veracity of Frederick’s reports?
He blew out a deep sigh. Pleasing his father had always proven impossible, so he cheered himself with Mother’s letter. She chatted about a party she had given in London and said how much she missed him. As always, she thanked him for giving her widowed cousin a home where she could feel useful. Frederick would make certain he responded that Cousin Lydia Winthrop did more for him than he did for her, managing the household with skill.
Marianne’s letter brought him laughter. His younger sister had rebuffed yet another foolish suitor who, despite an august title and ample wealth, possessed no wit or sense of adventure. “I shall remain forever a spinster,” she wrote. Frederick pictured her dramatic pose, delicate white hand to her pretty forehead in artificial pathos. How he treasured the memories of their carefree childhood days.
The letters had done their job. Father’s dire warnings had been mitigated by Mother’s and Marianne’s gentler words. Frederick rested his head against the back of his large mahogany chair and gazed out the window again.
In his most amiable dreams, he considered that his success in East Florida might move His Majesty to knight him, as Oliver had said. Then, in due time, he could complete the picture by returning to England to choose a woman to be his wife from one of the families who once had shunned him. But how could he win the king’s favor when his own father gave only disapproval?
He recalled the words of the pretty young miss he had met two short hours ago. In America, every man had the opportunity to earn his place in society. Not be born to it, as his eldest brother had been, but to earn his fortune by his own honest sweat. More and more, that peculiar idea appealed to him, for he found great satisfaction in his work. And the sort of woman Frederick required for a wife must be willing to leave her cushioned life to establish a new home, just as Miss Folger had done for her father.
Frederick would do well to foster a friendship with the merchant and his daughter to discover what kind of woman would make the perfect wife to bring to this savage land. Perhaps inviting the two to some sort of social gathering would be beneficial. A party such as Mother had given in London, where no expense was spared to please her guests.
Eager to enlist Cousin Lydie’s help in the project, he rose from his chair, but noticed another letter bearing Father’s seal lying facedown on the desk. Two reprimands? What had the old earl forgotten to scold him for?
Frederick snapped the wax and unfolded the vellum sheet, not caring if he tore it. The salutation made him blink twice.
My dear Oliver—
Frederick turned the missive over. Oliver’s name was clearly written in Father’s hand across the outside. A coil of dread tightened in Frederick’s stomach. Father had never addressed him as “My dear Frederick.”
He should not read this letter. Summerlin had left it here by mistake. Yet Frederick could not resist.
Received your letter of December 20. You have my gratitude for your faithful reporting of the matters we discussed. I shall make my decision accordingly. Please continue your endeavors to keep my son from further overspending. As to the chit from Oswald’s plantation, do all in your power to keep them apart.
Gratefully, Bennington
Frederick slumped back into his chair. What matters? What overspending? What chit? Frederick had visited the manager of Oswald’s plantation last year, but met no young woman.
And Oliver knew it. Oliver, the illegitimate son of a well-born lady, who had depended on Father’s generosity since childhood. Oliver, Frederick’s lifelong friend.
His hands curled into fists, crushing the heavy paper into a ball. He thrust it into the fireplace, then snatched a piece of char cloth from the box on the narrow mantelpiece. But before he could strike flint against steel to light it, other thoughts stayed his hand.
Working to subdue his anger, he pressed the page out on his desk, refolded it and then consigned it to the hidden compartment beneath his desktop. He must not let Oliver know that he had discovered his treachery.
Frederick paced back and forth across the room. All his hard work might come to nothing because Father believed Oliver’s lies. He reread the earl’s letter. At least Father had not called him home at once. But he must discover a way to prove himself.
The party. That was it. He would throw a grand affair and earn the friendship of the newly arrived residents of St. Johns Settlement. If they required help, he would give it. In his judgments as magistrate, he would continue to be firm but fair. He would solicit a letter of praise from his plantation physician, Dr. Wellsey, regarding the health and productivity of the slaves. He would foster friendships with the leading citizens of the growing settlement and petition for recommendations, as well.
And he would watch Oliver as a falcon watches its prey.
Chapter Two
“Captain James Templeton. How impressive your new title sounds.” Rachel sat across the table from her cousin in the parlor of the Wild Boar Inn. “Papa could have chosen no better man to succeed him as captain of the Fair Winds.”
“Thank you, Rachel.” Jamie grinned. “Of course, I’ve learned my trade from the best. When Uncle Lamech chose me as his cabin boy those fifteen years ago, he may have wondered how this orphaned boy would turn out.”
“We will miss you, but I shall pray for a good voyage.” Rachel took a sip of tea from her pewter cup. “But why must you go to London? Are there no other ports to supply Papa’s store?”
“In these turbulent times, English settlers might not favor French products. And after all, London has the best merchandise.” His brown eyes shone with brotherly affection. “I do wish you’d charge me with some special purchase to bring you.”
“You know what I want. News of the revolution.” She exhaled a sigh of annoyance. “I cannot even discuss it with Papa, for he will not listen to my opinions. With you gone, I will need to find another friend in whom I can confide…and complain to.” She glanced beyond him at the British soldiers in red uniforms seated across the entry hall in the taproom.
He followed her glance, then turned back with a frown. “Don’t get yourself in trouble. These soldiers are here for your good. They’ll protect you and your father and every other British subject in East Florida.”
“I am not a British subject.” She leaned toward him and whispered. “When will you join us, Jamie? When will you accept that we will be free from British rule…or die trying?”
Now he stared into her eyes with an almost scolding look. “My dear little rebel, why do you think your father brought you so far away from the troubles? Why, you’d have been fighting alongside the militia at Concord or Lexington if you’d had your way.”
She straightened as high as her short stature permitted. “When I sought to become a servant in General Gage’s home, I planned to gather information to help the patriot cause.”
He sat back, shaking his head. “Humph. Your feelings are always written across your face, and you never fail to speak your mind. You’d fail as a spy. You’d be discovered and hanged, but not before they wrested the name of your every accomplice from you.”
She clenched her jaw and stared down at her teacup. He was wrong. She could have learned how to withhold the truth, perhaps even to lie, as Rahab in the Bible had
