The Captain's Lady (2 page)

T
he last time Jamie had felt such grief was beside his mother’s grave in Nantucket some sixteen years ago, when he was a lad of nine, struggling then not to cry. Now his jaw ached from clenching, and his chest throbbed as it had when a young whale had slammed him with its tail, trying to escape his harpoon. No, this was unlike any pain he had ever endured aboard his uncle’s whaling ship. He could not seem to pull in enough breath, could barely manage to climb the wide front staircase without clutching the oak railing.

In the third floor hallway, a footman cast a glance at him, and one eyebrow rose. Jamie stiffened. He was no fainthearted maiden who swooned over life’s injuries. He’d seen the harm he’d just inflicted upon Marianne…
Lady
Marianne. Yet despite the pain pinching her fair face, she had not swooned. Or had she? Perhaps after he tore himself from her presence, she’d succumbed to her distress.

With some effort, Jamie drew air into his lungs and strode down the hallway, bursting into the elegant bedchamber assigned to him. He ignored his friend Aaron’s shocked expression and dashed to the window to peer down into the
garden where he’d left her. There she sat beneath the leafless tree, staring straight ahead, her shawl carelessly draped over the stone bench.

Pain swept through him again, but this time for her. How brave she was. No tears. Even at this distance he could see her composure. Was this not one of the reasons he loved her? As he had prayed, her unfailing good sense prevailed. She knew their romance was hopeless, and would not protest his declaration that it must end.
See how she clutches her prayer book. Perhaps even now she is seeking God’s consolation.
His parting admonition last year had influenced her as he hoped. Surely now she would cling to the Lord, as he did, to ease the agony they both must endure. No doubt she would manage better than he.

She lifted her gaze toward his window, and he jumped back, chiding himself for lingering there. She would survive the dissolution of their love, but only if he stayed true to his course. If she sensed he might waver, she might pursue him, which would lead to their undoing. No, far more than their undoing. Nothing less than the failure of his mission for the American Revolution.

“You’d best sit down, Jamie.” Aaron tilted his head toward an arrangement of green brocade chairs near the roaring fireplace. “You’re looking a mite pale.” Worry clouded his expression.

“Aye, I’ll sit.” He staggered to a chair and fell into it, clutching his aching head in both hands as warmth from the crackling logs reached him. The itchy collar of his brown woolen jacket pressed against his neck and generated sweat clear up to his forehead, while a cold, contradictory shudder coursed down his back.

Aaron sat in an adjacent chair and clasped Jamie’s shoulder. “You’ve got it bad, lad, no mistake. But you’d best
gird up your mind straightaway, or General Washington will have to send someone else to spy on Lord Bennington and his East Florida interests. And by then it’ll be too late for any useful information to reach home.” His bushy brown eyebrows met in a frown. “I thought you’d worked this all out before we sailed.”

Jamie swiped his linen handkerchief across his forehead. “Aye. I thought it, too. Then I saw her.”

“Well, you’d best deal with it.” Aaron sat back and crossed his arms. “I didn’t sail over here to get hanged. My younger brothers aren’t yet old enough to manage my lands, you know.”

His words sank deep into Jamie’s mind, and the unsaid words sank deeper. In truth, now that he’d broken with her, a certain peace began to fill his chest. He lifted a silent prayer of thanks for God’s mercy. Determined to shake off personal concerns, he gave Aaron a sidelong glance and snorted. “If you aren’t keen on hanging, then you’d best quit pestering me and start playing your own part.” He punched his friend’s arm. “Up with you, man. When does a valet sit beside his master? And no more ‘Jamie.’ It’s Captain Templeton to you, and don’t you forget it.”

“That’s the way, Cap’n.” Aaron jumped to his feet. “And I’m Quince to ye, sir. So watch what ye say, too.” He spoke with the affected accent that augmented his guise as Jamie’s valet.

The good humor lighting Aaron’s face improved Jamie’s spirits. Together they could complete their mission and be gone in just over a fortnight. Surely he could evade Lady Marianne for that short time.

Shivering in the brisk breeze, Marianne clutched her prayer book to her chest and stared unseeing toward the
back entrance of the house. Over and over, Jamie’s words repeated in her mind:
You must not ask me to do that which would dishonor you, your family and my faith.

Dishonor? Did he truly believe loving her would cause such dishonor? Had all his ardent declarations of last summer meant nothing to him? Where was his honor if he broke his promise to love her forever? She could not think. Could not feel. His words hammered against her heart, numbing her to all, even tears, even to the biting March wind.

The memory of his cold facade burned into her like a fire, reigniting her senses. She tightened her grip on the prayer book. How could he cause her such pain? In answer, his face appeared in her mind’s eye. For the briefest moment, she had seen misery there. What his lips would deny, his eyes revealed. He did love her. Of that she was certain. Serenity filled her heart, and she dared to cast a gaze upward toward his window. She gasped. There he stood, looking directly at her. Then he was gone.

Marianne’s heart soared like the song of a nightingale, and warmth swept over her despite the wind. Oh, yes, indeed. Jamie Templeton loved her. And if he thought she would let him slip away because of some misplaced sense of honor, then the good captain had an important lesson to learn. She would begin teaching him this very evening.

Marianne’s father always insisted on supper in the formal dining room with all his family and followers gathered around the table. No one could escape. Even her brother Robert usually managed to appear and stay sober for the meal, after which he would go off with his friends for a night of activities about which Marianne tried not to think…or worry.

That evening as usual, Papa sat at one end of the long oak table, and Mama at the other. In her seat at Papa’s right hand, Marianne was delighted to see he had placed Jamie on his left, a singular honor that she prayed would not grate on her brother, who really should sit beside Papa. While it would be unacceptable for her to speak across the table and address Jamie, perhaps she might comment on his conversation with Papa.

According to his custom, Robert arrived several minutes late, but no hostility clouded his dark, handsome features. Instead, seated beside Jamie, he greeted him as a long-lost friend and insisted nothing would do but that Jamie must accompany him on his nightly exploits.

At Robert’s outlandish proposal, Marianne almost spewed her soup across the table, but managed to swallow and force her gaze down toward her plate.
Please do not permit Jamie to go.
Her silent prayer was directed to both her earthly and heavenly fathers. Before she could fully compose herself and observe Papa’s reaction to Robert’s plan, the gentleman seated to her right cleared his throat.

“Lady Marianne,” Tobias Pincer said, “how exquisite you look this evening.” As he leaned closer to her, his oily smile and the odors of camphor and wig powder nearly sent Marianne reeling off the other side of her chair. “Do tell me you plan to attend the rout this evening. I shall be nothing short of devastated if you do not.”

With the tightest smile she could muster, she muttered her appreciation of his nightly compliments. “You must forgive me, Mr. Pincer, but my mother and I have prior plans.” Did this man actually think she would consort with his crowd, even if Robert was a part of it?

“Of course.” His smile turned to a simper, but before he could say more, Grace Kendall claimed his attention from the other side.

“Why, Mr. Pincer, you are neglecting this delicious soup.” Her pleasant alto tones dropped to a murmur as she shared a bit of harmless gossip. Mr. Pincer bowed to propriety and turned his full attention to her.

Marianne wanted to hug Grace. For the past three years, Mama’s companion had frequently sacrificed herself to deflect unwanted attention Marianne received from suitors. Although more than pretty herself, Grace had no fortune and no prospects. At six and twenty, she would likely remain an old maid, but her selfless companionship always proved a blessing to both Mama and Marianne.

Freed from polite necessity, Marianne looked back across the table just in time to see Papa’s approving nod in Jamie’s direction.

“We shall see to it tomorrow,” Papa said.

What had she missed? Would Jamie go out with Robert this evening? From the defeated look on her brother’s face, she guessed he would not. Even as her heart ached over the way Papa often crushed Robert’s spirits, she could not help but rejoice that Jamie would not be dragged into the gutters of London.

“Papa,” she ventured in a playful tone, “what plans are you making? Have you and His Majesty already subdued those dreadful rebels in America?” She saw Jamie’s eyebrows arch, and she puckered away a laugh.

Papa chuckled in his deep, throaty way. “You see, Templeton, these women have no sense about such things.” He leaned toward her. “Would that it could be done so easily, my dear. No, I have another project in mind, one in which Captain Templeton has agreed to participate. Our good Reverend Bentley—” he nodded toward the curate, who sat at Mama’s right hand “—has agreed to school the captain in some of our more tedious social graces.”

Marianne turned her gasp into a hum of interest. “Indeed?”

The color in Jamie’s tanned cheeks deepened, and charming bewilderment rolled across his face.

“Yes, indeed.” Papa straightened and puffed out his chest. “If this partnership goes as planned, I shall be introducing Captain Templeton to other peers and gentlemen. Through our mutual business efforts, we will make East Florida the standard of how to prevent a rebellion, shall we not, Templeton?”

“That is my hope, sir.” Jamie’s attention remained on Papa.

“Furthermore, daughter,” Papa said, “I am enlisting your assistance, as well. Your mother can spare you for a while. I want you to take the captain to see the sights about the city.” He glanced down the table. “I suppose Robert should go along for propriety’s sake.”

She could hardly believe her ears and could not call forth any words to respond. Jamie blinked and avoided her gaze, perhaps as stunned as she was.

Robert stopped balancing his spoon on the edge of his soup plate and stared at Papa, his mouth agape. He shook his head slightly, as if to clear his vision, and a silly grin lifted one corner of his lips. Marianne would have laughed if her brother’s reaction did not seem almost pathetic. Papa never entrusted him with anything.

“Humph.” Now a wily look crossed Robert’s face, and he studied Jamie up and down, then sniffed. “Well, for gracious sakes, Father, before I am seen in public with this fellow, do let me see about his clothes. Look at him. Not a length of ribbon nor an inch of lace. And this awful black. And not even a brass buckle to catch anyone’s attention. Gracious, Templeton, are you a Quaker? Who makes your clothes? No, never mind. I shall see that you meet my tailor.”

Jamie’s narrowed eyes and set lips, if visible only for an instant, steadied Marianne’s rioting emotions. How she would love to thump her dear brother right on the nose for his rude words, spoken so shortly after his own invitation to take Jamie out for the evening. But Marianne could see the resolution in Jamie’s face. Her beloved could take care of himself. And although he was at least five years Robert’s junior, she had no doubt Jamie would have the greater and better influence on her brother. She would make that a matter of most earnest prayer.

“I thank you, Mr. Moberly,” Jamie said to Robert with all good humor. “I shall look forward to any improvements you might suggest.”

What graciousness he exhibited. Was that not the epitome of good breeding and good manners? Marianne blushed for the rudeness of her father and brother for suggesting that he needed anything more.

As for the favor Father was heaping on Jamie, she felt her heart swell with joy. If he considered Jamie a partner and an ally in saving the colonies for the Crown, this could be regarded as nothing less than complete approval of the man, perhaps even to the point of accepting him into the family, despite his being a merchant. Her parents had never insisted she marry. Was that not very much like permission to marry whomever she might choose? Hadn’t they themselves married for love, despite Mama’s lower status as a baron’s daughter and no title other than Miss Winston? But in the event she was mistaken, Marianne must take great care to hide her love for Jamie, at least for now.

F
or the first time since he had set out on this mission, Jamie began to wonder if General Washington had chosen the wrong man. As a whaler and merchant captain, Jamie had learned how to employ patience and strategy to accomplish whatever goal was at hand. But the gale brewing around him in Lord Bennington’s grand London home just might sink him.

He had no difficulty maintaining his composure when the earl offered to introduce him to some important people. After all, that was why Jamie had come. But this scheme for improving his manners almost set him back in his chair, especially when the earl instructed Lady Marianne to help. Now he would be forced into her company and that of her foppish brother, a dark-haired fellow not exactly corpulent, but on his way to it. Jamie had only just met the curate, a slender, compliant fellow, but he preferred the clergyman as a tutor, for every minute in Lady Marianne’s company would be torture.

Bent over his roast beef, he wondered if he was doing anything amiss. Not that he cared whether someone pointed
out a blunder, for he would welcome a chance to learn better manners for future use in such company as this. But he also would like for Lady Marianne to think well of him.
Belay that, man.
He must not think that way. Yet, without meaning to, he lifted his gaze to see how she wielded her cutlery. Her lovely blue eyes, bright as the southern sky, were focused on him, and he could not look away.

She glanced at the earl. “Papa, have you asked Captain Templeton about Frederick?”

Lord Bennington cast a look down the table at his wife. “Later, my dear. Your mother will want to hear the news of your brother, too.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Lady Marianne resumed eating, stopping from time to time to speak with the man beside her. From the prim set of her lips and the way she seemed unconsciously to lean away from the fellow, Jamie could see her distaste, especially when the man tilted toward her. If some dolt behaved thus toward a lady aboard Jamie’s ship, he would make quick work of the knave, dispatching him to eat with the deckhands. But civility had its place, and this was it. Jamie watched Lady Marianne’s delicate hands move with the grace of a swan, and he tried to copy the way she cut her roast beef and ate in small bites. When he swallowed, however, the meat seemed to stick in his throat, and he was forced to wash it down with water in a loud gulp. Anyone who may have noticed was polite enough not to look his way.

Beside him, Moberly chose a chaser of wine, several glasses of it. As the meal progressed, his demeanor mellowed. “I say, Templeton, do you ride?”

Moberly’s tone was genial, not at all like his insulting reference to Jamie’s clothes, a matter of some injury. Jamie’s beloved cousin Rachel had spent many hours sewing his travel wardrobe, and her expertise could not be matched.

“I have never truly mastered the skill, sir.”

Moberly snorted. “Ah, of course not.” A wily grin not lacking in friendliness creased his face. “Then you must permit me to teach you. ’Tis a skill every gentleman must have.”

If Jamie could have groaned in a well-mannered tone, he would have. Having grown up at sea, he could ride a whale with ease, but not a horse—something Moberly clearly did not believe.
Lord, what other trials will You put before me? Will this truly serve the Glorious Cause in some way?
He lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug and cocked his head to accept the challenge. “Then if I am to be a gentleman, by all means, let us ride.” The more time he spent with Moberly, the less he would be in Lady Marianne’s alluring company. The less he would be tempted to break his vow not to use her to gain information from her father.

Jamie managed the rest of the meal without difficulty and afterward joined the family in Lord Bennington’s study, where the earl held court from behind his ornately carved white desk. Lady Marianne’s brother and his slimy friend had excused themselves, no doubt for a night of carousing, for both Lady Marianne and Lady Bennington seemed disappointed as they watched Moberly leave.

“Now,” the earl said, “we shall see how my youngest son excuses his mismanagement of my money in East Florida.” He opened the satchel Jamie had brought and pulled out several sealed documents.

Jamie flinched inwardly. His good friend Frederick Moberly had made a great success of Bennington Plantation, as proved by the large shipment of indigo, rice, oranges and cotton Jamie had just delivered to Bennington’s warehouses. Not only that, but Frederick served well as the popular magistrate of the growing settlement of St. Johns
Towne. Jamie had already apprised Lord Bennington of both of these matters in no uncertain words. Yet the earl referred to all of his sons in singularly unflattering ways. Had Jamie been brought up thus, he doubted he could have made anything of himself. As he had many times before, he thanked the Lord for the firm but loving hand of his uncle, who had guided him to adulthood, first in Nantucket and then on his whaling ship.

Jamie’s widowed mother had died when he was nine and his sister, Dinah, three. Uncle Lamech, his mother’s brother, had secured a home for Dinah with kindhearted friends, then took Jamie along as his cabin boy on his next whaling voyage. Uncle taught him how to work hard, with courage, perseverance, and faith in God, all the while demonstrating confidence that Jamie would succeed at whatever he put his hand to. Would that the four Moberly sons could have received such assurance from their father.

The earl broke open the seal of the letter addressed to him, and once again Jamie cringed. In his spoken report to Lord Bennington, he had omitted one very important fact about the earl’s youngest son.

“Married!”

Marianne and Mama jumped to their feet as one and hurried to Papa’s side, as if each must see the words for herself. Mama practically snatched the letter from Papa, who stood at his desk trembling, his face a study in rage. Eyes wide and staring at the offending missive, cheeks red and pinched, mouth working as if no words were sufficient to express his outrage.

Mama did not mirror his anger, but her sweet face clouded as it did when she was disappointed. “Oh, my. And to think I have found no less than six eligible young ladies
of consequence who would gladly receive Frederick now that he has done so well for himself.”

“Papa, do sit down.” Marianne took his arm and tried gently to push him back into his chair. He stood stubbornly rigid and waved her away.

Reading the letter, Mama gasped, and her puckered brow arched and her lips curved upward in a glorious smile. “Why, they are expecting…” She blinked and glanced toward Jamie. “I shall be a grandmamma by July,” she whispered to Marianne and Papa. “How exquisitely delightful.” Her merry laughter brought a frown of confusion to Papa’s face.

“Do not tell me that you approve of this match.” Papa’s cheeks faded to pink, but his trembling continued.

“But, my darling, approve or not, the deed is done.” Mama touched his arm and gave him a winsome smile. “Do be reconciled to it. A sensitive young man can endure rejection from the ladies of his own class for only so long. His every word indicates that this Rachel is above average in wit and temper. Did he mention her family?” She lifted the letter to read more. “Ah, yes. ‘Her father owns…’” Her eyes widened. “Oh, my. He owns a mercantile. Tsk. Not even a landowner.”

“What?” Papa’s voice reverberated throughout the room.

Marianne jumped once more.

Mama scowled. “Now, Bennington, please do not shout.”

Marianne noticed that Jamie had moved across the room and was staring at a painting. Once again, his flawless manners manifested themselves through this tactful removal from the unfolding drama.

“I will shout in my own home.” Papa’s trembling increased, and he raised one hand, a finger pointed toward the ceiling. “I will shout in the streets. From the halls of Par
liament I will proclaim it. For all the world can clearly see that I have spawned nothing but fools for sons.” He slammed his fist on the desk. Documents bounced. A bisque figurine of an elegant lady fell to the floor and shattered. “The daughter of a merchant. Not even an Englishman. An American. The next thing he will be telling me is that he approves of that infernal colonial rebellion.”

Mama quickly perused the letter. “No, dear. He speaks only of his little wife—”

Papa snatched the letter from her. “I was not in earnest. Should that day come, I would sail to East Florida and execute him myself.”

“Oh, look, Mama.” Marianne’s voice came out in a much higher pitch than she intended. “Frederick wrote to you and me, too.” She picked up the letter bearing her name. “You do not mind, do you, Papa? I shall tell you if he has written anything you must hear.”

Papa’s shoulders slumped, and his reddened eyes focused on her. “You see, Maria,” he said to Mama. “The Almighty saved the best for last.” He set a quivering hand on Marianne’s shoulder and bent to kiss her forehead. “Our wise, beautiful daughter gives us only joy.” He pulled her closer in a gentle embrace. “Would that I could leave all to you, Marianne, for never once in your life have you grieved me.”

Marianne’s eyes stung mightily. At that moment, she was very near to vowing to God that she would surrender Jamie forever, that she would never hurt her parents as Frederick and Robert and Thomas and William had done. But she gulped back the promise. To vow and to break it would be a sin. To vow and to keep it would mean a lifetime of bitter loneliness.

She stared across the room toward the man she loved,
willing him to turn her way, to give her some direction, some wisdom to bear this situation.

But when he did turn, Jamie’s wounded frown seemed to shout across the distance that separated them.
You see? I was right. We have no future together.

Jamie struggled to secure his turbulent emotions to their proper moorings. As captain of his ship, he often managed numerous life-threatening situations concurrently and with haste and acuity. But never had his heart and wits been so at odds in the midst of a tempest. Never had so many threats loomed over all he held dear.

Lord Bennington’s rage over Frederick’s marriage might extend to Jamie, especially when he discovered the bride was Jamie’s beloved cousin, Rachel. Even if the earl did not cast blame on him, Jamie still felt a bitter ache at not being able to comfort Lady Marianne in her distress. Or to declare his love for her. Or to seize her hand and dash from the room, the house, the country, and to make a future with her in the far reaches of America.

Parallel to these agonizing thoughts streamed the keen awareness that this very room might hold documents outlining Lord Bennington’s involvement in British defenses of East Florida. Yet this little meeting could scuttle the mission for which Jamie had been sent to England.

He inhaled a calming breath, relaxed his stance and unclenched his hands. Then, just as Lord Bennington looked his way, he directed a sympathetic frown across the room to the earl. If the man had caught him staring at Lady Marianne—

“Templeton, I will see you in private.” The glower Lord Bennington directed toward Jamie softened as he gave his countess a slight bow. “My dear, you will excuse us.” He
turned to Lady Marianne with the same gentleness. “And you, my child.”

“But, Papa—”

“Come along, Merry.” Lady Bennington used the fond address Jamie had heard Lady Marianne’s parents and brother using. Indeed, her sky-blue eyes and merry disposition—subdued now in her unhappiness—warranted such a nickname. Jamie dismissed a fleeting wish that he had the right to address her with such affection. That right would never be his.

As mother and daughter walked toward the door, Lady Marianne cast a quick glance at him. He forced all emotion from his face and gave them a formal bow, then turned to the earl as if the two ladies had never been there.

“What do you know of this?” Lord Bennington lifted Frederick’s letter from the desk.

This was trouble Jamie could manage. Man to man. The earl had commended him for his forthrightness, and now he would receive a goodly portion of it. Jamie crossed the room and held the man’s gaze.

“They make a handsome couple, milord. Mrs. Moberly is a lady of spotless reputation, pleasant disposition and considerable courage.”

Lord Bennington inhaled as if to speak, so Jamie hastened to continue. “You may have heard the account of how she rescued Lady Brigham from being dragged from a flatboat by an alligator.”

The earl’s wiry white eyebrows arched. “Indeed?” Puzzlement rolled across his face. “When Lady Brigham speaks of her near demise in the jaws of a dragon, she says her husband saved her. She makes no mention of another woman being involved.” He studied the letter as if it would set the story straight.

“An oversight, I’m sure, milord. Frederick recounted the incident to me himself.” Jamie pushed on with the more important issue. “Mrs. Moberly is the perfect wife for a man who is carving a settlement out of the East Florida wilderness.” His own words struck him. Would Lady Marianne be able to survive in that same wilderness after her life of ease? Not likely. Breaking with her was best for her, if not for him, for far too many reasons to count.

“You seem to have some affection for this young woman.” Suspicion emanated from the earl’s narrowed eyes.

Jamie gave him a measured grin. “I have great affection for her.” The earl’s eyes widened with shock, so Jamie kept talking. “She is my cousin, reared with me like a sister.”

Lord Bennington’s face reddened. He placed his fists on the desk and leaned across it toward Jamie. “Are you responsible for this ill-advised union?”

Jamie still stared into his eyes. “No, milord. I was here in England when they formed their attachment. However, I will confess that when Frederick asked for my help, I complied. They were married aboard my ship by an English clergyman.”

Lord Bennington straightened, but his eyes remained narrowed. “You could have omitted that information, and I never would have known it.”

“That is true. But our shared business interests will prosper only if we are honest with one another, do you not think?” Honor and duty clashed in a heated battle within Jamie’s chest, as they always did when he considered his plans to spy on this man. He quickly doused the conflict. “As I told you earlier, your youngest son is performing his duties admirably as magistrate in St. Johns Towne. Bennington Plantation is prospering prodigiously, as you can see from the oranges we were served at supper tonight. Your
warehouse is bursting with the indigo, cotton and rice harvests from East Florida, all grown under Frederick’s oversight.” Jamie paused to let his words reach the earl’s business sense.