Her Heart's Captain (9 page)

“I met her on the dock at Portsmouth.”

Lady Rowcliffe's smile faded. “On the
dock
…?”

Tris laughed. “You needn't look so stricken, Mama. She's no lightskirt. She'd come to see her brother off. He's a middy on my ship.”

“Oh, I see.” She leaned back in some relief. “She must be dazzling if you were so taken with her in one meeting. I don't know why I haven't heard Alfred or Sally speak of her.”

“I don't think you can call her ‘dazzling' at all. That's not the right word. She's a rather shy sort, I believe. The kind who hesitates to put herself forward and who colors up at the slightest provocation. ‘Reticent,' I'd say.”

“Are you attracted to
reticence?
” his mother asked in amazement.

“I was to
hers
.”

Lady Rowcliffe studied him dubiously. “But her shyness may only have been a response to the situation. You are, after all, the awesome Captain Allenby of her brother's ship.”

“Yes, but she didn't know it then. Our meeting was quite accidental. We've not
yet
been introduced.”

“I don't think I understand. Are you saying that you struck up an acquaintance with a young woman who was absolutely unknown to you … and you to her?”

“Yes, that's about the size of it.”

“Really, my love, such an encounter doesn't sound at all seemly. A young woman who would permit herself to indulge in such a
rencontre
can
not
be a proper sort.”

“You don't know the circumstances, so you can't judge,” her son retorted flatly.

Lady Rowcliffe could see that her son had not the slightest intention of enlightening her about those circumstances. “Tris, my dear, you can't be serious about this,” she said, troubled. “How can you, after one brief meeting with a young woman whose identity you didn't know and who didn't know yours, propose to go to the country for a month just to seek her out? It seems quite shatterbrained to me.”

“It probably is. But if she's at all as I remember her, I want to marry her.”

“
Tris
!”

“Is that very shocking?” he asked naively.

“Of course it is. Good heavens, can she have made so strong an impression on you as
that
?”

“I must admit she did.”

“But, my dear, suppose you find, when you meet her again, that she's not at all as you remember her. What then?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea. That's why I didn't wish to speak of this at all. I was certain you'd think I was behaving like a moonling.”

“And you are,” she said bluntly.

“I suppose I am. Sometimes I think she can't possibly be as lovely as I remember her. But I must find out. You see, Mama, I've been able to think of very little else since the day I met her.”

“Oh, dear, that
does
sound serious. In the circumstances, I suppose we'd better not cancel our journey to Wyndham after all.”

“Cancel it? Certainly not. Whatever gave you the idea that we should?”

“I was convinced that you'd find the sojourn dull beyond belief. And I was positive
I
would. Now, however, I'm beginning to believe that a stay in the country may turn out to be a great deal more interesting than I thought.”

“It will certainly be that,” Tris murmured a bit ruefully. “You do realize, Mama, that we should prepare for the possibility of complete disaster.”

“You mean if you should find that you don't care for her after all?”

“I mean if I find she doesn't care for
me
.”

“Oh, pooh! She can't be such a ninny as that.”

Tris shook his head. “Don't be so fondly blind, Mama. I'm years older than she, not at all the comely youth of whom a girl dreams, and a sailor to boot. I've given myself a month in which to win her over, but I might soon learn that she won't have me.”

His mother hooted and got nimbly to her feet. “What is much
more
likely, you gudgeon, is that you'll have one brief meeting with her, find her conversation innocuous or her manners revolting, and wonder whatever made you think for a moment that she was the woman for you. Then I shall have to invent some sort of excuse for your uncle Alfred to explain why we are packing up so abruptly and returning to London.”

But Tris was not listening. He was staring into the fire with a most uncharacteristic half-smile on his face, as if he were envisioning the most beatific reunion the world had ever seen. His mother sighed, half in amusement and half in dismay. She hoped her son was not embarking on a path that would lead to a crushing disappointment.

But Lady Rowcliffe was a woman of action, not of contemplation. She immediately roused herself from the mire of useless speculation. “Will you be wanting the rest of this champagne?” she asked her son.

He seemed not to have heard. With another amused shake of her head, she picked up the bottle and her glass and went briskly to the door. “I'm not going to let this expensive champagne go to waste, whether I have something to celebrate or not,” she announced gaily to no one in particular. Then, on the threshold, she paused. “I wonder,” she murmured thoughtfully, “what one must pack for a whole month in the country.”

But realizing that she would get no response from her oblivious son, she went out and closed the door behind her without waiting for an answer.

Chapter Seven

Everyone in the district knew that Lady Rowcliffe and her famous son had arrived at Clement Hall, for as soon as the news had leaked abroad that one of the doyens of the
haut ton
and one of the heroes of Trafalgar were to pay a visit to their region, the populace had kept watch for them. The nine-year-old son of the owner of the livery stable had seen a line of carriages approaching and had actually run down the road shouting, “They're corning! They're coming!”

Never before had the inhabitants of Wyndham seen such an entourage. Lady Rowcliffe, in a black-and-bronze coach drawn by six horses, had led the parade, followed by two other carriages—a phaeton, painted a shocking lapis-lazuli blue, carrying her ladyship's abigail and her special “dresser,” and a barouch-landau piled high with trunks, parcels, bandboxes and dressing cases. Captain Allenby himself, who'd brought up the rear, was to the onlookers a decided anticlimax, for he'd not worn his naval uniform but merely modest civilian dress, he'd been unaccompanied by a single servant (“Not even a valet!” Mrs. Jubb later exclaimed to the vicar's wife who'd been too conscious of her family's dignity to run out to the road to watch) and he'd been driving his own curricle with not even a tiger standing up behind.

Lady Clement's welcoming dinner was to be held on the very night of her guests' arrival, and the event was anticipated by all those who'd been invited with the most avid excitement. Even the worldly wise Lady Rowcliffe found herself somewhat anxiously expectant, for she'd managed to learn from her unsuspecting sister-in-law that Tris's Miss Jenny Garvin was on the guest list.

Lady Rowcliffe hadn't had the least difficulty in worming out the information from Sally without giving Tris's secret away. She'd simply waited until everyone in the household had retired to their dressing rooms to dress for dinner, she'd removed a bottle from a large wooden crate which she'd brought with her and, in her elegant dressing gown trimmed with gold cord, the bottle tucked under her arm and two stemmed goblets in her hand, she'd walked down the hall to her sister-in-law's bedroom. “May I come in for a moment, Sally?” she'd asked guilelessly from the doorway. “I've brought you a dozen bottles of the Carcavellos wine you so much admired when you visited me last, and I thought you might enjoy sampling it before dinner.”

“Oh, come in,” Sally said with a welcoming smile to cover her surprise. Waving her abigail out of the room, she added, “Although I don't remember admiring any wine. Not that I didn't admire
everything
you served. You are
such
a connoisseur.”

“Rubbish,” Lady Rowcliffe said, closing the door carefully behind her.

Sally, Lady Clement, peered up at her stylish sister-in-law from her place at her dressing table with vaguely troubled eyes. Pale-haired and plump, Sally Clement was always vaguely troubled. Having won for herself a husband much grander than anyone had ever expected, she'd thought when she'd married that all her earthly troubles were at an end. But happiness always seemed to elude her. Her husband was devoted but not intimate, her daughter was beautiful but quite spoiled, her life was always just short of expectation. She was sensitive enough to realize that things in her life were awry but not clever or strong enough to set them right.
If only
, she thought with a sigh,
I could be as clever and purposeful as this diminutive, dynamic sister-in-law of mine
.

“I remember quite distinctly,” Lady Rowcliffe insisted, setting up the glasses and opening the bottle, “that you admired it because it's both sweet and pungent.” She poured the golden liquid into the glasses and handed one to her sister-in-law.

Sally took the glass and sipped the wine gingerly. “Mmm. It
is
sweet and pungent, isn't it? This is so kind of you, Dulcie, dear. Imagine your remembering to bring it for me when I don't even remember asking—”

“Doesn't the taste remind you? Drink it up, my dear, and it will all come back to you,” Dulcie urged. “You will not find a wine like this anywhere outside of Portugal. I have a special source of supply, you see.”

“You mean smugglers, don't you?” Sally began to drink with more relish. “Oh, it is lovely. I do thank you.”

“Have some more,” Lady Rowcliffe murmured, refilling her sister-in-law's glass and seating herself on the chaise with casual nonchalance. “You've gone to so much trouble to make our first evening here festive that I'm glad I have something tangible with which to show my appreciation.”

“That wasn't at all necessary. It's the greatest pleasure to me to be able to present you to my friends and neighbors.”

“Oh, dear,” Dulcie said with exaggerated alarm, “I hope you're not going to have a great crowd.”

“No, not tonight. Only my very closest friends, and the vicar, of course. And some of their offspring. Only eighteen guests in all. I mean to have a musicale afterwards, and some card games.” She looked at her sister-in-law in sudden apprehension. “I didn't overdo it, did I, for your first evening?”

“No, not at all. It sounds utterly delightful.”

“But will Tristram like it, do you think?” Sally persisted worriedly, reaching for the bottle and refilling her glass.

Lady Rowcliffe shrugged. “How can I tell what Tris will like? He rarely deigns to socialize with me, you know.”

“I'm so eager to arrange our social events to please him,” Sally confided, taking a large swig of her wine. “We shall have a few young ladies who're unattached, and Toby Boyce, of course, but he's only barely in his twenties. Perhaps Tristram will find them all too young for him. And all our friends are, naturally, much too old—”

“I wouldn't concern myself about Tris, if I were you. He's very resourceful and will be able to make his own amusements. He enjoys good conversation with people of any age, and as for unattached young ladies, do you know of any gentleman who's not susceptible to them?”

“Yes, you must be right,” Sally said with a hiccough. “I've been overanxious. Our young ladies are bound to please. Why, there's Andrea right here at hand, and I needn't tell you what a diamond
she
is, and then there's Jenny Garvin, who is rather retiring but quite capable of witty conversation when she's drawn out.”

“Garvin?” Lady Rowcliffe casually picked a piece of lint from the sleeve of her gown. “I've heard that name, I think.”

“You may have heard it from Tristram, for the young Garvin boy sailed with him on this last voyage.”

“Ah, yes. Tris did mention that one of his ‘middies' resides in Wyndham. What a coincidence that the family should be known to you.”

“Oh, very well known to us, I as … assure you,” Sally said, waving her glass in the air unsteadily. “They were the very first I invited for this evening. Lady Garvin is very well connected—the Earl of Wetherbrooke is her brother-in-law. She's a widow like yourself, and I'm convinced you will take to her. Her son, Robbie, is quite the most popular young man in the district, despite the fact that he's not quite fifteen.” She giggled whoozily and then covered her mouth in surprise. “He's frightfully good-looking, as you will see.”

“And Lady Garvin has a daughter, too, you say?” Lady Rowcliffe persisted, although she exhibited no more than a casual, polite interest.

“Jenny. A lovely girl, lovely.” She poured the last of the wine into her glass. “She and Andrea have been bosom-bows since childhood.” She smiled dizzily. “Bosom-bows.”

“How nice. I don't suppose, however, that it's possible she can be as charming as your Andrea, for a country village like Wyndham can hardly be expected to have
two
such diamonds.”

Sally's eyes wavered from Dulcie's face. She'd had too much wine and she knew it. She hoped she wouldn't say anything foolish while her head was so dizzy and her tongue so thick. Her sharp-eyed sister-in-law would discover soon enough, she supposed, that Andrea had a hidden flaw. The girl could sometimes exhibit unexpected signs of being spoiled. If only she could keep her daughter from having a tantrum while Dulcie and Tris remained in residence.

Her head was swimming. She mustn't let herself take anything else to drink tonight. It wouldn't do for her to reveal her secret dream … the hope that Tris would develop a
tendre
for her daughter. Alfred always said that he didn't approve of marriages between cousins, despite their legality, but she would be overjoyed to see her daughter so well settled. If only Andrea …