Burning Bright by Melissa McShane

Author:Melissa McShane [McShane, Melissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781620074008
Publisher: Curiosity Quills Press
Published: 2016-08-15T04:00:00+00:00

Midshipman St. Maur escorted Elinor into Hamilton the next morning, Stratford being occupied with ship’s business. Four of Athena’s crew rowed them across the Great Sound between Ireland Island and what Elinor couldn’t help thinking of as the mainland. It was a long journey for the ship’s boat, and Elinor felt some pity for the men, though they seemed to think nothing of it.

They hired an ancient carriage to take them the rest of the way, a poorly sprung contraption that smelled of damp, rotting wood, with tattered leather and seat cushions hard as rock. It was a silent ride, with both of them looking out the carriage windows, Elinor because she was fascinated with the sheer variety of plants and trees in all shades of vibrant green, St. Maur because he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. After interacting with him some half a dozen times on the Atlantic voyage, Elinor had realized the midshipman was in the throes of an adolescent passion, which changed her feelings about him from annoyance to amused pity. She regretted it, a little, that Ramsay had thrown them together today, but perhaps an increased proximity would help the young man overcome his unrequited love.

Hamilton was a beautiful town nestled into the curve of one of the blue and sand-gold bays that Elinor was beginning, to her dismay, to take for granted. The buildings were tropical, blindingly white stone with large windows to receive the breeze blowing off the harbor, but the construction, the wide streets laid out in straight lines, the regularity of the roofs and doors, were all modern British design. It was a young, exuberant, thriving town, its streets thronged with men and women, mostly colored, and Elinor had to stop herself staring at them, wondering how many were free and how many slave.

She slid the carriage window open and fanned some of the sea breeze toward her neck. The sun was not terribly hot that morning, but the day was humid and the air clung to her like a damp second skin.

St. Maur muttered something. “I beg your pardon?” Elinor said, leaning forward.

“I said we’re in Pembroke Parish,” St. Maur said. “Thought that might be interesting to you.”

“It is, Mr. St. Maur. I wonder if the founder could be related to me.”

“Named after the third Earl of Pembroke.”

“Really? Then probably not. My family is old but not titled. You seem to know a great deal about it.”

“I was born here.”

“Mr. St. Maur! I had no idea! I don’t suppose you have leave to visit your parents?”

St. Maur had gone increasingly red during the course of this conversation. “Not today, miss.”

“Born in Bermuda. How exciting!”

He shrugged and went back to looking out the window. “I suppose.”

Elinor concealed a smile behind her hand. They were passing through a cool, shaded alley of cedar trees, lined in places with broken stone walls that were waist-high to the people strolling along, none of whom seemed inclined to hurry their journey. She felt a little indolent herself.

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