“Without mishap.”
“I expected as much. We imagined the season early enough now that you would avoid rough weather.” He looked so glad to see her, his gaze fixed comfortably in hers.
“We?”
“You will remember my cousin Seamus. He paid a visit last spring and never left.” He chuckled, the same assuring sound she had depended on when her father fell ill and she so badly needed assurance. “My aunt and uncle were keen for him to leave Ireland, of course, getting himself up to tricks as he’s always done.”
“So… he is here?” She had met Seamus Castle only once on a long visit he made years ago to Boston, a young man with too much cheek and too little imagination.
“He’s been a great help with the management of the workers. But let us not stand out here in the heat. Come inside and take something cool to drink.” He reached for her hand then paused, his gaze shifting behind her. “Ah. Forgive me. This is…?”
“My quartermaster while Crazy is on furlough. Aidan, this is Jinan Seton.”
“Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Seton.” He extended a hand. Seton stepped forward and grasped it.
“The pleasure is mine.”
Something in Viola’s insides did a peculiar little turn about.
Aidan screwed up his brow. “Seems I recognize that name from somewhere.”
He released Aidan’s hand. “Do you?”
“But I suppose Seton is a common enough surname in these parts, isn’t it?”
“I daresay.”
“Ah.” Aidan smiled. “You are an Englishman.”
“Mr. Seton holds a privateer’s commission from the Royal Navy.” Viola’s gaze darted between them. “He is only serving as my lieutenant because- Well… He is-”
“Between ships,” the bounty hunter finished.
“Ah. Of course.” Aidan’s glance shifted over his guest. “Any sailor from Violet’s ship is welcome in my home.” He gestured to the door. “If you will. I wish to make you acquainted with my other guests.”
Viola went before them into the high-ceilinged foyer, stealing a glance at the man with whom she had sailed to this island. He wore a crisp white shirt, neat trousers, and a coat she’d never seen, finely tailored that did justice to his broad shoulders and lean frame. He looked as perfectly at ease in these garments as he did in those he wore aboard ship. During the drive, concentrating on trying
Mostly, as usual, she had noticed his eyes. And his hands. And his mouth. Always his mouth.
She cared nothing about what he wore. He was handsome in anything and nearly nothing. Her gaze slipped up from his waistcoat and, as on that first day, he was watching her stare at him.
Aidan poked his elbow in front of her. For a moment she looked blankly at his sleeve, unable to blink away the memory of the sailor’s bared chest streaked with rain.
Neither man spoke.
“Violet?”
“Oh.” Her cheeks heated and she set her fingertips awkwardly on Aidan’s forearm.
He chuckled. “My dear, you are priceless.” He drew her into a drawing room. It was a lovely chamber, decorated with modest taste and English detail, yet another piece of the house he had built and furnished without telling her anything about it though she was to someday share it.
Within were four people. Seamus Castle leaned against a chair back, swinging a thick gold watch chain around his forefinger.
“G’day, Miss Violet.” He ducked her the slightest bow. He was an attractive man, with a high brow like Aidan’s and the same curly hair, but his mouth seemed formed into a permanent smirk, his green eyes hooded. “Pleasure to see you again.” The last time, five years earlier, he had trapped her in a shadowed alcove and tried to put his hands on her breasts. Her knee had smarted for days from impact with the pistol butt hanging at his groin. His groin had too, clearly. Viola learned several new cuss words in that moment.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hat, allow me to introduce to you Miss Daly and Mr. Seton, friends of mine whose ship has just arrived in port.” Aidan turned her to face them.
In an instant Viola knew them to be prosperous merchants from some northern city. New Yorkers, Philadelphians, or Bostonians all had the same look about them-the men overfed, the women overly superior, and both of them overdressed.
Bulges strapped into high-starched collars and a wool coat with enormous lapels, Mr. Hat creaked to his feet and shook hands with Seton.
“Glad to know you,” he rumbled.
“Sir.” The sailor turned to Mrs. Hat and bowed. “Ma’am.”
She wore a pinch-lipped smile and a taffeta gown embroidered with black pearls, vastly expensive and thoroughly unsuited to the climate. She assessed Viola from brow to toe, then Seton, and finally nodded, the black feather in her headdress jerking.
“And this,” Aidan said with a gentle smile, “is Miss Hat.”
The girl was angelic, not above seventeen and pretty as could stare. And Viola did stare, wondering how Miss Hat made her pale blond locks curl against her brow and cheeks so perfectly, and how she could bear to wear so little in front of all these people. She was tall like her mother, with a willow’s figure and soft blue eyes over which golden lashes modestly dipped. She curtsied, the diaphanous skirt of her pristine white gown gliding against her legs. Her hands tucked in its folds were lily white.
“Sir. Miss,” she whispered. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Seton bowed, looking so English, so perfectly like an actual gentleman, for a moment Viola stared again at him too.
Aidan guided her to a chair.
“Mr. Hat owns a dry goods mercantile in Philadelphia, Violet. He is visiting on business, hoping to expand his horizons. We are fortunate that he was able to bring his family with him, aren’t we, Seamus?”
The Irishman screwed up his mouth into a grin.
“Course, coz. Always a fine thing to have ladies about to brighten the place.” He leered at Viola.
Mr. Hat grasped his daughter’s hand and patted it. “Wanted my little Charlotte to see the sites, don’t you know, before I settle her on a lucky fellow for life.”
Miss Hat blushed to her pale roots, eyes downcast, but her smile remained sweet.
The servant who had met them at the door came to Viola with a tray. She accepted a glass and smiled.
“Thank you.”
“Dear me, Mr. Castle.” Mrs. Hat’s gaze fixed on Viola’s feet. “I fear I have been remiss these past two days. I had no idea that in the islands ladies spoke to servants amongst company. I shall make certain to rectify my behavior.”
Aidan chuckled. “Commerce between the serving class and their betters is sometimes freer here than up north, ma’am, it’s true. But you could never be remiss in any manner, I’m certain.”
The woman’s gaze slid upward, halting at Viola’s lap. Viola peered down. Her skirt was hitched up under her knees, her calves encased in cheap stockings perfectly visible.
Heat flushed her cheeks. “Oh.” Hands damp, she tugged under her behind to loosen the fabric. She was obliged to tug harder, but after a little hop of her behind off the chair and another tug, finally her hem fell to the floor.
“Castle, I understand you have not owned this property long.” Seton’s voice cut smoothly into the thick silence. “I enjoy an acquaintance with several planters on Barbados and Jamaica, but none on this island. How do you find the business here?”
“Quite good, in fact. My closest neighbor, Perrault, is less than forthcoming with the stream that runs through his lands before mine, but I haven’t yet had irrigation troubles.” He looked about with a smile. “If the laborers demanded fewer privileges, I would be a thoroughly contented man indeed.”
“I’ve told you, cousin,” Seamus drawled, “if men are given their freedom they will misuse it whenever they can. You should have slaves working your land, not wage laborers.”
Aidan shook his head. “I cannot agree with you, Seamus.”
“A fellow can barely find a young slave in Philadelphia these days.” Mr. Hat nodded. “It’s all for the best. None
