When I'm With You
by Kimberly Nee
Copyright © 2017 by Kimberly Nee. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Chapter One
Winter, 1709
Bermuda
Katie Dunn wrapped her arms around herself as the wind picked up and flung sand at her with stinging force. Her skin felt pebbly through the thin muslin sleeves. It was cold; the temperature felt like it was dropping by the minute. The storm had been and gone, but the winds refused to die down. They whipped through the trees and bushes, tore the petals off the flowers. Practically tore her hair from its moorings. Her braid went from neat to a tangle of knots in a matter of minutes.
She hadn’t expected Bermuda to be so cold. Much farther north than Jamaica, the island’s weather was far colder than her home in Kingston. It might as well be an entirely different world. It was an entirely different world, and she had yet to fully adjust. No matter how much she told herself she’d acclimate, it hadn’t happened yet. At moments like these, when she shivered and her teeth actually chattered, the only warmth she felt was the hot tears stinging her eyes. As those tears blurred everything in her sightline, she tried to convince herself it was only because of the sand flying all around from the winds.
“Balboa tried to warn you, fool. He knew this would happen and tried to tell you, but would you listen?” No, she wouldn’t, although now she wished she had. She kicked at the cold sand as she continued her trek along the beach. With each wave that washed up, the grains appeared coral. She’d never seen coral-colored sand before and found it beautiful. It was the only thing about Bermuda she preferred over Kingston. True, it was only coral where the sea touched it, and, unfortunately, it was far too cold to stand here much longer. Besides, she was expected back before dark. The time for feeling sorry for herself had ended. She had to get back.
As usual, Mrs. Bates and Mrs. North were in the kitchen. Mrs. Bates, the housekeeper, sat at the table, a cup of tea before her. The cook, Mrs. North, stood at the work table, knife in hand, her graying dark hair skinned back and mostly captured within the confines of her lacy cap. Her dark eyes were red-rimmed from the onions she sliced, as well as from toiling since daybreak. They were damp as well. Katie sighed with relief. She could now blame the onion fumes for her own teary gaze.
Mrs. North set down the knife to dab at her eyes with the hem of her apron and then peered up at Katie. “Did you have a nice walk?”
“I did, thank you.” Katie took her apron from its peg by the kitchen door and tied it firmly in place about her waist. “Sometimes a stroll along the beach is perfect for settling one’s thoughts. Although,” she added, “it’s chillier than I’d expected.”
“That it is. I so look forward to spring on days such as this.” Mrs. Bates set down her cup and rose. “Well, time to get back to work. His Lord and Ladyship are having guests this evening and we’ve much to do.”
Katie nodded. The house had been in a whirlwind all week, with everyone being run ragged. Marchand Hall employed a rather large staff, with ten maids, including herself, two footmen, Mr. Jamison the butler, Mrs. Bates, Mrs. North and her helper Lucy.
Being a maid might not be perfect, but it was a far cry from her old life back in Jamaica. A very far cry from those days. She may have missed Jamaica, but she wasn’t fool enough to think being in Bermuda wasn’t an improvement. Being in service was a dream compared to being a wh—
She squeezed her eyes shut. No. Don’t dwell.
“Is everything all right, Katie?”
There was no way to relieve her burden, especially to Mrs. Bates, who would have shown her the door instead of offering a shoulder to cry upon. Katie swallowed the bitter sting of her past. It was for the best. She didn’t need to unburden if it meant driving everyone away from her. “Everything’s fine, Mrs. Bates. What time will we be serving?”
“Eight.”
“I’ll be above, in Lord Marchand’s chambers.”
“No. Lily is already up there. You’d best tend to Lady Sally’s and Lady Edna’s rooms.”
“Of course.” Katie nodded. As the most recent addition to the staff, she went where she was told, without questions, arguments or fuss. Not that it served any purpose to do any of those with Mrs. Bates. She was a fair woman, but one who ruled with an iron fist and little patience for silliness of any sort. What she said, the maids did and that was that.
To be fair, Katie had yet to mind any of her assignments. The family was a fine one, and warm in their own way. At first, she had thought the Earl’s daughters were a bit vapid and of the silly sort themselves, but as the weeks had passed she found her judgment had failed her. The ladies had grown on her to the point where she found their gifts for chitchat and laughter were just that, gifts and not annoyances. Although, if she was completely honest, sometimes their high-pitched giggles and seemingly endless scheming to ensnare titled husbands (a rarity on the small island, even more so in their parish) grated. Still, as far as things went, she enjoyed their own particular sort of madness.
Thankfully, tonight their rooms were empty, and Katie made great haste in her cleaning and gathering of the ladies’ laundry. She bumped into Martha, one of the other maids, in the corridor just outside Lady Edna’s chambers. Martha smiled as she shifted her basket of his Lordship’s clothing to her right hip. “Did Mrs. Bates tell you we’re to have guests this evening?”
“She did. Who are they? She didn’t say.”
Martha shrugged. “Haven’t the foggiest. Someone to do with his Lordship’s rum business. That’s all I know. Mrs. Bates seems to think they are very important, so we’re to dress in our formal clothes this eve. We must be presentable.”
Katie wrinkled her nose. Formal meant the black linen dress with the stiff, white lace collar. She hated formal. Formal made her neck itch where the lace scratched it. She far preferred the softer, pale green linen dresses she wore most days. No lace around the neck. Minimal lace on their caps. The less lace she had to wear in general made Katie very happy. It was one of the few things she disliked about being in service, being told what to wear and when to wear it. “Very well. I suppose the ladies will be as outlandish as possible in the hopes of turning someone’s head.”
Martha rolled her eyes. “Lady Sally will flirt and bat her lashes, I’m sure. And Lord Marchand will turn puce right there at the table, although he’d be relieved to know he only has her to marry off, since Lady Edna accepted Mr. Warington’s proposal. It should be fun to watch, if only for a moment or two.”
“Whilst Lady Marchand turns bright red and pretends not to notice anything,” Katie replied, unable to hold back her giggle.
“Oy, perhaps you’ve been here too long, Katie, if you’re on to her ploys.” A throaty laugh burst out, but then she coughed and covered her mouth with one hand, while elbowing Katie sharply in the ribs with her free arm. “Hush. Here comes Lady Marchand.”
As if summoned, Agatha Hamilton, Countess of Marchand, glided toward them. She was a striking woman, tall and willowy, with masses of thick, black hair piled high atop her head. Her eyes were the same turquoise as the waters surrounding Bermuda, and her personality was every bit as beautiful as her face. It was only fitting that she had borne two daughters who were just as lovely, but it didn’t seem fair that they should all be so perfect.
“Good afternoon, Martha, Katherine,” Lady Marchand greeted them warmly. “Has Mrs. Bates warned you of our impending visitors?”
“Aye, she has, m’lady,” Martha replied with a bob of her head. “We were just discussing that formal attire is called for this evening.”
“Oh, yes. You all must look your best. With any luck, we will end their visit with a wedding.” Lady Marchand’s smile widened. “From what I understand, Captain Sebastiano’s son is coming with the sole intention of meeting Lady Sally, and we’ll hopefully have a wedding not long after.”
Katie froze, praying no one could see how the color drained from her face, which went from warm one moment to icy cold the next at the name Sebastiano.
No. How was that even possible? Could she have such horrid luck that the Captain would find her in Bermuda, a world away from his home on St. Phillippe, where she’d last seen him?
She wanted to throw up, especially when Lady Marchand continued, “He’s only a second son, but that’s of no matter as long as he makes my Sally happy.”
Only a second son. Her heart thudded dully against her ribs. She knew the second son in question, and he would no doubt make Lady Sally very happy. That was something he was particularly adept at doing, making women happy. Happy they were women, especially.
She knew because she’d been one of those women. One of his women.
Rafe.
Her Rafe.
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