Lucky's Lady (The Caversham Chronicles Book 4) Read Online Free PDF

child of my dreams means committing a grievous sin." She could never take a sin as enormous as this into the confessional. At least not in Indian Point, both priests knew her personally. She'd have to go into Baltimore. And after? Even after confessing, for the rest of her life, while she enjoyed the beauty of motherhood—if she were so blessed—she will always know in her heart that she'd sinned to create her little miracle.
    "Is it a sin when I am willing it? Did not Sarah give her maid, Hagar, to Abraham to conceive his children?"
    "Yes, and it broke Hagar's heart to give over her son to Sarah after his birth."
    "You will not have that issue if the father of your child is someone who isn't from here," her husband countered. "We can go to Richmond, Philadelphia, Washington, or even New York if someone from Baltimore is too near for you to choose." She wiped her eyes, thinking about the gift her husband was giving her to allow this. "I will help you all I can, Mrs. Watkins, but I must know you want my help."
    Through her tears, she nodded. "I may not have to go that far, sir. You can tell me if you approve of Ian Ross's partner tomorrow, for he is someone... I might consider."
    He finally smiled. "Well, I hope he is a handsome and intelligent specimen, for I cannot have a son or daughter of mine be anything less than both!"
    Mary-Michael gave her husband a nervous laugh. Mr. Watkins was sure to find fault with the English captain, a man whose touch still burned her hand when she thought of him. She would just have to remind her husband that he told her she was the one to do the choosing, not he. And she chose the dark-haired, dark-eyed Englishman who stirred up a whirlwind of confusing feelings in her.
      
    A fter dinner she discussed with her husband all the items she'd written down from her conversation with the Englishman regarding the two new builds the man requested. Mary-Michael thought to sketch out some rough designs for their meeting the next morning, so she excused herself from the table, telling Mr. Watkins she would like to have something to show their potential client when they met.
    She went up to her room and took a seat at her dressing table, then untied her hair-net and let her braid drop down her back. Lifting her fingers to her throat, she unbuttoned the top three buttons of her blouse. The upstairs room's two windows were wide open, but since there was hardly a breeze moving outdoors, none moved in the house. The heat caused a sheen of perspiration all over her body. She parted her bodice, then lifted an ivory handled fan and began trying to cool herself off.
    If it was this hot in June, God alone knew how hot it would be in August.
    Moving to her desk, she set up her paper and graphite pencils, and began to think on what to sketch for this friend of Mr. Ian Ross. Two more clippers would be good for business, giving her crews steady work for the next year and a half. Not that there was any lack of business. In fact, just the opposite. Watkins Shipbuilding was currently running easily one year for delivery, even though she promised the Englishman under twelve months. She'd have to put the word out for more qualified tradesmen because she really wanted to build these two boats before Mr. Watkins could no longer assist her in managing the yard, which could happen at any time.
    Mary-Michael went over and over the conversation with the Englishman and she kept coming to the same conclusion. She was certain she did not mistake his desire for speed and efficiency, and given the specifications from Mr. Ross, she knew they were of one mind when it came to design. For the past six years she'd been giving the customers what they wanted in their new builds, but she got the impression the Englishman and Mr. Ross were willing to consider some of her more innovative ideas and plans.
    Her passion was designing clippers. Ships that had sleeker, faster hull designs with sail plans that would best utilize the wind. She