Night Storm Page 5

  He would begin Eugene Paxton’s education in eight hours. He grinned into the darkness, aware that for the first time in many a long month he was looking forward to being with another person, a female person, who wasn’t a mistress because she was playing at being a man.

  He found himself wondering about those long legs of hers. Perhaps they really weren’t too long after all.

  Genny’s long legs were back in her breeches, her very loose breeches. She’d braided her hair tightly, wound it about her head, and pulled the woolen cap over it. When she stepped back to look in her cheval mirror, she was pleased. She looked very male. Tough and aggressive. Yes, completely a male. The baron would never guess; unfortunately, everyone else already knew that she was Eugenia and eccentric, but there was nothing she could do about that save hope that people said nothing to the baron until she did. She gave herself a cocky salute, turned, looked at her bottom—no doubt that was a male bottom—then left her bedchamber.

  Her father was eating his breakfast in the small dining room just off the kitchen. He looked well rested, his color appeared good, and she breathed a sigh of relief. His health worried her since he’d had that heart seizure the year before. She’d tried to spare him, to take over the day-to-day chores at the shipyard. Most of the men now accepted her. Those exceptions like Minter she could handle.

  “Good morning, Father.”

  “Genny—Eugene. Well, how fine you look. And so much like your mother.”

  He always told her that when she dressed in her men’s clothes. Whenever she was in a gown, she was the very image of him. She grinned, leaned over, and kissed his cheek.

  “You’ll meet a bad end, Father. Now, I haven’t time to eat. I’m expecting the baron at the shipyard.”

  Her cheeks were flushed. How very interesting this was. “Lannie made you some of her special sausage patties and biscuits.”

  “No, not today. I’ll be home, perhaps, for lunch. Or perhaps not. I don’t know.”

  And with that, she flitted out of the room. A very unmanly flit. James stared after his daughter. No man would be caught dead walking like that. She was the picture of a woman who felt touched by magic, a woman who was feeling buoyant, happy. All because she was taken with Alec Carrick. His daughter, who had scorned first the boys, then the men, of her acquaintance, with no hesitation and great wit. “I’ve no time for the wasters,” she’d said more times than he wished to remember. “They’re silly or conceited or they want to kiss me and pull me behind the bushes.”

  Well, to be honest, James thought, that was a pretty good description of men in general, at least the last part. But the approach varied greatly. He wondered what the baron’s approach was. He took a bite of dry toast, chewed slowly, then stopped cold. He stared at the portrait of his grandfather that hung on the opposite wall, the old gentleman beaming down upon him, his peruke thick with rolled curls, his complexion florid, if one were being nice about it. “I’ll be damned,” he said softly, and took another bite of his toast. “I wonder—I do wonder.”

  There was a problem, of course. James knew that the instant the ladies of Baltimore took one look at Alec Carrick, he would be chased, hunted unmercifully, and otherwise pursued until—Alec Carrick had been a widower for five years now. He hadn’t succumbed. James didn’t imagine that English ladies found the baron any less enticing than the American ladies undoubtedly would. The baron must have learned all the tactics of the unsuccessfully hunted male. He had to be very elusive, as smart as the devil to evade all the female machinations tossed his way.

  It would bear profound thought. James called out, “Moses.”

  “Yes, suh.”

  “Ah, there you are. Have Andrews fetch the carriage. I have some visits to pay.”

  “Yes, suh.”

  The October morning was bright and cool, a light breeze in the air. Genny looked toward Fort McHenry, still shrouded in morning fog, a grim reminder to all Englishmen—Alec Carrick included—that the Americans, particularly the Baltimoreans, weren’t to be trifled with. Genny drew a deep breath of the crisp air and stared humming. She was walking to the shipyard, as was her habit. She stopped and looked up at the large painted sign: PAXTON SHIPYARD. She wished it said “Paxton and Daughter,” then laughed at the thought. If her brother, Vincent, had lived, it would have been “Paxton and Son,” of that she had no doubt. The world wasn’t fair. She was barely tolerated by the other shipbuilders and that only because her father was so well liked and respected. They saw her as an eccentric, a spinster lady who dressed like a man but still didn’t act on her own. No, even she followed her father’s orders. It was a man’s world and it infuriated her.

  But it was too beautiful a day to be infuriated. And she, Eugene Paxton, was to begin her education as a rake from Lord Sherard. Her step speeded up.

  She reached the Paxton shipyard on Fells Point early. The men hadn’t started working yet. She saw only Mimms and he was sitting on the deck, a piece of particularly fine cherry wood in his large hands.

  She greeted him and pointed to the hunk of wood.

  “It will be the cover for the captain’s chamber pot.”

  “Oh,” Genny said. “I’m sure the captain—whoever that will be—will be appreciative.”

  “He’d better be,” said Mimms, and spat. “No splinters in his butt.”

  Genny fiddled a moment with a handful of bolts made to fasten the planking to the hull’s frame beneath the water.

  “What about this English lord?” Mimms said, not taking his eyes off the cherry wood.

  “English what? Oh, him. He should be visiting us again today, Mimms. Now I think I’ll go below. I’ve got some work to do on the books.”

  Genny had moved many of the company ledgers to the Pegasus, down to the captain’s cabin. That way she could oversee the work and do her own bookkeeping at the same place. It saved time.

  She had just stepped through the open hatch, her foot raised, when she heard the words “Good morning. Eugene?”

  She jerked about at the sound of that deep, smooth voice and nearly took her foot off, catching it in the open latching of the hatch.

  “Watch out.”

  She felt her arm grasped and she was pulled upright, her foot jerking free. She wasn’t hurt; she was, however, exceedingly humiliated. “Thank you,” she said, not looking up at what she was certain would be a mocking look on his beautiful face.

  “Not at all.” She was released.

  “Good morning, Alec. I was sorry to miss you last night.” She looked up then and he was smiling down at her, but she didn’t see any baiting in his expression.

  “Your sister was a fine substitute. You must face reality, Eugene. You really weren’t missed.”

  “Oh, Virginia. She’s nice enough, I suppose.”

  “Well—yes, she’s all right. But now to more important matters. I would like to see some of the shipyard ledgers.”

  More important matters. Genny stepped through the hatch and stomped down the stairway. She said over her shoulder, her voice testy, “You didn’t like my sister? You can be honest, you know. Genny sometimes is a twit.”

  “Honesty it is. She is amusing, particularly her stitchery.”

  “Her what?”

  “Her stitchery. Do you know that she actually cut and sewed down the lace on the bodice of her gown? Not very well sewn, I might add. You’d assume a female would be adept with a needle, but your sister? I guess not. I wanted to tell her that a new gown, one in the current style, would not be remiss, but I am a polite fellow, you know, and didn’t say a thing.”

  “Yes, I am beginning to see you for what you are.”

  She turned away with those words and entered the captain’s cabin. He’d noticed her stitching. She felt another, even larger wave of humiliation wash over her. Well, she’d asked for it, for honesty—the damnable man. Alec was on her heels, smiling at the back of her woolen cap.

  Genny continued, not looking back at him. “She, ah, is known for her charm. D
id you find her so?”

  “Charm? She’s something of a forward piece, Eugene, probably because she’s a spinster and has had no husband to control her. She definitely needs a man—a strong man—to give her guidance and to buy her some new gowns. Aren’t your American gentlemen interested?”

  “Certainly. She’s had scores of gentlemen after her for years.”

  “Years—yes, it would be many, many years, wouldn’t it?”

  “Well, yes. Anyway, she’s very particular. None of them have pleased her sufficiently.”

  “I’m certain the shipyard has pleased the gentlemen, however.”

  Genny wanted to hit him on his head. She wanted to kick him between his legs and bring him low, the result of such a kick, her father had assured her some five years before when he’d taught her to protect herself.

  “Won’t you sit down at the desk? That’s right. Here are all the primary ledgers. She isn’t one of your frivolous females whose thoughts are all on flirtations and new clothes and the like. No, Genny’s serious.”

  Alec sat. “Serious? Your sister? My dear boy, I must beg to differ with you. She assured me that she was quite silly, and I must say that I am in agreement with her. Serious?”

  Genny had forgotten saying that. He had the same powerful retention of her great-aunt Millicent, who’d never forgotten a single sin Genny had committed from the age of three months. “She was making sport with you, Alec. Teasing, that’s all.”

  “Was she, now. Hmm. I will say that she does have beautiful hair. Do you have the same shade, Eugene?”

  She felt a spurt of warmth at his compliment. It was silly, really, to feel so wonderful after all the other things he’d said. She said quickly, “Oh, no, my hair’s not nearly so lustrous or so rich a color as hers. Now, Alec, here are the ledgers. I will show you how I do the entries so you will get the idea of how we run things. In this ledger”—she opened it, smoothing down the pages—“I show the dollars I pay for building materials and to whom, and the terms if I wish not to pay for more than a thirty-day period. Did she really strike you as being a silly girl?”

  “Not precisely a girl, Eugene, at her age. Even though you’re doubtless a doting brother, you must admit that she’s very nearly past her last prayers. How old is she anyway?”

  “She’s only twenty-two.” It was only a small, only a very little, one-year lie.

  “I should have guessed older. Oh, well—Now, who is Mr. Mickelson? Ah, yes, I see. He supplies most of your timbers. For the price you’re paying, it must be excellent quality. No, I should have placed her at around twenty-five or so. But one can rarely tell with a woman, can one? I suppose it was the way she was dressed. The, er, lack of fashion made her look older, I suppose.”

  “I can’t agree with you. Her gowns are really quite adequate. Yes, the timbers are of excellent quality, and Mickelson is reliable. As you will note, he is carrying considerable debt for us, which is why we must come to some sort of mutually agreeable arrangement very soon. That, or I must find a buyer for the Pegasus. Do you think you would find her pretty if she were better dressed?”

  “It’s a possibility. One can’t be certain until one sees the final result. Now, just consider this, Eugene. You’re paying Mickelson a thirteen percent interest on monies owed after—what is it? Yes, after twenty days of completion. You’re tying yourself in too tightly. In other words, you give yourself very little time to sell a ship by the time all the outstanding monies are due. Anything would be an improvement, particularly a gown that doesn’t come to her earlobes and consequently get stitched down and badly, at that.”

  “Of course, even with a new gown, my sister would still have the same face and the same manners.”

  Alec turned and smiled up at Eugene. “Sorry, my dear boy, but there it is. You’ve struck the nail on the head, hit the target dead center, tacked through your spit into the wind—”

  “You’ve made your point. And made it and made it.”

  “True. Now, these are the weekly wages for your sail-makers?”

  “The wages are much deserved, so don’t go on about how I’m doubtless being taken advantage of because I’m so young! I—my sister has a very nice face and her manners are all that are charming.”

  “True. Excellent.”

  “Really? You mean it?”

  “Yes, the wages you’re paying are just excellent. I was studying the workmanship on the mizzen lower topsail sheet yesterday. I would say that you’ve done quite well there.”

  Genny jerked the ledger away and slammed it shut.

  Alec arched a perfect eyebrow. “I beg your pardon, dear boy?”

  “I am not your dear boy. You are only eight years my senior, not my grandfather.”

  “True. It is just that you seem so very—well, unworldly, I suppose, what with your virginal hairless self. But I did promise to begin your education, didn’t I? Should you like that, Eugene?”

  She stared at him. She would like it more than anything. But not as Eugene. She definitely wanted to be Eugenia. She nodded. “Yes, I should like that.”

  “All right, then. Give me back the ledgers. I do understand your system, truly. You run along and see to your business and I’ll study your bookkeeping. Your education will begin this evening. I will fetch you at your house at eight o’clock.”

  Four

  “You’re a fine figure of a man.”

  Genny simply stared at him. Alec Carrick, Baron Sherard, was the fine figure, not she. Indeed, he was an incredible figure in his black evening clothes and glossy black boots, his black satin cloak swirling about his ankles as he walked. “I—well, thank you. Fine despite my hairlessness?”

  “It’s dark. One can’t really be sure. A lady would give you the benefit of the doubt. Of course, you’d have to remove that hat of yours. Shall I do that for you now?” Alec reached over, his hand outstretched, but fear of discovery made Genny’s reflexes fast as a snake’s. She ducked away, laughing, her hand pressed on the crown of her hat. “No, no, my hat is very much a part of me. I’ll keep it on, thank you.”

  “Do you wear that damned hat with the ladies present? With your ladies in bed?”

  “Of course not.”

  That, he knew well enough, was most certainly the truth. When would she end this absurd charade? He was determined that end it would, and tonight. If he had to push all the way, he would.

  The evening was cool and clear, a half-moon shining down on Baltimore. The always unpredictable Baltimore weather was, for once, quite pleasant.

  “Fort McHenry is right over there,” Genny said, pointing.

  “I know.”

  “You Britishers quite failed in your attempt to take Baltimore five years ago. Turned tail and sailed off, back to your bloody little island.”

  “That’s true. You Baltimoreans were certainly more hardy than your neighbors in Washington.”

  He was a frustrating man, no doubt about it. “Don’t you even want to argue just a bit about that?”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather think about what we’re going to do this evening.”

  “But of course you won’t tell me.”

  “Not yet.”

  Alec and Eugene had turned off Charles Street onto North West Street, which became Saratoga. As they neared Howard Street, the neat houses soon gave way to the more flamboyant structures. They passed The Golden Horse Inn with its remarkable white-painted facade, then The Black Bear. The inhabitants also became louder, more raucous. As they walked past The Maypole, Genny slewed her head just a bit to look inside. It was bright and noisy and she saw several women, scantily garbed, hovering over gentlemen who sat at tables, drinks in front of them, cards in their hands.

  “You like taverns, Eugene?”

  “Not always, but perhaps sometimes. Don’t you?”

  “No, not overly. I find them far too, ah, common for my tastes.”

  “They offend your aristocratic sensibilities, do they?”

  “Don’t be impertinent, my
boy.”

  “Where are we going? I didn’t think you knew Baltimore. You’re strolling about as if you were born here.”

  Alec gave Genny an amused look as he turned the corner into Dutch Alley. “Don’t you trust me to begin your education properly?”

  Genny looked at him consideringly. “I don’t know. Where are we going?”

  Someplace that will make you bring this nonsense to an end, my dear Eugenia. Someplace that will make even you turn pale in your breeches and run for cover.

  “My dear boy,” Alec said, all kind condescension, ready to fire his cannons, “when in a new city a man immediately learns where he may find the best women.”

  “Find the best women? You make it sound like finding the best fish market! The best haberdashery. A—a commodity, nothing more.”

  “Certainly women are a commodity. You sound as if you don’t know their uses. What else are they good for save bearing a man’s children once he must marry and provide heirs? One must be practical, Eugene. A good woman in your bed at night and you’re in a much better frame of mind the entire next day.”

  “That’s completely—well, un-Christian.”

  Alec burst into laughter, he couldn’t help himself. “Not at all. The biggest women haters are in the church. Did you know that for the longest time our ancestor churchmen debated whether or not women even had souls?”

  “You’re making that up.”

  “Not at all. I’m only reporting to you something I was lectured on at Oxford.”

  “Oxford,” Genny said, her voice unknowingly wistful. “How I should like to go to a place like Oxford or Cambridge.”

  “Why don’t you? You’re a bit long in the tooth, I’ll admit that, but nevertheless, your father could get you enrolled in Oxford. He’s rich enough.”