Aching for Always (48 page)

Joss took Hugh's hand. “I guess. But it seems like a worthwhile risk.”

“Well, we're certainly not facing too much in the way of financial difficulties,” Di said, “not since you sold your mother's maps. Who knew they'd be worth so much?”

“It was almost like finding a pot of gold.”

“Several,” Hugh said.

Di made her way to the door. “But you're not going to get married before you get back? I have my Casual Friday outfit all picked out.”

“Ha-ha.” Joss looked at Hugh. “I'm not sure I can promise that,” she said. “Captains can do some surprising things at sea.”

Di looked from one to the other. “Well, I guess I should be grateful the ceremony's not in the Founders Room. Just promise me you'll wear something other than a blouse and skirt.”

Hugh said, “Oh, I've got something else in mind entirely. It's a lovely white dress. Nathaniel has it waiting on board.”

Joss turned to him. “He made it? Really?”

“I told you. It's been ready since the day of your party. I'm a man of my word, you know. You'll be the goddess I always imagined.”

“Well . . .” Di ran to Joss and gave her a hug. Hugh offered his hand. Di popped onto her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “Take care of her.”

“'Tis my only desire.”

Di paused at the door. “Be safe. Oh, and keep your eye on that Gulf Tower,” she added to Joss, then closed the door behind her.

Hugh returned his gaze to the building in question. “For what are you looking?”

The red light shone clear and steady.

“Nothing,” Joss said. “That's just her way of wishing us luck.”

He took her in his arms. “A good captain never turns
down luck in any form, though I hope she doesn't think we need it.”

“No, I think she thinks you're pretty good for me.”

A silence came over Hugh, and Joss knew he was remembering the last man Di had thought that about.

He searched for words. “I-I—”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Joss said. “Rogan was going to kill you. I'm grateful Fiona arrived when she did. Besides saving you, she saved him from having to become a murderer.”

“Even if it meant losing his life?”

Joss had thought a long time about this. “Yes. I can see now what it did to my father.”

Hugh ran a hand over his chin, considering. “'Tis a high price to pay.”

“It is,” she agreed sadly. “I hope Fiona can find peace. Her act will be a burden to her as well.”

“Her grandfather is free. They will not be the tin merchants they'd hoped, but I suspect the gold will find another good use. I do not think you need to worry about Fiona.”

“The board has found some irregularities in the Brand Industries balance sheet since Rogan took over. They think that's why he's disappeared. So does his family. I-I think that's better. They think that's why I put the wedding on hold. My leave from work is supposed to be a time for me to recover from being abandoned.”

He gazed at her closely. “Is it?”

“I'm sad Rogan wasn't the man I thought he was. He was a good man. Once.”

“If it's any comfort,” Hugh said, “I think he was a good man when you met him and fell in love. I think your fa
ther wanted to leave his terrible secret with someone when he was dying, and I think he sensed he couldn't do that with you. His family fortune was gone, but the business empire could be saved under Reynolds. That was your father's legacy. He told Reynolds everything: that all the Brand success and fortune depended on the changes he'd made back in 1684 never being reversed. He probably also told him to be on the lookout for anyone odd who came asking questions. Fortune—especially ill-gotten fortune—does strange things to men, Joss. I've seen it happen. I do think he loved you. I'm afraid the glory of Brand Industries clouded his thinking.”

She laid her head on Hugh's shoulder and said a small prayer for the man she had once loved.

“What about you?” she asked, fingering the notch in his lapel. “You're a rich man now.”

He chuckled, his broad chest rumbling under her touch. “I was never a man driven by money. I should be just as happy with nothing.”

“Oh, I don't like the sound of that.”

He laughed and pulled her tighter. “Which is not to say I'm a man without faults. Far from it. My faults were anger and a lack of forgiveness—worse than greed, I think.” He lifted her chin. “I came to Pittsburgh to do a terrible thing. I'm sorry. I hope someday I can earn the right to be as happy as you've made me. I know I don't deserve it now.”

She smiled. “You did it for your brother. I don't know what it's like to have a brother murdered, but if you felt even a tenth as upset as I felt about my mother and the unhappiness she had to bear, it must have been an awful
burden. I wish I had known what she was like before my father changed her.”

An almost childlike earnestness came over him, and he took a step back from Joss and clasped her hands. “I should like . . . I mean, if it pleases you, I should like to take you to the cottage where we lived in Wych Cross—you and I and Bart and your mother. I can show you where we played bowls, and the branch where we sat—you and I—while Maggie told us stories. I knew her well, Joss. I can tell you everything I know.”

She felt her eyes begin to sting. “I would love that.”

“In fact, I wish I had known my brother as well. I told you he was older, and he was a very reserved man. I think it came from years of running a ship. I find myself becoming that way, too. But I know he cared for me. Ah, Bartholomew.” He shook his head sadly. “You are still such a cipher to me.”

Joss blinked. “Bartholomew? That was his name?”

“Aye. The sailors called him Granite. Not to his face, of course. I'm sure the townsfolk who used the services of the poor, unassuming clerk never suspected he was once one of the most vaunted men in the English navy.”

She put a hand to her cheek. “I-I know a story. It's called ‘Bartholomew the Clerk.'”

“What an odd coincidence.”

“It's not a coincidence. The story came from my mother. She gave it to me while she was dying. It wasn't a fairy tale she told. It was a long story, written down, about a man who loved a woman so much, he gave up his riches to live with her. So many chapters. I thought she was insane to work so hard when she was ill. I haven't
thought about it in years. Oh my God, Hugh. I have it in my things in storage! It's
their
story!”

She could see the longing in the clear gray-green of his eyes, feel his need to belong again to that which he'd lost.

“We have so much to give each other,” he whispered.

“Thanks to your brother and my mother.”

“I have one more thing,” he said, taking her left hand. “I know it's what Bart would have wanted. 'Tis what I want as well. And you have Nathaniel to thank for it. He took my timepiece to the armorer.” Hugh slipped a hand in his pocket and pulled out a small circlet of gold. “I'm certain it's the only way to exorcise it. Will you carry it—until such time I've earned the right to ask you to wear it on your finger?”

She threw her arms around him. “I will.”

And as the beacon on the Gulf Tower began an inexplicable shower of sparks, he said, “Blood. In the end it's all we have. Share mine.”

The mapmaker's daughter told the knight who had come to help her that she had no gold, and that she was very poor. But instead of giving her gold—for he had gold to give—he told her they did not need money to be happy. She said, “You have given me your help and your heart. You have won my hand.” They married and they were very happy, traveling to places she had only imagined before—the places she'd drawn on her maps.

—The Tale of the Beautiful Mapmaker