Tom, dressed the same as he had been on the voyage to Key West, looked to the sky. “Rain’s coming, I fear.”
His eyes darted toward Caroline, and Elizabeth realized she’d forgotten to make introductions. After that was done to everyone’s satisfaction, she asked if he was looking for her.
“Indeed I was, miss. I paid a call at your house and spoke to your aunt. She said you had walked into town to look at gloves.” Most men Tom’s age would wrinkle their noses at the mention of shopping for any part of a woman’s wardrobe. Tom managed to say it without edging away. He dug into his jacket pocket. “I have a letter for you, Miss Benjamin.” He handed her a square of folded paper sealed with wax.
“For me?” She did not recognize the hand. “Who is it from?”
“An admirer.” Tom looked toward the harbor. “I need to be on my way. Mr. John will have my head if I’m late.”
“Thank you,” she called out as Tom hurried away into the crowd.
“He works on the Windsprite?” Caroline asked after he was gone.
“Yes.”
“Curious. The rumor I heard was about that ship. Apparently they’re about to set sail for Harbour Island.”
The news knifed through Elizabeth. “Are you certain?”
“Perhaps that letter will tell you more.”
Elizabeth ripped open the seal and unfolded the single sheet of paper. The first two lines confirmed what Caroline had heard. “He is . . .” She choked out a shaky breath. “He is returning home.” Her hand trembled at the next. “They might be gone a long time, as much as a year.” Tears stung her eyes. He was leaving her the way she’d left him—fit punishment for her sins.
“Is that all? No explanation?”
Elizabeth shook her head and tried to blink away the tears enough to read the final words.
I was a coward that night, dearest Elizabeth. I should have admitted my feelings. Please forgive me. You are always in my thoughts. Though your kind regard is undeserved, I dare to hope you will wait.
Your ever faithful servant,
Rourke
Those were not the words of a man who despised her. Quite the contrary. Hope returned with such a surge that she threw her arms around Caroline. “He loves me. I knew it. He loves me.”
“Yet he is leaving?” Caroline asked after Elizabeth had composed herself.
“There must be difficulty at home. It’s the only explanation.”
Caroline looked unconvinced.
“What?” Elizabeth prodded. “You don’t think that’s possible?”
“It’s possible,” Caroline said slowly, “though hardly something to keep secret.”
“Rourke is a private man. He wouldn’t share his difficulties with anyone.”
Though Caroline still looked doubtful, she acquiesced. “Then you will wait, even if it’s a year?”
Though Elizabeth nodded, she knew how difficult that would be. “I will convince Father. Somehow.”
When Elizabeth returned home, Aunt Virginia informed her that Mr. Finch would join them for supper. In one statement, she deflated Elizabeth’s excitement and pinpointed the problem that awaited her. How could she possibly push away Mr. Finch for an entire year?
“I will dine in my room,” she stated.
“You most certainly will not,” Aunt said. “The lady of the house must serve as a gracious hostess even when plagued by headache or fatigue. Your mother always did.”
The mention of Mother shamed Elizabeth. Mother would not dwell upon disappointment. She would not run headlong through the streets, as Elizabeth had longed to do when first reading Rourke’s letter. She would accept life’s blows and move forward with grace.
That meant suffering through Percival Finch with his canary-yellow waistcoats, cloying compliments, and clinging fingers.
Aunt Virginia clucked her tongue. “Where did you and Miss Brown go? Your skirts are caked with dirt. Why, they’re as filthy as your maid’s. I’m beginning to think she is going all over town when she is supposed to be here. Yesterday she showed up at cockcrow with her eyes heavy and her skirts damp. Nathan insists he didn’t see her all night. Cook and Florie claim they were asleep. No one seems to know where that girl of yours spent the night. Unless she stayed in your room. You know that’s unwise. I told you over and over how quickly a darkie will turn on you.”
Elizabeth’s heart sank. She had spoken to Anabelle about the late-night forays and asked her not to leave again after curfew. Why would she continue to do so? Now Aunt had begun to suspect. “I will speak to her.”
“You must discipline her.”
Though the thought made her ill, Elizabeth nodded.
Seemingly satisfied, Aunt Virginia returned to the business at hand. “We haven’t much time before supper. You certainly can’t wear that gown. No amount of beating will get the dust from it.”
She headed for the staircase. “I’ll have Anabelle dress me in the crape.”