on the counter and rested her chin on her fists. “You were raised a Quaker, yet hear how you go on about ‘milord’ and ‘his lordship.’”
Papa harrumphed. “I suppose ye’ll be after me to take up my ‘thees’ and ‘thous’ again. Ye, who abandoned the Friends yerself, going off to that other church with yer sister and her husband.” He lumbered on his wounded leg toward the back room. “I should never have sent ye to Boston to live with Susanna.”
He disappeared behind the burlap curtain, and soon Rachel heard crates being shoved roughly across the hard tabby floor. Sorrow cut into her. Had he not been injured on his last whaling voyage, Papa could still captain his own ship, and she would still be in Boston helping the patriots’ noble cause. Instead, here she was in East Florida helping him.
He must feel as cross as she did about their differences of opinion, both about the revolution and the Englishmen. But she had not chosen to flee Massachusetts Colony to avoid the war against the Crown. How could he expect her to treat the English oppressors with civility?
“Pleasant fellow, that Folger.” Frederick flipped a farthing to the Negro boy who held their horses. “Good job, lad. If you get into trouble, tell your master Mr. Moberly required your services.”
“Pleasant fellow, indeed.” Oliver grasped his horse’s reins and swung into the saddle. “’Tis the little chit you found pleasant.”
“And you did not?” Frederick mounted Essex and reined the stallion toward the plantation road. “I saw you watching her as if she were a plump partridge and you a starving man.”
Oliver drew up beside him. “Of course I was watching her. Your father sent me along to this forsaken place to make sure no provincial lass sets her cap for you. And if she does, I’m to nip the budding romance.”
Frederick swallowed the bitter retort. Oliver’s reminder ruined the agreeable feeling that had settled in his chest the moment he set eyes on the fair-haired maiden. Here he was at twenty-three, and the old earl still treated him as if he were a boy sitting in an Eton classroom. As for the girl, she was no chit, but fully a woman, possessing a diminutive but elegant figure. Spirited, too, from the liveliness he had noticed in her fine dark eyes. But he would not say so, for Oliver would only misunderstand his generous opinion of her.
“Have no care on that account. I’ve no plans to pursue American women.” He glanced at the rolling landscape with its sandy soil and countless varieties of vegetation. While the weather could inflict heat, lightning and hurricanes upon inhabitants, he found East Florida a pleasant paradise, as satisfying as any place for building his future.
“You cannot fool me,” Oliver said. “Need I remind you that if you fail here, Lord Bennington will ship you off to His Majesty’s Royal Navy? You’ll end up wearing the indigo instead of growing it.”
Frederick glared at him. “Fail? My father sent me to rescue the plantation from Bartleby’s mismanagement, and that’s exactly what I have accomplished. He will not be quick to snatch me home.”
“You know as well as I it’s moral failure he’s concerned about.”
Frederick gritted his teeth. How long would he have to pay for the sins of his older brothers? “Rest easy on that account. I’ll not risk my business association with Mr. Folger by dallying with his daughter. However, if you will recall, we’re supposed to be building a settlement here. Before we can bring English ladies to this wilderness, we must provide necessary services. This man Folger may have friends up north who want no part in the rebellion. We must court him, if you will, to lure other worthies to East Florida Colony, even if it means socializing with the merchant class.”
Oliver regarded him with a skeptical frown. “Just be certain you don’t socialize with the little Nantucket wench while you await those English ladies.”
“Enough of this.” Frederick slapped his riding crop against Essex’s flanks and urged him into a gallop.
The steed easily outdistanced Oliver’s mare, and Frederick arrived home far ahead of his companion. At the front porch, he jumped down and tossed the reins to the waiting groom.
“Give him a cooldown and brushing, Ben. He’s had a good run in this heat.”
“Yessuh, Mister Moberly.” The slender black man led the stallion away.
Three black-and-white spaniels bounded around the corner of the house to greet Frederick. He ruffled their necks and patted their heads. “Down, boy. Down, girls. I’m on a mission.”
He took the four front steps two at a time and crossed the wide porch with long strides. The door opened, and the little Negro girl who tended it curtsied.
“Welcome home, Mr. Frederick.”
“Thank you, Caddy.” He pulled a confection from his coat pocket, handed it to her and patted her scarf-covered head.
Inside, he strode across the entry toward the front staircase. “Cousin Lydie, I’m home.” He listened for his cousin’s response. Soon the soft rush of feet sounded above him.
“Dear me.” Cousin Lydie hastened downstairs, shadowed by Betty, the housemaid. “I expected you to be in the village much longer. Dinner is not yet prepared.”
“Don’t fret. I only announced my homecoming because I have this for you.” He pulled the fabric samples from his pocket and handed them to her. “Oliver has the other items, but I wanted to give you these myself. Be quick to order the dress lengths you desire, or the vicar’s wife will beat you to it.” He winked at her.
“Why, sir.” Cousin Lydie’s gray eyes exuded gratitude as she spoke. “You’re too kind.”
Frederick noticed the longing in Betty’s expression. The once cheerful maid had become a sad little shadow after an alligator caught her skirt and almost dragged her into the river. If Oliver hadn’t shot the beast, Frederick would have had a bitter letter to write home to Father’s groom to report the loss of his daughter.
“And be certain to choose something for Betty, too. Something to mark her status in the house.” He felt tempted to pat the girl on the head as he had the child at the front door, but thought better of it. Such innocent contact with serving girls had been the beginning of troubles for his older brothers.
“Thank you, sir.” Betty curtsied, and her pale face brightened.
“Think nothing of it.”
“Mr. Moberly.” Cousin Lydie insisted on addressing him formally in front of the servants. “A flatboat arrived bringing mail. Summerlin put several letters on your desk.”
“Ah, very good.” Frederick proceeded down the hallway to his study and sat at his large oak desk. Trepidation filled him as he lifted the top letter and broke Father’s red wax seal.
As expected, he could almost hear Father’s ponderous voice in the missive. The earl always seemed to find something wrong in Frederick’s correspondence and scolded him about nonexistent offenses. Yet the abundant shipments of produce and the financial reports sent by Corwin confirmed everything Frederick claimed about the plantation’s success.
Through the tall, open window beside him, he stared out on the distant indigo field where slaves bent over tender young plants. Last year’s crop had been modestly successful, and
