Chapter 2

“O H , P APA! ” A MANDA D UNHAM’S CORNFLOWER-BLUE EYES filled with tears, and her blond ringlets quivered. “Must we really leave London now?”

Thomas Dunham regarded his younger daughter with amusement. Amanda was so predictably like her mother. As he had been dealing successfully with Dorothea for the past twenty years he felt little challenge in dealing with Amanda now. “I’m afraid so, puss,” he said firmly. “If we don’t leave now we will be forced to either stay the winter in England at a time when things are not good between our countries, or else make an uncomfortable, very likely stormy crossing.”

“Oh, let us stay for the winter! Please! Please! Please!” Amanda danced around her father, childlike. “Adrian says there are wonderful skating parties at Swynford Hall on the lake, and at Christmas the mummers and carolers go from door to door. There is a huge Yule log, wonderful wassail, plum puddings, and roast goose! Oh, Papa, let us stay! Please! ”

“Oh, Mandy! Don’t be such a spoiled little fool!” came a sharp voice, and the voice’s owner emerged from the shadows where she had been sitting on the window seat. “Papa must return to Wyndsong. His obligations are there, and on the chance that your social rounds have kept you from noticing, things are not particularly cordial between England and America at the moment. Papa brought us to London as a treat, but we are better off going home now.”

“Miranda!” wailed Amanda Dunham. “How can you be so cruel? You know the depth of my feelings for Adrian!”

“Fiddlesticks!” said Miranda Dunham sharply. “You are always in love with one man or another, and you have been since we were twelve. You didn’t want to leave Wyndsong several months ago because you believed yourself in love with Robert Gardiner or was it Peter Sylvester? In the time we’ve been in England you’ve had a tendresse for at least six young men. Lord Swynford is only your current beau.”

Amanda Dunham burst into tears and flung herself into her mother’s lap, sobbing. “Miranda, Miranda,” scolded Dorothea Dunham gently. “You must not be so impatient with your twin.”

Miranda made a derisive sound and clamped her lips together, a gesture that made her father chuckle. Twin daughters, he thought, as he had so often. My only legitimate descendants, and they don’t appear even to be related, let alone twins. Amanda was petite, dimpled, and round, like her Dutch-American mother, a pink-and-white feminine confection with large blue eyes and daffodil yellow hair. She was gentle, and fairly simple, a fluffy creature who would make a charming wife, a loving mother. He understood Amanda, as he had always understood her mother.

He was not so sure about Miranda, the elder twin. She was a far more complex creature, a quicksilver girl of fire. Born two hours before her twin sister, she was five-feet-eight, four inches taller than Amanda. A coltish girl, Miranda was more angles than curves. The curves, he suspected, would come later on.

Amanda’s face was round, but Miranda’s was heart-shaped with high cheekbones, a straight, elegant nose, a wide, lush mouth, and a small, determined chin with a little cleft. Her blue-green eyes were oval and fringed with thick, dark lashes. Where had she gotten those sea-green eyes? Both he and Dorothea had blue eyes. Miranda’s hair was another mystery, the color of moonlight.

The twins were as different in temperament as they were in appearance. Miranda was bold and confident and brave. Her mind was quick and her tongue sharp. She lacked patience, but she was kind. He suspected that her wicked temper came from his having spoiled her.

But Miranda had a deep sense of justice. She disliked cruelty and ignorance, and was quick to defend the helpless. If only, he thought sadly, if only she’d been the son he wanted. He loved her greatly, but he despaired of finding a husband for her. She would need a man who would understand her fierce streak of Dunham independence. A man who would handle her firmly, yet gently and with love.

He had told young Lord Adrian Swynford, Baron Swynford, that his formal engagement to Amanda must wait until Miranda, the elder, was betrothed. Thomas Dunham had met no one in England he felt right for his oldest child. He did have an idea on that subject, but first there was a matter to be changed in his will.

He smiled. Dear little Amanda! She was so sweet and gentle. She would grace the Swynford family table, and the Swynford family jewels. She would never be a particularly interesting conversationalist, but she played the pianoforte nicely, and she painted pretty watercolors. She would be an excellent breeder, a dutiful wife who would never complain if her husband amused himself occasionally with a bit o’ muslin. In Amanda, he and Dorothea had produced a perfect daughter, Thomas thought smugly.

In the elder of the twins he had produced a self-willed, independent vixen, and had he not seen her slip from her mother’s straining body himself he would have sworn that she was someone else’s child.

As the girls had grown it was Miranda who was the obvious leader of the pair. She walked a full five months before her twin, and spoke clearly by the end of her first year. Amanda babbled nonsense for over two years before she became intelligible. Only Miranda completely understood her, sometimes translating the childish prattle and other times anticipating her twin’s desires in a wordless form of communication that amazed everyone. Amanda was uncomplicated, Miranda complex yet they loved one another dearly. Miranda might storm and rage at Mandy, but no one else was allowed, and woe betide anyone foolish enough to offend the gentler of the two girls, for Miranda protected her twin like a tigress her cub.

Now, though, Miranda Dunham was impatient. “For pity’s sake, Mandy, stop wailing!” Miranda could not contain her irritation. “If Adrian Swynford really loves you he’ll offer for you before we return to America.”

“He has already offered for her,” said Thomas Dunham quietly.

“Oh, Papa!” Amanda scrambled to her little feet, her eyes shining with delight.

“There, you see? I told you so!” said Miranda as if the matter were finished.

“Come, my girls,” said their father. “Sit down with your mama and me, and I will tell you everything.” He settled his daughters between their mother and himself on a long silk settee. “Lord Swynford,” he began, “has asked for Amanda’s hand in marriage. I have tentatively given my consent provided that no formal announcement be made or sent to the Gazette until I have also made a suitable match for Miranda. She is the elder, and her betrothal must come first.”

“ What? ” the twins exclaimed in one voice.

“I don’t want to get married!” shouted Miranda. “I will not leave Wyndsong, or be chattel to some damned pompous fool of a man!”

“And I don’t want to wait to wed Adrian!” cried Amanda in a rare show of spirit. “If she doesn’t care if I’m the first to marry, then why should you?”

“Amanda!” cried her mother, surprised. “It is a family tradition that the eldest weds first. It has always been so, and it is only fair.” She turned to Miranda. “Of course you will marry, child. What else would you do?”

“I am the elder,” said Miranda proudly. “Am I not to inherit Wyndsong? Am I not to be the next lady of the manor? I need nothing else, and I certainly need no man! I have never met one besides Papa that I truly liked!”

“A respectable woman always needs either a husband or a father, Miranda. I will not always be here to protect you.” Thomas Dunham was uncomfortable with what he had to say next, but he went on. “You are my eldest child, Miranda, but you are not a son. You cannot inherit Wyndsong, because the patent for the manor states that if there is no direct male heir, the present lord of the manor must designate from among his male relatives. I did so years ago, when the doctors said that your mother should not have any more children. The next lord of Wyndsong Island will be from the Plymouth branch of the family. You and your sister can inherit my personal wealth, but you cannot inherit Wyndsong.”

“ Not inherit Wyndsong? ” Miranda was stunned. “You cannot simply give it to a stranger, Papa! Who is this cousin? Do we know him? Will he love Wyndsong as I do? No! No!”

“My heir is the younger son of my cousin, John Dunham. He has never been to Wyndsong. His name is Jared.”

“I will never let him have Wyndsong! Never, Papa! Never!”

“Miranda, control your temper,” said Dorothea Dunham in a firm voice. “You must marry. All young ladies of your class marry. Perhaps now, knowing that you cannot remain at Wyndsong, you will make a serious effort to find a proper husband.”

“There is no one I love,” came the icy reply.

“It is not necessary to love one’s betrothed husband, Miranda. Love often comes afterward.”

“Amanda loves Adrian,” her daughter said flatly.

“Yes, she does, and how fortunate that the object of her affections has offered for her, and is suitable. Were he not, my dear, then no amount of love would matter.”

“Did you love Papa when you were first married?” Miranda persisted, and Dorothea felt irritation rising. How typical of her elder child to pursue a subject to the point of embarrassment. Why did she not simply understand how society operated? Amanda did. Dorothea began to suspect, as she so often did when locked in combat with Miranda, that her child understood quite well but was deliberately being difficult.

“I did not know your papa when we were first betrothed. Your grandparents, however, having made me a suitable match, gave us time to get to know one another. By the time Papa and I were wed I was beginnning to love him, and not a day has passed in these last twenty years that I haven’t loved him more each day.”

“Did you not hate leaving Torwyck? It was your home.”

“No. Wyndsong was your father’s domain, and I wanted to be with him. Amanda will not regret leaving Wyndsong for Swynford Hall, will you, my love?”

“Oh no, Mama! I want to be where Adrian is!” was the instant reply.

“You see, Miranda? Once you have chosen a husband, where you live will matter little as long as you are with him.”

“No,” said Miranda obstinately. “It’s different for both of you. Neither of you grew up loving your home as I love Wyndsong, nor did you grow up believing you would inherit, as I have believed. I do love Wyndsong, every bit of it! I know it better than any of you. Wyndsong is mine , whatever the original patent may say, and I will never let one of those prim and priggish Plymouth Dunhams have it! I won’t!” Tears glistening diamond bright in her sea-green eyes, Miranda fled the room. Crying was not like her, and she was embarrassed to show such a feminine weakness.

“Oh, Mama! It is so unfair that Miranda is unhappy when I am so happy.” Amanda stood up, and hurried after her sister.

“Well, Thomas?” Dorothea Dunham gazed accusingly at her husband.

He shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t realize she felt so strongly, m’dear.”

“Oh, Thomas! You’ve spoiled Miranda to the point of overindulgence, although I can’t blame you. She has always been a difficult girl. And frankly, I have not given her the attention I should have. It has always been easier to let her go her own way. Now I see that by doing so we have made a grievous error. Miranda’s mind has been so filled with Wyndsong that there was room for nothing else.

“We must find a suitable husband for her, Thomas,” Dorothea Dunham went on. “Lord Swynford is perfect for Amanda, but he will not wait forever. I cannot understand why you will not allow the engagement to be announced now.” Her blue eyes were twinkling. “I went along with your decision about the eldest marrying first, and I certainly embroidered on it nicely, but I am at a loss as to when such a custom began in this family.”

She paused and then said, “What is it you have done, Thomas, that you feel requires amending before you can allow Amanda’s engagement to be announced?”

Thomas Dunham gave his wife an embarrassed grin. “You certainly know me well, m’dear. It’s the only thing I’ve ever kept from you. It seemed like such a good idea at the time, but … I must change my will before we announce Amanda’s betrothal to Lord Swynford.” He ran a big hand through his iron-gray hair, and his blue eyes looked troubled. “You see, Doro, when I made young Jared Dunham the next lord of the manor, I gave into a bit of personal vanity.

“My will makes Jared my heir, but my personal wealth goes to you and the girls. Jared cannot maintain the island without money, however, so there is a clause stating that if I die before the girls are married, and he is unwed, my wealth other than your widow’s portion will go to him providing he weds with one of my daughters, the choice to be his.

“It isn’t that I believe I’ll die soon, but I wanted my blood to run in the veins of the future lords of Wyndsong. As my will provided a generous dowry for the remaining twin, who was I harming? Now I must change my will if Amanda is to wed Lord Swynford, for now only Miranda remains available.”

“Oh, Thomas!” Dorothea put a plump, dimpled hand over her mouth, trying to hide her amusement. “And they say women are vain!” Then she said seriously, “Perhaps, my love, you have unwittingly solved our problem with Miranda. Why not make a match between her and Jared Dunham? Miranda would then be the first betrothed, your blood will run in the veins of the future lords of Wyndsong, and Amanda can wed Lord Swynford.”

“By God, Doro, you’re a shrewd one! Why didn’t I think of that? It is the perfect solution!” He slapped his thigh enthusiastically.

“It is perfect, provided that Jared Dunham is not already betrothed, wed, or entangled.”

“Well, I know he’s not betrothed or wed. I recently had a letter from his father asking me to obtain a dinner service of yellow Jasper Wedgwood for his wife’s birthday. He mentioned that his eldest son, Jonathan, had become a father for the third time, and said he despaired of Jared’s ever settling down. Jared is thirty now. This plan will please his father mightily. There is no time for me to send a letter ahead, for we sail in a few days, but I’ll send a message once we are home.”

“Then before we go home, you can announce Amanda’s engagement, at least privately, to our families. It would be a mistake not to do so, Tom. Old Lady Swynford wants Adrian wed, and with an heir soon. I fear that she will seek elsewhere if some sort of announcement is not made.”

“He’s a poor-spirited lad if he lets her,” remarked Tom Dunham.

“Thomas, he’s only twenty. And his mama having had him so late in life why, she was forty! is doting. If his father were still alive he would be in his seventies. Poor Adrian is just now becoming his own man, but he is honorable, and he truly loves Amanda.

“If an announcement is made to the families now,” she continued, “and then officially this winter, we may look to a wedding next June at St. George’s in Hanover Square.”

“What if Miranda refuses to cooperate, m’dear?”

“Miranda is a very intelligent girl, Tom, or so you are always telling me. Once she faces up to the fact that she cannot inherit Wyndsong, and that she must marry, she will see the wisdom of our plan. Only through Jared Dunham can she hope to become lady of the manor. I do not believe that she will allow some other woman to take what she feels is her rightful place.”

Dorothea Dunham smiled at her husband. “You’re an extremely sly old fox, Tom, and I love you.”

Later, alone with his thoughts, Thomas closed his eyes and tried to picture what Jared looked like. He hadn’t seen the young man for three years. Tall, yes, he was very tall, standing at least six feet three inches. Lean, with an oval, sculpted face that was more his mother’s family than Dunham. Dark hair, and … Good Lord! The boy had green eyes! Not the blue-green of Miranda’s but a funny bottle-green color.

There was a feeling of elegance about him, Tom recalled. He remembered that Jared had, in the height of London society, been dressed in staid, old Boston clothes. He chuckled. Jared had a commendable streak of independence!

At twenty-seven, when Thomas had last seen him, Jared had been a man of breeding, education, and manners. Now, at thirty, would a chit of seventeen appeal to him? Would Jared Dunham welcome the match, or would he prefer to make an alliance elsewhere?

If Thomas Dunham felt any cause for concern he kept it to himself, and instead went about the business of preparing to return to America. He booked his family passage on The Royal George . It would sail south following the trades, stopping first at the islands of Barbados and Jamaica, and then at the Carolinas, New York, and Boston.

Thomas had arranged with the ship’s owners for a special stopover off Orient Point, Long Island, so his yacht could pick the family up and ferry them around the Point to Wyndsong Island, two miles off the village of Oysterponds in Gardiner’s Bay.

The farewell dinner was held, and the happy announcement of young Lord Swynford’s engagement to Miss Amanda Dunham was made privately. The dowager Duchess of Worcester was the only outsider present. She was one of society’s most powerful arbiters. With the duchess a witness to Lord Swynford’s intentions, only death would be a completely acceptable excuse for either party’s crying off.

Dorothea had chosen to garb her twin daughters in identical gowns of palest pink muslin. Amanda, of course, looked utterly adorable, her full young breasts swelling provocatively above the low, square neckline, her dimpled arms white and soft beneath the little lace-edged puffed sleeves. The neckline, the sleeves, and hemline of the gowns were embroidered in a charming band of dainty deeper pink rosebuds. The gowns were ankle length, and the twins wore white silk stockings with heel-less black leather slippers. Their jewelry, carefully chosen by their mama, was suitably modest, little hoop earrings of pink coral beads, and matching pink coral bead necklaces. Amanda wore a wreath of pink rosebuds atop her yellow-gold ringlets, but here Miranda had drawn the line.

She detested the baby pink of her gown with its sweet, girlish embroidery. She knew that pale pink was the wrong color for her unusual coloring, but it was fashionable, and Dorothea insisted that they be fashionable. When, however, the suggestion had been made that she cut her long, heavy silver-gilt hair, Miranda had simply refused in a tone even her mother quailed at. Mama might gown her in ridiculous clothes, but she would not shear her like a sheep or dress her head in silly ringlets.

Since Dorothea forbade Miranda a more adult hairstyle such as a chignon, claiming it was not suitable for an unmarried girl, and since Miranda not wear childish braids, she was forced to wear her long hair loose, confined only by a simple pink silk ribbon.

Miranda’s only pleasure that evening was in her sister’s joy. The littler twin was radiant with happiness and Miranda knew she was truly in love with Adrian Swynford, a fine-looking, blond young man of medium height. She was happy and relieved to see that the young English nobleman returned his betrothed’s feelings, in equal measure, his arm protectively around Amanda, mischievously stealing kisses from her when he thought no one was looking. Amanda cast her swain adoring looks, hardly leaving his side all evening. This forced poor Miranda into close proximity with her three female cousins.

Caroline Dunham, who was also just finishing her first season, was a haughty young woman of but average beauty. Her forthcoming marriage to the Earl of Afton’s eldest son and heir had only increased her feelings of self-importance. She thought that her cousin Amanda had made a very poor match compared with her dear Percival. But then, cousin Amanda was only a colonial, and a baronet had undoubtedly seemed very grand to her.

Caroline’s two little sisters, Charlotte and Georgine, were gigglers. On the whole, Miranda preferred Caroline’s coldness to the younger ones’ silliness. She was at least spared the company of her boy cousins because the two eldest were deeply involved in talk of gaming at White’s horse auctions coming up at Tattersall’s and boxing matches scheduled at Gentleman Jackson’s gym. Besides, once they had discovered that their cousin Miranda was not about to play kiss and cuddle in the darkened library, they quickly lost interest in her.

Thomas Dunham and his cousin, Sir Francis Dunham, stood talking earnestly by the fire. Dorothea, Lady Millicent, and the dowager Duchess of Worcester sat chatting amiably on a satin settee. Miranda glanced about, seeking Adrian’s mama, and was surprised to find the lady at her elbow. Lady Swynford was a tiny old woman with bright, shrewd eyes under a purple turban. She smiled toothily at Miranda.

“So, my gel, your parents say they must marry you off before my son can have your sister. Have you some Yankee swain back in your America?”

“No, ma’am,” Miranda answered politely, beginning to dread what was coming.

“Humph!” sniffed Lady Swynford. “I foresee a long and exhausting courtship for my son.” She sighed affectedly. “Ah, how I long to dandle my grandchildren on my knee. I wonder if I shall live that long.”

“I suspect you shall, ma’am, and even longer,” answered Miranda. “The wedding is to be next June, after all.”

“And will you be married by then, my gel?” Lady Swynford eyed her archly.

“Whether I am or not, ma’am, I promise you that Mandy and Adrian will be wed on schedule.”

“You’re no milk-and-water miss, are you, my gel?”

“No, ma’am, I am not!”

Lady Swynford chuckled richly. “I wonder,” she said, “if they realize the woman they have in you.”

“Ma’am?” Miranda was puzzled.

“Nothing, child,” Lady Swynford replied in a more kindly tone, further confusing Miranda by patting her hand. “Why, I can see you don’t even know it yourself yet.”

The Dunhams sailed for America two days later, driving down from London to Portsmouth the day after the dinner party. The horses were changed four times. They stayed overnight in Portsmouth, putting up at the Fountain, and going aboard their ship the following morning to sail on the late-morning tide. The Dunhams stood at the rail for a time watching the coast of England recede, but then they went to their adjoining cabins. Amanda, gazing at the perfect round sapphire surrounded by diamonds that Adrian had given her, had become quite teary at the realization that she was leaving her beloved. Miranda cared little, for she had not really enjoyed her stay in London, and besides, she was returning home to her own love. Wyndsong.

The Royal George sailed south under fair skies and brisk winds. Captain Hardy declared he’d not seen such fine weather in all his days on the Atlantic. They arrived at Barbados in record time, swept across the Caribbean to Jamaica, and up the South Atlantic to Charleston. At each port they lost passengers, gained passengers, and discharged cargo.

Finally they arrived at New York. The ship stayed overnight unloading cargo, taking on fresh water and foodstuffs, and being loaded with cargo for England. The following morning, a bright blue and gold October Day, The Royal George sailed up the East River into the Long Island Sound. They would be home by the following day.

Just before dawn on the day they would see Wyndsong, Miranda woke Amanda.

“It isn’t even light yet,” protested the sleepy, smaller twin.

“Don’t you want to see the sunrise over Orient Point?” Miranda pulled the covers away. “Get up, Mandy! Get up, or I’ll tickle you to death!”

“I think I’m going to prefer Adrian as a bedfellow to you, sister dear,” muttered Amanda, climbing reluctantly out of her warm nest. “Ohhh! This floor is like ice! You’re absolutely heartless, Miranda!”

Miranda raised a winged dark eyebrow in surprise as she handed Amanda her lace-trimmed, white muslin undergarments. “Prefer Adrian as a bedfellow? I am not sure if I am startled by your want of delicacy, or simply shocked, Mandy.”

“I may be younger, smaller, and slower than you, sister, but my emotions are well developed. After all, I know what love is. You do not. No one has ever touched your heart. Hand me my gown, will you?”

Amanda stepped into the high-waisted, puff-sleeved gown of pink sarcenet, and turned her back so Miranda might button her up. She could not see the perplexed look on Miranda’s face. Miranda felt very strange. She did not begrudge her sister happiness, but she had never not been first at anything. She quickly composed her face and, bending down, picked up her paisley shawl.

“Better take yours too, twin. It will be cold on deck.”

They came out onto the deck just as faint color was beginning to show in the east. The water was black and mirror-smooth. There was a very faint breeze in the sails, and as they stood facing the bow of the ship, they saw the coast of Long Island to their right, through the gray mists of early morning. On their left, but farther away, the Connecticut coast lay shrouded in fog.

“Home,” breathed Miranda, hugging her shawl around her slim shoulders.

“It really means that much to you, doesn’t it?” said Mandy quietly. “Mother and Father are wrong, I fear. You will never love anyone as you love Wyndsong. It’s as if you are part of the land itself.”

“I knew you would understand!” Miranda smiled. “We have always understood each other. Oh, Mandy, I cannot bear to think that this cousin of Father’s will inherit it someday. It should be mine!”

Amanda Dunham squeezed her twin’s hand sympathetically. There was nothing she could do to change the situation, and nothing would soothe Miranda’s troubled spirit.

“So this is where you two minxes have gotten to, and at such an early hour, too.” Thomas Dunham flung his arms around his two daughters.

“Good morning, Papa!” they cried.

“And are my girls anxious to be home? Even you now, Amanda?”

They both nodded enthusiastically. Just then a brisk breeze suddenly sprang up and the remnants of fog disappeared. The sunrise spilled over the bluffs and dappled the green-blue waters with gold. The sky forecast a lovely, clear day.

“There’s the Horton’s Point lighthouse!” said Miranda excitedly.

“Then we’re almost home, darlings!” laughed Dorothea Dunham, coming out onto the deck. “Good morning, my daughters!”

“Good morning, Mama,” they called in cheerful unison.

“Good morning, m’dear.” Thomas gave her a loving kiss, which she returned.

The ship’s crew scurried around them, and Captain Hardy joined the Dunhams. “We’ll come around Orient Point and anchor toward the bayside, so your yacht can come about more easily. Will your people be long? There’s a good breeze with us, and if it keeps up I might make Boston by late tomorrow.”

“My yacht should be standing off Orient now.”

“Very good, sir. I appreciate your cooperation, and may I say it’s been a great pleasure having you and your lady and daughters aboard my ship.” He turned to Amanda. “I hope we’ll have the pleasure of taking you back to England next summer, Miss Amanda.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said Amanda blushing prettily, “but it is not yet official.” She fingered her ring.

“Then I shall not offer my felicitations until it is,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye. “I have a wife and daughter myself, and I know how important it is to you ladies to have all the proper amenities observed.”

“Sail ho!” came the cry from the crow’s nest.

“Can you make her out?” called back the captain.

“Baltimore clipper, sir. American flag.”

“Name and port?”

“She’s the Dream Witch out of Boston.”

“Hmmm.” The captain thought for a moment and then ordered, “Keep your present course, Mr. Smythe.”

“Aye, sir!”

They remained at the rail watching as the clipper made its way toward them. Suddenly a puff of whitish smoke came from the other vessel, followed by a dull boom that echoed across the water.

“By God! They’ve put a shot across our bow!” Captain Hardy was incredulous.

“ Royal George! Stand to, and prepare to be boarded!”

“W-why, the insolence of them!” sputtered the captain.

“Are they pirates?” Miranda was fascinated, but Amanda shrank back next to her mother.

“No, miss, just the ragtag Yankee Navy being childish,” said the captain. Remembering his passengers’ nationality, he looked uncomfortable. “Begging your pardon.” But the Englishman seethed. He more than outgunned the small, elegant ship now slipping alongside his, but he carried valuable cargo, and passengers. He knew full well that this was simply a retaliatory attack being carried out in revenge for some piece of idiocy committed by the Royal Navy. His owners had been quite specific in their orders. Unless life or cargo was threatened he was not to fire his guns.

The clipper’s crew threw its grappling hooks into The Royal George .

“Make no resistance,” called Captain Hardy to his crew. “No need for alarm, ladies and gentlemen,” he reassured his passengers, who were now all milling around on deck.

When the two ships were safely locked together, a very tall, dark officer stepped aboard The Royal George from the American ship. The gentleman spoke to Captain Hardy, his voice low. At first they could not hear what he was saying, but then Captain Hardy’s voice rose. “There are most certainly no impressed men aboard my vessel, sir! I do not traffic in captives, American or otherwise!”

“Then you will not mind assembling your crew for inspection, sir,” the well-modulated voice replied.

“I bloody well do mind, but I’ll do it to end this stupidity! Bosun! Pipe the crew topside!”

“Aye, sir!”

Thomas Dunham had been staring hard at the American naval captain, and now a broad smile lit his features. What a coincidence! He began to push through the assembled passengers, waving his silver-headed cane as he went, and calling out, “Jared! Jared Dunham!”

In the rigging of the clipper a sharpshooter placed there to oversee the decks saw movement in the crowd below. He saw a man push out onto the open deck and rush toward his captain, waving what appeared to be a glinting weapon. Being a hothead and a glory seeker, he waited for no order. Instead, he drew a bead on his target, and fired.

Thomas Dunham clutched at his chest as the echo of the shot rang out over the water. He had a look of stunned surprise on his smiling face as he glanced down and saw blood seeping between his fingers. Then he fell forward. For a moment no one moved, and there was complete silence. Then the English captain broke the spell, rushing forward, and bending down to seek for a pulse. There was none. He looked up, horrified. “He’s dead.”

“ Thomas! ” Dorothea Dunham fainted and Amanda collapsed with her.

The face of the American captain had turned dark with fury. “Hang that man!” he shouted, pointing up. “I gave specific orders that there would be no shooting!”

What happened next happened very quickly. From out of the crowd a tall girl wth silver-blond hair launched herself at the American. “ Murderer! ” she shrieked, pummeling him. “You have killed my father! You have killed my father!” He tried to protect himself from her blows, catching at her arms.

“Please, miss, it was an accident. A terrible accident, but the culprit is already punished. See!” He pointed to his ship where the unfortunate sharpshooter was already hanging from the rigging, a frightening lesson to others who might be tempted to disobey orders. Harsh discipline was the law of the sea.

“How many other deaths are you responsible for, sir?” The hate emanating from her icy green-blue eyes shocked him. She was so painfully young to hate so fiercely. A strange thought flitted into his mind. Would she love as violently as she hated?

He had little time to wonder. She whirled away from him, turned, and whirled back as quickly. He felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder. For a moment his vision blurred, and with surprise he realized that he’d been stabbed. The blood was seeping through his jacket, and his shoulder hurt like the very devil.

“ Who the hell is that wildcat? ” he demanded as the English captain gently disarmed her.

“This is Mistress Miranda Dunham,” said Captain Hardy. “It is her father, Thomas Dunham, the lord of the manor of Wyndsong Island, that your man shot.”

“Tom Dunham of Wyndsong? Good God! He is my cousin!” The American knelt and gently turned the dead man over. “Dear Lord! Cousin Tom!” Horror passed across his face. Then Jared Dunham looked up. “There are two daughters,” he said. “Where is the other?”

The surrounding crowd parted, and Captain Hardy pointed to two prostrate women being ministered to by other female passengers. “His wife, and Miss Amanda.”

Jared Dunham stood up. He was pale, but his voice held authority. “Transfer them and their luggage to my ship, Captain. And the body of my cousin as well. I will return them to Wyndsong.” He sighed deeply. “I last saw my cousin in Boston three years ago. I’ve never been to the island, and he asked me if I didn’t think it was time I came to see it. I said no, that I expected him to live to a ripe old age. How macabre that I should first see my inheritance while bringing home my cousin’s body.”

“Your inheritance?” Captain Hardy was clearly puzzled.

Jared Dunham gave a bitter laugh. “My inheritance, sir. An inheritance I sought to avoid. Before you lies the body of the late Lord of Wyndsong Manor. Before you stands the new Lord of Wyndsong Manor. I was my cousin’s heir. Is it not ironic?”

Miranda had been standing weeping silently since she had been disarmed. Now the full impact of his words penetrated her shocked, numbed mind. This man! This arrogant man who was responsible for her father’s death was the Jared Dunham who was to take Wyndsong away from her!!

“ No! ” she shouted, and both men turned startled faces to her. “ No! ” she repeated. “ You cannot have Wyndsong! I will not let you have Wyndsong!” and, hysterical, she began once again to flay wildly at him.

He was weak from his wound, which was already aching like Hades. He was somewhat in shock himself, and his patience was just about at an end, yet he heard the pain in her young voice. He had obviously taken more than her father from her, although he did not fully understand. “Wildcat,” he said regretfully, “I am truly sorry,” and then his fist made contact with her little chin, and reaching out swiftly with his good arm he caught her as she fell. For a moment he gazed down at her tear-stained little face, and in that moment Jared Dunham was lost.

His own first mate leapt forward, and he transferred his unconscious burden to the man with a sad reluctance. “Take her aboard the Dream Witch , Frank,” and then he turned to Captain Hardy. “Do you think she’ll ever forgive me, sir?” he asked.

“That, sir,” said the Englishman with a half smile, “will depend on the size of her bruise, I fear.”