Ransome's Honor (24 page)

“And you do not go to many balls at home?” Julia fidgeted with the clasp on her valise, still watching Charlotte in the mirror.

“A few every year, some dances in homes, but nothing akin to last night.” Charlotte paused, looked at the floor, and stiffened.

Julia dragged her bag into her lap and began to sort through the items she’d packed as if searching for something. “Yes, last night’s event was...memorable.” From the corner of her eye, she caught the motion of Charlotte quickly bending, straightening, and then hastily stuffing the stray page into a muslin-wrapped packet which she then tucked into the wardrobe. The letter had been hidden in one of Charlotte’s drawers...meaning her family most likely did not know of the proposal. Had Charlotte accepted?

She could think of nothing else to say, so she kept rifling through her packed toiletries and fresh undergarments. Charlotte returned to the desk to put away the stationery.

Julia turned to look at Charlotte when the silence between them grew too heavy, afraid she might blurt out her knowledge of the letter. “I do apologize. I am not nearly as vivacious and lively a companion as Susan. If we are to be sisters, we should take what time we have to get to know each other better.”

Charlotte’s shoulders seemed to lose some of their tension. “I agree.”

“Then what may I tell you about myself you do not already know?” Talking about herself would get her mind off that letter—would keep her from probing for more information.

“I wondered, if I am not making too bold to ask, and if it is not too painful for you, if you would tell me about your brother.”

Ah. Charlotte’s intended must be a sailor, so it was no wonder she exhibited such interest in all things naval. If Julia opened up about her past, if they became close, perhaps Charlotte might confide in her. “He had no love for book-learning or numbers. But when we sailed to Jamaica, he reveled in working below decks as a powder monkey—”

Charlotte gasped. “Your father allowed your brother to perform such a dangerous task? I have heard that more boys are killed running the powder to the gun crews than any other assignment.”

“We had no cause for the cannon to be run out, except for daily inspection and exercise. Father thought it would be good training for him, in preparation for becoming a midshipman. He did seem to learn and remember more from those weeks than the two years of studying we did before he signed onto his first ship.”

Settling onto the chaise, Charlotte listened with rapt attention, appearing as though trying to memorize every detail Julia shared of her brother.

Julia moved from the vanity to sit on the cedar chest at the end of the bed, nearer the chaise. “For the three years Michael was on
Sparrow,
they had great success hunting down privateers. Because of that, they were assigned to a squadron with the assignment of hunting down one of the worst pirates the Caribbean has ever seen: Shaw. They captured one of Shaw’s sloops and took it into Port Royal as a prize. Our father was en route to Jamaica, and Michael greatly looked forward to a week’s leave to see us both-and Mother, of course.”

Charlotte’s blue eyes took on a sheen of excitement and anticipation. She leaned forward. “I am certain you were happy to see him as well.”

“We did not have the chance. Just two days after Sparrow pulled out of Port Royal, Shaw attacked.” Julia rubbed her arms as a sudden chill danced across her skin at the memory. “When Father arrived in Kingston and heard the news, he immediately put back out to sea, sending word express to Tierra Dulce of his intentions to hunt down Shaw and find Michael.”

Charlotte wrapped her arms around her middle. “Did he? Did he find the pirate?”

Lost in the sensation that her brother wasn’t dead—a feeling that had not left her in fifteen years—Julia shook her head. “No. Papa narrowly escaped court-martial for insubordination.”

“What? The famous Admiral Sir Edward Witherington? They should have given him a commendation for taking such swift action.”

Shaking off the bleak memories, Julia chuckled at Charlotte’s appellation of her father as
famous
. “He was not yet an admiral, but a commodore with three other ships under his direct command—ships that had helped him guard a supply convoy from England. He risked provoking the wrath of the admiral of the Caribbean fleet by taking matters into his own hands.” She stood and moved to the window. “He returned to Tierra Dulce for nearly a week—but he was riddled with grief, and being on land only made it worse. My mother lost all interest in the plantation after that.”

“And your father?” Charlotte’s voice came out thick.

Julia’s own throat tightened, picturing her mother’s sunken cheeks, hollow eyes. “He returned to the life he knew best: the sea. Being on
Indomitable
, being with his crew, was the best salve for his grief.” She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes briefly. “And I believe that your brother—that William was a great comfort to him.”

“As he had been for William when our father died. It reminds me of the passage of Scripture in which Saint Paul wrote that God has adopted us as his children. You are blessed to have a father who can exhibit such love and compassion for others.”

Julia’s breathing stopped. An old memory—older than those she’d just dredged up—nibbled the back of her mind. A year before Michael had gone to sea, they’d received a letter in which her father had written about, among others, William Ransome’s successes in battle. Julia asked Michael if it bothered him, their father’s always lauding the boys under his command.

What was it Michael had said?
“I am proud to be
the son of a
man who can love others the way God loves us
—
as sons. ”

The door banged open, and they both jumped.

Susan burst into the room. “Julia, you must come immediately!”

“Are you unwell?” Julia moved faster than seemed possible, attaining Susan’s side in an instant.

“It is Collin. Come, you must speak to him.” Susan grabbed her hand and pulled her from the room.

Julia almost tripped twice running down the stairs behind her friend. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Susan strode into Collin’s study. Collin leaned against the edge of his desk, thick arms folded across his chest, expression furious.

“Julia, you must convince him.” Susan’s voice contained a shrillness Julia had never heard before.

“I will not be swayed by either of you.” Collin’s voice had taken an opposite turn-gruff and low.

“Susan, please tell me—”

“Jamaica!” Susan threw her hands in the air. “Tell him—convince him that if it is safe for you to travel to Jamaica on board
your
husband’s ship, it is perfectly safe for me to travel with
my
husband.”

Oh, dear Lord, how did I get pulled into the middle of this?
“Susan, I do not think I—”

“You have made the trip, Julia. You know what it is like. I am healthy as a stoat, and if need be, I can work hard.”

Somehow, Julia found that hard to fathom. “I believe this is something for you and Collin to work out.”

“Thank you, Miss Witherington.” Collin shot a triumphant glance at his wife.

Susan, for her part, looked as if Julia had betrayed her. “But I thought you, if anyone, would see my point.”

“Maybe I have painted a false picture of what life is like-both on the ship and in Jamaica. It is primitive-primitive and harsh under the best of circumstances. And in your cond—” Julia clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes widening, not knowing if Susan had yet informed her husband of her condition.

Collin’s eyes snapped to Susan’s face. “Condition? What condition?” He surged to his feet and bounded to his wife, clasping her shoulders.

Susan’s expression changed from hurt to rapturous in a flash. “I was saving that news to tell you after you agreed to take me with you. We’re going to have a baby.”

“We re—” Collin’s mouth flapped open and closed a couple of times before he lifted his wife from the floor and spun around.

Julia slipped out the door and closed it behind her, happy to be out of the line of fire but saddened by the knowledge she would probably never see Collin and Susan’s baby.

Chapter Twenty-Four

D
rake chewed the end of his cigar as he worked on folding and tying the black cravat into an elaborate confection. After several minutes, he pinned it with one of the few pieces of family jewelry he had not yet sold off—a filigree pin set with a large ruby etched with the Pembroke coat of arms.

He shrugged into his plum, swallow-tailed jacket and looked at the combination of the color with the waistcoat—light green brocaded with gold-and tan trousers. He quite liked the effect. Although he loathed attending church, to save what might remain of his reputation, he must put forth the effort to appear unaffected by Julia Witherington’s betrayal of his every intention.

Once he arrived at St. Thomas’s Church, he walked toward the entrance with purpose, his silver-tipped cane punctuating his steps. He stopped among a throng of acquaintances near the gate to the churchyard, where he could observe the arrivals of the remainder of Portsmouth society.

His eyes narrowed when he recognized a tall man with dark hair. Ransome stood with a small group-including the very fetching Miss Charlotte Ransome—and although he conversed with them, Ransome appeared to be watching the arriving carriages for one in particular.

The Witherington barouche arrived with only a few minutes to spare before the bells would sound the beginning of liturgy. Ransome separated himself from his friends and approached the carriage. The sea captain visibly flinched and took a step back when Lady Pembroke stepped down from the conveyance with the assistance of a footman.

Drake’s mother did her best to give the usurper a pleasant greeting, which was met by a terse bow. Insufferable social climber.

Augusta looked around the crowd, her gaze coming to rest on Drake for a brief moment. She strode toward the churchyard gate. Ransome offered his hand to Julia to assist her from the carriage. Drake did not remove his attention from them while he walked to the gate to meet his mother. The blush that covered Julia Witherington’s cheeks as she gazed up at the sailor fueled the flame of Drake’s desire to claim her inheritance for himself

“Good morning, son,” Augusta greeted.

“Good morning, Mother.” He turned and offered his arm.

They entered the sanctuary, Drake deigning to speak to only those to whom his mother spoke, ignoring those she ignored.

He pressed his lips close to her ear. “Have you decided yet how we are going to regain the Witherington fortune?”

“I have a few ideas—the girl was off gallivanting with those navy people all day Friday, and yesterday she was at Lady Dalrymple’s for most of the day, so I’ve had no chance to try to return myself to her good opinion.”

The Pembroke pew sat three rows behind the pew Sir Edward had endowed, and Julia took advantage of her father’s bench by inviting not just Ransome but also the others of his group to sit there with her.

The droning and wailing of the pipe organ drowned out all whispered conversations around them, but Drake had seen the curious and adoring looks cast at Julia and Ransome as the couple processed down the central aisle. From the twitter that rose up at their arrival, one would think this was their wedding, not another long, boring, Sunday morning service.

His mother leaned in close again. “I did, however, plant the idea that she accompany me to Marchwood before her wedding. Once she is there, we could find a way to ensure she stays...”

Drake glared at the mass of dark curls twined with gold ribbon three rows in front of him. White was Julia’s most becoming color, and she looked as near to pretty this morning as he had ever seen her. Ransome leaned over to hear something she was saying.

A dagger of anger stabbed Drake’s gut. How dare Ransome come in and take what rightfully belonged to him? What right had this sailor—a man, as Drake himself had so aptly pointed out Thursday evening, with no name of merit and no family connections at all—to claim the inheritance that would restore the preeminence of the Pembroke mills and farms, would raise Drake to the living he should enjoy as a baronet, would bring a lifetime of excessive income from the plantation to allow Drake to game and dally as much as he pleased?

Furious with determination, Drake lifted his gaze to the cross hanging over the altar. No matter what it took, he would have Julia Witherington’s thirty thousand pounds.

William willed his hand not to shake as he opened his prayer book and held it so Julia could follow along with him. He thought he had reconciled himself to their new status of being betrothed, yet his initial glimpse of her this morning struck him as if it had been their first introduction. The gentle lilt of her voice as she recited the prayers and responses to the Scriptures wove a tapestry around William’s heart that both enraptured and frightened him.

The organ piped the introduction to a hymn, and William stood along with the rest of the congregation. Conscious of Julia at his side, he mouthed the words but allowed no sound to pass through his lips. He stole a glance at her and found her looking up at him, a puzzled expression on her face as she sang the sacred song with a strong, clear voice. Heat climbed the back of his neck into his face. He dropped his gaze to her hymnal and then returned his attention to the front of the chancel.

The service continued, almost beyond his notice. Focusing on the stained glass representations of scenes from the Bible finally cleared William’s thinking enough to allow his soul to commune with God. Since the ball Thursday, he had done little but worry—about his crew’s reaction to Julia, about her presence on the voyage, about how his life would change, about his ability to be a good and godly husband. Sitting in the church, listening to the rector’s soliloquy, William once again drew close to God and did as the apostle Peter bade, casting his cares upon the Lord.

Questions lingered in his mind, but the worries, the concerns, and the doubts no longer anchored his soul in their depths. Marrying Julia was the right course of action. A feeling of relief, a sense that God was pleased with his decision, lifted his spirits and cleared his mind.

When the service ended, William offered his right arm to Julia, his left to his mother. The shy smile Julia bestowed upon him seemed the final signal from God that all would be well.

“Captain Ransome, Miss Witherington, Mrs. Ransome.” Admiral Glover flourished a bow to the ladies and then turned to William. “Captain, I wonder if I might have a moment of your time.” The admiral indicated a more private setting with a jerk of his head.

“Aye, Admiral. Mother, Julia, please excuse me.” He followed the small-statured admiral to a vacant spot near the rostrum and stood at attention even though neither he nor Glover was in uniform.

“Before Sir Edward departed for London, he commissioned me to give you this, should it become necessary.” Admiral Glover extended a thick, twine-bound packet.

William accepted it and read his own name in Admiral Witherington’s hand. He had received final orders before Sir Edward departed for London. What could the admiral have possibly left out? “Thank you, sir.”

“Not at all.” Admiral Glover smiled slyly. “I understand congratulations are in order—though not of surprise to anyone. I’ve always said it would be a lucky man to win the hand of Miss Julia Witherington.”

“It is a blessing, to be sure, sir.” William itched to cut the twine binding the packet and see-was it a letter of promotion?

“As you are marrying before her father returns, I believe I shall offer my services as a proxy to walk her down the aisle. Never married myself—too old for Miss Julia.” Glover elbowed William and winked at him. “She is more like a dear niece to me, so never fear on that point.”

William kept his expression neutral, though he remembered why he found Admiral Glover’s company distasteful in private or large doses. “Aye, sir.”

“Well, well. Come now, let us return to the ladies. Oh, and I would like to see you and Captain Yates at the port Admiralty Wednesday morning to review your course charts.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” William bowed in lieu of saluting and returned to his family and friends.

Collin quirked an eyebrow in question. William shook his head and slid the packet into his inside coat pocket.

“And have you not yet heard from your father?” Mrs. Hinds now stood beside Julia. “I received a note from my Frederick the day of the Fairfax ball—although only a few lines to let me know of their safe arrival. He expects they will be constantly occupied from dawn to midnight every day. So if your father has not written, he has most likely not had the time.”

Julia smiled at the admiral’s wife, but the slight crease between her brows remained.

“Oh, Captain Ransome.” Mrs. Hinds beamed at him. “I wish you joy in your engagement to Miss Witherington.”

William inclined his head, remembering her words at the concert nearly a fortnight ago. “Thank you, Mrs. Hinds. I trust if you have need of anything you will let me know; I will be honored to be of service to you.”

Her smile added beauty to her otherwise plain features. “Thank you, Captain.”

“I do apologize, but I see my aunt is nearing the door. I must give my farewells and depart with her.” Julia accepted a hug from Susan before turning toward the back of the sanctuary.

William excused himself as well and offered Julia his arm. She hesitated a moment before taking it.

“My officers report back to me Thursday. Collin and Susan have asked me to invite them for dinner that evening. I hope you might join us so you can meet them.”

“I would be delighted.”

“I will let Susan know.” He glanced at her, but the brim of her bonnet hid her eyes. “You have not heard from your father since his arrival in London?”

“No. But I am certain I shall receive a letter soon. He is an excellent correspondent.”

“Yes. I have always found him to be so.” William guided Julia through the throng of people crowding the door and squinted against the bright sunlight outside, the narrow brim of his hat providing no shade. “Whenever I did something for which my name appeared in the Gazette or that garnered the attention of the navy’s rumor mill, I received a letter from Sir Edward-especially if word reached him I might not be performing up to his high expectations.”

“My brother received many such letters as well-though his took much longer to arrive, certainly.” She looked up to thank him when he opened the churchyard gate for her. “And what about your father? I do not know much of him, only that my father considered him a friend.”

The snarl of carriages near the gate meant Julia would have a long wait, so he directed her into the flow of others strolling along the outside of the churchyard fence. “My father served yours as sailing master for nearly fifteen years-until the year before I went to sea, in fact. He counted Admiral Witherington as the truest of friends and a brother in spirit. When I was fourteen, Captain Witherington, as he was then, took me on as a midshipman. My father went to another ship, to try to gain patronage for James and Philip, though your father would have been willing to assist with their careers as well.” William nodded at Lady Dalrymple when they passed her on the promenade in front of the church.

“How long was it until you saw your father again?” Julia asked, her voice soft with understanding.

William swallowed back all emotion. “I never saw him again. After our voyage to Jamaica,
Indomitable
was assigned to the Mediterranean, but my father’s ship received orders for India. Our paths nearly crossed when I was sixteen.
Indomitable
had overtaken a convoy of ships bound for Brest and captured two prize vessels. I was assigned to command one of them back to Portsmouth and await
Indomitable’s
return here. His ship had sailed out only hours before we made Spithead. But Mama and James and Philip were still here, so I was able to see them and tell them all about my first command.”

“I am certain your father was quite thrilled by your accomplishment.”

Fondness filled him. “Aye, that he was. I received a letter from him telling me how proud he was of me. It is one of my most prized possessions. A few days before my seventeenth birthday, I received two pieces of mail. One was from my mother, informing me I had a baby sister. The other was from the Admiralty, a notice that after his ship arrived in India, my father took ill with a fever and died.”

“Oh.” Julia stopped, her face raised to his, sympathy swimming in her emerald eyes. “Oh, William, I did not know—”

He patted her hand where it rested in the crook of his elbow. “Nor could you have known—and do not be concerned. I have faith I shall be reunited with him one day in heaven. Your father helped me see that. I believe he also felt the best way to honor my father’s service to him was to take me under his personal care, to take my father’s role of mentor, guide, strength, and support. Everything I have accomplished in the navy has been through an effort to try to make Sir Edward proud of me.”

Julia’s sympathetic softness vanished, replaced by a wariness William could not understand—until he recognized the two people walking toward them. Sir Drake and Lady Pembroke.