Worst Date: Greatest Challenge: Journey Home, #2

By A.J. Robinson

In book 2 of the Long Journey Home Series Hazel Lowe has come to Martha's Vineyard to visit her boyfriend Arthur. When he takes her to a childhood play place, a cave touched by sunlight on noon of the summer solstice, a swirling vortex throws them back 250 years! Mistaken for his own ancestor, he and Hazel are accepted by the islanders, but face a host of challenges.

 

When he's lost in the sinking of a whaling ship, Hazel is on her own. She must run their farm, deal with suitors, and then defend herself when a host of charges are brought against her. After discovering that the women of the island are making gunpowder and ammunition, she helps them to smuggle some of the supplies across to the mainland.

 

Arthur is found there, and reveals the truth: troops will invade the island and slaughter the people in a few months! They formulate a plan: forge a letter from the governor to get Colonial troops dispatched to the island to protect them. Can they implement the plan in time? Will they save their friends and family? Most importantly: can they get back to the cave at the next solstice and get home?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: Oct 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781957228112

Book preview

Worst Date: Greatest Challenge

The Long Journey Home, 2

A.J. Robinson

CHAMPAGNE BOOK GROUP

Worst Date: Greatest Challenge

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Published by Champagne Book Group

712 SE Winchell Drive, Depoe Bay OR 97341 U.S.A.

~ * ~

First Edition

eISBN: 978-1-957228-11-2

Copyright © 2023 A.J. Robinson All rights reserved.

Cover Art by Sevannah Storm

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To Martha’s Vineyard, not merely a place, but part of my soul.

Dear Reader:

Most of the events portrayed in this book actually happened and took place on Martha’s Vineyard during the Revolutionary War. I wrote this book and series not only to tell a story, I wanted to share my love of this special island. I hope that shines through in the pages before you.

Andrew

Chapter One

Hazel stood on the wharf as the minister spoke and almost laughed to think she was in the same spot she would walk through in two hundred and fifty years. Granted, the pier was quite different from the one that would one day stand in Oak Bluff’s Harbor—the town wasn’t even called that yet—but she was almost certain it was in the same place.

What a time she had since that day!

Arthur, her dear, sweet, fool of a boyfriend had invited her to visit him on Martha’s Vineyard, the place he’d lived his whole life, and she’d accepted. The mere thought of him made her smile, yet also ache, as if a cold and wet wool blanket was crushing her. She missed him so much! She loved him, and thus anything important to him, even a quiet old island, became central to her.

Then had come the tour of the island, the trip to the cave he’d played in as a child, and the laser light show that had commenced as the sun reached its zenith on the longest day of the year. That’s when the portal had opened, and they were thrown back in time. At least they’d been mistaken for an ancestor of his, Arthur Mayhew Jr., who gave them an in with the Mayhews of the era. Arthur had introduced her as his wife, and a high-ranking British lady of the aristocracy at that. As they were trapped in 1779 until the next solstice, they’d made the most of their situation and had done their best to help others.

Now, shivering in the early November breeze, she took little note of the minister speaking of Arthur and the other members of the Silvana who had been lost at sea. Hazel’s mind was assailed by conflict and concerns. She was a young, healthy, single woman. She was a landowner, and she had three children to care for and a farm to run, and to be honest she didn’t know how to do either. Her main goal was getting home to her timeline, and that dominated all other things. Come next June, the sunlight would enter the cave Arthur had taken her to, but could she get home? According to him, two people in love had to stand before the crystals in order for the portal to open.

What did that mean for her?

Only time would tell. Right here, right now, she had to hold things together for the sake of the kids. She was glad Abigail and Saul were home with Arthur’s cousin, Faith, instead of forced to partake in this painful ritual. Each moment was like being squeezed by a boa constrictor.

The bracing icy wind helped to keep Hazel focused as it whipped her white-blonde hair about. The burn of acid in her throat kept her swallowing hard, seeking relief. To be dressed in black was not something she liked. Even back home, she was never one of those ladies who enjoyed painting the town red in a little black dress.

She cast her gaze about the area; everyone was decked out in similar outfits. Joshua Mayhew, head of the family and one of the leading citizens on the island, stood tall and strong, with his barrel-shaped chest and somber face. He almost always seemed down in the dumps about something.

Patience, his social-climbing wife seemed, for a change, quite diminutive next to him. Her long, brown hair cascaded across her broad shoulders, and while not hefty or especially strong, she had a fine, curvy figure and made up for her minimal stature with pure force of will.

Hazel tilted her head back a bit, enough so she could let her gaze wander among the wispy collections of white fluff drifting above. She almost smiled. It was good to have something else for her mind to focus on, even for a brief minute or two. It was as if she was having an out-of-body experience, which made her shudder with excitement.

Nothing like it had ever happened to her, but she understood why it was happening now. It was a defense mechanism, a means of escaping the nettles and pins jabbing every inch of her body for even a moment.

Her spirit rose into the clear blue sky to float among the clouds, and thus she was spared the endless droning of Minister So-and-so. For the first time since Joshua had told her of the ship’s sinking, the endless pain in her heart eased. She stretched out her hands, and the moist air tickled her skin as she drifted through one of the clouds. The island looked so pretty beneath her, and now she did smile. A tiny bead of warmth swelled within her, and she drew in a sharp breath of clean air as she recognized what it was.

Love.

Not love of a person, not the love and pure passion that had blossomed in her heart and soul for Arthur. Not maternal love, which she’d never thought she would experience. Yet that love had likewise grown inside her for Abigail, Saul, and Faith.

No, she’d fallen in love with a place, a simple location, and that was something she’d never known. Her family lived in a plain house in Providence. She’d never formed any attachment to a mere spot on the map. Her attitude had always been that a house was just where you lived, so what’s the big deal?

Here, at last, was a plot of land that had wormed its way into the essence of her being like a seed blooming into a beautiful rose. However, she had no idea why she loved it the way she did. What was it about this location, this modest island, which awoke such passion in her heart? Dear sweet Arty had been born and raised here. His family had lived here for generations. His attachment to the place was a given.

Huh, if she thought about it, Arty was a part of the island. He grew up on the food grown here. He drank its water, so the very minerals in the soil made up his body.

Damn, I miss him so much!

As for her, she’d come for a visit and gotten a tour of its highlights. He’d shown her the Flying Horses, the oldest carousel in America, the houses of Oak Bluffs, the rolling hills of West Tisbury, the colorful harbor of Menemsha, and the beautiful, clay cliffs of Gay Head. The island was a gestalt; all its tiny pieces clicked into a perfect mosaic that became more than the mere sum of its parts. They worked in perfect harmony to create a world unlike any she’d ever seen or heard of.

Coldness wrapped around her wrist. Hazel winced at the punch to her heart, her spirit stuffed back into her body like when she put too many blouses in a dresser drawer. Her eyes watered, and she blinked. The action stabbed at her soul, and it only heightened the claws assailing every fiber of her being. She swung her head around and found Joshua’s somber face before her.

Hazel, it is time we were going, he said.

She glanced at all the matching bleak and depressed faces and nodded. As she moved toward the carriage, she stopped then walked to the edge of the pier. Just a moment. I have something I want to say.

Joshua dashed to her side. What are you doing? The minister has finished the service. It is not proper for a lady to—

I don’t care! Arthur was my…my husband, and I’ll have my say. Don’t worry, I’ll be brief. There are some words I know. I don’t remember where I heard them, but I feel they’re appropriate. Let me see if I can recall them. Ah. ‘The tide recedes but leaves behind bright seashells on the sand. The sun goes down, but gentle warmth still lingers on the land. The music stops yet echoes on in sweet soulful refrains. For every joy that passes, something beautiful remains.’ And now, the love of my life is gone from my presence, but his essence lingers in my life. May he always be so, she said, then she faced Joshua. All right, I’m ready.

Am I too late to offer condolences? a familiar voice said.

Hazel smiled when she turned and beheld Ebenezer Ebbie Smith, Sachem of the local Wampanoag, who sat atop a huge horse. Her jaw dropped.

He wasn’t dressed in his usual ensemble like when they’d visited him in Aquinnah, which was a suit appropriate for a gentleman of the era. She remembered his white shirt with the frilly collar well.

When the cool breeze came off Devil’s Bridge, he’d put on his blue velvet frock coat. She always thought it made him look so spiffy. Likewise, his breeches were little more than fancy short pants that went to the knees, and the black shoes with the big buckles looked like something out of a movie about the Pilgrims.

He was now decked out in quite the elaborate Native chieftain’s garb. Hazel had never seen so many feathers on a headdress, and his leather vest and pants were decorated with beautiful painted stones and shells. Yet, there was something else. He was in blackface!

Hazel checked the crowd. None of them seemed to be taking note of it. Was it normal? She was offended but made the decision not to complain. It was important to remember the era she was in. Social norms were different, and perhaps it had some meaning other than what she thought.

He climbed down and grabbed a satchel from the back of the saddle. Everyone fell silent, and Hazel squirmed as if a spotlight was shining on the two of them as he drew near. She studied him. The blackface looked to be a thick coating over his skin. If Hazel had to guess, she’d go with it being one of the darker clays from the cliffs of Aquinnah. It made sense. The material was available and better than any makeup.

Ebbie, you didn’t have to make such a long and difficult journey, she said, taking his large hand in hers.

"It was the least I could do for noble Arthur. He was a good and decent man who always treated me and my people as equals, even common farmers and fishermen—unlike some members of your tribe. That is the sign of a gentleman. If you want to know the true worth of a man, see how he treats those beneath him."

Your words of wisdom are always so true, she replied, but, and I mean no disrespect, why is your face like that?

It is part of our funeral ritual. How we mourn for those we have lost.

She nodded. Now I understand. And the bag?

More of our ritual, he explained, rooting around in the satchel. He took out a small hand rake and hoe then handed them to her. Here. These are tools so he might cultivate land in the afterlife.

She took them. Of course, so he can find nourishment, yes?

Precisely. He replied, and next gave her a red ceramic bowl. Arthur used this during the last meal you shared with us at my home. It is our custom to place this at the graveside.

He was lost at sea, someone snapped. How much longer must we allow this to go on?

Hazel almost growled as she scanned the crowd for the speaker. Ebbie didn’t so much as blink or give them a hint of acknowledgement.

Now, now, Ebbie and his people have always been good friends to us, another said.

I accept with deep gratitude, Hazel told him. Will you come with us to the wake?

Multiple gasps sounded around her and rather loud whispers argued whether it was appropriate or not. The assembled throng was divided on the matter.

With regrets, I must decline. It is yet another reason for my journey. Governor Davenport summoned me to resolve a dispute with some farmers in Chilmark. They claim our young maidens have been using their ‘savage charms’ to beguile their sons.

She curled the corners of her mouth into a grin. "Is that why you’re dressed the way you are?"

He slowly nodded. Aye, my friend, I accomplish two goals in one act. I honor my friend, and I most definitely cause the bile to surge in Isaac’s throat.

I hope you are able to resolve the matter.

It is ‘much ado about nothing.’ I know the people of Chilmark, who are good men and women, are all friends to the Wampanoag. This meeting is about one thing, and that’s Isaac’s insatiable hunger for more land.

Land? she asked, cocking her head.

Aye, he wishes to buy more of our land, and still the answer will be no. Good day to you. May the warmth of your memories of Arthur ease the pain of your loss, and if you ever have need of me, send word, and I will come. It is my earnest hope your time as a widow is brief.

She raised her eyebrows. What? Ebbie, I-I’m still grieving! How can you say such a thing?

"Apologies. I mean no disrespect to Arthur or your devotion to him. It is our belief that men are the fighters, the ones to struggle and carry the loads of life. Women are the life givers. They are highly respected among our people, and they do not fight."

Ah, I understand. You wish for me to have someone to defend me. Well, I think I can handle that myself. Still, I respect your beliefs; and therefore, I accept your good wishes in the spirit in which they were intended.

They clasped hands. He gave her a deep bow then returned to his horse. She watched him ride off.

She is no lady, someone snapped.

A mere woman speaking at such a solemn occasion, allowing a savage to address her as an equal and speak his pagan rituals? The minister seethed. If she were my wife, I would give her a taste of the cane!

She shuddered ever so slightly as every muscle in her body tightened at his words. He was supposed to be a man of God, yet he spewed misogynistic and racist crap like the stuff she’d heard back home. Closing her eyes, she took a slow, deep breath and counted to ten. Now was not the time for an outburst and confrontation.

She took little note of Joshua helping her into their carriage. Patience joined them, and off he rode to the center of Cottage City. Hazel rolled her eyes. Could it be considered a city? There were just a few shops and stores along a dusty road and the shacks for the fishermen which faced the harbor.

When they arrived at an inn, Hazel scarcely noticed the wooden sign swaying in the breeze. A fire burned inside her at the absurdity of having to attend this silly ceremony. However, she knew better than to refuse. It was part of the colonial paradigm.

Someone ushered her inside by the elbow, and she moved to a large window that afforded her a view of the Vineyard Sound. It was rather pretty and was the same stretch of water she would cross in the Island Queen in two and a half centuries. The sound of hard shoes on solid flooring told her the crowd was gathering for the wake. All the widows would be in attendance, and she was expected to mingle.

Hazel, may I get you some cider? Patience asked.

No, she replied without emotion.

Patience cleared her throat. Ah, dear, it is considered improper not to partake of the refreshments provided.

Is it hard cider? I could use a good drink right now.

Hazel! Patience gasped. Such things simply are not done. I know you are still grieving, but life must go on. There are many fine gentlemen here. You need to consider your situation and see about making as good a match as possible.

Hazel spun to face her, almost gagging on her own spit as she shook with rage. Is she suggesting I see about finding a new husband at Arty’s funeral? Damn, this world is nuts! I…I’ll have a drink.

Patience smiled and nodded, then she moved off to the long table against the far wall. Hazel’s mind burned, her lungs squeezing and her teeth grinding together. She had to wonder how long this pain would go on. She remembered this was the grieving process.

Agony like this didn’t fade like a headache after taking an aspirin. It would be a long, slow event. The room seemed almost festive, with drinks and food laid out on the table. A string quartet played, and many small tables and chairs ringed the dance floor.

Damn, this is an outright party.

She saw the other widows file in and spread out through the room. Some looked to be in their thirties, but most were ten to twenty years older than her. It was clear that at twenty-five, Hazel was the youngest, and she knew what that meant. There were at least fifty men in total, and the widows numbered about twenty.

Patience came back with a red glass brimming with steaming cider. It was warm and welcoming in Hazel’s hand. She had just taken a sip when Obadiah Davenport, the governor’s son, made his presence known. She didn’t have to see him to know he was there. The man’s odor announced his arrival: moldy cheese mixed with skunk and seaweed. It was quite the contrast to her internal feelings. The cider sliding down her throat was hot and tangy, while the cinnamon tickled her tongue.

Patience sniffled and moved back. Shall I get you something to eat? she asked. You need to keep up your strength. You are still so thin.

She didn’t wait for a reply but hastened off. Hazel groaned as Obadiah drew near. He was no great looker, that was for sure. He was in his thirties but appeared to be older. His pudgy fingers and face made her think of the Pillsbury Doughboy. Fashion was not his forte either. His outfit was a mismatched hodgepodge of colors.

Hazel, dearest darling lady, he gushed, snatching her hand in his. I cannot tell you how hurt I am at poor Arthur’s passing. He was such a good man.

Yes, I miss him so much, she said, wrenching her hand away, which proved difficult. It surprised her, given how slimy his flesh was. Please, don’t feel you have to spend all your time with me. As your father’s representative at this event, I’m sure you’ll want to express your condolences to the other ladies.

They can wait, he snapped. He cleared his throat, then he smiled and softened his voice. Hazel, it is important I speak to you now. It may surprise you to hear this, but I spoke with Arthur before he departed on his final hunt.

She frowned. You did? You were here in Cottage City?

"What? Oh, yes, I was here on business, and I ran into him as he was boarding the Sylvia."

"Silvana," Hazel corrected.

Yes, yes, whatever. The point is, he was concerned with his safety. Perhaps he had a sense of foreboding about his fate, and so he confided in me. He asked a favor of me. He said that if anything should ever happen to him, I should see to it that you were taken care of.

Her jaw dropped. Ah, really? I-I’m sure he meant finance—

"He asked that I make myself available to you as a husband, and so I present myself to you and ask that we might begin the formality of courting."

Damn, already? Sheesh, this guy doesn’t waste time, does he? I—Obadiah, it’s a bit soon to be talking about such things. You…you honor me, and I am deeply…touched. You have no idea how I feel about your offer. However, I need time to consider my future.

Consider your position, my sweet, he sneered with an oily grin. "You are alone and unable to work your land. After all, you are only a woman, and an English one at that, at a time when we are at war with England. I not only offer you my knowledge, virility, and keen intellect, but there is my position as son of the governor. Think of how your standing in the community will benefit from such a match. You will not merely be protected from any dangers, but people will fear and respect you. What more can you ask?"

Hazel’s face was numb like she was one of those old ladies who had too many cosmetic surgeries. She tried to maintain a smile and hoped it appeared sincere. You speak with such eloquence, Obadiah. Any woman would be a fool not to give your offer all the consideration it deserves.

His smile grew larger, almost encompassing his entire face. Then, I may call on you?

You mean come for a visit? I…now is not a good time, my friend. The children are still grieving; they need time. After all, you wouldn’t want to be around sobbing, whining children, would you?

Obadiah’s smile vanished in an instant. He grimaced and shook his head. Oh, no, never. Can you not send them away?

Hazel ground her teeth until they ached, as if she was getting a filling without a sedative. Man, he is some piece of work. I have no family nearby, she explained, resting her hand on his forearm. I promise, sweet man, we shall…enjoy each other’s company very, very soon.

I shall hold you to your word, my sweet, he replied, stroking her hand.

She snatched it away. On my honor as a lady of the English nobility.

Hazel heaved a sigh of relief when he moved off to proposition another of the widows. He made no effort to hide what he was doing. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to soak in a hot bath for about an hour. The man’s vile scent hung in the air like a dense fog. It seemed to cling to her body as firmly as his slimy grip. She felt as though she’d waded through a slaughterhouse—not that she’d ever done that. She wished she was a snake and could shed her skin.

Patience brought a small white and blue ceramic plate of food, then held it out to her. Here you are. Nice mutton and heath hen, and sweet cakes.

Cakes? she asked, staring at the plate of dark cookies. They reminded Hazel of the cookies her grandmother used to make. Next to them were undersized slabs of different meats in gravy.

She pushed the plate away. I’m not hungry.

Patience shuddered as if struck by a jolt of electricity and refused to take the plate back. Hazel, you must eat! There is not merely your health to consider. The ladies and I worked so hard to prepare these dishes. It will be an insult that you will never live down if you refuse to eat. Bathsheba gave up a prize sheep, and the whole town is still agog at that!

What’s so special about one sheep? Hazel said, cocking her head.

With the war, many items are in short supply, among them fabrics, and people have been asked to forgo eating mutton so as to make more wool. Why, I have heard it said that Virginia has outlawed the slaughter of sheep. Can you imagine, forbidding people from partaking of nature’s bounty? Have you also forgotten our livestock taken by the British? Even one sheep is precious!

Hazel sighed. Yes, all right, fine. I’ll eat.

Patience smiled, nodded, and moved off to serve yet another widow. Hazel sat by the window at one of the tables and picked at her food. She had to admit, the cookies were very tasty and were like her grandmother’s molasses cookies. Of course, given the time difference, it was possible this was her grandmother’s recipe.

A thump interrupted her thoughts, and she swung her head in the direction of the disturbance. A wrinkled, old, white-haired man with a peg leg was drawing close to her. While she’d never met the captain of the Silvana, Arthur had described him, and Joshua had mentioned that while he’d survived the sinking, he’d lost a leg. She was almost certain he was the man approaching.

Captain Ahab, I presume? she said.

He smiled, showing off the gaps in his brown teeth, and gave her an overexaggerated bow. Mrs. Mayhew, the pleasure is all mine. I must say, I am pleased and surprised to hear that you know me. My reputation precedes me, eh?

You could say that, she replied without emotion.

May I? he asked in a sickly-sweet tone, gesturing at a vacant seat with his free hand. He held a bottle of dark liquid in the crook of his other elbow.

She groaned. Here we go again. Of course, Captain.

Please, call me Jonas. My days as a captain are over, he replied, plopping down next to her.

Her eyebrows went up, even as her nose crinkled. The man reeked of seaweed and barnacles. Oh? I wouldn’t think you’d let a disability keep you from captain…ing.

Nay, nay, I will not hobble about on a deck that is pitching and yawing. I would end up on my own arse, and how would that look for a captain? To mend a broken jib is one thing. Trying to steer without a rudder and in dangerous waters is foolhardy.

You’re retiring?

He nodded. Aye, I have a fine home in Holmes Hole, and I think I will open a pub. I can spend my days serving my fellow whalers and telling tall tales as we share a few pints of ale and rum. Rum as fine as this, he said, holding out the bottle to her.

She leaned forward a bit to see it closer, but it had no label, so she had no idea what it was. Ah, it looks fine.

Forgive me. A lady as splendid and beautiful as you is not familiar with good Jamaican rum. Here, take it. It is a gift.

What? No, Jonas, I couldn’t—

He waved her off. Nay, nay, no argument. It is the least I can do. Consider it the first of many fine gifts I shall bring you. This is the best rum you shall ever taste—leagues better than that bilge water they make up in Bah-ston!

Sounds wonderful, Hazel said, taking the bottle and getting to her feet. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I—

Hazel, a word, if you please?

She sighed, hung her head for a moment, then resumed her seat. Yes?

My dear, sweet, lovely woman that you are, I have spent my life at sea, which means I have had no friends, no family to speak of. Yet, unlike others in my profession, I have been frugal and careful, and saved my money. I am now a man of considerable wealth, and my wish is to settle down so I might grow old in the bosom of a family.

Damn, not again. That’s nice, but I’m—

Hazel, I was with Arthur as the ship foundered, he said. While I could not save him, we did share a moment of bonding. I tried to save him. I clung to him with every fiber of my being, but my strength was not equal to the task. He slipped away and overboard. As he plunged into the frigid depths, he called out to me, and his words haunt me to this day. You see, at the end, his thoughts were of you, my dear.

A massive punch landed on her chest. Hazel winced, the throbbing ache rippling through her, and she blinked away renewed tears. I…thank you for that, Jonas, she choked out.

He placed a withered yet strong hand on her forearm. Ah, but that is not all. He asked that I take care of you, watch over you, and come to you on bended knee to ask for your hand in marriage.

Her tongue swelled in her throat, choking off her air. Another one, really? Jonas, I-I’m sorry, I-I need time to…think!

Of course, I understand. I do not mean to rush you into anything you are not ready for, but please keep me in mind when you are ready to marry. Do not let my weathered exterior concern you. The shingles may be aged, but the foundation is solid, and the fireplace burns hot!

She nodded and waved him off as she rose to her feet as if shot from a cannon and moved to the window. Her throat was too tight to form words. The uppermost thought in her mind was a simple one: death. At that moment, she wanted to die. She prayed for an end to the acid burning the flesh from her bones.

A long finger touched her shoulder. She shuddered in still more pain.

Jonas, I said— She spun to face him and found herself gazing up at a tall, lanky young man. Oh, sorry. Um, Abraham, is it?

The fellow nodded, his great mop of unkempt hair bobbing about. Aye, but most call me Abe, and it would please me if you did as well.

Fine. Is that all you wanted or is there—?

Hazel, I know I am not a handsome man, he blurted out as though trying to speak while he had the courage. I have not wealth or social standing to offer you, but I do have a heart full of love.

She sighed and hung her head again. Yes, I can well imagine that, Abe.

Yet, that is not all. I was with Arthur as the Silvana broke apart.

You don’t say? She gazed up at him again and snorted. Did he speak to you before it sank?

Why, so he did! How did you know? Abe said, his eyes growing wide in surprise.

She rubbed her temples with her fingertips. It…it came to me in a dream. She groaned, rolling her eyes.

Well, ’tis true, he did so. With his dying breath, he called out to me. He begged a favor of me. He asked that I care for you as a good and loving husband. I cannot offer you much, but I pledge to you my eternal love and devotion, if you will but be mine. I am young and strong. I will work your farm—our farm—from dawn to dusk, then labor through the night to satisfy you. We will have many fine children and, God willing, grow old together. If the Angel of Death should claim you first, I pledge not to re-marry for at least a…month.

Really? Such devotion. I will think about it, she replied, avoiding his gaze.

She walked off, keeping her gaze to the floor to avoid making eye contact with any more suitors. She found a somewhat quiet corner to hide in. Soon, music played, people danced, and still more men came to annoy her. Fortunately, none of them were dumb enough to try the same routine with her concerning Arthur, and she dismissed them with a growl or fiery insult.

Later, Joshua took Hazel home. However, she had to put up with Patience being as testy as Hazel was grief-stricken.

"When the son of the governor asks you to dance, you dance! I do not know how I will—we will—ever live down this dishonor."

Patience, I’m sorry, but I’m not much of a dancer. I don’t know them.

Joshua, sitting in front of her, straightened up, and he shifted around to set his eyes on her. You do not know how to dance?

Damn, I bet a proper English lady is supposed to know all the popular moves. I…um, I injured my foot a few years back. I wasn’t able to dance for some time, and I don’t recall most of them now.

His eyes narrowed. Really? Most…interesting.

Husband, pay attention to your duties and let me do mine!

He moved back to watch the road.

Hazel