Seven Years to Sin(16)
“Do not think ill of him,” Alistair replied. “He was not directly responsible for the oversight of Calypso. There is a foreman and steward who handle such details, and they act in the best interests of their employer.”
“They act in the interests of profit.”
“The two are one and the same, are they not?” He leaned forward and gave her a hard look. “I pray you appreciate that. Ideals are all well and good, but they will not feed, clothe, and keep you warm.”
“You utilize other means,” Jess argued. It did not sit well with her to think that her gowns, jewels, sprightly curricle, and a multitude of other luxuries had been purchased at the expense of the labors of enslaved men. She knew well what it felt like to be powerless and at the mercy of the whims of another.
“My other business interests afford me a bit more license.”
“So I am to understand that ideals are bought with coin? Those who have enough are provided the means, while those who do not must—in effect—sell them for gain?”
“Unromantic, perhaps,” he said unapologetically, “but true.”
There he was. The young man who would accept any wager and take coin for stud servicing. She had wondered where he’d gone and now saw he hadn’t gone anywhere at all. He had simply acquired some polish to disguise the rough edges.
“Most enlightening,” she murmured, taking an overly large swallow of wine.
As soon as she was able, Jess excused herself and headed directly toward her cabin. She traversed the passageway with as much haste as decorously possible.
“Jessica.”
The sound of her given name in Alistair’s deep voice was enervating. She waited until she reached her door before halting and facing him. “Yes, Mr. Caulfield?”
As he had the night before, he took up all the space in the narrow hallway. “It was not my intent to upset you.”
“Of course not.”
Although he looked composed, the sudden rough raking of his hand through his inky dark hair suggested otherwise. “I do not want you to think ill of Tarley for the decisions he made that helped to provide for you. He was not a fool; he took the opportunities presented to him.”
“You misunderstand,” she said evenly, feeling a rare exhilaration. As with Benedict, she did not fear reprisal for speaking her mind to Alistair. “I do not fault common sense, practicality, or even well-intentioned avarice. It is being underestimated that is bothersome to me. I know well enough not to weaken my interests, even for the sake of my higher sensibilities. However, I may renegotiate Calypso’s contract with you to gain the funds to acquire indentured servants. Or I may find that purchasing my own ship and crew will be more profitable in the long term, thereby freeing up funds in that manner. Or perhaps increasing the production of rum is a matter I should look into. In any case, it’s possible I can find the means to have ideals, if I so desire.”
His eyes glittered in the dim light of the flashlamps. “I am duly chastened, my lady. I was under the impression that you meant to sell Calypso, in which case your questions pertained to the past and not the future.”
“Hmm …” She remained skeptical.
“I once underestimated you,” he admitted, clasping his hands behind his back. “But that was long ago.”
Jess could not check the impulse to ask, “What altered your opinion?”
“You did.” He flashed his infamously wicked smile. “When faced with the choice of fleeing or staying, you stay.”
The sharp pang in her chest caused her shaky courage to flee. She turned to open her door, but paused to look over her shoulder before she entered her cabin. “I have never underestimated you.”
Alistair bowed smartly. “I suggest you don’t start now. Good night, Lady Tarley.”
Once inside her cabin, Jess leaned into the closed door and willed her heart to stop racing.
Ever prepared, Beth had a damp cloth waiting. As Jess pressed the coolness against her cheeks, she saw the knowing look in the abigail’s eyes. She turned and presented the row of buttons fastening her gown.
One person who could see right through her was enough for the night.
Hester had just arranged the last white plume in her upswept hair when her husband entered her boudoir in a state of partial undress. His cravat hung undone around his neck, and his waistcoat was unbuttoned. Regmont was freshly bathed and shaved, if his damp hair and shadow-free jaw-line were any indication. He was undeniably handsome with his honey-hued hair and robin’s egg blue eyes. Together they formed a striking golden couple—he with his boundless exuberance and silken charm, and she with her mantle of reservation and faultless deportment.
Regmont jerked his head toward her abigail, Sarah, who was smoothing out minute wrinkles in the new blue gown Hester intended to wear. “I was hoping to see you in the pink with lace. It’s ravishing on you, especially with my mother’s pearls.”
She met the maid’s gaze in the mirror and nodded, ceding to her husband’s wishes. The alternative was an argument best avoided.
The abigail quietly and efficiently exchanged the dresses. After the pink gown had been laid out on the bed, Regmont dismissed the servant. Sarah paled and looked miserable as she left the room in haste, no doubt fearing the worst. Although there was a pattern to the escalation of Regmont’s moods, violence defied reason.