“No, I meant how I can hear your smile before I see it. We must have spent far too much time together.” I pulled up a corner of my mouth.
“I wouldn't saytoomuch. But a fair amount, yes.” He chuckled, then leaned closer to me. “Tell me, how did your conversation with Miss Jones go?” he asked secretly.
My sigh didn’t quite illustrate my feelings, but it definitely helped prepare him. “In some ways very well, in others very poorly. I will say this, though.” I moved my knife over slightly as I paused. “I think she might be the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”
“And here I thought that position belonged to me,” he said with a dramatic frown.
I couldn’t help my laugh. “It is interesting how boring your interests are,” I teased.
He began moving his silverware, too, and our hands accidentally collided. Only our pinkies touched, but the effect was powerful and immediate. Neither of us moved. What was this undeniable pull I felt toward Mr. Ashby?
He is a good friend, that is all.I had to repeat that to myself several times before I was able to pull my hand away. Yet another moment we would pretend never happened, I supposed.
Just then, Graham entered the dining room and I straightened at the sight of him. Guilt roiled in my gut. Then Eliza followed him to their seats, and another emotion joined the other dozen complicated ones. She smiled at me as she sat. Graham nodded toward me and then at Mr. Ashby in greeting.
After my conversation with Eliza, the need to regroup and refocus my intentions toward Graham became evident. Not only did I want my Graham back, she wanted his mind to be whole. Only then would this tangled web of emotions be sorted out.
Mary Bowers sat at the head of the table, Mr. and Mrs. Weiss to her right, Captain Whitmore at the other end of the table. Again, Mr. Weiss began our dinner with a prayer and we ate after saying Amen.
“Mr. Ashby had a good look at our books today,” Mr. Weiss said to Mrs. Bowers. “He had a few suggestions to discuss with you.”
Mrs. Bowers looked at Mr. Ashby. “I’m all ears. How can we improve things?” She leaned onto her clasped hands, giving him her undivided attention.
“I don’t want to ruin your dinner. If you’d rather discuss this elsewhere, we can do so,” Mr. Ashby said.
“Perhaps it is a bit ill-mannered to talk business at the dinner table. But I’m sure you can tell we don’t conform to society here.” She smiled at him, then held out a hand to show him she was ready to hear what he had to say.
“I enjoy some deviation from etiquette. Society can be stifling.” He straightened in his seat and began. “As you’ve said, sugar has decreased in profitability for several years now. I believe that’s the biggest problem. I suggest investing in something else. Cotton succeeds in the United States and other Caribbean islands, so that has potential. Another option would be to use theMaelstromfor business. Since Captain Whitmore works for the benefit of the mission, the crew can take shipments of sugar to Britain instead of chartering other ships. It will increase efficiency.” He glanced at Captain Whitmore, who was listening attentively. “Of course, I know that goes against theMaelstrom’s goal to rid the seas of pirates. But patronizing such an effort is draining money from the mission.”
Mr. Ashby speaking with precision and calculated indifference made him seem a true professional. He’d told me once that being immersed in numbers relaxed him, while his mind was exercised.
Mrs. Bowers nodded. “You’re more than a pretty face, after all. Thank you for taking the time to evaluate the budget with such accuracy. I had been considering other crops for some time. Cotton seems the best option. Would you help me look into making the switch? I’m not sure how feasible it would be to turn a sugar mill into a cotton mill.”
“I will help however I can.” When Mr. Ashby met my eyes, I had to check my expression. I admitted to myself I found it attractive that he was able to provide such a service to the mission. Hopefully that wasn’t written on my face. I averted my eyes and concentrated on my plate once more.
The rest of the table had engaged in other discussions, and I wondered especially what captivated Graham and Eliza. Captain Whitmore was speaking animatedly, and they were watching him with amusement.
When dinner ended, we went to the drawing room and I made an effort to be near Graham when we gathered to play cards. I suggested we play a game that we used to play at Edleroy. It was a strategy I’d created with Melody three years ago, to make Graham fall for me again. It had worked back then, reminding him of our summers together; perhaps it would again.
I explained the game, and we began. Graham had always been good at games; he understood the rules quickly and he was a master at strategy. His innate ability did not fail him now. He won three rounds in a row. We all threw down our cards in frustration.
“I thought I would finally have a chance to beat you,” I complained. “Do you truly not remember anything?”
Graham grinned. Then he turned serious, though his eyes danced with humor. “I do feel a sense of familiarity in this moment…is it just because I often win at cards?”
We all laughed at his arrogance, then played another round. Eliza won this time, and she stood to bow after her victory. We applauded her while Graham pouted in jest. I smiled at him, remembering moments like this at Edleroy. We were always laughing and teasing each other, Cameron often the target of the joke. Then games became even more fun when Melody joined us. The four of us had such a good time together, I’d wished it would never end. Then Graham left.
It was a shame that every happy memory of Graham was tinged in sadness. His presence in my life brought me the greatest joy, but also caused my deepest sorrows. That was a sign of true love, wasn’t it? The person we love the deepest can hurt us the most. That paradox sometimes made me question why anyone ever loved at all. But the happy memories were worth all the sad ones.
I wondered how Graham felt with no memories whatsoever?
When everyone decided to be done for the night, I took Graham aside. “Will you spend the day with me tomorrow? I can help you in any task you have been assigned.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Ye’ll harvest cane with me?” He looked me up and down. “I’m not sure ye could do what’s required. ’Tis hard labor, Miss Findlay.”
I nodded resolutely. “I can handle it.”
A faint smile graced his face. “Then I’ll meet ye at dawn in the south fields,” he said before heading to his bedroom.
