Surrender the Night (25 page)

But he had already disappeared into the barn.

Something had happened between them that afternoon in the forest. A wall had been broken down—dare she even say, an affection had sprouted? But what was she thinking? She faced forward and silently chastised herself as Mr. Snyder opened the door. Mr. Reed had promised that he would leave soon, and he was too honorable a man to break that promise.

Alex circled the table and poured persimmon beer into the pewter mugs of each seated guest. First Mr. and Mrs. Drummond, then Amelia, who never failed to give him a coquettish smile, and now the lovely Miss McGuire. He moved behind her chair, hoping for a glance into those turquoise eyes. Not a speck of dirt marred her lovely complexion or the creamy white gown trimmed in pink ribbon she’d donned for supper. The lace bordering her neckline rose and fell with her heightened breath. Did his presence invoke the reaction? Or was she merely nervous that Mr. Snyder would find him out?

The sad story she had told him of her parents’ deaths and the family friend who had stolen her wealth fired through his mind like grapeshot, igniting his fury. How could anyone have abused the trust of a young girl who had so recently lost her parents? And what tragedy had befallen her on her trip to Baltimore? Though Alex could guess, he hoped with everything in him that he was wrong. Regardless, his heart soared that Rose had entrusted him with such intimacies.

Alex had loved only one woman in his life—a woman who was now his brother’s wife. A woman whom he’d thought returned his love. But he had been terribly mistaken—brought on by his foolish emotions. Perhaps he was equally in error now. Yet the moments he and Miss McGuire—Rose—had shared in the forest, as the rain misted down upon them, caused his heart to swell as it never had before. He could still feel her quivering body against his, the way she molded into him as if they were made for each other, and the way her trembling ceased when she leaned against his chest. Alex shook his head. What the deuces was he thinking? He could never entertain thoughts of such a connection. He and Miss McGuire were worlds apart. Enemies. He poured her drink and avoided looking at her further.

Making his way around the edge of the table to Mr. Snyder, Alex gazed out the open window where a cool breeze ruffled the calico curtains. The rain had ceased, and stars blinked against a coal black sky.

He wove around the table, silently cursing himself for allowing his feelings for Miss McGuire to rise and for staying among these rebels as long as he had. Pure foolishness. For the longer he stayed, the harder it was for him to go.

He tipped the decanter of beer over Mr. Snyder’s mug—smiling at the devious idea that struck him—and filled it to the brim.

The councilman turned from something he was saying and stared at the glass. “You daft loon, how am I expected to sip this without spilling it?”

“My apologies.” Alex bowed slightly and gave Miss McGuire a coy glance. Finally she met his gaze. A smile danced across her eyes.

Mr. Snyder gave a frustrated sigh as Alex made his way to the kitchen to help Cora carry in the platters of food. As soon as he entered the bright room, smells of turkey, pastry, and warm bread enveloped him, prompting a growl from his belly and making him wonder why
he never remembered such comforting scents in the Cranleigh estate back home.

“Well, it be about time.” Cora huffed his way. “This food’s gettin’ cold.”

Alex grabbed the first platter that held two large meat pies, amazed that even the cantankerous cook warmed his heart. “You are ever a delight, Miss Cora.” He winked.

With a shake of her head, she flattened her lips, but then she smiled and batted the air with a cloth before dropping it onto the table. “Now, you go on, Mr. Reed. Your charm don’t work on this old gal.” Picking up a platter of biscuits in one hand and a bowl of fried greens in the other, she followed him into the dining room where they placed the food in the center of the table. Cora left while Alex stood against the wall as he’d seen the footmen do in his father’s estate during meals. He chose the wall opposite Miss McGuire, which afforded him a clear view of her.

“Shall we ask God’s blessing on this glorious feast?” Mr. Drummond said.

Glorious feast?
Alex shook his head. Surely his father would not think so of the meager meal.

“We thank You, Father, for the abundance You have provided and for Your continued protection over us during such tremulous times. May Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Amen”

“Amens” sounded around the table, and Alex was once again struck with not only the simplicity and genuineness of the prayer but with the way Mr. Drummond addressed Almighty God as Father.

Mrs. Drummond passed the plate of biscuits to Miss McGuire. “Dear, Mr. Snyder brought us a pound of sugar today. He knows how you enjoy it in your tea.”

Miss McGuire nodded toward the councilman, but her smile faltered on her lips. “You are too kind, sir.”

“Anything for you, Miss McGuire.” His gaze remained overlong upon her before he rubbed his hands together. “As I was saying, General Smith was all up in arms this afternoon at the fort.”

“Indeed. Whatever for?” Mrs. Drummond asked. “We saw him earlier and he seemed only concerned with finding British spies and, of course, with the Myers’ tragedy.”

A look of sorrow passed between Rose and her aunt. Alex swallowed.

“Indeed, I hadn’t heard.” Mr. Snyder addressed Rose. “What happened?”

Rose shook her head. “I do not wish to discuss it.”

With a shrug, Mr. Snyder resumed his tale. “It appeared the entire British fleet was heading for Baltimore!” He grabbed a biscuit from a passing plate. “That’s twice now those loathsome British have turned their ships toward our harbor only to retreat when they’ve sufficiently terrorized the town.”

“What do you make of it, Mr. Reed?” Mr. Drummond asked, his voice carrying an odd hint of amusement.

Shocked at being addressed during the meal, Mr. Reed shook his head. “Me? What would I know of it?”

A breeze swirled about the table, sending the candle flames flickering. Amelia dropped her fork onto her plate with a clank.

“Forgive my impertinence, Mr. Drummond, but why do you address a servant during supper?” Mr. Snyder glanced around the table for affirmation. “Highly irregular.”

“Because, my dear fellow, out of all of us present, only Mr. Reed has actually fought in this war.” Mr. Drummond’s voice held more frustration than Alex expected from the kind man.

Rose coughed and grabbed her throat.

Mrs. Drummond studied Alex. “What happened to your head, Mr. Reed?”

Alex reached up and touched the small cut on his forehead. “I fell from a horse, madam. It is nothing.”

Amelia giggled and Mrs. Drummond resumed her eating.

Mr. Drummond took a huge helping of meat pie. “Do regale us with your opinion, Mr. Reed.”

Alex cleared his throat, then looked to Rose for permission. She nodded and he finally said, “In truth, I suspect the British fleet enjoys toying with your city, sir. They wish to test your response and keep you wondering when the next attack will be. Their hope is that you will ignore them when the real one comes.”

Mr. Snyder chuckled. “Foolishness, Mr. Reed. You are a soldier, not a sailor. What would you know of the mindset of the British fleet?” He
shoved a spoonful of turkey pie into his mouth. Amelia shared a smile with Rose.

Mr. Drummond chomped on a biscuit, sending crumbs flying. “Makes perfect sense to me. I just wonder what they are waiting for. They’ve already burned Georgetown, Fredericktown, and Frenchtown and attacked Norfolk and several other cities along the Chesapeake.”

Mrs. Drummond shook her head, her ruby earrings glimmering in the candlelight. “And now that dastardly Napoleon has been defeated, we shall have to contend with the entire British imperial sea force.”

“As you know, I, for one, am against this war.” Mr. Snyder thrust out his chin. “How can we expect to win against such overwhelming odds? Why, to continue fighting is nothing but a reckless and wanton hazard of life and property.”

“Would you have us bow down like lame puppies and hand over our freedoms?” Mr. Drummond’s ruddy face darkened.

Mr. Snyder flinched. His right hand twitched slightly as he sliced his biscuit. “I don’t see that we have a choice.”

“Some things are worth dying for, Mr. Snyder.” Rose sipped her drink and offered him a tight smile.

He raised his shoulders. “Our Canadian campaign has been disastrous, and we have lost several ships to the Royal Navy, the USS
Chesapeake
, the frigate
Essex
, the
Wasp
, the
Vixen.”
He sighed and took a bite of his biscuit.

Rose gripped the handle of her fork until her knuckles whitened. “But you neglect to mention the victories we’ve had at sea, sir. The USS
United States’
defeat of HMS
Macedonian
, the capture of HMS
Frolic
and
Penguin
, the sinking of HMS
Peacock
and
Reindeer
. Not to mention the many victories of our privateers.”

“And the
Constitution’s
defeat of
Guerriere,”
Alex chimed in as the memories of witnessing that battle from his impotent ship tumbled through him. Oddly, with no accompanying resentment.

Mr. Snyder batted a lace-covered hand over his shoulder toward Mr. Reed as if dismissing the comment as frivolous.

Mr. Drummond’s gray brows rose. “Indeed, Mr. Reed.” He lowered his gaze to Mr. Snyder. “Sir, I perceive you to be outnumbered in your antiwar sentiments in this house.”

Mrs. Drummond laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “Do not be so
hard on Mr. Snyder, dearest. It is a noble quality to be so concerned for the loss of life.”

Mr. Snyder smiled in her direction, but his shoulders lowered nonetheless. “Thank you, madam. That is my only concern. I am a patriot at heart. Besides, since the blockade, not many of our privateers have been successful.”

“I beg to differ with you, sir.” Rose lowered her spoon, ignoring her aunt’s pointed gaze. “I am friends with several privateers, and they still do quite well harassing British shipping. They bring their prizes to dock in New York or Virginia, sell them there, then travel overland back to Baltimore.” Suddenly her eyes widened, and she snapped her gaze to Alex as if she just realized she had divulged a grand secret that he could well take back to his British commanders.

Though the British navy was well aware of the practice of Baltimore privateers, Alex gave her a teasing smile nonetheless.

She pursed her lips and exchanged a nervous glance with Amelia before directing her gaze back to him.

Mr. Drummond took a sip of his beer, shifting his glance between them. A drop slid into his thick beard.

“Why do you keep staring at your servant, Miss McGuire?” Mr. Snyder shifted his gaze between them. Nothing but malicious suspicion exuded from the man. But Alex ignored him. The councilman was a gnat. What harm could he do? Yet when he glanced at Miss McGuire, he could see the fear in her eyes.

Rose gave a slight shake of her head toward Mr. Reed in the hopes of dissuading him from further goading Mr. Snyder. The councilman was a prig, but he also was not without power. And with the right information, the power to ruin them all. Oh why did her aunt continue to invite the man to dinner? Couldn’t she see how Rose despised him?

Mr. Snyder dabbed the napkin over his mouth and proceeded to regale them with details of the city council’s recent decisions regarding funding and new buildings and preparations for war.

As he babbled on, Mr. Snyder grabbed his glass and drew it in haste to his lips. Beer spilled over the sides and splattered onto his trousers.

Curses shot from his mouth as he leaped to his feet. “This is your doing, Mr. Reed!”

“Your language, sir.” Mr. Drummond reprimanded the man as he wiped crumbs from his shirt.

Amelia giggled, but Aunt Muira quieted her with a stern look and excused herself to the kitchen. Covering her smile, Rose pretended to gasp in horror while Mr. Reed dabbed an extra napkin over Mr. Snyder’s trousers. “No doubt you forgot your full glass, sir.”