Читать книгу The Captain's Lady - Louise M. Gouge - Страница 10

The last time Jamie had felt such grief was beside his mother’s grave in Nantucket some sixteen years ago, when he was a lad of nine, struggling then not to cry. Now his jaw ached from clenching, and his chest throbbed as it had when a young whale had slammed him with its tail, trying to escape his harpoon. No, this was unlike any pain he had ever endured aboard his uncle’s whaling ship. He could not seem to pull in enough breath, could barely manage to climb the wide front staircase without clutching the oak railing.

In the third floor hallway, a footman cast a glance at him, and one eyebrow rose. Jamie stiffened. He was no fainthearted maiden who swooned over life’s injuries. He’d seen the harm he’d just inflicted upon Marianne…Lady Marianne. Yet despite the pain pinching her fair face, she had not swooned. Or had she? Perhaps after he tore himself from her presence, she’d succumbed to her distress.

With some effort, Jamie drew air into his lungs and strode down the hallway, bursting into the elegant bedchamber assigned to him. He ignored his friend Aaron’s shocked expression and dashed to the window to peer down into the garden where he’d left her. There she sat beneath the leafless tree, staring straight ahead, her shawl carelessly draped over the stone bench.

Pain swept through him again, but this time for her. How brave she was. No tears. Even at this distance he could see her composure. Was this not one of the reasons he loved her? As he had prayed, her unfailing good sense prevailed. She knew their romance was hopeless, and would not protest his declaration that it must end. See how she clutches her prayer book. Perhaps even now she is seeking God’s consolation. His parting admonition last year had influenced her as he hoped. Surely now she would cling to the Lord, as he did, to ease the agony they both must endure. No doubt she would manage better than he.

She lifted her gaze toward his window, and he jumped back, chiding himself for lingering there. She would survive the dissolution of their love, but only if he stayed true to his course. If she sensed he might waver, she might pursue him, which would lead to their undoing. No, far more than their undoing. Nothing less than the failure of his mission for the American Revolution.

“You’d best sit down, Jamie.” Aaron tilted his head toward an arrangement of green brocade chairs near the roaring fireplace. “You’re looking a mite pale.” Worry clouded his expression.

“Aye, I’ll sit.” He staggered to a chair and fell into it, clutching his aching head in both hands as warmth from the crackling logs reached him. The itchy collar of his brown woolen jacket pressed against his neck and generated sweat clear up to his forehead, while a cold, contradictory shudder coursed down his back.

Aaron sat in an adjacent chair and clasped Jamie’s shoulder. “You’ve got it bad, lad, no mistake. But you’d best gird up your mind straightaway, or General Washington will have to send someone else to spy on Lord Bennington and his East Florida interests. And by then it’ll be too late for any useful information to reach home.” His bushy brown eyebrows met in a frown. “I thought you’d worked this all out before we sailed.”

Jamie swiped his linen handkerchief across his forehead. “Aye. I thought it, too. Then I saw her.”

“Well, you’d best deal with it.” Aaron sat back and crossed his arms. “I didn’t sail over here to get hanged. My younger brothers aren’t yet old enough to manage my lands, you know.”

His words sank deep into Jamie’s mind, and the unsaid words sank deeper. In truth, now that he’d broken with her, a certain peace began to fill his chest. He lifted a silent prayer of thanks for God’s mercy. Determined to shake off personal concerns, he gave Aaron a sidelong glance and snorted. “If you aren’t keen on hanging, then you’d best quit pestering me and start playing your own part.” He punched his friend’s arm. “Up with you, man. When does a valet sit beside his master? And no more ‘Jamie.’ It’s Captain Templeton to you, and don’t you forget it.”

“That’s the way, Cap’n.” Aaron jumped to his feet. “And I’m Quince to ye, sir. So watch what ye say, too.” He spoke with the affected accent that augmented his guise as Jamie’s valet.

The good humor lighting Aaron’s face improved Jamie’s spirits. Together they could complete their mission and be gone in just over a fortnight. Surely he could evade Lady Marianne for that short time.

Shivering in the brisk breeze, Marianne clutched her prayer book to her chest and stared unseeing toward the back entrance of the house. Over and over, Jamie’s words repeated in her mind: You must not ask me to do that which would dishonor you, your family and my faith.

Dishonor? Did he truly believe loving her would cause such dishonor? Had all his ardent declarations of last summer meant nothing to him? Where was his honor if he broke his promise to love her forever? She could not think. Could not feel. His words hammered against her heart, numbing her to all, even tears, even to the biting March wind.

The memory of his cold facade burned into her like a fire, reigniting her senses. She tightened her grip on the prayer book. How could he cause her such pain? In answer, his face appeared in her mind’s eye. For the briefest moment, she had seen misery there. What his lips would deny, his eyes revealed. He did love her. Of that she was certain. Serenity filled her heart, and she dared to cast a gaze upward toward his window. She gasped. There he stood, looking directly at her. Then he was gone.

Marianne’s heart soared like the song of a nightingale, and warmth swept over her despite the wind. Oh, yes, indeed. Jamie Templeton loved her. And if he thought she would let him slip away because of some misplaced sense of honor, then the good captain had an important lesson to learn. She would begin teaching him this very evening.

Marianne’s father always insisted on supper in the formal dining room with all his family and followers gathered around the table. No one could escape. Even her brother Robert usually managed to appear and stay sober for the meal, after which he would go off with his friends for a night of activities about which Marianne tried not to think…or worry.

That evening as usual, Papa sat at one end of the long oak table, and Mama at the other. In her seat at Papa’s right hand, Marianne was delighted to see he had placed Jamie on his left, a singular honor that she prayed would not grate on her brother, who really should sit beside Papa. While it would be unacceptable for her to speak across the table and address Jamie, perhaps she might comment on his conversation with Papa.

According to his custom, Robert arrived several minutes late, but no hostility clouded his dark, handsome features. Instead, seated beside Jamie, he greeted him as a long-lost friend and insisted nothing would do but that Jamie must accompany him on his nightly exploits.

At Robert’s outlandish proposal, Marianne almost spewed her soup across the table, but managed to swallow and force her gaze down toward her plate. Please do not permit Jamie to go. Her silent prayer was directed to both her earthly and heavenly fathers. Before she could fully compose herself and observe Papa’s reaction to Robert’s plan, the gentleman seated to her right cleared his throat.

“Lady Marianne,” Tobias Pincer said, “how exquisite you look this evening.” As he leaned closer to her, his oily smile and the odors of camphor and wig powder nearly sent Marianne reeling off the other side of her chair. “Do tell me you plan to attend the rout this evening. I shall be nothing short of devastated if you do not.”

With the tightest smile she could muster, she muttered her appreciation of his nightly compliments. “You must forgive me, Mr. Pincer, but my mother and I have prior plans.” Did this man actually think she would consort with his crowd, even if Robert was a part of it?

“Of course.” His smile turned to a simper, but before he could say more, Grace Kendall claimed his attention from the other side.

“Why, Mr. Pincer, you are neglecting this delicious soup.” Her pleasant alto tones dropped to a murmur as she shared a bit of harmless gossip. Mr. Pincer bowed to propriety and turned his full attention to her.

Marianne wanted to hug Grace. For the past three years, Mama’s companion had frequently sacrificed herself to deflect unwanted attention Marianne received from suitors. Although more than pretty herself, Grace had no fortune and no prospects. At six and twenty, she would likely remain an old maid, but her selfless companionship always proved a blessing to both Mama and Marianne.

Freed from polite necessity, Marianne looked back across the table just in time to see Papa’s approving nod in Jamie’s direction.

“We shall see to it tomorrow,” Papa said.

What had she missed? Would Jamie go out with Robert this evening? From the defeated look on her brother’s face, she guessed he would not. Even as her heart ached over the way Papa often crushed Robert’s spirits, she could not help but rejoice that Jamie would not be dragged into the gutters of London.

“Papa,” she ventured in a playful tone, “what plans are you making? Have you and His Majesty already subdued those dreadful rebels in America?” She saw Jamie’s eyebrows arch, and she puckered away a laugh.

Papa chuckled in his deep, throaty way. “You see, Templeton, these women have no sense about such things.” He leaned toward her. “Would that it could be done so easily, my dear. No, I have another project in mind, one in which Captain Templeton has agreed to participate. Our good Reverend Bentley—” he nodded toward the curate, who sat at Mama’s right hand “—has agreed to school the captain in some of our more tedious social graces.”

Marianne turned her gasp into a hum of interest. “Indeed?”

The color in Jamie’s tanned cheeks deepened, and charming bewilderment rolled across his face.

“Yes, indeed.” Papa straightened and puffed out his chest. “If this partnership goes as planned, I shall be introducing Captain Templeton to other peers and gentlemen. Through our mutual business efforts, we will make East Florida the standard of how to prevent a rebellion, shall we not, Templeton?”

“That is my hope, sir.” Jamie’s attention remained on Papa.

“Furthermore, daughter,” Papa said, “I am enlisting your assistance, as well. Your mother can spare you for a while. I want you to take the captain to see the sights about the city.” He glanced down the table. “I suppose Robert should go along for propriety’s sake.”

She could hardly believe her ears and could not call forth any words to respond. Jamie blinked and avoided her gaze, perhaps as stunned as she was.

Robert stopped balancing his spoon on the edge of his soup plate and stared at Papa, his mouth agape. He shook his head slightly, as if to clear his vision, and a silly grin lifted one corner of his lips. Marianne would have laughed if her brother’s reaction did not seem almost pathetic. Papa never entrusted him with anything.

“Humph.” Now a wily look crossed Robert’s face, and he studied Jamie up and down, then sniffed. “Well, for gracious sakes, Father, before I am seen in public with this fellow, do let me see about his clothes. Look at him. Not a length of ribbon nor an inch of lace. And this awful black. And not even a brass buckle to catch anyone’s attention. Gracious, Templeton, are you a Quaker? Who makes your clothes? No, never mind. I shall see that you meet my tailor.”

Jamie’s narrowed eyes and set lips, if visible only for an instant, steadied Marianne’s rioting emotions. How she would love to thump her dear brother right on the nose for his rude words, spoken so shortly after his own invitation to take Jamie out for the evening. But Marianne could see the resolution in Jamie’s face. Her beloved could take care of himself. And although he was at least five years Robert’s junior, she had no doubt Jamie would have the greater and better influence on her brother. She would make that a matter of most earnest prayer.

“I thank you, Mr. Moberly,” Jamie said to Robert with all good humor. “I shall look forward to any improvements you might suggest.”

What graciousness he exhibited. Was that not the epitome of good breeding and good manners? Marianne blushed for the rudeness of her father and brother for suggesting that he needed anything more.

As for the favor Father was heaping on Jamie, she felt her heart swell with joy. If he considered Jamie a partner and an ally in saving the colonies for the Crown, this could be regarded as nothing less than complete approval of the man, perhaps even to the point of accepting him into the family, despite his being a merchant. Her parents had never insisted she marry. Was that not very much like permission to marry whomever she might choose? Hadn’t they themselves married for love, despite Mama’s lower status as a baron’s daughter and no title other than Miss Winston? But in the event she was mistaken, Marianne must take great care to hide her love for Jamie, at least for now.