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“It is urgent. I must see you alone.”
Drake nodded, then gave Alex a withering look. “Wait here for me.”
It was an order. How she would have loved to disobey him, to show him how little his authority meant to her. But her curiosity as to the cause of her father’s distress won out. She nodded. “I will wait.”
Satisfied that she would do as she said, Drake went inside to speak with Geoffrey.
Alex paced back and forth on the balcony. It seemed forever until Drake returned. When he did, his expression was dark.
“Drake? What is it?” Instinctively she knew that the news was bad.
“Go and get your things, Alexandria. Our plans have changed. We sail for England at once.”
Alex’s eyes opened wide with disbelief. “Now? Today?”
“Yes. Immediately.” He turned to go inside.
“Drake.” Her voice stopped him. “Please. Tell me what has happened.”
He turned back, knowing he could not lie to her, knowing he had no choice but to tell her.
“An invasion of Upper Canada is imminent,” he said in a somber tone. “Word just reached us that on the eighteenth of June, America declared war on England.”
Chapter 14
ALEX WAS STILL SHAKING. If the first half of the day had been a dream, the remainder had been a nightmare.
Precisely three hours after Drake told her of the war’s onset, La Belle Illusion had set sail for England. Alex’s new husband had left the mansion immediately following his announcement to assist with the preparations. The crew’s festivities had ceased at once, every man returning to the ship.
Alex had quickly assembled several of her new gowns, all of her undergarments, and a few sundry items from her dressing table. At the last moment she had decided to pack the delicate ivory silk nightgown that had been laid out for her wedding night. It was certainly a luxury, but having spent countless nights at sea clad in a man’s shirt, she felt entirely justified in packing it.
Her father had barely said good-bye. Moments after Drake’s departure he had left to see Major General Brock.
“Be well and safe, Alexandria,” he had told her as he awaited his carriage.
“And you, Father,” she had replied softly, praying that the war would end quickly and with minimal bloodshed.
Then he was gone.
Alex and her luggage had been delivered to the docks just after two o’clock. She barely recog
nized the crew of Drake’s brig, so intent were they on their jobs. Gone were the jovial men who had laughed and teased their way to Canada with her. Now the air about them crackled with tension; their taut muscles were strained and sweating as they silently prepared for the treacherous voyage home. But Alex had expected no less. England was again at war.
Thomas Greer had been squatting at the opening to the hold when Alex climbed aboard. Peering down into the square pit, he wiped sweat from his brow with a tanned forearm and stood.
“That was the last of it, Cochran,” he called down. “Time to ready the sails.”
Cochran’s affirmative answer echoed onto the main deck, and for the first time in hours, Thomas stretched, ready to begin his next task. He started when he saw Alex.
“Miss Alex … I mean, my lady … Mrs. Barrett…” The poor boy was at a total loss.
In spite of her depleted emotional state Alex smiled. “It’s good to see you, too, Thomas. And nothing has changed. Miss Alex will do fine.”
He looked relieved. “I’m real glad yer back with us, ma’am.” He scanned the deck, his mind already on the work ahead of him. “I ’ope you understand … there’s a lot t’ do and—”
Alex waved away his apology. “I’ll be fine, Thomas. Do what you must.”
“Would you like me t’ carry yer bags t’ your cabin?” he offered.
