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Ravenna Evans #2
The Bayman's Bride
Set aboard a sailing ship in the 1790s, The Bayman's Bride is the tale of a formidable Spanish captain who finds himself attracted to the Englishwoman he's been sent to abduct - a woman who is his employer's wife.
Sample, Chapter
London, May, 1795
Rowen was at the bookseller's when he first came around.
Her maid described him as a Spaniard - a dark-complected man, pleasant enough in face and manner, but with an accent so thick she'd scarcely understood a word he'd uttered.
"'Twas something about m'lord," the maid told her, putting the letter in Rowen's hand. "Said he's coming back in two days."
Rowen looked at Hester in astonishment. "Bennett is here?"
"No, the Spaniard is coming, not Lord Marlowe." With her usual perturbed expression, Hester shook her head, hands gravitating naturally to her hips as she regarded her mistress. "He'll be here to fetch you on Thursday...or at least that's what I thought he said."
"And he mentioned Bennett? Bennett sent him?"
"Well, open the letter and see, why don't you?"
So she did. With trembling, awkward fingers, Rowen unfolded the paper to find her husband's flawlessly written hand. In the corner, just as she'd expected, she saw not her first name nor the endearment of "wife," but a cool and formal address of To Lady Marlowe.
She shouldn't have read another word.
But of course, she had to. She'd not seen Bennett in nearly a year. Surely his letter would reveal his location, his reasons for leaving...because he'd gone away, you see. Bennett had courted her, pursued and proposed to her, and then, in an act that can only be described as premeditated cruelty, he'd gathered up his well-traveled baggage and left. On their wedding night . He'd not even consummated their nuptial vows. He'd boarded his carriage without so much as a parting kiss and journeyed to New Spain. She'd heard nothing more.
Now with his letter finally in her grasp, Rowen skimmed down the page with impatience until she found what she the Bay Settlement on the Bay of Honduras. Between the Belize and Sibun Rivers, he'd taken up lodgings at a logwood camp where "communications with Jamaica are so infrequent as to make correspondence with you all but impossible."
How convenient. She wanted to tear up the letter at his indifference. Still she forced herself to read on about how, through a Scottish settler, Bennett had learned of a city in the jungle near Belize Town. "It's a ruin," he wrote, "similar to those in Mexico City, but smaller, much more elaborately decorated. Carvings and idols cover its walls, so I've hired some workers to remove these treasures. I've sent one man to collect you forthwith, as well as to buy a ship for transport. This man will escort you to our encampment, at which I'll be waiting for you with utmost expectancy. Please abide my wishes, Lady Marlowe. Give Santiago no trouble."
So the Spaniard's name was Santiago. Rowen said it aloud, and Hester confirmed it right away. "Santiago de Escalante, m'lady. Made me repeat it three times, he did." Taking the hateful letter from her hand, Hester tossed it in the fire. "What will you do, then? Will you receive him? Or would you have me suggest where he put his ship?"
Angrily, Rowen pictured her husband - but no, not her husband. She'd try to forget that little technicality, although she recalled everything else about the man. The particular shade of his dark blond hair, his close-set eyes the color of sage, Bennett had been attractive, true, but he'd carried himself with the poise of an ostler or a potato farmer. He'd been vastly intimidating, and yet his manner had been so painfully reserved, so genuinely shy, she'd often felt sorry for him.
Not anymore.
(End sample)
Sample, Chapter
London, May, 1795
Rowen was at the bookseller's when he first came around.
Her maid described him as a Spaniard - a dark-complected man, pleasant enough in face and manner, but with an accent so thick she'd scarcely understood a word he'd uttered.
"'Twas something about m'lord," the maid told her, putting the letter in Rowen's hand. "Said he's coming back in two days."
Rowen looked at Hester in astonishment. "Bennett is here?"
"No, the Spaniard is coming, not Lord Marlowe." With her usual perturbed expression, Hester shook her head, hands gravitating naturally to her hips as she regarded her mistress. "He'll be here to fetch you on Thursday...or at least that's what I thought he said."
"And he mentioned Bennett? Bennett sent him?"
"Well, open the letter and see, why don't you?"
So she did. With trembling, awkward fingers, Rowen unfolded the paper to find her husband's flawlessly written hand. In the corner, just as she'd expected, she saw not her first name nor the endearment of "wife," but a cool and formal address of To Lady Marlowe.
She shouldn't have read another word.
But of course, she had to. She'd not seen Bennett in nearly a year. Surely his letter would reveal his location, his reasons for leaving...because he'd gone away, you see. Bennett had courted her, pursued and proposed to her, and then, in an act that can only be described as premeditated cruelty, he'd gathered up his well-traveled baggage and left. On their wedding night . He'd not even consummated their nuptial vows. He'd boarded his carriage without so much as a parting kiss and journeyed to New Spain. She'd heard nothing more.
Now with his letter finally in her grasp, Rowen skimmed down the page with impatience until she found what she the Bay Settlement on the Bay of Honduras. Between the Belize and Sibun Rivers, he'd taken up lodgings at a logwood camp where "communications with Jamaica are so infrequent as to make correspondence with you all but impossible."
How convenient. She wanted to tear up the letter at his indifference. Still she forced herself to read on about how, through a Scottish settler, Bennett had learned of a city in the jungle near Belize Town. "It's a ruin," he wrote, "similar to those in Mexico City, but smaller, much more elaborately decorated. Carvings and idols cover its walls, so I've hired some workers to remove these treasures. I've sent one man to collect you forthwith, as well as to buy a ship for transport. This man will escort you to our encampment, at which I'll be waiting for you with utmost expectancy. Please abide my wishes, Lady Marlowe. Give Santiago no trouble."
So the Spaniard's name was Santiago. Rowen said it aloud, and Hester confirmed it right away. "Santiago de Escalante, m'lady. Made me repeat it three times, he did." Taking the hateful letter from her hand, Hester tossed it in the fire. "What will you do, then? Will you receive him? Or would you have me suggest where he put his ship?"
Angrily, Rowen pictured her husband - but no, not her husband. She'd try to forget that little technicality, although she recalled everything else about the man. The particular shade of his dark blond hair, his close-set eyes the color of sage, Bennett had been attractive, true, but he'd carried himself with the poise of an ostler or a potato farmer. He'd been vastly intimidating, and yet his manner had been so painfully reserved, so genuinely shy, she'd often felt sorry for him.
Not anymore.
(End sample)
338 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 4, 2011
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
July 29, 2012
Liked this one a little more than the first but was thinking it was a continuation of the Last Killiney & it's a different story from another angle....pretty good. However Goodreads has this wrong.....The Bayman's Bride is actually part 2 in the series....not #3
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