“Mr. Longton.”
Burke turned and shook his head. “Will you never call me Burke, Douglas?”
“When I captain the ship for you, sir, it’s a title I’ll be calling you by.”
Douglas Mahoney had captained the ship for his father, and while his full head of hair was pure white and wrinkles covered every inch of his face, the tall, slim man was ageless. He had sailed the seas since he’d been seven and complained when his feet touched land. Burke wouldn’t trust a voyage without Douglas captaining his vessel, just as his father had.
“You used to call me Burke.”
“When you were a mere lad. You’re not a lad anymore, sir.”
No, he wasn’t. He was a man on a mission of importance, and Douglas understood that, for he had made many a journey to Scotland with his father in search of Cullen.
“The crew has been informed about your wife, Mary, and her affliction.”
“Good, my wife…” He paused, thinking the prospect of such an arrangement wasn’t displeasing at all. “…has been of much help on my journey.”
“I understand,” Douglas said. “Will you and your wife be taking a meal in your cabin this evening?”
“Yes.” Burke smiled and nodded. “Yes, we will.”
The captain’s eyes suddenly turned wide, then he smiled. “Your wife, sir, is a stunningly beautiful woman.”
Burke turned to his left, as Douglas walked away, and stood there speechless.
The captain had been right; his wife was a stunningly beautiful woman.
She had chosen a deep blue velvet day dress that made her eyes all the more blue. Her jacket fit snug at her waist, a violet, high-collared blouse lay beneath, and a bonnet the same color as her dress topped her head and was decorated with violet plumes that swayed liberally in the cold autumn air.
Her face had been scrubbed clean, her cheeks rosy, and her dark hair swept up beneath the bonnet. She truly resembled a lady of fine breeding and character, but then he had thought that of her since first they met.
Burke finally got control of himself and walked over to her, his hand extended.
She took it and moved into the crook of his arm to whisper, “This outfit suits you?”
He smiled and leaned down and brushed his lips over hers. “It suits you perfectly.”
“I’ve never owned anything of such beauty.”
“Now you do, though it is you who makes the dress beautiful.”
Her cheeks turned pink, her soft blush flaring his passion, and he silently cursed the effect she had on him. Damned if he didn’t enjoy feasting his eyes on her and knowing that tonight, she would be his.
He held his arm out to her. “Can I interest you in a stroll along the docks and a visit to a few of the local shops?”
Her smile pierced his heart, and surely did damage to his soul.
“I would be delighted,” she said and hooked her arm with his.
The village shops sat just past the harbor. It was a quaint little place where the wealthy came to amuse themselves with purchases fresh off the arriving ships.
They were treated royally, especially once Burke began to pamper his wife with various purchases. It was obvious that the American wished to please his new bride, and how unfortunate it was that she’d been stricken with an ailment that had left her temporarily unable to speak.
Silk ribbons, sweets, and perfume were a few of the items he had indulged her with, and Burke knew Storm would object once they returned to the ship. However, for the moment she could not argue with his choices, for her supposed affliction prevented her from doing so. She could only smile and nod at her husband’s generosity.
They made their way along the buildings, Storm stopping to admire lacy ribbons in the seamstress’s window.
“I’ll a buy you a few,” Burke offered.
Storm smiled and stood on tiptoe to kiss her husband’s cheek.
Burke was surprised until she whispered in his ear.
“A place of generous gossip is a pub.”
Burke understood. “I think you need a few new garments to impress our friends back in America, so I shall leave you here while I have a pint or two at the local pub.”
She smiled and they entered the shop.
It smelled delightful and there was color everywhere from the bolts of material stacked on shelves and draped over chairs, to the tables covered in lace and bowls of ribbons spilling out of them.
The seamstress was as petite as Storm, though her hair raged red against milk-pale skin and her wide green eyes sparkled with friendly delight. She was only too happy to oblige Burke after he explained that his wife required several garments to be made of her finest material. He hoped she wouldn’t mind advising his wife on the styles of the local aristocrats, since she wanted to impress her friends back home. How unfortunate that his wife could not partake in the conversation.