Anabelle jerked as if shot. “My mother is gone.”
“I’m sorry. It must hurt to not be able to see your mother. Maybe one day I’ll take you to her.”
Anabelle laughed harshly. “Your husband would never allow it.”
“I am not marrying Mr. Finch, even if it means I never marry.”
“Your father won’t stand for that.”
“My father will learn to accept it.” Elizabeth bit her lip. Anabelle had distracted her from the question she was dying to ask. “I wanted to ask about your mother. Mammy lived here before I was born.”
Anabelle gave her an odd look.
Elizabeth pressed on. “Did she ever mention another baby?” She hesitated, unsure how to say this. “An illegitimate baby?”
Anabelle’s gaze bored through her, unreadable. “No.”
Elizabeth slumped against the pillows. “Then there’s no one who knows.”
“God knows all.”
The simple truth caught her by surprise. “He might be the only one.”
“Sometimes that’s best.” Then Anabelle squeezed her hand, like a friend commiserating with her, not a servant. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Anabelle,” Elizabeth cried, throwing her arms around the woman she’d called friend for so many years. “I missed you.”
After stiffening at first, Anabelle hugged her back.
Elizabeth swiped at a tear. “I’m sorry for getting so emotional. So many things have gone awry lately.”
“You miss him.”
“Him?” Elizabeth echoed, though she knew full well who Anabelle meant.
“I heard a rumor that he is gone, but I don’t believe it.”
A clot formed in Elizabeth’s throat. She couldn’t bear to speak his words aloud, so she retrieved Rourke’s letter from her rosewood box and handed it to Anabelle. Her friend slowly opened the paper and then read the lines. She clutched a hand to her waist and rocked forward, eyes closed as if in pain.
Elizabeth held on to her. “Are you all right?”
Anabelle grimaced. “A spasm is all.” After a moment, she sat up, somewhat paler. “Then the rumor is true.”
Elizabeth nodded.
Anabelle squeezed her eyes shut again, and the letter drifted to the floor.
16
Elizabeth took Anabelle with her to the final dress fitting the next morning. Surprisingly, Aunt Virginia didn’t put up a fuss. Apparently anything that related to the fast-approaching event went above scrutiny. Elizabeth was simply glad to leave the house. She still needed to tell Father that she would not marry Mr. Finch, and he was still avoiding her.
Anabelle said little, which was to be expected, but her brow was pinched with worry beneath the plain straw hat. Elizabeth had forgone her oppressive bonnet for a wide-brimmed straw hat decorated with a broad dark blue ribbon. Though its cheerfulness opposed both her mood and her mourning gown, she couldn’t bear to don the heavy black bonnet again.
The sun sparkled off the windows. The white sand shimmered. Many people crowded the streets. Since they must pass the harbor, Elizabeth instinctively checked the numerous vessels anchored and moored. The Windsprite was not among them.
One year. One full year. Would he miss her? She imagined Rourke striding across the deck barefoot, his hair a bit too long and his face clean-shaven in opposition to the dictates of fashion. Rourke was his own man, sure of his place. Such a man would wait one more year. So would she.
The scents of salt and fish permeated the air. The bustle of stevedores and the crunch of wagon wheels mingled with the ringing of bells and the slap of halyards against masts. This was home. This was where she belonged, not caged inside a lovely house.
“He is not here,” Anabelle murmured.
“No, but all he loves is here.”
“Mrs. Evanston will be waiting.”
“I suppose I must,” Elizabeth said with a sigh, “even though I would rather be out on the sea.”
“Yes, miss.”
Anabelle’s sudden formality drew her attention. A claret-colored gig with green wheels drew to a stop beside them.
“Miss Benjamin?”
Elizabeth had to tilt her head to see who had called her name. “Captain Poppinclerk.”
He secured the reins and hopped down from the high seat. “May I escort you somewhere? My carriage is at your disposal.”
She eyed the high seat. “No, thank you. I prefer to walk.”
The pilot looked surprised. “Extraordinary. Most ladies would leap at the chance to ride in style.”
“I do not leap, Captain, nor do I prefer the jolting of a carriage to a leisurely stroll.”
Mr. Poppinclerk bowed. “My error. Perhaps you would enjoy company on your stroll.”
To Elizabeth’s consternation, Anabelle slipped away.
Elizabeth attempted the aloof disinterest practiced by many of the ladies she had known in Charleston. “I fear I have an appointment with Mrs. Evanston and have no time for a stroll.”
“Ah, Mrs. Evanston is the finest seamstress in Key West. I suspect she is making you an evening gown for the coming ball.”