at my warehouse, of course, though that damned Frenchman, Henri, uses them to unload his boats and undercuts the rest of us.”
“It’s a bad business, I say,” Aidan muttered.
“It gets business done. And business is what you are here to do.” Seamus folded his arms over his paisley waistcoat. “What do you say on the matter, Seton? Should Parliament be rushing about to free the slaves like the abolitionists would have it, or should we maintain order like rational men?”
He set an easy look on Seamus. “A man must invariably follow his conscience,” he replied. “The law, whatever it might be, will never alter that.”
“Well said,” Aidan murmured, but his brow pleated.
Viola’s cheeks burned, her throat tight. Mrs. Hat’s disapproving stare had not abated, nor her daughter’s curious regard now subtly upon Viola too.
She cared nothing for either.
He had rescued her from embarrassment intentionally. He could not have known the conversation would take this turn. But she didn’t think he cared that it had. As he said, he was not a man to be swayed by the arguments of others. He was the only man Viola had ever met who lived entirely by his own purpose and with thorough confidence in it. That, more than anything she had known of him before, frightened her. Frightened, and excited.
With nightfall, the soft breeze that had filtered across the plantation at dusk disappeared. Stillness enveloped all, the stalks in the cane fields falling silent, even the birds quieting with dark. They took dinner in the dining room, the heat released from the earth gathering heavy within the walls, stealing Viola’s appetite.
The Hats mostly ignored her. Mrs. Hat complimented their host on the impressive removes. Mr. Hat plied Seton with questions about activity at the Boston port that Viola could have answered better than the Englishman. Miss Hat nibbled daintily at her food and kept her lashes modestly lowered. Seamus drank glasses of sugared rum and watched Seton with narrowed eyes.
After tea in the drawing room, the Hats announced their intention of visiting town the following day.
“Mr. Castle, we hope you will escort us.” Mrs. Hat smiled in graceful condescension.
Aidan nodded. “Of course, ma’am. I will be glad to take you to the finest shops.” He turned to her husband. “The lumber seller is a particular friend of mine, though not so much seller as merchant. He is intimately known to the owner of that copse of rare wood I mentioned to you yesterday. I will be glad to introduce you.”
“Fine, fine.” Mr. Hat patted his ample girth, stays protesting as he propelled himself from his chair. “Tomorrow then, Castle.”
Mrs. Hat took her daughter’s arm, Miss Hat curtsied, and they departed. Seamus glanced at Viola, insolence in his grin.
“Well, now, Miss Violet,” he drawled, “now that you’re the sole female present, how will you entertain us? Play a little ditty on the piano, will you now?”
Aidan cleared his throat. “Violet does not play, of course.” He came toward her and extended his arm. “May I escort you to your chamber?”
She nodded, laid her hand on his elbow, and glanced at Seton.
He bowed.
The air thickened as they ascended the stair. It was a beautiful house, but it seemed poorly constructed for the climate, rather more in a style suited to chill, English weather. But the door before which Aidan drew her to a halt was elegantly stenciled, the paint fresh despite the cloying humidity. He had worked hard to make such a home for himself, and she must be proud for him.
He took her hands. “It is good to see you again, Violet. I have missed you.”
“It is good to see you too after so long.”
His brow puckered, eyes serious. “My dear, I recall now why Seton’s name rings familiar to me.”
Her throat felt dry. “I supposed you would eventually.”
“From your look I see that you knew this when you took him on. Why did you do so?” His tone lightly accused.
“Well, it’s complicated.” She didn’t want to tell him that she’d sunk the
Aidan gripped her hands tighter. “I cannot like this.”
She tried to laugh it off. “The British government has forgiven him, Aidan. Is that not sufficient encouragement for you to put your trust in him too?”
“No.” He shook his head. “You know how I care about you, and I do not approve of this man aboard your ship. Fionn would agree. A leopard might be collared, but captivity will not change his spots.”
She stared into his hazel eyes and was inclined to agree with the notion of the constancy of a man’s spots. Since she was fifteen, this man had courted her with his words, accepting her adoration as though it were natural to him. But again and again he never saw through on his promises. Upon her father’s ship he had insisted he could not take a wife until he settled down on land and made a home for a family. For four years, he’d had that land.
Entitlement shone in his eyes now. After months of no letters and two years with no visit, he believed he could tell her how to arrange her life, that he could give her advice she had not sought and she must abide by it. She saw this now quite clearly.
Jin Seton expected much the same-that she would do as he wished. But when he was not looking at her like she was a madwoman, she saw in his eyes an awareness of her as a leader, and a woman, intriguing and desirable. She saw admiration. And heat. No matter how many times Aidan had teased and told her how much she meant to him, he had never once looked at her like that.
“I think you are wrong about him,” she replied quietly.
“Pirates are thieves and liars, Violet. You are imprudent to trust him.”
“I must be the judge of that.” She slipped her hands from his. “Thank you for dinner. Good night.”
Still frowning, he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “I am glad you are here, my dear.”
She nodded. For a moment he paused, then he descended the stairs.
Viola tapped her fingertips to the spot his lips had touched. She loved him. She had loved him for ten years. He knew so much of her, of her father and her life on the sea. Now, of course, he took no part in that any longer. But he was part of her past, and for so long she had known he would be part of her future. That he would
Perhaps a few days in each other’s company would correct that. Friends, even so well-known, required time to reaccustom themselves to one another. Didn’t they?
She stood by the window and the heat seemed to envelop her. The bed was heavy with linens, entirely uninviting. As soon as she’d seen the other guests she knew Aidan would not ask her to share his bed. He never did when others were present. But it didn’t bother her now. It was too hot for that sort of thing, anyway, and her stomach rumbled with hunger, her skin prickling with discomfort. Sleep seemed distant.
A modestly carved shelf offered some reading material, books of sermons and trade journals. She selected the least noxious and sat by the lamp. But the journal failed to distract and perspiration beaded on her nose that she was obliged to wipe away until her sleeve became positively soggy. She went to the window, pushed open the sash, and a cloud of night insects swarmed in.
“Oh!” She tugged the window shut with a clack.
No breeze. Perhaps that was why Aidan had been able to purchase such a large piece of land. With this stillness and humidity, inland property would not be at a premium. If it were this warm in June, it would be unendurable later in the summer. But she had weathered all sorts of deprivations in her decade afloat. If she were truly to be his wife, heat and mosquitoes must be borne.
It needn’t be borne quite so oppressively at this moment, however. If any air could be found moving, it would be in a garden, or even the drive if she must. And she felt restless. She missed the constant movement of her deck beneath her feet, and the swish of the sea in her ears. Here, tucked amid fields and copses and inside the house, she couldn’t breathe.
Reluctant to touch wool, nevertheless she took up her shawl in the event that she should encounter the modest
