Ransome's Honor (13 page)

Admiral Witherington raised his goblet once more for the final and somber Sunday toast. “To absent friends.”

“Absent friends,” William repeated along with the others, his mind straying to those men he knew he’d never see again this side of heaven, praying some had finally made peace with God before their untimely deaths.

“Sir Drake, had you any service in the war?” Admiral Glover asked.

The dandy baronet seemed to startle out of a reverie-as if he’d allowed his mind to wander during the toasting. “No, Cap—Admiral. My father, General Sir Walter Pembroke, had been about to purchase a commission for me in one of his regiments, but he died before the commission was finalized. As I inherited the title upon his death, the family felt it imperative that I remain in England to oversee the farms and mills.”

Admiral Witherington’s face seemed carved from stone. “And how fare the Pembroke mills and farms?”

Curiosity piqued by Sir Edward’s sardonic undertone, William turned to look down the table at the baronet.

Pembroke cleared his throat and took a drink from his nearly empty goblet. “Like many businesses, we suffer from a dearth of able workers, as many of our men were abducted and pressed into naval service.”

Sir Edward’s left brow raised—never a good sign. “I am certain had the press-gangs known the men worked for such an important enterprise, they would have left them alone. After all, with the Royal Navy fighting two wars simultaneously, having the extra men brought to our ships was quite a luxury, I assure you.”

William reached for his goblet, still more than half full, and relaxed in his chair. Unbeknownst to the baronet, Sir Edward had just run out his guns and was waiting for the right moment to sound the attack. William made himself comfortable and waited for the next broadside.

A vein on Pembroke’s forehead pulsed. “You must admit, Sir Edward, that businesses such as those owned by the Pembroke family—farms which raise pigs and sheep, and textile mills that produce woolen fabric—are of vital importance to the survival of this country. One might say as important as the army or the navy.”

Admiral Witherington’s complexion darkened ominously.

“Do you mean to tell me, sir,” Admiral Glover jumped in, face pinched in a scowl, his Scottish brogue a little more obvious than usual, “that you would compare a paltry farming enterprise with the national importance of the armed forces of His Royal Majesty King George?”

William assiduously avoided eye contact with Collin—he did not want to interrupt this entertainment by bursting out in laughter.

“A paltry farming enterprise?” Sir Drake slammed his glass down on the table. “I will have you know that the Pembroke mills and farms provided woolen cloth to scores of highly regarded retailers throughout the south of England for generations, that they employed hundreds of people who would otherwise have been in the workhouse.”

Sir Edward’s lips twitched. “Yet you have shut down or sold off many of these mills, as they were of such vital national importance.”

Pembroke drained his glass and snapped his fingers for the nearest footman to refill it. William made a mental note to keep his eye on the blackguard when they joined the ladies upstairs in a little while.

“Perhaps,” Admiral Hinds interjected, “now that the war is over, those whose fortunes have taken a turn for the worse might see their business once again on the upturn.”

Sir Edward looked as if he wished to spend more time baiting the baronet, but after working his jaw a few moments as if chewing on the decision, he left off and asked Mason to share about some of his most recent travels.

Turning to look at Mason, William could easily see Pembroke near the opposite end of the table, eyes narrowed, staring into his wineglass. William might have missed out on his one chance to make Julia his wife, but he would never forgive himself if he stood by and watched her marry Drake Pembroke.

Chapter Twelve

C
harlotte couldn’t stop staring at the opulence surrounding her. Admiral Witherington’s home must surely rival King George’s grandest palace.

“Miss Ransome. I feel I’ve yet to have a chance to speak with you this evening.” Glowing like a flame in her bronze gown, Julia Witherington joined Charlotte at the bust of Lord Admiral Horatio Nelson.

“I cannot express my gratitude at being included in the invitation, Miss Witherington. I had no idea upon leaving Gateacre I would be dining in such grand style two days after my arrival.”

Julia smiled. Of course her teeth were perfect—everything about her was. Except for the faint freckles across her nose. “Have you seen any of Portsmouth yet?”

“No—well, we did go through part of High Street to see Susan’s—Mrs. Yates’s dressmaker.”

“I am certain you will find much to occupy you during your visit. I shall make the formal invitation to your mother, but I can tell you that I do plan to have you both out for tea one day next week. I can take you all over the house and grounds then.” She patted Lord Nelson’s head. “And if you are interested in naval history, I will even show you my father’s study. He engaged an artist from Switzerland to paint his ship before it was decommissioned. The portrait hangs above the fireplace.”

Charlotte’s breath hitched with excitement. “And are you interested in naval history?”

“Through my father and brother, the Royal Navy has dominated my life—though perhaps not so much as yours, as I have spent more than half my years away from England.” Miss Witherington glanced around. “Come, I must see to the service of coffee and tea. Please keep me company?”

Charlotte gladly fell in step with her hostess. “I did not know you also have a brother in the navy. Has he paid off, or is he still on active duty?”

Miss Witherington’s humor dimmed. “My brother was lost at sea almost fifteen years ago.”

“I am so sorry—”

“Do not fret.” She patted Charlotte’s arm. “I have reconciled myself to it.

They joined the rest of the women at the other end of the room. Once all the ladies had their cups, they drifted off to the grouping of chairs and sofas near the enormous fireplace.

Charlotte helped herself to tea, while Miss Witherington poured coffee.

“Who was that man at dinner—the one not in uniform?” Charlotte stirred in milk and sugar.

“Sir Drake Pembroke—my cousin.” Her left brow raised. “Why?”

“Oh, I...” Charlotte’s skin crawled at the memory of Sir Drake Pembroke’s gaze raking over her time and again while they dined.

Miss Witherington moved closer. “I shall introduce you if you like. But I should warn you—the baronet is not the kind of man of whom your brother would approve.”

There had to be an easier way to obtain thirty thousand pounds.

Never before had Drake been so keen to leave a social gathering. He had come at his mother’s invitation, hoping to enjoy a little society and a lot of Miss Julia’s company. What he’d gotten was the society of his mother and Lady Dalrymple and the company of six sailors intent on attacking and belittling anyone not of their kind. However, the beautiful Miss Ransome might prove to be the diversion he was looking for here in Portsmouth if she followed through on the promises she’d made with her glowing blue eyes at dinner.

Julia stood at the table serving coffee and tea to the officers, her smile brightening her face and making her almost pretty. Her gown had no doubt cost more than Drake had lost at the Long Rooms last night, and she was the only woman in the room—aside from perhaps Lady Dalrymple—who could wear it without looking gaudy. The others were too pale, too plain, or too severe.

He supposed for those occasions when he needed a respectable wife on his arm, Miss Julia Witherington would fit the bill. He conjured his most seductive smile as the crowd of men around her dispersed. He finally stood face-to-face with her. Her green eyes dropped to the cup in his hands, but not before her smile faded.

“Miss Witherington, I have hardly seen you this evening. So when my mother requested I retrieve a refill of her tea, I felt myself the most fortunate man in the world.”

She did not blush. She did not dip her head in embarrassment. She did not simper and try to cull more compliments. Her expression remained neutral as she reached for Lady Pembroke’s cup and refilled it. “May I offer you tea or coffee, Sir Drake?”

Coldness settled in Drake’s belly. No woman had ever been able to withstand his charms. “Which do you prefer?”

“The coffee is from Jamaica, so I must recommend it.”

“Then by all means...” He nodded at the coffeepot.

Her movements were not rushed, but efficient and graceful as she served the steaming coffee and handed it to him.

“Thank you. May I request the honor of your joining us by the fireplace?”

“I—”

“Miss Witherington, you must come settle a dispute.” Mrs. Yates approached and clasped Julia’s elbow. “Oh, I beg your pardon, Sir Drake, but I have need of Julia for a moment.”

Julia inclined her head at Drake. “Please excuse me.” She allowed the other woman to drag her away to the opposite side of the room where her father, Ransome, and the other two captains stood near the large window.

In none of their previous encounters had Drake seen Julia interact with such animated friendliness as she did tonight.

He made his way back across the large sitting room to where his mother sat watching those nearest her with an imperious glare. Julia definitely was not his first choice of wife. But he’d run out of time. He needed her money, and he needed it soon. Letters from two creditors had arrived today. If two of them had tracked him to Portsmouth, the others would soon know his whereabouts as well. Published banns of his impending marriage to a proven heiress would hold them off

He took the seat Lady Pembroke indicated in the small cluster of chairs, putting him between herself and Lady Dalrymple. Although the dowager viscountess could become an ally, he read his mother’s scowls well enough to know that she put up with the aristocrat only because of her title and money.

Across the encircled seating area was the girl he’d sat beside at dinner. She did not enter much into the conversation, but her beauty recommended her to his attention. Rumors circulated about Portsmouth of William Ransome’s wealth—and that he had two brothers equally rich. What, if any, legacy might they have settled upon their sister?

He looked at Julia again and resigned himself. In life, as with cards, he must place his bet where he had his best chance of the highest winnings. Although this technique had lost him considerable amounts of money, laying everything on the line for a promising hand had, upon occasion, won him some magnificent sums. Of Julia, Lady Everingham, or Miss Ransome, Julia would prove his best bet—his mother would see to it.

Julia kept a piece of her attention on Sir Drake, mindful of his location should she have need of escape once more. Susan had played her role to perfection, rescuing Julia almost before necessary.

She returned to the serving table—and nearly walked straight into William Ransome. Her chest vibrated from the pounding of her heart. “Oh, I do beg your pardon.”

“No apologies necessary.” The gentleness in his expression drove away her concerns about Sir Drake.

Julia tried to smother her reaction to him. The last thing she needed was to let herself rekindle fondness for him. “I am so happy your mother and sister are here. I have quite enjoyed getting to know Miss Ransome better.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile. “She was beside herself when she learned of the invitation.”

Had she truly looked at this man since his return to Portsmouth? Or had something changed in him since his family’s arrival? She could not define it, but somehow—whether in the expression in his sky-blue eyes or the soft smile that seemed to come so easily to his broad mouth tonight—she was seeing a different William Ransome than the man she’d greeted with forced indifference in Susan’s parlor little more than a week ago.

“The coffee-it is from Jamaica?”

His question jerked her from her thoughts; he’d picked up the coffeepot and was pouring his own. What must he think of his hostess? “Yes. From a neighbor’s plantation. I understand from my father you are sailing to Jamaica soon.”

He sipped the coffee. “Yes. Captain Yates and I will be escorting a supply convoy.”

“Captain Yates is going too?” She looked beyond William to where Collin stood with her father and the other officers. “Does Susan know?”

“He only learned of his orders two days ago.” He gazed past her shoulder, and she turned to see Susan gesturing with her hands as she spoke with Mrs. Hinds and Miss Ransome. “But I do not think he has told her yet.”

“She will be disappointed he is not to stay in England longer. But such is the life of a navy officer’s wife.”

At William’s silence, she turned her attention back to him—and heat crept into her cheeks at the intensity in his light eyes.

Mason’s loud laughter behind him seemed to startle William from his thoughts. “Will you stay in England long?”

Julia let out a deep breath and shook her head. “I hope to return to Jamaica before the year is out, truth be told. Although now that Papa has no ship of his own, finding a captain willing to take on a female passenger is difficult—and Papa does not want me traveling on a merchant ship.”

“I understand his reluctance. The war with France may have ended, but the seas continue to be dangerous.”

“Of course.” Julia felt like a pillow that burst and lost all its feathers. With that attitude, how would she convince him to take her along? She needed another plan.

“Julia, Sir Drake is leaving.”

William’s skin crawled at the sharp tone in Lady Pembroke’s shrill voice.

At her aunt’s statement, Julia finished whatever she was saying to Susan before moving toward the door. Julia gave a brief flicker of annoyance at the interruption. But she masked it quickly and was politeness personified as she bade farewell to the baronet.

As soon as Sir Drake departed, Lady Pembroke excused herself, and Susan and Julia retreated a few steps away to finish their interrupted conversation.

“She is lovely, Sir Edward.” Mrs. Ransome nodded toward Julia. “In fact, she is very similar to her mother’s looks, if my memory serves.”

“Aye, very much like her mother.” The gruff emotion sounded odd coming from the admiral.

Sir Edward inquired of the Ransome farm, and William lost track of their conversation as he continued to watch Julia. All evening, he had been unable to keep his attention from straying to her, especially since their private chat earlier.

Why, at her age, had she not yet married? Had she, too, harbored dreams that they might one day meet again and finish what they started?

She looked up, their eyes meeting. Embarrassment at getting caught staring at her prickled up the back of his neck. She dropped her eyes, but dimples appeared in her cheeks as a self-conscious smile overtook her full lips.

William forced his attention back to his mother and Admiral Witherington. A few moments later, Susan and Julia rejoined them.