Something turned over inside Rourke. “How long?”
That viperous smile returned. “One year. That’s all. Is one year too much to ask of a loving, responsible son?”
One year? Rourke struggled to steady his breathing. In one year, Elizabeth could be married. Probably would be if her attentions to Benjamin’s clerk last night were any indication. Still, if her father was willing to bargain, then she must harbor some affection for Rourke. Hope trickled in.
“When must I leave?”
Benjamin licked his lips. “As soon as possible.”
Rourke calculated the days until the Harvest Ball. He couldn’t pick the exact date in case of adverse weather. He must give enough leeway for a second attempt. “I will need two weeks to prepare the ship and round up a new crew. Most won’t want to stay in the Bahamas a full year.”
“Understood.” Benjamin nodded. “You’re doing the right thing.”
The right thing? What did Charles Benjamin know about doing right? He twisted the law to suit his client. He used fear to lord over his servants. Selling Anabelle’s mother had been a warning. Both John and Anabelle knew it. Rourke had just one chance to save her. Fail, and Benjamin would tear them apart forever.
Rourke despised such men. As a youth he’d been hot-tempered and prone to settle disputes with his fists. The Lord had changed him. At this moment, though, Rourke wanted to lash out at Charles Benjamin.
He must not.
Breathe deep. One. Two. Three. Lord Jesus, help me turn the other cheek. Help me to do unto others as I would have them do unto me.
How could he turn his cheek on injustice? Though John bore the scars of slavery, Anabelle was still bound to a master, when she ought to be bound to her husband.
Rourke unclenched his fists. If he pursued Elizabeth, Anabelle would remain Benjamin’s property. His promise to John would be broken. He must agree to Benjamin’s proposition.
He would not, however, shake the man’s hand. Charles Benjamin must take him at his word.
“I accept.”
A simple nod sealed the agreement.
11
Elizabeth cradled the miniature of her mother in her palm, restless and unable to sleep after yet another unsatisfying day. At breakfast, Aunt Virginia had insisted they go through Mother’s bedroom and pack away her belongings. Elizabeth could not bear to see the room where her mother had died so recently. She certainly didn’t want to hide away every trace of her mama. She had dug in her heels until Aunt relented.
Later that morning, the wife of the Army detachment’s commander paid a visit and happened to run her gloved finger across a tabletop. Aunt Virginia was mortified that the woman’s glove had turned black. Elizabeth had explained that the dark coral dust was in the air and couldn’t be avoided, but Aunt refused to believe her. Instead, Elizabeth received another scolding over her lax treatment of the servants. She’d been forced to punish Florie by making her scrub the privies, a duty that Nathan ordinarily handled.
Tonight, Anabelle had been unusually silent while preparing Elizabeth for bed.
“Are you angry over my treatment of Florie?” Elizabeth had finally asked.
“No, miss.” The curt answer revealed Anabelle’s true feelings.
“I must maintain order.” Elizabeth hated that her words sounded like her aunt’s, but it was the only explanation she could give. “As mistress of the house, I am responsible to ensure the household runs smoothly.”
“Yes, miss.”
Anabelle could not have delivered a more stinging rebuke. The chasm between them widened, and not another word had been spoken until she curtseyed and left.
Now the silence wrapped around Elizabeth like a blanket. She set the miniature in her keepsake chest and returned to the window. The quiet ought to bring peace, but the most vexing thought of all wove through Elizabeth. Rourke had not paid another call. Though his first visit had been cut short by her aunt’s return, she thought it had gone well. He had acted as if he too felt the connection between them. He’d even remembered how much she loved her mama’s oleanders. Anger rose at the memory of her aunt tossing the bloom out the window.
Her family might disapprove of Rourke, but he was not one to let other people’s objections keep him away. He apparently visited Charlie often, though he had not kept his promise to return the following day. What had kept him away?
She nibbled her lower lip.
The claim of theft ought to have been dropped now that Father had Mr. Buetsch’s brooch, but the salvage award still hadn’t been settled. At least there had been no mention of it in the newspapers. Rourke should still be in port.