A Chance Encounter (St. John Series Book 10) Read online

  A Chance Encounter

  By Lora Thomas

  Copyright © 2019 Lora Perkins

  Kindle Edition

  License Notes

  This ebook is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please go to an online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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  This is a word of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Cover Design: Selfpubbookcovers/DelightfulDesigns

  Chapter One

  A pain-filled groan and a grimace flashed across Oliver St. John’s face as he flinched and sat up. The light flooding his room was the cause of his discomfort. That and the overindulgence in spirits the previous evening. The sound of footsteps upon the wooden floor of his room caused him to scowl. Whoever was in his chambers was going to pay! His head was throbbing, and whoever was stirring sounded like they were purposefully stomping. The cheery, “Get your ass up!” only caused his disposition to sour further.

  “Why are you here, Owen?” Oliver asked his twin.

  “I live here.”

  Oliver scowled. “In my chambers?”

  “I’m here to see you off on your adventure!” Owen replied as he jerked open the curtains belonging to another window. “Your ship sets sail in a few hours, and here you lie, still abed and fully clothed I see.”

  “And whose fault is that?’ Oliver grumbled, tossing his feet from his bed. Once sitting, he cradled his head in his hands.

  “I see you cannot handle your spirits, old man.”

  “I can handle my spirits. What I cannot tolerate presently is your cheerful demeanor. And why is your head not pounding worse than mine? You did out-drink me, after all.”

  Owen’s infuriating grin widened. “I can handle my liquor better than you.”

  “I believe you were pouring your cups out instead of drinking them. And that is a bloody shame. That was expensive brandy Branson served us last evening,” Oliver said, referring to one of their acquaintances.

  “Branson does have expensive taste,” Owen acknowledged. “Most likely the reason he is nearly destitute. Nearly that is.”

  “He is no more near destitution than you or I.”

  “True. But he does have expensive tastes. In liquor and women. Did you notice his latest mistress? I do say, he’s spending a bloody fortune to keep her up. She had more baubles upon her than all the women in Governor’s Harbour combined!”

  “I wasn’t noticing her jewelry,” Oliver mumbled as he stood. His hands came to his back as he stretched.

  “I do say, they were resting right in the middle of her ample bosom. Branson always was a breast man.”

  “And you are not?”

  Owen feigned a look of hurt. “You wound me, brother. I do not love only their breasts but their other attributes as well.”

  Oliver scowled, and his hand went to his throbbing temples. “Don’t we all.”

  “Indeed, we do.” Owen picked up Oliver’s coat and tossed it at his brother. The article landed upon the bed beside Oliver. “Better dress and ready yourself, old boy. You sail at two.”

  “Why are you here?” Oliver asked. “We said our good-byes last evening.”

  “I live here as well. Or did you forget?”

  “I know that,” Oliver snapped. “I thought you were going to visit Mother today.”

  “Oh!” Owen removed a letter from the pocket of his jacket and handed it to his brother. “This came for you this morning.”

  “What is it?”

  “A letter.”

  “I know that! From whom?”

  “I don’t know. It wasn’t my letter.”

  “Like that has stopped you in the past.”

  Owen laughed. “True. It’s from Max if you must know,” he said, referring to their eldest brother. “I dare not open his correspondences. Terrible temper that beast has, you know.”

  “What does he want now?”

  “I do not know.”

  Oliver’s fingers tore through the seal, and his eyes scanned the words. “He needs you.”

  “Me? Why didn’t he send it to me instead of you?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Oliver snapped, the fingers of his left hand returning to his throbbing temples. “Maybe he can’t remember which of us is which.”

  “We are twins, after all. Although our appearances are no longer identical since your bout of typhoid that caused your hair loss and all.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Oliver complained.

  Two years prior, he had contracted typhoid while visiting St. Kitts. The fever raged on for weeks. Once it broke, his vibrant red hair fell out, leaving him entirely bald for several months. Hell, even his eyebrows fell off—which left him to be mercilessly teased by his brothers, Owen especially. When his hair returned, it was a darker shade of red and wavy. The curls were the worst. So much so that Oliver never let his hair grow long for he resembled a woman.

  Owen read the letter, and a noise resembling a “hmmm” left him. “Interesting.”

  “What?”

  “Some man arrived at the end of last week and wants us to repair his ship.”

  Oliver’s hand left his brow as he picked up his coat. “Hate to break it to the old chap, but I am scheduled to leave for Italy today. You will have to do the repair work.”

  “Me?” Owen questioned in mortification.

  “You are a carpenter, just the same as I am.”

  “I know that.” Owen pulled the lapel of his coat down. “I just prefer to design them. The hammer and saw are your specialties.”

  “They’ll have to be yours for this project. I am going to Rome.”

  “Carnival!” Owen said and laughed in delight. “What a splendid event! Wish I were coming with you.”

  Oliver tilted his head as his right brow shot upwards. “Why? You dislike my friend.”

  Martin Henshaw was the friend in question. Martin and Oliver had been friends since they were boys. Martin was as much a wastrel as the rest of the men in Oliver’s circles, yet Oliver’s father, Robert, liked Martin. When Martin was just a lad, Robert allowed him to work for Emerald Shipping at the shipyards; however, Martin was skilled in bookwork. When Martin moved to England, Robert offered him employment. Martin declined; however, he and Oliver kept in touch. Then five years ago, Martin moved to Italy and fell in love with Rome. He wrote to Robert about the possibilities to be had in Rome, and Robert agreed to open an office there with Martin to oversee the branch. Three years later, Martin wrote that he was in love. The money he made granted him the means to care for a wife, and he had married the previous year.

  “True. Martin does grate on one’s nerves. She a pess
imist, he is. But Carnival would be worth his company.”

  “Yet, you cannot go. No, wait. You were not invited.”

  Owen shrugged. “Who’s stopping me? I can easily board a ship with you.”

  Oliver ground his teeth. He loved his brother, yet there were times when Oliver wished he were an only child. The older he and Owen grew, the more they became different. Owen still had that knack of grating on one’s nerves, yet it was now worse. He’d added an arrogance to his presence—an arrogant calm that grated on Oliver. He was almost overly serious like their older brother Eli. Oliver, on the other hand, still had a carefree nature at times. Oh, both brothers always had a good time when together; however, there could be too much togetherness. Ever since birth, the pair had been inseparable save for the time Owen traveled to increase his architecture skills in shipbuilding. That three-year stint allowed Oliver to grow in a different direction. Where Owen loved to design, Oliver loved to build. He found peace when his hands were occupied. When Owen returned, he became a brute with his first ship design…their brother Noah’s ship, The Diamond Runner. It was a massive build. By the time the vessel was completed, Oliver had a great desire to nail Owen to the belly of the boat and watch it sail away.

  And now? Oliver had the same emotions. He had just spent the last year of his life with another massive undertaking of Owen’s design, and he needed a break from his brother’s presence. When Martin wrote about wanting to visit Governor’s Harbour, Oliver had a better idea. He would go to Italy to visit his friend instead. After all, that is where Martin’s wife was from, and Martin now called Rome his home. It would be inconsiderate not to visit his friend. Actually, it was best for Owen if he visited his friend for if he did not, he feared he would place a hammer in his brother’s skull.

  “You have been summoned by Max,” Oliver reminded.

  “He can wait.”

  “No, he cannot. You are the architectural genius.” Oliver knew that if he played on Owen’s arrogance regarding his talent for ship design, his brother would take the bait.

  “True. No one in the world can design a ship as well as I can.”

  “And at such a young age.”

  “Young? I believe we are the same age.”

  “I am older by fifteen minutes.”

  “Then I should be calling you grandpa? I mean the ripe old age of twenty-eight means that you are near the grave,” Owen replied with sarcasm, a twinkle to his green eyes.

  “If you keep up your mockery, you’ll be there before I will.”

  The brothers looked at each other and laughed. Oliver flinched and his hand returned to his temples.

  “Safe travels, Oliver. Be sure to give Martin my best wishes upon his marriage.”

  “I will. And good luck. May Max not kill you while I am away.”

  “That’s not likely.”

  Oliver lowered his hand. “You know he does not understand our humor.”

  Owen nodded his head. “True. But he has three daughters to contend with. I do say, Sophia is becoming quite the handful. She trails after him like a shadow. And Amelia and Victoria are so close in age it is as though they are twins.”

  Oliver laughed. “As overly protective as he is of his daughters now, can you imagine what he will be like when they want to court?”

  “Egad! That man will not let any man within a hundred yards of the girls now.”

  “True. So be mindful of him. He can be quite testy at times.”

  Owen patted Oliver upon his bicep. “Relax, old man. There will never be a project that Max can assign me that will cause me too much grief.”

  “Never say never.”

  Chapter Two

  Madelena Russo sighed as her eyes fluttered open. She had been having such a wonderful dream! She was at a warm tropical beach, a handsome man beside her, and her family was nowhere to be found. The man was holding her in his arms as they gazed out at the waves. It was a beautiful dream. If only…

  “Get up, Madelena!” she heard her sister, Angela, say, as she pushed Madelena’s feet from the ottoman. “Mama is waiting.”

  Madelena sat up straight and glowered at her twin sister. “Angela! There was no cause to wake me.”

  Angela sneered at her older sister. “Mama said to tell you we are leaving.”

  “Why? I am not the one she is buying the dress for. You are.”

  Angela smiled, smoothed down the front of her blue dress and cocked her head pretentiously. “Exactly. Mama likes me better than you. She likes everybody better than you but especially me. I am her favorite. That is why I get all the nice things.”

  Madelena’s brown eyes lowered dangerously. Angela was correct. The dress Madelena wore was the perfect example. A plain, tan gown with no embellishments whereas Angela’s was made of fine satin. A vindictive sneer pulled her full pink lips for she knew how to rile her sister. “But I am Papa’s favorite. He loves me better than he will ever love you.”

  Angela’s brown eyes widened with fury. “Take that back!”

  “No.” Madelena stood and approached her vicious, younger— albeit by only a few minutes—sister. “Papa says I am special and will always be so.”

  Angela glowered at her older sister. It was true. Their father did love Madelena better than any of his other daughters. Better than Flora. Better than Maria. Better than Bella. Better than Angela! Even better than their mother, Sandra. And it was no wonder. Where Angela and her younger sisters possessed muted brown hair and large bulbous eyes, Madelena’s hair was a silky black, and her eyes were a soft chocolate brown. Where Angela and her sisters were short and a little on the portly side, Madelena was tall and slender. Where Angela and her sisters’ voices would cause the dogs to howl, Madelena’s would cause the birds to sing in unison. Despite her beauty and talent, Madelena was detested by not only Angela and her sisters but their mother as well.

  “You might be special in Papa’s eyes, but you will never be to Mama. And Mama controls Papa, so you had better get used to wearing nothing but rags to Carnival.” Angela sneered at her sister. “Mayhap Mama may not even allow you go. You do not have a dress or mask to wear, and you cannot go to Carnival in those rags you wear.” Angela’s eyes held scorn as they traveled over Madelena’s tattered tan dress.

  It was true. Madelena needed a gown and mask to wear to the festival, and she could not depend upon her mother to purchase her one. Nor her father for Angela was correct. Their mother did control their father…somewhat. Only in matters of fashion. All Madelena had to do was ask, and her father would purchase her any dress she wanted. However, her mother would either ruin the gown before it could be worn or give it to one of the others for them to wear behind her father’s back.

  Antonio Russo was an intimidating man who allowed his wife full control of the household. An odd situation. His official title was magistrate; however, he also oversaw the watchmen in the city. Where he easily ordered others to do as he commanded, he allowed Sandra to run the house how she saw fit. Not once had he ever intervened upon Sandra’s running of his home. Not even when she placed Madelena on the top floor in the coldest room of the house. He simply stated that he had a city to run and did not have time to handle such trivial matters as where his daughters slept.

  And run the city he did. With that position came power and with that power came opportunities for him to increase the visibility of his daughters. Having five daughters, his wife was constantly in search of proper suitors, though each suitor was only interested in Madelena. Yet when those suitors came to call, their mother would say, “You don’t want Madelena. Why Angela is far more beautiful than any daughter I have. She is the one you want.” The men would politely smile, visit with Angela and leave, never to call again.

  Sandra only had one interest, and that was increasing her station in life by arranging adventitious marriages for all of her daughters, save Madelena. She kept pushing Madelena to join the church, saying that anyone such as Madelena would only benefit from constant prayer and dedication to t
he Lord by becoming a nun.

  Madelena never understood the meaning behind her mother’s words. Anyone such as Madelena? What did that mean? Sometimes Madelena wondered if Sandra was even her mother. Yet how could she not be? Angela was her twin, after all, and that would mean that only Sandra could be her mother. Unfortunately.

  “Are you coming?” Angela snapped.

  “Yes,” Madelena answered. She eased her feet into her tattered black slippers and headed towards the doorway only to stop when her mother appeared. Sandra’s gaze ran over Madelena in a way that Madelena had become accustomed to. It was a combination of hatred and distaste.

  “Where do you think you are going?” Sandra asked.

  “Angela said I was to accompany you to the dress shop.”

  Sandra snorted in disgust. “No. You are to go to the market. We need vegetables for this evening’s meal. See to it that you only pick the freshest ones. Nothing wilted. Then return here. Since the cook is off today, you will begin preparations for our evening meal. I suspect the seamstress will take some time finishing Angela’s dress for the festival. Tell your father not to worry if he arrives home before we do.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Sadness flashed across Madelena’s eyes. She knew her mother never would allow her to go to Carnival with her sisters. She knew her mother never would even ask her if she wanted to go. Madelena kept telling herself that she did not want to go. Nothing but trouble ever came from Carnival. No fun. No laughter. Nothing. At least that’s what she kept telling herself. But it would be nice if Sandra asked her if she wanted to go. Just once. Just so Madelena could refuse.

  “Come, Angela,” Sandra said, turning. “We have an appointment and cannot be late. The carriage is awaiting us out front. Madelena, you don’t care to walk to the market, do you?” Before she could answer, her mother continued, “Of course not. You seem to like walking, don’t you?”

  Angela breezed past her sister. “Enjoy the market.”