Her Pirate to Love: A Sam Steele Romance (28 page)

“You have a lovely accent.”

“Thank you. You have a lovely home.” Grace sipped, resumed her stirring.

Claire shook her head. “Oh, this won’t do.”

The cup rattled in the saucer. Was Claire saying she no longer had employment at the orphanage? Where else was Grace to go? She needed to earn a wage to support her and her child, to earn her passage to Ireland. Grace set her tea down before she spilled the hot liquid.

“Please don’t change your mind. I need the money; the work will—”

Claire’s hand closed over hers, stilling her spinning thoughts.

“I didn’t mean your position at the orphanage. I’m sorry if I scared you. I meant the propriety.” Claire smiled, leaned back into the cushions of the sofa. “I thought you would have seen for yourself by the commotion when you arrived that our home is not one for formality.”

“I must say with a house this size I expected more staff.”

“We have a groundskeeper as well a groom and stable hand. Mrs. Davis helps with the children, Mrs. Wingate works miracles in the kitchen, and Mrs. Davenport tends the house before going home to her family in the evening. We hire more help for special occasions, so you’ll be seeing more maids and cooks tomorrow.”

Grace settled more comfortably into her seat. “Do you bring the children with you to the orphanage?”

“We do. The other children love to have them come and play and we believe it teaches our sons humility and thankfulness. Or we hope they will learn it. Someday.” She added with a shake of her head.

“’Tis a very worthy goal.”

“Be sure to remind me when they’re running and screaming like little heathens through the halls.” She sighed. “Truth be told, the reason we take them with us, and choose to do as much with them as possible despite Mrs. Davis’ help, isn’t quite so noble. It comes from not having family. Neither Nate and I want to miss a moment of their lives.”

Grace tried to return Claire’s smile but knew it fell flat. Claire, it seemed, had the perfect life. A man who looked at her as though she were a goddess, a beautiful home filled with loud, happy children. Everything, Grace realized with a hard jolt, her mother had had. And Grace had been fool enough to think the woman had been shackled by marriage? She hadn’t been. She’d had freedom. Freedom to love, freedom to raise her children. Freedom to follow her husband when he reached out a hand and asked.

“You’re a lucky woman,” Grace told Claire.

“I am, yes.”

“I hope one day I can give my child what you’ve given yours.”

“Your child?” Claire’s eyes rounded.

“Sure and I promise this won’t affect me work.” Grace hastened to reassure. “I’ll do anything you ask of me, Claire.”

“Does Steele—I mean, does Cale know?”

“About the babe? Aye. ’Twas his idea to take me here. He thought it best for both me and the child.”

Claire bobbed her tea. She set her cup into its saucer then banged them both onto the table. “And you agreed?” Her chest puffed and her cheeks reddened. “Well, if he thinks he can simply sail away without a care he doesn’t—”

“Claire, the child isn’t his.”

She deflated like a sail which had lost its wind. “Oh.”

“It’s Roche’s.” The words seemed to stick to the roof of her mouth. “He…”

Claire’s eyes filled with understanding. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need. But have you no family you can turn to?”

She thought of the letter she’d written yesterday, of the tears she’d shed as she’d envisioned her mother and da reading it. It had been a relief to let go the anger and resentment, but she had yet to know how her parents were going to feel about what she’d written.

“Most of me family is in Ireland but me parents are in Montserrat. They—I—Well, ’tis a complicated story.”

Claire leaned over and patted Grace’s knee saying, “Most family stories are.” She refilled both their cups with the pot she’d left on the tray then she settled back into the sofa, pulling her legs close.

“And what of Steele, er, Cale? If ever there was a man in need of a family, it would be he.”

“Aye,” Grace said around a yawn. “He’s a good man.” And Catherine had been a lucky, lucky woman.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Here I am going on and on and you must be exhausted. I remember too well how tired I used to get when carrying.” She grinned. “Though I hate to tell you, Grace, the exhaustion never really goes away. As I wasn’t expecting anyone until tomorrow, I’d told Mrs. Davenport not to prepare the rooms until morning, wanting them to be especially fresh. I’ll just run up and quickly prepare one for you.”

“Oh, let me—”

“No, no. I won’t be long. You just rest.”

Before Grace could argue more, Claire set down her cup and, skirts swaying, bustled from the room. Content and comfortable, Grace tucked her feet beside her, leaned her head back and promptly fell asleep.

*

“Cale.” Nate tried
to reason with him yet again, while getting used to calling the man by his given name. “It’s late. I’m sure Grace is already asleep.”

“I simply want to ensure she doesn’t need anything from the ship.”

“If she needs anything, Claire will lend her whatever she requires.”

“I’m sure she will.” Yet Cale kept walking, lantern raised in his right hand while he slapped away leaves with the other.

Behind him, Nate carried the last of the treasure from the hold, some gold chalices Roche must have stolen from a church. The night air hung heavy with humidity and did nothing to alleviate the sweat he’d produced unloading the treasure. In truth, he’d have been wiser to leave Nate carry those few pieces and stay behind with the crew. His muscles burned from the dozens of times he’d walked this path tonight. His eyes were gritty with fatigue and the thought of a chair or a bed was nearly enough to make him weep.

Yet he couldn’t dispel the need to check on Grace.

The house was much darker than it had been when they’d hauled the treasure around back and into the cellar. Only one window remained lit and it was pale, barely visible through the crack in the draperies.

“I’ll put these with the rest, go on inside,” Nate said.

Cale nodded and let himself in. The house was quiet, another marked difference from earlier. He eased the door closed and followed the halo of light into the parlor. Grace was curled into the corner of the sofa, her legs tucked close. Since he couldn’t imagine there wasn’t an extra room in a house so grand, he imagined Grace must have fallen asleep there and silently thanked Claire for covering her guest with a blanket. Still, a sofa was no place for a woman carrying a child to sleep.

Treading softly, Cale moved to Grace’s side. Though the candle flickering in the sconce likely had as much to do with the shadows underneath her eyes as her tiredness, Cale hated to see the bruising. He’d assumed, since he’d given her the berth, she’d been resting well the past two nights. Apparently she hadn’t been.

Cale skimmed his hand over her hair. He removed the blanket, slipped his arms underneath her, and lifted her. Her body jerked. Her eyes flew open, though he knew by their dazed look she wasn’t completely awake and seeing him.

“It’s just me, Grace. I’m taking you upstairs.”

She blinked, seemed to see him then.

Her body sagged. “Cale.” She sighed. Her eyes closed and she snuggled her head into his shoulder.

He pressed a kiss to her brow. “I’ve got you.” And if he could find a way to convince her, he’d never let her go.

He’d had nothing but time to think as he’d unloaded the treasure and he’d decided he wasn’t leaving without Grace. Or he’d stay. Either way, he was going to find a way to be with her.

The stairs were much darker than the parlor, since there was no light and he had no means of carrying one. He could only hope he wouldn’t have difficulty finding an extra bedroom in a house the size of this one.

When he reached the top of the staircase a door creaked open and Claire stepped out, candle in hand.

“I didn’t mean to wake you. I thought Grace would be more comfortable in a bed,” he said quietly.

“Of course. And no need to apologize, ever since the boys were born I’ve learned to sleep light.” The candle danced in the breeze of her movements as she passed him. “I have her room ready, but she fell asleep as I was preparing it and I didn’t have the heart to wake her.”

Cale followed Claire into a spacious room and laid Grace down. Warmth spread through his chest when she immediately curled onto her side, content and safe.

“You’re welcome to stay as well,” Claire whispered, a definite twitch to her lips. “I’m sure Aidan will see to it the
Revenge
is well cared for.”

“I’m sure he would, but I simply wanted to ensure Grace didn’t need anything.”

Claire’s smile spread wide. “Of course.”

Then before she could say more, they heard one of the boys whimpering. With one hand curled to protect the flame, Claire strode from the room. Without Claire’s watchful eyes or knowing grin, Cale dipped and pressed a lingering kiss to Grace’s brow.

Now that he’d seen for himself Grace was well-tended, he had every intention of getting back to his ship and collapsing on his berth. The room was dark as ink but, with hands outstretched, Cale was able to find the door. He closed it lightly behind him and headed for the stairs.

His attention was diverted when he passed the nursery and heard Claire’s soothing voice. Curious, he peered around the door. She’d set the candle on one of two dressers and she had Adam cuddled in her lap as she rocked him back and forth. Vincent slept undisturbed in the bed he and his twin shared. Along the far wall was a narrower bed and there Will slept, his tiny fist curled underneath his chin.

Cale remembered holding the boy earlier, how his little hands had rested on his cheeks. Usually, when he had treasure to unload, he never spent more time around Nate and his family than he had to. On the occasions where they had to stay overnight, he always refused Claire’s invitation to dinner. Instead, he would take refuge on his ship. Because the pain of seeing Nate’s family together and happy took all the strength he had.

Yet tonight it hadn’t hurt. Yes, he’d thought of Caden when he’d held Will, and yes, he’d had the jab of grief. But he’d also remembered the joy he’d felt when he’d held his son. When he’d propped him on his shoulders and Caden’s little hands had tangled in his hair. He hadn’t had a beard back then but could easily imagine his son would have also called it “fur”.

Claire’s hand on his arm pulled him from his musings.

“Are you all right?”

Cale looked to Will then over to the twins, who were now both asleep, and finally to Claire. “I haven’t been,” he admitted to both her and himself. “But I will be.”

G
race washed her
hands and face in the basin. She unwound her braid, used the brush waiting next to the pitcher of water, and was about to retie her hair when she saw the hairpins. Squealing, Grace grabbed them and clutched the thoughtful gift to her chest. It had been months since she’d done more with her hair than a braid, and she relished having the opportunity to sweep her hair up into something fancier.

Once she’d placed the last pin, Grace shook out her wrinkled skirt, smoothed her hands over Cale’s shirt. She wished there’d been a fresh gown waiting for her as well but since Claire was much shorter than she was, Grace knew the fit wouldn’t have suited her any better than what she was wearing.

Yet, as she stepped from her room—a room, she remembered with a conflicted heart, Cale had carried her to—and followed the noise downstairs, she hoped she’d present a better picture to her hostess today than she had last night. Especially after she’d so rudely fallen asleep in the parlor.

Grace halted at the bottom of the stairs. Over the sound of dishes clanging and a number of voices talking over one another, she recognized at least two other women’s voices besides Claire’s. Had Samantha and Alicia already arrived? How would they feel about having a stranger join them for the birthday celebrations? More, what would they think of her? Her tattered clothing didn’t convey either respectability or trustworthiness.

Though it wasn’t yet apparent she carried a child, it was only a matter of time until Samantha and Alicia learned the truth, especially since it seemed they visited a few times a year. If Grace was to work for Claire and Nate while she earned passage to Ireland, she couldn’t conceal the truth indefinitely. Would they think less of her? Claire hadn’t seemed to but the others might. A fact she may as well get used to now.

Grace stepped into the dining room and knew a moment of reprieve when she realized the extra voices did not belong to Samantha or Alicia. Mrs. Davis the nursery maid and Mrs. Wingate the cook were the other voices she’d heard. Grace relaxed.

“No!” Will shouted, trying to shove his mother’s hand, and the cloth within it, out of his face.

“Will, look.” Mrs. Davis pointed to the window. The boy stopped, looked over. Claire swiped the cloth over his face, wiping off the last of the preserves.

“Now, you may go,” she agreed and helped him down from the chair.

“And me?”