Ransome's Honor (15 page)

Drake’s triumph seemed to melt into disappointment at her rapid capitulation. Her stomach roiled, and she wished she had not indulged in the fourth cup of coffee this morning. Outside, she raised her parasol and tried using it to keep her face shielded from him—but the sun came from the opposite side. Like Susan, he talked without expecting much in the way of an answer, and in the few minutes it took Julia to walk to Collier’s Papergoods, she’d grown sick of his slightly peevish tone.

At last, she threw open the wood-and-glass door and, before her eyes adjusted to the dim interior, turned and extended her hand, palm up.

Once again he almost put the key in her hand before snatching it away, smiling. “I must know what it is a key to before I give it back.”

“It is a family heirloom,” Julia temporized. If he found out it was the key that protected her father’s wealth, the deeds to the house here and Tierra Dulce, paperwork on cargo ships he was in the process of purchasing...

“Oh, come now, my dear, surely you can tell your old cousin Drake.”

Julia bit the inside of her cheek to keep from flying at him, ready to rake any flesh she could reach with her fingernails. “Sorry. No. Now, may I please have my key back?”

Drake tapped the engraved end against his chin as though weighing her request.

“I do believe the lady has asked for the return of a piece of her property.” A man’s voice reverberated behind Julia, and she started. The shop had been so quiet, she hadn’t realized any other customers were in the place. She knew the voice, and a brief thrill shivered down her spine.

William Ransome came to stand at Julia’s side, one brow raised in an expression very similar to the one her father wore just before he exploded in anger. Finally, the weight of the key landed in her palm, and she quickly wrapped her fingers around it.

Drake looked from Julia to William and back. “Miss Witherington, I hope I may have the pleasure of calling on you this week.”

“I am never certain of my schedule from one day to the next, Sir Drake. But you are more than welcome to come by any day and leave your card if I am not in.”

Her answer did not please him, but before William—and the shopkeeper—he could say no more. “I’ll take my leave of you, then.”

She hardly had time to bend her knees before Drake was out the door. Julia watched him go with satisfaction and then turned to thank William, only to see the back of his tan coat disappear through the door.

She wasn’t sure exactly what had just happened, but she did know she owed William Ransome a debt of gratitude. Somehow, that thought did not bother her as it might have a week ago.

Chapter Fourteen

W
illiam. adjusted his hat lower over his brow to try to conceal his eyes and avoid making eye contact with anyone, but the narrow brim of the civilian hat did little to shield him.

Why of all days should he find himself out of paper and low on ink? And why had the need to come to Julia Witherington’s defense felt anything but a duty to his admiral?

He walked without knowing his heading or destination—merely driven by the urge to be near the water and ships. At the main gate, the two marine guards challenged his entry into the dock yard until he produced his letter of commission—the identification he never went anywhere without.

Looming in the distance above the three massive storehouses stood the triple masts of a ship. His pulse quickened at the sight, and he made his way through the dockyard, drawn ever closer toward the oaken masterpiece. As he cleared the buildings, he saw the two rows of gun ports and hastened his steps. Workers swarmed over the ship like crows on a carcass; he spotted someone nearby who looked to be in charge.

“Are you the dockmaster?” William hardly took his eyes off the ship. If only the workers did not obscure her so...

The crusty seaman eyed William’s civilian clothing. “Aye. And just who might ye be?”

William drew himself to full attention. “Captain William Ransome. What ship is this?”

The dockmaster hastily rearranged his expression and knuckled his forehead. “Sorry, sir. No offense, sir. This here is
Alexandra,
seventy-four.”

William nearly cried out with joy. He’d found her!

“She be under the command of...” The master flipped through the pages tangled in his hands. “The command of ..ah, I see she’s your ship, sir?”

“Aye, that she is.”

“We’re making goodly progress on her, sir. A finer ship I never seen. Your carpenter were a fair hand with the repairs, if I may say so, sir.”

“You may, and I will pass along the compliment.” William shaded his eyes to take in the full sight of his beloved home. “Do not let me keep you from your duties, Master...?”

“O’Reilley, sir.” The man knuckled his forehead again. “If ye wish, there’s a good place for viewing the work just there by the smithy.”

“Thank you. Carry on, Master O’Reilley” William found a barrel that made a makeshift seat in the shade of the blacksmith shop, out of the way of the scurrying dockyard crew, where he could drink in the magnificence of his ship. Never before had he seen her out of the water, but the familiar lines, the patched and reworked hull, the place in the quarterdeck gunwale where a cannonball had missed taking off Ned’s leg by mere inches, were all welcomed sights. He wanted to run his hands along the curving bow planks. He wanted to stroll the decks and feel the sway of the ocean below his feet. He wanted to sleep in his cabin, to have dinner with his officers. In short, he wanted life to return to normal.

These last days spent almost constantly in female company had addled his brain and muddied his once crystal-clear logic. He’d given more time to thinking about Julia Witherington—the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder, the perfect mahogany color of her hair, the boorishness of her cousin—than he had in praying for his crew, preparing for the voyage, and keeping abreast of all the newest advances in naval science.

Although each board the carpenters tore loose from his ship felt to William like a piece of his flesh, staying here and watching them dismantle her was preferable to returning to the Yateses’ home, where Susan would no doubt have heard of the incident this morning and want to know why William had been so rude as to leave without speaking to Julia.

What had Julia and Pembroke been carrying on about back there? He’d seen the merest flash of a brass key as Pembroke had dropped the item into her hand. How had Pembroke come by the trinket, and why had Julia been so anxious to retrieve it?

He must stop himself thinking about Julia as anything other than his admiral’s daughter. After all, he would be gone in a month, leaving Julia behind again. He couldn’t go through the months of agonizing over her this time as he had before.

Several hours later, eight bells chimed and reverberated louder than the smiths’ hammers through the yard. The sun blazed straight overhead, eliminating all but the smallest sliver of shade beside the building. William’s stomach growled.

He rose and stretched his back, cramped from hours sitting propped against a brick wall. If he did not want Collin to eat without him, he would have to hasten his return.

Now that he
knew Alexandra’s
berthing, he would pay regular visits. And maybe his constant vigil would encourage Master O.’Reilley to spur the men on to have her ready early.

The walk from Collin’s home to High Street had been pleasant early this morning; now, however, the noon sun beat down on William as he quick-marched a reverse path through Portsmouth, the land canting upward like a ship climbing a wave. He paused twice to mop at the sweat running down his face and then pressed on.

He had just reached the stoop outside the Yateses’ home when the front door flew open.

“William, thank God. Susan, he has returned!” Collin’s freckles stood out in sharp contrast to his unusually pale face. “I was about to find a marine brigade to muster and send out in search of you.”

William stopped on the top step, consternated. “I apologize for my long absence—I had no idea anyone would worry as to my whereabouts.”

“Oh, thank the good Lord you are unharmed.” Mrs. Ransome pushed Collin out of her way, rushed out the door, and threw her arms around William. “When I heard...I was so worried.”

William, hands hovering stiffly at his sides, looked at Collin over his mother’s head, trying to figure out what had happened to create such a fuss. Susan and Charlotte joined Collin at the door, looking equally worried.

Mrs. Ransome stepped back. “You are well? Not injured?”

“I am perfectly well, I assure you.” William straightened his coat and removed his hat. “Except for being heated nearly to exhaustion from walking in the sun this last hour.” He wiped his dripping forehead with a handkerchief

“How can we be so unpardonable?” Susan grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the house, pushing Collin out of her way too. “Go up to the sitting room—there is a nice cross breeze—and I will have Ella bring you a cold tray for your dinner.” She rushed off toward the kitchen.

William shrugged out of his coat and loosened his neckcloth. Dawling appeared and took the discarded articles before William could toss them on a side chair.

“Shall I have a bath sent up for you, sir?” Dawling took great care to fold the coat a particular way before draping it over his beefy forearm.

“A few buckets of cold water would be a luxury, Dawling. I thank you.

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” Dawling grinned cheekily along with the naval phrase he’d been told not to use, and disappeared the same direction Susan had gone.

“We shall await you in the sitting room, William.” His mother touched his cheek, concern still palpable.

William was ready to get out of the black leather boots making his legs sweat from calf to ankle. He looked at Collin over his shoulder as they climbed the stairs. “May I inquire as to the nature of the harm that supposedly befell me while I was out this morning?”

Collin, whose natural ruddiness slowly returned, laughed. “I should have known it was much ado about nothing. After you left this morning, Susan decided she needed even more ribbon and trim for her hats and went into High Street. Apparently while there, she heard a few other ladies talking about an altercation they had witnessed in the stationer’s shop.”

William groaned. Of course someone had witnessed this morning’s scene. “Altercation?”

“Aye, that’s what she called it. The ladies thought Sir Drake must have challenged you because you both exited so swiftly. She came home and informed your mother and sister, and they have all been at wits’ end with concern, imagining you lying dead in a field with no one to weep over your bloody corpse.” Collin snorted. “As if you could not take a macaroni like him, blindfolded and with your cutlass in your left hand. Of which I assured them repeatedly.”

“Ah. Thus the reason for your pasty coloration and the greeting you gave upon my return.” William turned on the landing and looked at Collin over his shoulder.

“All show for Susan, I assure you.” Collin shoved him and followed him up the second flight of stairs.

“My dear fellow, I know full well you are not so accomplished an actor. Come now, admit it. You gave weight to the possibility that peacock might have killed me in a duel.”

“I did—you were not—he could not—oh, all right. Yes, I was concerned he might have gotten the better of you, but only by cheating or some other nefarious means.”

Oh, how William missed being able to interact with a friend—an equal—like this. Although he and Ned had a good relationship, a friendship even, as first lieutenant, Ned had to respect William’s superior rank, constraining what the younger man could do or say in William’s presence. With Collin—a friend for more than twenty years and his equal in station—the isolation of his life lifted.

Collin followed him into his room. “Do tell me what happened.”

William unbuttoned his waistcoat and untucked his muslin shirt, relieved to have the fabric away from his damp skin. “I had need of paper and ink this morning and paid a visit to Mr. Collier’s shop. Before I could complete my business, the door opened and in walked Miss Witherington and the macaroni—as you have quite aptly named him. Apparently he had taken an item from her, and she was anxious to retrieve it. He tried to hold it for ransom, and I did the only thing a man of honor could have done.”

“You insisted he give it to her.”

“Naturally. He did. He asked if he could call on her, she evaded the question with a suitably vague response, and he left the shop. Thinking I could discourage any further gossip about Miss Witherington and me, I left the shop as well—and made certain I walked the opposite direction of the baronet.”

“And that was the end of the encounter?” Collin availed himself of the seat under the open window.

“Aye. I walked to the dockyard, found my ship, and spent several pleasant hours watching the crew tear her to pieces.” He looked through the pile of correspondence Dawling had left on his desk. Familiar handwriting caught his attention.

“I will leave you to it, then. The dinner things will be set out in the sitting room, but take your time. Susan is expecting a few callers, so the afternoon should be free for us to review charts and warrants.” Collin stepped aside to admit Dawling, gave a jaunty salute, and disappeared.

Water splashed onto the rug over the rim of the hipbath Dawling heaved into the room. He grunted as he set it down on the floor in front of the empty fireplace. Now would probably not be the best time to explain that one usually brought the tub first and then returned with buckets of water to fill it.

“There y’are, Capn—sir. Cook believes a cold-water bath is bad for the health, so she insisted on adding one bucket of hot water to it.”

William dunked his hand into the water, which was by no means cold, but still cooler than his skin. “Then she would be highly upset to learn we have, on occasion, been forced to bathe with sea water, would she not?”

“She were right livid about it when I said so, sir.”

William sank into the desk chair while Dawling dug out soap and towels and set out clothes. William popped the seal on his middle brother’s letter. He skimmed the page, full of James’s latest adventures and the news he was to be sent to India.

The cool bath worked to soothe his body and mind. He stood, dried off, and dressed, shrugging into the new green swallow-tailed coat the tailor had sent up this morning.

A soft, feminine voice wafted through the open window.

Susan. Collin seemed to be quite happy with her. His friend never seemed distracted by the fact he had a wife, nor had his marriage impeded his dedication to the navy or his ship and crew. And whenever he returned to port, he had a warm hearth of his own and a loving wife to welcome him.

But William had seen in just a few days the grief Susan suffered when Collin was out at sea—and Collin had only been on an escort mission, not in battle. William had seen the same haunted expression in his mother’s eyes his entire childhood as she prayed for his father’s safety. If William loved a woman, he would respect her too much to put her through such pain.

Yet to hope, to anticipate, to rejoice in the knowledge that someone awaited his return from sea; to have children and see how they’d grown each time his ship dropped anchor in port; to build a future and a home with a woman he loved...what man did not dream of these things?

A knock on the door startled him out of his reverie. “Enter.”

“William?” Collin stuck his flaxen head around the door. “Susan wanted to know if you plan to come down or if she should have a tray sent up.”

Oh, to have someone other than his steward worry about whether he ate properly. William frowned. Did Dawling care if he ate properly?