Free My Bonny Heart (Pirate's Progeny Book 1) by Synclair Stafford

accustomed to in jail.
    A lone portrait hung above the fireplace of a wispy-haired lad with terriers playing about his feet—a typical aristocratic painting. Fine porcelain plates and vases adorned the mantle and side tables. A tea service sat on another table in the corner.
    Anne tapped her fingers on her leg, wondering how long she would be forced to wait for her hostess. Patience was not one of her virtues, but having no knowledge of Elizabeth Browning personally, she was able to keep her impatience at bay.
    A grandfather clock chimed from somewhere in the interior of the home when the door to the parlor clicked open, as if announcing the woman on cue.
    A tall and regal, older woman with piles of gray hair stacked upon her head strolled through the entrance. She wore a deep violet damask gown with a low cut bodice that could have wriggled a few eyebrows at any soiree. Anne’s brows rose seconds before she remembered her manners. This was not a tavern in Tortuga.
    She stood, gave the lady her brightest smile, and held out her hand. “How nice to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Browning. I’m Anne Morgan.”
    Crinkles at the corners of the lady’s turquoise eyes appeared as she smiled, reaching for Anne’s hand and squeezing it. “Of course, Anne. I’ve been expecting you.” She gave a small tug on Anne’s hand, sat on the settee, and patted the space beside her. “Come, have a seat,” she chuckled. “And, please, call me Elizabeth.”
    Laugh lines were in the corners of Elizabeth’s mouth, as if she’d done quite a bit of chuckling in her day. Anne liked that about her immediately.
    Not sure how much the woman knew, she decided to approach gently. “William Cormac sent me to you. He suggested you might have some clothing you wanted to be rid of?”
    Placing a hand above her heart, she sighed. “Oh my, yes. I’ve six children, you know, all married and on their own now. My eldest daughter, God rest her soul, passed away giving birth to her seventh child.”
    “I am deeply sorry.” Anne watched as Elizabeth patted her hand, as if Anne were the one needing condolences.
    “Thank you, dear. It’s been three years, and I miss her every day.” Sizing up Anne’s gown—wrinkled, smudged with dirt and dust—Elizabeth nodded. “Aye, you shall need clothing. I’ve so many dresses, undergarments, coats, riding habits, that were my Lenore’s . . . they should fit you quite nicely. The entire wardrobe shipped direct from London, I might add.”
    Momentarily speechless, Anne throttled a gasp. She was to receive her daughter’s entire, expensive wardrobe? She couldn’t contain the surprise in her voice.
    “Oh, I couldn’t . . .”
    “Nonsense,” Elizabeth cut her off, patting her hand, again. “Who else would wear them, dear? I’ve five sons, all of them off in England.” She implored her with her eyes. “Please allow me to give them to you. Cormac said you were in need of an entire ensemble, and I just happen to have one to give you.”
    “Oh, but might I pay you for them?” She couldn’t just take the woman’s clothes. Not such an expensive gift, with no expectation to purchase them. The generosity of it was indescribable.
    “Do not even suggest it.” She gazed at her with narrowed eyes. “I owe William for filling up my store room when my James died. Out of the kindness of his heart, he stepped in while I waited to hear the terms of my husband’s will. It’s the least I could do for his niece.” The older lady smiled then. Hope lay in her eyes with the opportunity to repay her friend, and Anne’s Uncle . It made perfect sense, now, that her father had suggested she be referred to as his niece to keep her true identity hidden.
    Elizabeth stood and turned an open palm to her. “Come, I’ll show you the way. I do hope you’ve brought some muscle to help with the trunks. If not, I’ll have the rest sent over straight away on the morrow.”
    Anne allowed the lady to drag her from the settee