If You Give a Smuggler a Secret & If You Give a Rake a Reason

8. Chapter Eight

8

Chapter Eight

A Plea for Time

“He has the personality of a doorknob.” Keelan paced to the bedroom window. “Mr. Pratt’s an old sniffling, drooling beast of a man and I do not wish to marry him, Papa. Please don’t ask this of me.”

Her father’s mouth twitched before he narrowed his right eye at her. His morning nap renewed some of his strength. He had wasted no time bringing up Pratt’s marriage proposal.

“Keelan, don’t be selfish. Think of what this union could do for our family. My old friend spent a fortune to purchase this property and transport the two of us here. The money from the sale of your mother’s shop is nearly depleted. We can’t afford much more of a delay.” He clutched the bed sheets and stared at his white knuckles, leaving the rest unsaid.

If they lost Twin Pines, they would have nothing left, not even enough to invest in rent for a*****e. Her stomach churned. She wanted to be a dutiful daughter and do her duty, but to sacrifice her life to become a miserable aging slave owner’s wife made her dismally queasy.

She turned to face the window in an attempt to hide her growing vexation at her father and bit back the accusation burning on her tongue. If he hadn’t sunk that ship, she’d be running their merchant trade, instead of living in another country, arguing against a business merger requiring her to wed.

Her father’s voice dropped, exposing his wounded pride. “Mr. Pratt owns land twice the size of Twin Pines, and combined, the property would become the largest in the Lowcountry.”

Uncle Jared moved his family to South Carolina a couple years earlier and offered to live here and help run the plantation until she and her father became comfortable with the task. Thank goodness for that. Neither she nor her father were prepared for the differences in conducting estate business. They knew nothing of turpentine manufacturing and even less about maintaining slaves, which placed them nowhere near an area of satisfied comfort.

Although Uncle Jared did his best, Twin Pines faced the new harvest with dwindling funds and increasing uncertainty. They still didn’t have a solid budget for generating future profit needed to pay their creditors.

“Papa, you are asking me to sacrifice happiness for wealth.” If their places were reversed, he surely wouldn’t want to marry Pratt.

“If you have wealth, then you will have happiness. Daughter, I am ill. I would like to have you settled before I die. Don’t begrudge an old man his satisfaction on this issue.”

If her father did nothing exemplary the rest of his days, one could always say that he excelled at smothering a person with guilt. She turned from the window to face him. “I can settle myself comfortably without relying on a husband.”

Especially one older than my own father.

She put her fists on her hips. “I handled all the ledgers for Mother for many years. I’m confident I could run a place in town that would be as successful, maybe more so.” She hid the exasperation from her voice. Losing her temper would accomplish nothing.

She moved to sit on the edge of her father’s bed. “Think, Papa!” She couldn’t squelch her enthusiasm. “Barrels of exotic spices and brightly colored fabrics from the southern climes, beautiful carvings... I’d sell them not only to the people of Charleston but also to merchants we know in London.”

It was unconventional for a woman to own and run a business, so the shop had been in her father’s name. But her mother made it successful. With her father away at sea for months at a time, it not only brought in a steady income but also kept her mother almost too busy to be lonely. Her father sold it, of course, after her mother was killed. Rather than using the money to open a similar one in the city, he chose to invest in land. And in Dr. Garrison.

She didn’t like the situation. She couldn’t put a finger on the reason why, but it was as if the plantation fit like a shoe that was two sizes too uncomfortable.

“You have a quick mind with numbers, that’s for sure,” her father agreed. “That is why I need you to keep the plantation ledgers in top form.”

Keelan fidgeted with a loose curl near her ear. “I dislike accounting for people as one would for livestock. It doesn’t sit well with me.”

The sound of him shifting in his bed made her alter her attention and reach for the water pitcher and glass. Her heart lurched at the sight of his shrinking frame. His skin had melted to his bones. The sickness had attacked him on the journey here and continued to weaken him as the months passed. Even the continuous efforts of Dr. Garrison hadn’t helped.

“Is the new medication from Richmond easing your pain any?” She poured a cup of water for him and pressed it into his hand.

“Nay. I hate the way it twists in my stomach, but the doctor said it takes time to work. I must trust he knows the way of this sickness.” He sipped the water and gave the glass back to her. “Hold out your hand, Keelan.”

Her father held a red ribbon on which a gold ring dangled. A signet ring.

“What’s this?” She allowed him to drop it into her palm.

“This is yours. I want you to have it now.”

She peered closer. An interesting gift for her father to buy her. Without trying it on, she could tell it was way too big. Not wanting to hurt his feelings by pointing that out, she smiled at him. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

“Yes, well, it’s an important heirloom. It has a special story attached to it,” he said.

“Oh? What story?” She tied the ribbon around her neck and let it fall into the crevice between her breasts.

“Well, you see...er, it once belonged...” He paused and stared up at the ceiling for a moment, then batted his hand. “Never mind. I’ll tell you about it another time. You’re probably hungry and eager to eat breakfast.”

He’d been having trouble remembering things lately and would occasionally lose his line of thought. Not wanting to embarrass him by pressing for more information, she simply nodded. “Another time, then. I can’t wait to hear the tale.” She smiled and patted his hand, gaining a slight grunt of satisfaction from him.

Her father’s illness also added a more urgent impetus to his decisions, thus the topic of marriage arose with increased frequency. She closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath.

Time.

She needed to develop a valid plan to support her cause. That required careful planning, and that required time.

“Papa, perhaps if we delay making a decision about Mr. Pratt for a while longer, a better resolution will present itself after the ball,” she asked hopefully, keeping her voice soft.

Soothing.

Her father lowered his bushy brows. “If you’re thinking you’ll be able to persuade your uncle to financially back an enterprise for you, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. He agrees with me. It’s time for you to settle down and start a family.”

She clenched the arm of her chair. “A shop in Charleston could generate enough profit for us to live comfortably. I’d be very, very happy and you never know, perhaps I’d meet a gentleman there who will make a suitable husband.”

She tilted her head and smiled as her father harrumphed yet again. “You know how much I enjoyed being in town. I’ve always preferred city life to the country. I enjoy the more social aspects of being closer to the throngs of populace. Please, Papa.”

Her father sighed heavily and leaned his head back, closing his eyelids. “Your mother could always bend me to her will the same way as you do now. You have her eyes, you know. Sparkling emeralds of light.”

His voice slurred. Was the new medication finally taking hold?

“And fiery curls that glowed like burnished copper at dusk,” he whispered.

Keelan smiled, although she was perplexed. “Mother’s hair was pale brown. I appear to be the only one in the family with the anomaly of auburn hair.”

Her father’s lids twitched as if he was making a feeble effort to open them. “Nay! In her youth, your mother had hair like yours.” He heaved a long sigh. “Losing her was the cruelest punishment God could have dealt me. So many years of longing and grief have left me... broken and bitter.”

The medicine was sending her father adrift from reality. Her mother had been dead less than two years. He made it sound like it had been decades.

There had never been much warmth between her parents. Their relationship had always seemed distantly formal, at best. As a child, Keelan prayed for brothers and sisters, with the hope it would create a warmer family circle. They were all three left bereft.

Although she dreaded abandoning England for a southern plantation in the American south, her spirits had been buoyed by the thought of living with her cousin, Doreen. She’d had hopes of the two of them becoming close, like sisters.

Doreen had been sweet enough at first, but when gentlemen callers began asking to see only Keelan, her cousin’s mood had soured. Now they rarely spoke.

Perhaps it was just a dream to one day have a large loving family. But it was her dream, nonetheless. Her father’s current desire to see her wed to Pratt conflicted directly with that goal, making her determined to find a way to satisfy her father without throwing her life away in the process.

There was a better solution out there somewhere, and she would find it.

Papa’s face relaxed in slumber. Sighing, she stood, leaned over to kiss his forehead, and tiptoed from the room. She shut the bedroom door and headed for the stair. The faint clink of china told her the morning meal had already been served. She descended to the first floor and neared the dining room entry, pausing when she came within range of the conversation.

“What brings you to our gentle city, sir?” her aunt asked.

Keelan froze as a newly familiar voice responded. “I have cargo to deliver to our other buyers. Additionally, we had a serious skirmish with pirates, leaving our ship in need of repair. It requires us to move the rest of our goods into one of your husband’s warehouses for a few weeks.”

“Pirates! Oh my!” Aunt Sarah exclaimed, “Captain Hart, how did you ever get away unscathed?”

A low chuckle sent a shiver across Keelan’s shoulders.

“It sounds much more adventurous than it really was, Mrs. Grey.”