The Admiral's Penniless Bride (8 page)

The Brights stood up. Brustein struggled to join them, and the admiral put a hand under his elbow to assist. Jacob Brustein took his arm with no embarrassment.

‘You’re a good lad,’ he said. ‘Can the fleet manage without you?’

‘It had better,’ Bright said, pulling up the shawl where it had slipped from the old man’s narrow shoulders. ‘More shame on me if I didn’t lead well enough to make a smooth transition.’

Brustein hesitated at the door to the sitting room. ‘I wonder—could you both do me a small favour?’

‘Anything,’ Sally said and Bright nodded.

‘My Rivka, she is confined to her bed. It would mean the world to me if you could visit her in her room.’ He patted Sally’s hand. ‘For years, she would prepare tea and cakes for visitors who never came.’

Sally could not help the tears that started behind her eyelids.
I did not think I had another tear left, after all that has happened to me
, she thought in amazement. ‘Nothing would make us happier,’ she replied, as soon as she could talk.

Helped by one of them on each side of him, Brustein led them upstairs and into an airy room with the windows open and curtains half-drawn. A woman as small as he was lay in the centre of her bed, propped up with pillows. Brustein hurried to her side and sat down on the bed, taking both her hands in his. He spoke to her in a language that sounded like German to Sally. The woman opened her eyes and smiled.

‘Ah, we have company,’ she said in English. She glanced at her husband, her eyes anxious. ‘You gave them tea and cakes?’

‘Delicious tea and cakes,’ Bright said.

Sally took his hand, because his voice seemed almost ready to break. ‘Your husband was the perfect host,’ she said.

Rivka Brustein indicated the chair. ‘Sit, pitseleh, sit,’
she whispered, looking at Sally. ‘Tell me about your new home.’ Her gesture was feeble, but she waved away her husband. ‘Jacob, show this handsome man your collection of globes. I want to talk to the nice lady.’ Her soft voice had a measure of triumphant satisfaction in it that lodged right in Sally’s heart. Wild horses couldn’t have dragged her away.

Twenty minutes was all Rivka Brustein could manage. Her eyes closed and she slept. Gently, Sally released her hand and put it on the snowy coverlet.

She opened her eyes. ‘You’ll come back?’

‘I’ll come back.’

‘Will you read to me?’

Why weren’t the old ladies I tended as sweet as you?
Sally thought, as she blew Rivka a kiss from the doorway. ‘I’ll bring a book you will enjoy,’ she said, wondering if anything in her own library—the one the admiral had declared off limits—was fit to read. ‘I’ll find something.’

Rivka slept. Sally closed the door quietly behind her.

‘T
hirty years, and no one from this neighbourhood has ever visited,’ the admiral murmured as they left the Brustein manor. He looked back at the house to Jacob, who stood in the door. ‘I have to wonder now what revelations are waiting for us at our other nearest neighbour’s domain.’ He patted her hand, which was crooked in his arm. ‘You’re a good girl, Sophie.’

‘I am as shocked as you,’ she said. ‘Such a nice old couple.’ She looked ahead to the much more substantial estate barely peeking through the foliage. ‘Who lives here?’

‘We will probably be above ourselves here, so mind your manners,’ he teased. ‘The estate agent told me Lord Brimley resides here through the summer. He is a marquis, no less.’ Bright stopped. ‘The name rings a bell with me, but I cannot remember why. Brimley. Brimley. Perhaps we shall see. Are you game for another house?’

She nodded. ‘This is certainly more enjoyable than trying to avoid staring at walls in our…your…house.’

He started walking again, then gave her a sidelong look. ‘You were right the first time, Sophie. For all its warts, it is our house.’

I wish I felt that way, but you are kind
, she told herself. She wished her face did not feel so hot. Hopefully, the admiral would overlook her embarrassment. ‘That notion will take some getting used to.’

‘Indeed it will.’ He sighed. ‘And we are no further along towards solving the dilemma of finding mechanics to remodel.’

‘And paint,’ she added. ‘Gallons of paint.’

He chuckled and tucked her arm closer. ‘Paint, aye. If I were on my flagship, I would bark a few orders to my captain, and he would pass my bark down the chain of command until—presto!—it was painted.’

Lord Brimley’s estate loomed larger than life, compared to the more modest Brustein manor. They walked slowly down his lane, admiring the faux-Italian ruin that looked as though it had been there since the Italian Renaissance. ‘D’ye think Michelangelo did a ceiling inside the gazebo?’

She nudged him. ‘You know he did not!’

‘Rafael, then. Perhaps Titian?’

‘Oh, you try me!’

He laughed and tucked her hand closer. ‘Let us behave ourselves.’ He leaned down to whisper in her ear as they climbed the shallow steps to the magnificent door. ‘Now if this is a house of the first stare, the butler will open the door even before we… Ah.’

Sally couldn’t remember when she had seen so much dignity in a black suit. Instinctively, she hung back on the last step, but the admiral pulled her up with him.

‘I am Admiral Sir Charles Bright, recently retired,’ her
husband said, not in the least intimidated by the splendour before him. ‘This is my wife, and we have come calling upon Lord Brimley. I have recently purchased the Hudley estate, which abuts this one.’

The butler ushered them in, but did not close the door behind him, as if there was some doubt they would be staying long. Bright gave her a sidelong wink, which sorely tried her.

‘I will see if Lord Brimley is receiving callers,’ the butler said. He hesitated one slight moment, as if wondering whether to usher them into an antechamber, at the very least. He must have decided against it. He unbent enough for a short bow and turned smartly on his heel.

‘We don’t rate the sitting room,’ the admiral whispered. ‘I think mentioning “Hudley estate” might have been my first mistake. Perhaps I should have added that Penelope and Odysseus are no longer in heat at the front entrance.’

Sally gasped and laughed out loud. ‘Admiral Bright, I cannot take you anywhere!’

He merely smiled. ‘Madam wife, I am a pig in a poke. I thought it best not to mention the fact until after our wedding. Imagine what surprises await you.’

She would have returned a sharp rejoinder, except the butler returned and indicated in his princely way that they should make themselves comfortable in the sitting room.

‘Our fortunes seem to be shifting ever so slightly,’ Bright murmured when the butler left them alone there. ‘Brimley. I wish I could remember.’

They waited a long while, long enough for Sally to overcome her terrors and walk around the room, admiring the fine paintings. When the admiral began sneaking looks at his timepiece, the door opened to admit Lord Brimley him
self. She glanced at her husband, but saw no recognition in his eyes.

‘I am Brimley,’ the man said, inclining his head towards them. ‘Admiral Bright, accept my condolences in the purchase of that miserable estate.’ He smiled at them both, but there was no warmth in his eyes. ‘I can only assume that since you have a wife—and a lovely one, I might add—that you intend to paint the rooms.’

‘I do, my lord, since I wish to keep my wife,’ Bright said. ‘As a seaman not long on land, though, I am a bit at a loss how to find workers.’

‘You need a proper steward.’

‘My wife thinks I need my head examined,’ Bright said frankly. ‘But the view…oh, the view. Can you see the ocean from your estate?’

The marquis did not answer for a long moment. Sally watched in surprise and then consternation as a whole range of emotions crossed his face. ‘I rejoice, Admiral, that I cannot,’ he said finally, as though each word was tugged from his mouth by iron pincers.

She glanced at her husband, noting his frown. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

‘The ocean is not to everyone’s taste, I imagine,’ she said, filling the awkward void.

‘It is not to mine.’

The embarrassing silence was filled by the return of the butler and a maid, who deposited a tray on the small table between them. The marquis indicated Sally should pour, and she did.

They sipped their tea. When the silence was nearly unendurable, the marquis turned slightly to face Admiral Bright. ‘You do not know who I am?’ he asked, his tone frigid.

‘My lord, I do not.’

‘Perhaps you will know this name: Thomas Place.’

Admiral Bright set down his tea cup with a click. ‘I know that name as well as my own, my lord. Was he your son?’

‘My only child.’

‘Lieutenant Thomas Place, Viscount Malden,’ Bright murmured. He stood up and walked to the window and back again, the marquis’s eyes on him. ‘He made sure that none of us would use his title, so he was Mr Place to me. I had to bark at him a time or two, but he was a good lad. I was his captain.’

‘I know you were, Admiral,’ the marquis said, rising to join Bright by the window. ‘I have followed your career with some interest.’ He looked at Sally, and she could see only infinite sorrow in his eyes now. ‘Lady Bright, I hated your husband for nearly twenty years. Until three years ago, as a matter of fact.’

Sally looked at both men, her eyes wide. She tried to interpret her husband’s expression, except that there was no expression now, only the uncompromising gaze of a man caught off guard and righting himself by the greatest of efforts. She rose, or tried to, except that the admiral had returned to her side and was gently pressing down on her shoulder with his one good hand.

‘No fears, my dear,’ he said and leaned down to put his cheek next to hers, for a brief moment. She found the sudden gesture reassuring beyond words and relaxed. He lightened the pressure on her shoulder, but did not remove his hand.

‘Say on, my lord,’ he said, his voice firm and very much in command.

As Sally watched, horrified, the marquis seemed to wilt before her eyes. Her husband must have noticed it, too, because he returned to the man by the window and put his
hand under his arm to support him. Without a word, he led the marquis back to his seat. Sally did rise then, and went to sit beside Lord Brimley.
If he were one of my old ladies, I would do this
, she thought, as she quickly removed her bonnet, set it aside and took a napkin from the tray. As he watched her, his eyes dull, she dipped it in the tea and dabbed gently at his brow. ‘There now, my lord. Do you wish me to summon your butler?’

Her simple act seemed to rouse him. He shook his head. ‘No. No. Bedders would only act like my old maid aunt, and worry me to death.’

‘Your wife then, my lord? Should we summon her?’

‘My dear, she is dead these past three years. And that is what I need to tell your husband.’ He patted the seat on the other side of him. ‘Sit down, lad,’ he ordered, as though there were many more years between them.

‘I…uh…I really don’t know what to say, my lord,’ Bright began, looking mystified.

‘Of course you do not. You never knew us.’

They were both silent. Sally yearned to jump into the conversation. She fought down a fierce urge to defend her husband, an urge so strong that it startled her, considering the briefness of their acquaintance. She looked down and noticed her hands were balled into fists. She glanced up at her husband, who had been watching the gesture, again with that unreadable expression.

The marquis spoke, looking at her. ‘Lady Bright, my son served under your husband on the…the
Caprice
…was it not? I thought I would never forget. Considering how many years have rolled over the matter, perhaps it is not so surprising.’

‘The
Caprice
. My first command. We took the ship to the Antipodes. We were not at war with France or Spain then, and our assignment was to ferry a naturalist—one
of Sir Joseph Banks’s protégés—to find something called a fairy tern.’

‘You were successful, I believe, at least according to the last letter I ever received from my boy.’ The marquis’s voice broke on the last word, and Sally felt her heart turn over. She took his hand. He offered no resistance to her touch.

‘Yes. We accomplished our orders and were returning to Plymouth,’ Bright said. ‘We needed to take on food and water, so we docked at Valparaiso, not knowing that Spain and England were at war again.’

He paused and gazed out the window for a long moment. ‘And there my boy died in the fight that followed, as you clawed your way out of the harbour,’ Lord Brimley said. He looked at Sally then. ‘Do you have sons, my dear?’

‘None living,’ she whispered. Bright reached across the marquis to touched her hand.

‘I am sorry for you both,’ Lord Brimley replied. ‘I know the feeling. If I thought I could do it and not collapse, I would summon Bedders to fetch the letter of condolence your husband wrote to me, twenty-three years ago. I can quote it: “I am relieved to be able to inform you…”’

He could not go on, but Bright could. ‘“…that your son’s death was quick and painless.”’

The words hung in the room like a powerful stench. The old man raised his head again. ‘Was it a lie? Did you lie to me at such a moment?’

Sally let out the breath she had been holding, her eyes on her husband. She could almost hear the tension in the room humming like a wire stretched taut and snapped.

‘I did, my lord.’

The marquis must have been holding his breath, too, because it came out in a sudden whoosh that made Sally jump. ‘I thought you had, and I hated you for it. I thought
you a coward for not having the courage to tell the truth about the last moments of a sterling lad dearer to my heart than any other creature on earth.’

Bright said nothing. He looked at the floor as though wishing it would open and swallow him. It was Sally’s turn to reach across the marquis and touch his hand.

‘Do you want me to tell you?’ he said finally.

‘I thought I did,’ the marquis admitted. ‘When I heard you had retired—oh, yes, I have followed your career—I wanted to ask.’ He shook his head. ‘Not to confront you or berate you, mind you; not after what happened three years ago. But just to know.’

‘What changed your mind three years ago?’ Bright asked.

‘My wife died,’ the marquis said simply. ‘Naturally I was at her bedside through the long ordeal.’ He looked at Sally, tears in his eyes. ‘She was a dear old girl. Do you know what her last words to me were?’

Sally shook her head. He turned his attention to the admiral. ‘Look at me, Bright! Her last words on this whole earth were, “Thank God my boy did not suffer. Thank God!” With a smile so sweet, she slipped from my life.’

He cried then, grasping both their hands. ‘I knew it was a lie, but that lie had sustained my dear one through years of what probably would have been unbearable torment, had she known the truth. I had no idea, until that moment. I decided then that I would not hate you any longer, Sir Charles.’

The quiet in the room was unbroken until the butler opened the door quietly, then closed it. The marquis sat back then, patting their hands. ‘I never thought to have this moment to tell you, at least until the estate agent shared the news of the estate sale. He thought I would be pleased to have good neighbours. And I am.’

Sally looked at her husband, astounded at his composure.
Who is this man I have married on such short notice?
she asked herself again.

‘I don’t know what to say, my lord,’ Bright said at last. ‘Would you like me to tell you how he died? I have never forgotten.’

The marquis gave him a shrewd look. ‘I doubt you have ever forgotten how any of your men died.’

‘I have not,’ Bright said simply, with the smallest catch in his voice.

‘I thought I wanted to know. For years, I thought I did.’ The old man shook his head. ‘Now I think it does not matter. He is at peace.’

Bright nodded. ‘Let me tell you that he was brave. My surgeon and I sat with him throughout the entire ordeal. That is no lie. He suffered, but he did not suffer alone. Mercifully, towards the end, he went into a coma and was no longer conscious. Any of us in the fleet would have envied the conclusion, my lord, and that is no lie.’

The marquis nodded, and sipped his tea in silence. When he spoke again, he addressed the admiral in a kindlier tone. ‘Look here, lad. What you need is a good steward to make all those onerous arrangements.’ He made a face. ‘I have been in that house a grand total of once, and never took my wife there. You are obviously married to a tolerant lady.’

‘I am realising that more as each day passes,’ Bright said, with a sidelong look at Sally that pinked her cheeks. ‘I fear my credit will not last for ever, though, no matter how charming she thinks I am. A good steward, eh?’

‘Yes, indeed.’ He leaned towards Bright. ‘If you don’t think I am an old meddler, I may have such a fellow. He’s been the under-steward here for several years and I think he is chafing to advance. May I send him your way? On approval, of course.’