The next twenty-four hours were lost to Nicole. She was vaguely aware of being carried about, handled as if she were a baby. Sometimes, she sensed someone was worried about her, and she tried to smile and say she was fine, but the words just wouldn’t seem to surface. She dreamed constantly, remembering her parents’ chateau, her swing under the willow tree in the garden, smiling at some of the happy times spent at the miller’s house with her grandfather. She lay quietly in a hammock, gently swaying on a hot, close day.
When she slowly opened her eyes, the swaying hammock of the dream did not go away. But instead of the trees above her was a row of slats. Odd, she thought, someone must have built a platform above the hammock, and she idly wondered what it was for.
“So, you’re awake! I told those sailors they gave you too much of the opium. It’s a wonder you ever woke up at all. Trust a man to do everything wrong. Here, I’ve made you some coffee. It’s good and hot.”
Turning, Nicole looked up as a woman placed a large hand behind her back and practically lifted her from the bed. She wasn’t in a garden at all but in a bare little room. Perhaps the drug made it seem to sway. No wonder she had dreamed she was in a hammock. “Where are we? Who are you?” she managed to ask as she gulped the hot, strong coffee.
“You’re still groggy, aren’t you? I’m Janie, and I was hired by Mr. Armstrong to take care of you.”
Nicole looked up sharply. The name Armstrong meant something to her, but she couldn’t remember what. As the black coffee began to clear her senses, she looked at Janie. She was a tall, big-boned woman with a broad face, her cheeks looking to be permanently pink, reminding Nicole of a nursemaid she’d once had. Janie exuded an air of confidence and common sense, a feeling of safety and serenity.
“Who is Mr. Armstrong?”
Janie took the empty cup away and refilled it. “They surely did give you too much of that sleeping stuff. Mr. Armstrong. Clayton Armstrong. Remember now? The man you’re supposed to marry.”
Nicole blinked rapidly, drank more coffee from the pot set on a little brass charcoal brazier, and began to remember everything. “I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. I’m not Bianca Maleson, nor am I engaged to Mr. Armstrong.”
“You’re not—” Janie began, sitting down on the lower bed of the bunk beds. “Honey, I think you’d better tell me the whole story.”
When Nicole had finished, she laughed. “So, you see, I’m sure the men will release me once they hear the whole story.”
Janie was silent.
“Won’t they?”
“There’s more to this than you know,” Janie said. “For one thing, we’re twelve hours out to sea, on our way to America.”
Chapter 2
STUNNED, NICOLE LOOKED AT THE ROOM AROUND HER. A ship! It was bare, with oak walls, floor, and ceiling, and against one wall were two bunk beds. There was very little space from the bed to the other wall, which was bare except for a round porthole. A door was at one end of the room, and the other end was piled high with boxes and trunks held securely with ropes fastened to the wall. A low cabinet was in one corner, the brazier on top of it. Suddenly, Nicole realized that the rocking was the motion of a ship on a calm sea. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would anyone want to kidnap me—or Bianca, rather—to America?”
Janie went to one of the trunks and opened the lid, withdrawing a little leather portfolio tied with ribbon. “I think you’d better read this.”
Puzzled, Nicole opened the packet. There were two sheets of paper inside, covered with a bold, strong handwriting. She began to read.
My dearest Bianca,
I hope by now Janie has explained everything to you. I also hope you will not be too angry at my unorthodox methods of bringing you to me. I know what a kind and dutiful daughter you are and I know how much you worry about your father’s health. I was willing to wait for you while he was so very ill, but now I can wait no longer.
I have chosen a packet boat for your passage to America since they are faster than any other. Janie and Amos have been instructed to purchase all the food you need for the journey as well as the makings of a new wardrobe since this haste has deprived you of your own. She is an excellent seamstress.
Even though I have you on your way to me, I do not trust that nothing will go awry. Therefore, I have instructed the captain to marry us by proxy. Then, even if your father did find you before you reached me, you would still be mine. I know I am being high-handed about this but you must forgive me and remember that I do it because I love you and am so lonely without you.
When next I see you, you will be my wife. I count the hours.
All my love,
Clay
Nicole held the letter for several moments, feeling that she was prying into something very personal and private that she should not see. She smiled slightly. She’d always heard that Americans were quite unromantic, but this man had gone through an elaborate kidnapping scheme to bring the woman he loved to him.
She looked up at Janie. “He seems like a very nice man, one who is obviously very much in love. I envy Bianca. Who is Amos?”
“Clay sent him with me to help protect you, but there was an illness on the passage over.” She looked away, not wanting to remember the time when five people had died. “Amos didn’t make it.”
“I’m sorry,” Nicole said as she stood. “I must find the captain and straighten this out.” Catching sight of herself in the mirror over the corner cabinet, she paused. Her hair was a mess, tumbling about her face in short, fat, corkscrew curls. “Do you know where I could find a comb?”
“Sit down and I’ll fix it.”