Embrace the Day by Susan Wiggs

people clustered around the wharves looked different in subtle ways from those she'd left behind. The men wore plain shirts and breeches, and the few women she saw were garbed in homespun. There was a sturdiness about these people, a certain assurance in the way they bore themselves, an aura of hope, that set them apart from Londoners. Genevieve stared curiously at the Negroes, whose coffee-colored skin and tightly curling hair were unfamiliar to her. Suddenly, she looked forward to joining this assortment of people, to being a friend and neighbor to some of them.
    She disembarked with the rest of the women, unsure of what to do. She approached Mr. Piggot, who was speaking agitatedly to Mr. Ratcliffe, the ship's merchant.
    "… couldn't have foreseen this," Piggot was saying.
    "That doesn't matter. It's up to you to come up with the money."
    Genevieve cleared her throat. "What's the problem, Mr. Piggot?"
    His eyes flicked nervously toward the ship's merchant. "Never mind, girl. I'll take care of—"
    "My passage hasn't been paid, has it?"
    "No, miss," Ratcliffe said.
    She whirled on Piggot. "You had more than enough money. What have you done with it?" A sickening dullness settled on her when she recognized the look on his face. The defensive thrust of his jaw, the narrowed eyes. She'd seen it many times in her father. The bloody sod.
    Coldly, she said, "You gambled it away on the ship, didn't you?" His lack of response confirmed it. "I suspect Mr. Culpeper will not take this kindly. Mr. Ratcliffe, as soon as my husband arrives, he'll take care of my debt."
    Now both men looked uncomfortable. For the first time, Genevieve saw genuine regret in Henry Piggot.
    "Culpeper's dead," he mumbled.
    "What?"
    "I'm told he succumbed to swamp fever a fortnight ago."
    Genevieve shook her head in wonder. "Bloody hell. I'm a widow before I was ever a wife." She couldn't mourn for a man she'd never known. All she felt was a sense of amazement at the absurdity of her situation.
    "I'm sure he left an estate," she said to Mr. Ratcliffe. "Since we were married at the time of his death, he must have left me—"
    "There's more to tell," Piggot said, growing more ill at ease by the moment. He took out his ivory toothpick and fingered it distractedly. "Cornelius Culpeper was a good man, a kindly man. But he was irresponsible. He left a mountain of debts. Everything he had has been seized except for a small farm in the West. I myself am one of Culpeper's creditors. I shall have to sell the Albemarle farm in order to recoup my loss."
    Genevieve sat down on a crate. Her shoulders drooped. "Some bloody fix I'm in now."
    Captain Chauncey Button approached them, his deeply creased face thoughtful. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Culpeper," he said to Genevieve.
    She gave him a thin smile. He was probably more sorry than she; it was to him that the fare was owed. Chauncey Button didn't have long to worry. A few moments later he was smiling and watching Roarke Adair count the fare into his hand.
    Genevieve gripped his arm, wavering between relief and outrage. "I won't be beholden to you, Roarke Adair," she vowed.
    He nodded. "Exactly. Let's just call this a payment for my past mistakes."
    She frowned at him. "How did you suddenly come into so much money? That first night we met, you hadn't two coppers to rub together."
    Roarke said nothing. But, briefly, his eyes flicked to Prudence, who was standing beside their bags. In that instant, Genevieve understood. She was furious with herself for ever feeling sorry for Roarke Adair.
    "It was the Brimsbys, wasn't it?" she demanded softly. "They settled money on you to marry Prudence."
    He looked so angry that she stepped back. Anger was something she hadn't seen in him before. Genevieve stared at him, determined not to flinch if he hit her.
    "You're not to speak of this again," Roarke said, cautioning her in a low voice. "Not ever. I mean to do right by Prudence, to be a good husband to her. Where's the fault in that?"
    Without