Her Heart's Captain (12 page)

Everyone at the Clements' had found him likeable. The men had hung on his stories of sea adventures, and the women had doted on his half-smile, his quips and his magnetism. She, of course, had been able to withstand the attraction, keeping in her mind the remnants of Robbie's letters and that vision of a man being beaten on board his ship by his order. But tonight there had been that moment …

She couldn't help but dwell on it, for it had been so moving and so unexpected. Dinner had ended, the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies, and they'd all gone to the music room, where Jenny had been asked (as she always was) to accompany the ladies who'd volunteered to sing. Andrea had been the first, charming her listeners with her clear, confident soprano. Ellen Boyce had followed, and then Sylvia Vesey had volunteered, embarrassing everyone by going sharp on all her high notes, a failing which Jenny couldn't cover up no matter how loudly she played. Then, at the request of the assemblage, Andrea had sung again. When she'd finished, and Jenny had stood up to leave the piano, Lady Rowcliffe had insisted that she play a selection for them.

Jenny had been taken completely by surprise, for never before had anyone shown an interest in hearing her play solo. All the singers in Wyndham knew her as a competent accompanist, but nobody had thought, before, of asking her to take the spotlight. Even if they had, she would probably have resisted. She was not comfortable with everyone looking at her. Tonight, too, she'd wanted to excuse herself. But Lady Rowcliffe had asked so eagerly that Jenny would have felt surly to refuse.

She'd sat down at the piano again, flexed her fingers and launched into one of her favorite Haydn sonatas. She chose it because it was light, short and so familiar to her that she knew she could get through it no matter how nervous she became. At first she played almost automatically, aware that several in the audience hadn't bothered to cease their chatter to listen to her—her mother's babble quite recognizable among the rest of the voices. But the intricacies of Haydn's design required her attention, and if the allegro was to be performed
con brio
as required, she had to concentrate. Before she realized it, she'd lost herself in the music, just as if she were at home, and by the time she reached the adagio she was feeling her usual delight in chasing the theme through its various plunges and reappearances among the ripples of the harmonics. It was not until she played the last chord that she realized the room had become silent. Before she looked up, there was a burst of applause—
enthusiastic
applause. They'd
liked
it! She felt her heart begin to pound and her cheeks redden in pleased surprise, and when she lifted her eyes she found herself looking right into Captain Allenby's.

There was no mistaking his look. It glowed with delight and an astonished pride, like that of a father who'd only this moment discovered in his child a marvelous talent which he'd never dreamed existed. Yes, like a father … or a lover. The look caught her breath and froze her blood. For a timeless instant she couldn't look away.

But Lady Rowcliffe jumped up from her chair and came up to her. “That was exquisite, my dear. A really
splendid
rendition,” she said, planting a kiss on Jenny's cheek. “You've given me the evening's most delightful moments.”

Before she could respond to this very satisfactory praise from the guest of honor, she was surrounded by several others, all eager to express their pleasure in her performance. Several minutes were occupied with the effort of graciously accepting their effusions while gently-but-firmly refusing to play an encore, and when at last she was able to turn away to make her escape from the room, she blundered right into the captain.

She was so startled that she almost lost her balance. He grasped her arms to support her. “Don't run off, Miss Garvin,” he pleaded, his voice low and intimately warm. “Can't you bear to hear one more compliment from an admirer of your music?”

It took all of her resolve to remind herself that this was the same man who'd given her brother all those months of torture. If she hadn't known the truth, she would have found him irresistible.
But these are only his party manners
, she told herself. She had to remember the real man underneath, to keep foremost in her mind the horror of his shipboard behavior. “I … I must go,” she said breathlessly. “Please excuse me.”

His smile faded instantly, and he dropped his hold on her. Faultlessly polite, he made a stiff bow and stepped aside. But his eyes showed that she'd hurt him.

She felt a sharp sting of regret as she noted his look and the tightening of his jaw. If only he were someone else, what a delightful evening this could have been.
Blast you, Captain Allenby
, she'd thought, fighting an urge to say the words aloud,
don't look at me with that pained stare! So you think that, just by being kind to me (devastatingly kind, I admit) I can forget how cruel you really are? Do you expect me to forget about my brother? Well, I won't. So, please, sir, don't be so charming to me. Don't bother to disguise yourself with these party manners. Stop trying to confuse me
!

But of course she'd said nothing. She'd merely lowered her head and, with heart beating rapidly, passed by him and run from the room.

Now, staring out of the coach window, she again felt those confused and conflicting emotions. The look in his eyes when she'd glanced up from the keyboard was one she would never forget. Why had it been Allenby who'd given her that look? All these years she'd felt inside her an arid place … a bit of dry soil that hungered for the water of recognition, praise,
love
. In that one instant, with one look, the captain had watered it. She could almost feel something flower inside her. Dash it all, why had it been
Allenby
who'd done it?

The carriage drew up to the doorway and, still silent, the three Garvins alighted. In the hallway, Robbie was the first to speak. “You played very well tonight, Jenny,” he said, giving her an affectionate hug. “Captain Allenby and his mother were quite impressed. I was proud of you.”

“Yes,” Lady Garvin said thoughtfully as she mounted the stairs, “so was I.”

In the Clement household, the last dinner guest had departed, and everyone, even the servants, had gone to bed. But Lady Rowcliffe still sat at her dressing table, wide awake and staring abstractedly into the mirror. Her abigail, too, was still up, fussing about with her ladyship's undergarments and casting quizzical looks at her mistress. She'd long since helped her into her nightdress, but her ladyship showed no inclination to go to bed.

The abigail dropped a pair of shoes into the wardrobe with a loud, obvious clatter. Lady Rowcliffe roused herself from her reverie. “Are you still bustling about, Cora? It must be past midnight.”

“I was about t' say the same t' you, ma'am,” the maid said reprovingly.

“I shall go to bed presently. But you go along at once.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Cora bobbed and started to the door. But her ladyship rose from her chair and followed her. “On your way to your room, Cora, will you tap lightly on my son's door? If he doesn't answer, don't wake him. But if he does, tell him to come to me for a moment, will you?”

Tris had evidently not been asleep, for he knocked at her door a short while later still clad in his breeches and shirt. “Haven't you even undressed yet?” his mother asked, tying the sash of her dressing gown around her.

“I've been sitting at the window, brooding,” he responded glumly.

“I've been brooding, too. I've been wondering …” She hesitated, uncertain of how much to say. Keeping her eyes fixed on her son's face, she lowered herself onto the edge of the chaise.

“Wondering—?” he prodded, strolling to the fire.

“—wondering if perhaps you wouldn't like me to make our excuses to Alfred and Sally. I could say I'm not feeling up to snuff, and we could go home.”

He threw her a quick look and then turned back to the fire. He picked up a poker and stirred the embers, saying not a word until a bright flame had sprung up. “Does this mean you don't like her?” he asked, his eyes on the blaze.

“Your Miss Garvin? I like her very much.”

“Do you? I thought you would.”

“Yes. She's a bit too reticent, perhaps, but there's spirit underneath. And intelligence and sensitivity. And above all, a pervading sort of … of …”

“Sweetness,” he supplied, carefully replacing the poker.

She studied the back of his head worriedly. “Yes, exactly.”

“So you do like her.”

“Yes.”

He looked round at her. “Yet you think we should return home?”

“I'm not sure there's any point in our staying,” she said bluntly.

He turned back to stare at the flames. “In other words you don't think I have a chance with her.”

His mother sighed. “I don't know
why
the chit dislikes you, but it seems to me she does.”

“Yes, it seems so to me, too. That's why I haven't felt much like going to bed tonight.”

“I don't understand why you insisted that we come in the first place, Tris. Couldn't you see … Well, why mince words?… Couldn't you see her
antipathy
at your first meeting?”

Tris shook his head. “There
was
no antipathy at our first meeting.”

“Truly, my dear? I hate to cause you pain, but I may as well be frank. Are you sure that your infatuation didn't blind you?”

He wheeled around. “What sort of coxcomb do you take me for, Mama? I'm not some green-headed schoolboy. There was a definite attraction between us—on
both
our parts. You may take my word on it.”

“All right, Tris, all right. Don't rip up at me! I didn't mean to indicate any real doubt of the soundness of your judgment. After all, you did recognize, tonight, that her feelings are not favorable, which shows you are capable of detached, objective evaluation.”

“Thank you,” he said with heavy irony. “Considering the stark obviousness of her—as you call it—antipathy, you can hardly be surprised at my ability to discern it.”

Lady Rowcliffe ignored his sarcasm. If her son was correct in his first impression of the girl's reaction to him, the matter was most puzzling. “But Tris, my love, this makes no sense. If she liked you at first, how do you explain—?”

“I
can't
explain it. That's what's driving me distracted.”

“It can't be anything you did tonight, for she seemed to reject you from the first moment that Alfred brought you over.”

“You noticed that, did you? How?”

“I felt her stiffen.”

“I see.” He kicked at the fireplace fender with the toe of his boot. “But, of course, I really don't see. I don't see at all.”

“I don't either, even though I am usually quite familiar with the vagaries of the female mind. Assuming you're right in your assessment of the attraction of your first meeting—”

“Yes, let's proceed on that assumption, if you please,” he insisted.

“Then something must have happened to change her first impression. Something that occurred between your meeting at Portsmouth and her arrival here tonight.”

“But what possibly could have occurred? I haven't laid eyes on her from that day to this.”

His mother shook her head hopelessly. “It's baffling. There's nothing I can imagine which could so alter a girl's mind—”

“Unless …”

She looked up quickly. “You've thought of something?”

“Suppose that in the interim she fell in love with someone else.”

“Oh. Do you think she has?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. She came in this evening with that fair-haired lad, Boyce. They seemed thick as thieves.”

“I suppose it's possible.” She got up and paced thoughtfully about the room. “However, even
that
wouldn't explain her taking you in
dislike
.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That's what I decided, too. If she'd treated me with mere indifference, I could have made some sense of all this. But there seems to be something more. Something worse.”

She came up beside him and put a hand on his arm. “Poor dear. I
am
sorry. But you mustn't feel that there's anything tragic in this incident. It's not as if you were really in
love
, you know. After one brief meeting, one can hardly call the affair any more than an infatuation. You'll get over it.”

“Yes.” He roused himself from his contemplation of the fire and gave his mother a quick grin. “But not yet.”

“What?” she asked, bemused.

“I don't want to get over it yet.”

“But, Tris, my love,” she remonstrated gently, “there seems to be little point in our remaining—”

He started for the door. “For the mother of a sailor, my dear, you counsel surrender much too easily.”

“Do you mean you intend to
pursue
—”

“Did Nelson flee at the first salvo? Of course I intend to pursue the matter. Good night, Mama. And sleep well, just as I intend to do. It's much too soon to despair. The battle has only begun.”

Chapter Ten

So the celebrated visitors remained at Clement Hall, settling in for a month-long stay, just as originally planned. During that first week, Tris made no effort to seek out Jenny Garvin, thinking it wise to keep himself in the background to observe. Besides, his uncle, aunt and cousin made every effort to keep him and his mother fully occupied. Whenever the weather was favorable (and the first week of their stay proved to be pleasant and remarkably mild for December), they were taken on outings—trips to see the renowned Hailes Abbey and every other place of historic or artistic interest within an hour's drive. In addition, Lady Rowcliffe was invited to several afternoon card parties, while her son was taken twice on shooting parties with the local gentlemen. Captain Allenby even found himself short of time to take his daily ride on the mare he'd brought with him from his London stables.