The Creole Princess by Beth White Read Free Book Online Page A

British here in Mobile in order to keep his property. He tried to stop Uncle Guillaume from going to New Orleans, knowing the revolt was pointless and dangerous.” He shrugged. “It turns out, he was right.”
    Politics had never interested Lyse, except when her family was directly affected. But this young Spaniard had awakened something . . . restless within her. “So are you going to marry Daisy?”
    He heaved a moody sigh. “Of course I want to. But the major doesn’t particularly like me. And I can almost understand why.”One side of his mouth curled up. “My prospects aren’t particularly bright.”
    “Why don’t you ask Grandpére to teach you the shipping business? You could be a great help to him.”
    “I don’t want to sit in an office running accounts. I want to be outdoors on my boat, working with my hands.” He paused. “Besides, Daisy is young. She thinks she wants me, but she also thinks her father is going to give in and give us his blessing. I’m afraid we may have to go away if we want to be together.” He scowled. “Don’t you tell her I said all this, Lyse.”
    He hadn’t talked to her in such depth since they were children. She shook her head. “I won’t. You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”
    “Of course I have. I can’t just marry Daisy and move her in with us over at Bay Minette.”
    Lyse laughed. “No. And that really isn’t funny, is it?”
    “No.” But he smiled. “I hear things at the docks, Lyse. Changes are coming, now that the Americans are trying to throw off the Brits. They’re going to be cracking down on trade, embargoes are likely, and I’ve got to find ways to keep us fed. As long as fishing is good, we’ll be all right . . .” He shook his head.
    Simon might be the most cautious one in the family, but he wasn’t afraid of anything. Hearing him express these doubts was sobering. Lyse knew better than to press him about the Spaniard.
    Who she’d likely never see again anyway.
    The line jerked. “Simon, you’ve got one!”
    Fishing was a much more productive enterprise than wishing one’s life away.

3
    M ARCH 1777
    Lyse was helping Simon unload a workboat full of tobacco up from the island, when Niall McLeod’s bright red head popped from behind a towering stack of crates. The whites of his blue eyes were round as eggs.
    “Lyse, you’ve got to come now! Your pa’s got himself in trouble again.”
    She shifted the heavy crate in her arms onto a new stack, then stood up with a hand to her back. The days of lazing about with a charming Spaniard on a boat tour down the bay, as she had seven months ago, were long gone. If it was true that an army marched on its stomach, the British troops of West Florida were going to subsist mainly on cigar fumes. She and Simon had been shuffling tobacco crates all morning, with no signs of stopping before dark. The British frigate Hinchinbrook had brought her valuable cargo from Carolina, sailing around East Florida via Havana, and had orders to leave port at dawn on the morrow.
    Reluctant to take Niall seriously, Lyse glanced at Simon. He hadn’t heard, or he’d be exploding with anger. He was arguing with a porter whose wagon had been commandeered to transportthe tobacco to the fort. Their father should have been here to deal with cartage so Simon could focus on the boats, but they hadn’t seen Papa all day. “Papa’s always in trouble,” she said with a shrug. “What’s the problem now?”
    Niall edged between the crates and stood before Lyse, rotating his hat between his hands. “Drunk and disorderly again. I talked the sergeant out of putting him in the guardhouse, but you’ve got to come get him. Now. Please, Lyse.”
    She looked down at her work garb—Simon’s outgrown breeches and shirt topped off by an ugly, shapeless homespun coat, with homemade moccasins on her feet. Necessary for hauling freight on the dock, but unacceptable for walking about in town. “Niall, I can’t come