Читать книгу The Captain's Lady - Louise M. Gouge - Страница 11

For the first time since he had set out on this mission, Jamie began to wonder if General Washington had chosen the wrong man. As a whaler and merchant captain, Jamie had learned how to employ patience and strategy to accomplish whatever goal was at hand. But the gale brewing around him in Lord Bennington’s grand London home just might sink him.

He had no difficulty maintaining his composure when the earl offered to introduce him to some important people. After all, that was why Jamie had come. But this scheme for improving his manners almost set him back in his chair, especially when the earl instructed Lady Marianne to help. Now he would be forced into her company and that of her foppish brother, a dark-haired fellow not exactly corpulent, but on his way to it. Jamie had only just met the curate, a slender, compliant fellow, but he preferred the clergyman as a tutor, for every minute in Lady Marianne’s company would be torture.

Bent over his roast beef, he wondered if he was doing anything amiss. Not that he cared whether someone pointed out a blunder, for he would welcome a chance to learn better manners for future use in such company as this. But he also would like for Lady Marianne to think well of him. Belay that, man. He must not think that way. Yet, without meaning to, he lifted his gaze to see how she wielded her cutlery. Her lovely blue eyes, bright as the southern sky, were focused on him, and he could not look away.

She glanced at the earl. “Papa, have you asked Captain Templeton about Frederick?”

Lord Bennington cast a look down the table at his wife. “Later, my dear. Your mother will want to hear the news of your brother, too.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Lady Marianne resumed eating, stopping from time to time to speak with the man beside her. From the prim set of her lips and the way she seemed unconsciously to lean away from the fellow, Jamie could see her distaste, especially when the man tilted toward her. If some dolt behaved thus toward a lady aboard Jamie’s ship, he would make quick work of the knave, dispatching him to eat with the deckhands. But civility had its place, and this was it. Jamie watched Lady Marianne’s delicate hands move with the grace of a swan, and he tried to copy the way she cut her roast beef and ate in small bites. When he swallowed, however, the meat seemed to stick in his throat, and he was forced to wash it down with water in a loud gulp. Anyone who may have noticed was polite enough not to look his way.

Beside him, Moberly chose a chaser of wine, several glasses of it. As the meal progressed, his demeanor mellowed. “I say, Templeton, do you ride?”

Moberly’s tone was genial, not at all like his insulting reference to Jamie’s clothes, a matter of some injury. Jamie’s beloved cousin Rachel had spent many hours sewing his travel wardrobe, and her expertise could not be matched.

“I have never truly mastered the skill, sir.”

Moberly snorted. “Ah, of course not.” A wily grin not lacking in friendliness creased his face. “Then you must permit me to teach you. ’Tis a skill every gentleman must have.”

If Jamie could have groaned in a well-mannered tone, he would have. Having grown up at sea, he could ride a whale with ease, but not a horse—something Moberly clearly did not believe. Lord, what other trials will You put before me? Will this truly serve the Glorious Cause in some way? He lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug and cocked his head to accept the challenge. “Then if I am to be a gentleman, by all means, let us ride.” The more time he spent with Moberly, the less he would be in Lady Marianne’s alluring company. The less he would be tempted to break his vow not to use her to gain information from her father.

Jamie managed the rest of the meal without difficulty and afterward joined the family in Lord Bennington’s study, where the earl held court from behind his ornately carved white desk. Lady Marianne’s brother and his slimy friend had excused themselves, no doubt for a night of carousing, for both Lady Marianne and Lady Bennington seemed disappointed as they watched Moberly leave.

“Now,” the earl said, “we shall see how my youngest son excuses his mismanagement of my money in East Florida.” He opened the satchel Jamie had brought and pulled out several sealed documents.

Jamie flinched inwardly. His good friend Frederick Moberly had made a great success of Bennington Plantation, as proved by the large shipment of indigo, rice, oranges and cotton Jamie had just delivered to Bennington’s warehouses. Not only that, but Frederick served well as the popular magistrate of the growing settlement of St. Johns Towne. Jamie had already apprised Lord Bennington of both of these matters in no uncertain words. Yet the earl referred to all of his sons in singularly unflattering ways. Had Jamie been brought up thus, he doubted he could have made anything of himself. As he had many times before, he thanked the Lord for the firm but loving hand of his uncle, who had guided him to adulthood, first in Nantucket and then on his whaling ship.

Jamie’s widowed mother had died when he was nine and his sister, Dinah, three. Uncle Lamech, his mother’s brother, had secured a home for Dinah with kindhearted friends, then took Jamie along as his cabin boy on his next whaling voyage. Uncle taught him how to work hard, with courage, perseverance, and faith in God, all the while demonstrating confidence that Jamie would succeed at whatever he put his hand to. Would that the four Moberly sons could have received such assurance from their father.

The earl broke open the seal of the letter addressed to him, and once again Jamie cringed. In his spoken report to Lord Bennington, he had omitted one very important fact about the earl’s youngest son.

“Married!”

Marianne and Mama jumped to their feet as one and hurried to Papa’s side, as if each must see the words for herself. Mama practically snatched the letter from Papa, who stood at his desk trembling, his face a study in rage. Eyes wide and staring at the offending missive, cheeks red and pinched, mouth working as if no words were sufficient to express his outrage.

Mama did not mirror his anger, but her sweet face clouded as it did when she was disappointed. “Oh, my. And to think I have found no less than six eligible young ladies of consequence who would gladly receive Frederick now that he has done so well for himself.”

“Papa, do sit down.” Marianne took his arm and tried gently to push him back into his chair. He stood stubbornly rigid and waved her away.

Reading the letter, Mama gasped, and her puckered brow arched and her lips curved upward in a glorious smile. “Why, they are expecting…” She blinked and glanced toward Jamie. “I shall be a grandmamma by July,” she whispered to Marianne and Papa. “How exquisitely delightful.” Her merry laughter brought a frown of confusion to Papa’s face.

“Do not tell me that you approve of this match.” Papa’s cheeks faded to pink, but his trembling continued.

“But, my darling, approve or not, the deed is done.” Mama touched his arm and gave him a winsome smile. “Do be reconciled to it. A sensitive young man can endure rejection from the ladies of his own class for only so long. His every word indicates that this Rachel is above average in wit and temper. Did he mention her family?” She lifted the letter to read more. “Ah, yes. ‘Her father owns…’” Her eyes widened. “Oh, my. He owns a mercantile. Tsk. Not even a landowner.”

“What?” Papa’s voice reverberated throughout the room.

Marianne jumped once more.

Mama scowled. “Now, Bennington, please do not shout.”

Marianne noticed that Jamie had moved across the room and was staring at a painting. Once again, his flawless manners manifested themselves through this tactful removal from the unfolding drama.

“I will shout in my own home.” Papa’s trembling increased, and he raised one hand, a finger pointed toward the ceiling. “I will shout in the streets. From the halls of Parliament I will proclaim it. For all the world can clearly see that I have spawned nothing but fools for sons.” He slammed his fist on the desk. Documents bounced. A bisque figurine of an elegant lady fell to the floor and shattered. “The daughter of a merchant. Not even an Englishman. An American. The next thing he will be telling me is that he approves of that infernal colonial rebellion.”

Mama quickly perused the letter. “No, dear. He speaks only of his little wife—”

Papa snatched the letter from her. “I was not in earnest. Should that day come, I would sail to East Florida and execute him myself.”

“Oh, look, Mama.” Marianne’s voice came out in a much higher pitch than she intended. “Frederick wrote to you and me, too.” She picked up the letter bearing her name. “You do not mind, do you, Papa? I shall tell you if he has written anything you must hear.”

Papa’s shoulders slumped, and his reddened eyes focused on her. “You see, Maria,” he said to Mama. “The Almighty saved the best for last.” He set a quivering hand on Marianne’s shoulder and bent to kiss her forehead. “Our wise, beautiful daughter gives us only joy.” He pulled her closer in a gentle embrace. “Would that I could leave all to you, Marianne, for never once in your life have you grieved me.”

Marianne’s eyes stung mightily. At that moment, she was very near to vowing to God that she would surrender Jamie forever, that she would never hurt her parents as Frederick and Robert and Thomas and William had done. But she gulped back the promise. To vow and to break it would be a sin. To vow and to keep it would mean a lifetime of bitter loneliness.

She stared across the room toward the man she loved, willing him to turn her way, to give her some direction, some wisdom to bear this situation.

But when he did turn, Jamie’s wounded frown seemed to shout across the distance that separated them. You see? I was right. We have no future together.

Jamie struggled to secure his turbulent emotions to their proper moorings. As captain of his ship, he often managed numerous life-threatening situations concurrently and with haste and acuity. But never had his heart and wits been so at odds in the midst of a tempest. Never had so many threats loomed over all he held dear.

Lord Bennington’s rage over Frederick’s marriage might extend to Jamie, especially when he discovered the bride was Jamie’s beloved cousin, Rachel. Even if the earl did not cast blame on him, Jamie still felt a bitter ache at not being able to comfort Lady Marianne in her distress. Or to declare his love for her. Or to seize her hand and dash from the room, the house, the country, and to make a future with her in the far reaches of America.

Parallel to these agonizing thoughts streamed the keen awareness that this very room might hold documents outlining Lord Bennington’s involvement in British defenses of East Florida. Yet this little meeting could scuttle the mission for which Jamie had been sent to England.

He inhaled a calming breath, relaxed his stance and unclenched his hands. Then, just as Lord Bennington looked his way, he directed a sympathetic frown across the room to the earl. If the man had caught him staring at Lady Marianne—

“Templeton, I will see you in private.” The glower Lord Bennington directed toward Jamie softened as he gave his countess a slight bow. “My dear, you will excuse us.” He turned to Lady Marianne with the same gentleness. “And you, my child.”

“But, Papa—”

“Come along, Merry.” Lady Bennington used the fond address Jamie had heard Lady Marianne’s parents and brother using. Indeed, her sky-blue eyes and merry disposition—subdued now in her unhappiness—warranted such a nickname. Jamie dismissed a fleeting wish that he had the right to address her with such affection. That right would never be his.

As mother and daughter walked toward the door, Lady Marianne cast a quick glance at him. He forced all emotion from his face and gave them a formal bow, then turned to the earl as if the two ladies had never been there.

“What do you know of this?” Lord Bennington lifted Frederick’s letter from the desk.

This was trouble Jamie could manage. Man to man. The earl had commended him for his forthrightness, and now he would receive a goodly portion of it. Jamie crossed the room and held the man’s gaze.

“They make a handsome couple, milord. Mrs. Moberly is a lady of spotless reputation, pleasant disposition and considerable courage.”

Lord Bennington inhaled as if to speak, so Jamie hastened to continue. “You may have heard the account of how she rescued Lady Brigham from being dragged from a flatboat by an alligator.”

The earl’s wiry white eyebrows arched. “Indeed?” Puzzlement rolled across his face. “When Lady Brigham speaks of her near demise in the jaws of a dragon, she says her husband saved her. She makes no mention of another woman being involved.” He studied the letter as if it would set the story straight.

“An oversight, I’m sure, milord. Frederick recounted the incident to me himself.” Jamie pushed on with the more important issue. “Mrs. Moberly is the perfect wife for a man who is carving a settlement out of the East Florida wilderness.” His own words struck him. Would Lady Marianne be able to survive in that same wilderness after her life of ease? Not likely. Breaking with her was best for her, if not for him, for far too many reasons to count.

“You seem to have some affection for this young woman.” Suspicion emanated from the earl’s narrowed eyes.

Jamie gave him a measured grin. “I have great affection for her.” The earl’s eyes widened with shock, so Jamie kept talking. “She is my cousin, reared with me like a sister.”

Lord Bennington’s face reddened. He placed his fists on the desk and leaned across it toward Jamie. “Are you responsible for this ill-advised union?”

Jamie still stared into his eyes. “No, milord. I was here in England when they formed their attachment. However, I will confess that when Frederick asked for my help, I complied. They were married aboard my ship by an English clergyman.”

Lord Bennington straightened, but his eyes remained narrowed. “You could have omitted that information, and I never would have known it.”

“That is true. But our shared business interests will prosper only if we are honest with one another, do you not think?” Honor and duty clashed in a heated battle within Jamie’s chest, as they always did when he considered his plans to spy on this man. He quickly doused the conflict. “As I told you earlier, your youngest son is performing his duties admirably as magistrate in St. Johns Towne. Bennington Plantation is prospering prodigiously, as you can see from the oranges we were served at supper tonight. Your warehouse is bursting with the indigo, cotton and rice harvests from East Florida, all grown under Frederick’s oversight.” Jamie paused to let his words reach the earl’s business sense.

Lord Bennington’s brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. Again he stared at Frederick’s letter, but said nothing.

Jamie decided to press on. “Milord, he has found in Rachel the perfect helpmate for who he is and what he is doing for you.” Again, Jamie permitted a cautious grin to grace his lips. “Their mutual devotion proves the truth of the proverb, ‘Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtained favor of the Lord.’” He wondered if it would be going too far to mention the similar devotion he had noticed between the earl and his countess. But Lord Bennington stiffened, and his white eyebrows bent into an accusing frown.

“And you, Templeton, where will you find your wife?”

“Ha!” Surprise and shock forced a too-loud laugh to burst forth, and heat rushed to Jamie’s face. He grasped his wayward emotions once again. “I am a seaman, milord. ’Twould be cruel to marry, only to leave my wife alone during my voyages. And of course the sea is no place for a woman.” Speaking that truth solidified his decision. He would pry from his heart every fond feeling for Lady Marianne, and marry Lady Liberty and her Glorious Cause.

Lord Bennington studied him with a hardened stare. But gradually, the old man seemed to wilt before Jamie’s eyes, and soon he slumped down into his chair as if defeated. “I’ll not doubt you again, my boy. Your honesty has proved your worthiness.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “You may go. And if you decide to accompany my reprobate son on his nightly jaunts, do remember that Robert is not Frederick.”

Several responses formed in Jamie’s mind, not the least of which was that the earl’s comment seemed to imply a measure of approval of Frederick and perhaps even Rachel. But the man appeared spent from his emotional evening, so Jamie withheld his remarks. “Very good, milord. Good evening.”

As he climbed the stairs to his third-floor suite, a grim sense of satisfaction filled him. He had gained Lord Bennington’s trust and could begin his search for information regarding Britain’s planned defenses of East Florida. And memories of his tender but short romance with Lady Marianne had been safely tucked away in a remote corner of his mind, to be fondly recalled when he was an old man.

Yet a dull ache thumped against his heart with each ascending step.