made so much money whale hunting, Della thought with a giggle. There must be a whole whaleful of stays on every fine lady in London. It made them walk stiffly, with only their hoops swaying—and their bosoms jiggling, of course. The square necklines were so low that every step a lady took in her high-heeled shoes made the tops of her breasts bounce and quiver alarmingly above those unbending torsos. But the fabrics! The embroidered silks and satins, the figured brocades and ribbons and rich colors and swags of fine lace! Della had seen well-dressed women at home. Now she saw that their finest would be exactly what London’s finest ladies wore—at home.

  She fingered the silk of her own cherry-striped gown. It had modest panniers and a decent neckline. It was one of her best dresses and was barely adequate to qualify her as a lady here. She put up her chin. She didn’t care. She cared nothing for London. She was on her way to see Jared. That was why she was here.

  But now Alfred was gazing out the window to see what she was watching. “Aye,” he said, nodding as he saw the ladies descending from their carriage. “You can do some shopping. There will be time to have some new gowns fitted, never fear. You may even be able to get some done in time to take with us before we leave for Hawkstone Hall. The rest, we’ll send on. But in the meanwhile, you can tog yourself out with new fans and shoes, hats and muffs—yes, you must get a slew of them—and some new capes and…”

  “What?” Della asked in astonishment. “What are you talking about, Papa? There’s no time at all.”

  He chuckled. “Time and to spare, my honey. I’ve business to do while I’m here. But as they say, all work and no play makes Alfred a dull fellow, and we can’t have that, can we?” he asked playfully. “Don’t worry, we’ll have time for fun, too, puss. Show you the sights first, of course—the tower and the palace, and more. Every street has a surprise. You know how you marveled at the fact that they’ve houses built on the top of London Bridge, like it was a regular street at home? Well, there are shops there, too—fine ones.… Aye, I hear you—no more talk of shopping, but surely some evenings at the theater. London has the best in the world. If the weather holds—and I wonder about that because October’s coming in and it can be cruelly cold—we’ll have a look at some of the pleasure gardens, too. I remember them from my youth.”

  He sighed. “Your mama and I passed many happy hours at London’s pleasure gardens. There were fireworks and concerts, dancing… I wonder if Vauxhall is the same? And Ranelagh? No matter, it can only be better. And wait till you see an opera presented the way it ought to be! And a ballet—oh yes, we’ll attend some of those, to be sure.

  “We might get invitations to private balls as well,” he said happily. “I’m going to pay a call on our old friend Dr. Franklin. He’s been renting a house here since ’57, not far from here, I understand. He’s officially in London for diplomatic reasons, but he’s always on the lookout for a good bit of trade, and not too lofty even now to meet with old friends. A merchant’s as good as a philosopher to him. Aye, our ‘Poor Richard’ is rich in friends; he’s a very social fellow. He loves London. Colonials are all the rage here because of him, they say.

  “So,” he said comfortably, “I expect we’ll be asked everywhere once I call on him. Of course, until then, there are always the public masquerades. You wouldn’t meet anyone at them, because a lady must go masked if she has any reputation, but they’re wonderful fun, and if I’m with you…”

  He stopped because of the open-mouthed way she was staring at him. Her eyes were open almost as wide and were as startlingly blue as the tops of the flames of their table candles.

  “What?” she asked incredulously. “What are you thinking of? We have no time for such nonsense. We have no time at all. I don’t want to sit here in London when we’re only miles away from Jared. It would be wrong for us to delay, to idle here when he’s been waiting for us so long. He’s expecting us, Papa,” she said urgently. “We have to get there as soon as we can.”

  “Nonsense! Jared knows better than that.”

  “But I don’t,” she cried. “I traveled all this way—weeks on the ocean aboard a rocking ship, sleeping in a cramped little room, worrying about whales and whatall every minute—and all to get here. Now we’re here at last and you say you want to linger in London, as though we have nothing to do!” She bounced in her seat, she was so agitated. “We have to go on now.”

  “He’d expect me to take care of business here,” Alfred protested. “He’d want us to take in the town a bit. He’d want you to get some new finery—Jared would want you to look nice for his friends.”

  Della smiled a smug smile. “Do you really think that matters to him? Do you think how he’s dressed matters to me?”

  But now her father grew solemn. He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin a few times before he finally answered. Then he dabbed at his forehead. “Della, my dear …” He paused, searching for words. He reached out and took her hand in his. “It’s altogether possible that it does matter to him now. He’s an earl now. And then, too…” His eyes, blue as her own, grew sad. “Understand, my dear, that it’s also altogether possible that he will never see you as you see him.”

  She blinked. She’d never told her father how she felt about Jared and had foolishly thought he didn’t know. She’d believed it her own secret, daydreaming of the wonderful day when her love would be reciprocated and she could announce it to her father and the world. But she never told him, because what if it never happened? Her father’s sympathy would only make it worse. Her happiness was everything to him. She shuddered to think about what might happen if he knew and told Jared how she felt. Jared loved him and she knew how indebted he felt. What if Jared then got the notion he could repay Alfred by offering for her? That would be worse than losing him to another woman: the shame and pain of having a love returned by obligation would be unendurable.

  “How I see him?” she squeaked, desperate to deny what she now knew her father knew. “How should I see him? He’s—he’s Jared, that’s all, Papa. I just want to see him now.”

  He sighed again. “All right then, so you shall. I’ll take care of business on our return to London, before we go home again. And Della,” he said gently, “we shall go home again. We must eventually, you know.”

  “Oh, I know,” she said with false brightness. But she prayed it would not be so. At least for herself. Jared had found his home at last, but she knew too well that wherever he was, was her home.

  It was more than the fact that she’d worshipped him when she’d been a little girl. She wasn’t a child anymore. She’d compared him to other men since she’d become a woman and had found all other men lacking. She’d seen her fair share of them, too, she reassured herself, more than most girls, in fact. She’d seen American men and was now seeing English gentlemen. Everything she’d seen of colonial men had only pointed up Jared’s elegance, manners, and grace. And so far, all she could see in English gentlemen was their elegance, manners, and grace.

  Colonial men came in two breeds. One type was so busily making a point of how rough, tough, and ready he was for the New World that he smelled like a savage and dressed like a bear and spoke about nothing but trapping and planting, building, or exploring. He needed a woman only to breed with, and didn’t mince words about it. Still, some of this type were dangerously attractive. But she was the pampered daughter of a successful Virginia trader, and so, however exciting, they were simply not the sort for her.

  The o
ther kind of colonial man was worse, she thought. He was a townsman who aped the English while saying that he himself was better, and so he didn’t come out looking even as good as the woodsmen. Of course, she had to admit that some colonial men, like the handsome and charming first mate on the Boston Boy, for example, were neither type. But then, they weren’t Jared, either.

  Soldiers—and she had seen a lot of them, owing to the recent wars—were in an entirely different class. Wise fathers didn’t let their daughters near them, and clever girls soon learned that it took more than a uniform to make a man. Della was a very clever girl.

  If she felt a little guilty about rejecting a man like handsome Jack Kelly, she had no hesitation about belittling the Englishmen she’d seen so far. She actually enjoyed sneering at them. Although she’d been born in England, she’d been brought up in the New World and felt just as unsure of herself as she was proud of herself for being a colonial. But who could resist mocking fine English gentlemen? The ones she’d seen so far in London were outrageous. They wore high heels and minced in them. They wore furs, satins, and lace, and smelled like flowers. If her nose didn’t deceive her, they wore as much amber perfume in their powdered wigs as their ladies did, and their wigs were often even more elegant. They carried fans and used them; they cradled fancy little snuff boxes in their white hands; they spoke in such nasal, artificial accents that she could hardly understand them. They were hardly men at all to her.

  But Jared—he was elegant without airs, graceful without being womanly, tough without being crude. He was perfect. And he always would be, to her. Her father was right—London was a fascinating city, and she wished she could see more of it. But there was only one thing she had to see now.

  “So when shall we leave, Papa?”

  “It’s a long trip,” he said, musing. “There’s your maid and my man and all our luggage to take with us, too. We’ll need to hire two carriages and several changes of horses along the way, and good, reliable coachmen and outriders, too—they have bold highwaymen here. It’s not safe on the roads. This isn’t America, you know.”