The Captain's Lady (4 page)

He’d never had cause to trust or not trust Moberly. But youthful experiences had taught him that privileged gentlemen found great amusement in putting other men through the worst possible trials to test their mettle. In truth, he’d suffered the same treatment as a cabin boy, and inflicted the same on youths under his command. How else did one become a man?

But did his latest trial have to be on horseback?

J
amie had always dressed himself, and Quince employed his own manservant, who had remained on his farm in Massachusetts. So it was a challenge for both men to go through the motions of acting as master and valet. But they each put on their best performance for Jamie’s fitting with Moberly’s tailor.

Soon, however, the tall, finicky man irritated Jamie to the extreme as he roughly measured him, tossed about colorful fabrics and barked orders at his harassed assistant, a dark-skinned boy of no more than thirteen. Other than his helper, the man spoke only to Moberly and only in his native tongue—French—clearly regarding Jamie as less than worthy of being addressed. Just as clearly, the tailor had no idea Jamie was fluent in his language and was having difficulty not responding to his insults.

When he turned at the wrong moment, the slender thread of a man lifted his hand as if to cuff him, but Jamie warned him off with a dark scowl.

“I thought you said he’s Dutch,” he said to Moberly through clenched teeth.

Sprawled out on the chaise longue in Jamie’s suite, Moberly gave the remark a dismissive wave. “If Bennington knew I used a French tailor, the old boy would have apoplexy. All that unpleasantness with the Frogs, you know.”

At his words, Jamie’s crossness softened. Moberly had a deep need in his life, yet how could Jamie speak to him of God’s grace while spying on his father? He lifted a silent prayer that somehow Lady Marianne might deliver the message of God’s love her brother needed to hear.

Jamie ducked to avoid the long pin the tailor wielded like a rapier to emphasize his ranting. Used to homespun woolen and linen, Jamie chafed at the idea of wearing silk, satin and lace, but he’d decided to tolerate Moberly’s choice of fabrics and styles. That is, until the tailor unrolled some oddly colored satin and draped it across Jamie’s shoulder. What a ghastly green, like the color of the sea before a lightning storm. He would not wear it, no matter what anyone said.

As if reading his mind, Moberly rested a finger along his jawline in a thoughtful pose. “No, no, not that, François. It reminds me of a dead toad. Use the periwinkle. It will drive the ladies mad.”

“
Mais non,
Monsieur Moberly.” François sniffed. “That glorious
couleur
I save for you, not this…this
rustique.
” He snapped his fingers to punctuate the insult.

“That’s it.” Jamie snatched off the fabric and flung it away, ignoring the derisive snort from Quince, who observed the whole thing from across the room. “My own clothes will do.”

Moberly exhaled a long sigh. “Now, François, look what you’ve done. I shall have to find another tailor.”

The middle-aged tailor gasped. “But, Monsieur—”

“No, no.” Moberly stood and walked toward the door. “I
shall not have you insult Lord Bennington’s business partner and my good friend.”

The man paled. “Lord Bennington’s business partner?” Now his face flushed with color. “But, Monsieur Moberly, why did you not say so?” He turned to Jamie, his eyes ablaze with an odd fervor. “Ah, Monsieur, eh, Capitaine Templeton, for such a well-favored gentleman,
oui,
we must have the periwinkle.” He snapped his fingers at his assistant.
“L’apportes à moi, tout de suite.”

The boy brought forth the muted blue fabric, a dandy’s color if ever Jamie saw one. When François draped it over his shoulder, Quince moved up beside Jamie and stared into the long mirror with him.

“Aye, sir, that’ll grab the ladies’ attention, no mistake.” The smirk on his face almost earned him Jamie’s fist.

“Bad news about your ship, Templeton.” Moberly’s comment surprised Jamie. “What’s all this about repairs?” Perhaps he’d noticed Jamie’s difficulty in restraining himself throughout this ordeal. Indeed, Jamie knew the report about the
Fair Winds
had set him back, for it meant he and Quince would be in London for an unknown length of time instead of just a month.

“The hull requires scraping and recaulking.” Jamie stuck out his arm so François could fit a sleeve pattern. “And the storm damage to the mast was worse than I thought. ’Twill take some time to fix it all.”

“Ah, well.” Moberly’s grin held a bit of mischief. “Once we finish the charity bits with Marianne and Lady Bennington, we’ll find ways to fill your time.”

In the mirror, Jamie traded a look with Quince. When his first mate, Saunders, arrived early that morning with disappointing news about the sloop, Quince reminded him of their prayers for this mission. God wasn’t hiding when the
Fair Winds
received storm damage, and He’d brought them safely to port. The Almighty still had this venture safely in His hands. All the more time to secure important information, Jamie and Quince agreed, but too much time for Jamie to be in Lady Marianne’s beguiling presence.

Once the torturous fitting session ended, the now-fawning tailor withdrew, and Jamie gripped his emotions for the coming events. After their midday repast, he and Moberly joined Lady Bennington and Lady Marianne for their visit to the orphan asylum. Yet, other than the brief quickening of his pulse at seeing Lady Marianne—dressed modestly in brown, as was her mother—he had only to deal with riding.

To his surprise, Moberly chose for him a large but gentle mare that followed Lady Bennington’s landau like an obedient pup. Jamie began to feel comfortable in the saddle. Moberly also furnished him with a pistol and sword to keep at hand lest unsavory elements be roaming the streets.

The trip across town, however, passed with unexpected ease and some pleasant sightseeing under a bright spring sky. Although the cool March breeze carried the rancid odors of the city waste and horseflesh, making Jamie long for a fresh ocean wind, he did notice some of London’s finer points. Upon catching a glimpse of the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral, he decided he must visit its fabled interior. Then some shops along the way caught his eye as possible sources of gifts for loved ones back home or, at the least, ideas for items to export to East Florida.

The carriage and riders entered the wide front courtyard of the asylum as though passing through a palace’s gates…or a prison’s. The wrought-iron fence’s seven-foot pickets were set no more than four inches apart, giving the three-story gray brick building a foreboding appearance, a sad place for
children to grow up, in Jamie’s way of thinking. Not a scrap of trash littered the grassy yard, which still wore its winter brown, and not a single pebble lay on the paved front walkway. No doubt the denizens of St. Ann’s had swept the path with care for the expected visitors. Dismounting with only a little trouble, he saw with gratitude a stone mounting block near the building’s entrance. He would have no trouble remounting. Perhaps this horse riding would not be so bad, after all.

Robert assisted his stepmother’s descent from the carriage and looped his arm in hers. Jamie had no choice but to offer the same assistance to Lady Marianne. Taking his arm, she gave him a warm smile that tightened when her mother glanced over her shoulder. But the lady’s attention was on John the footman, who balanced several large boxes in his arms as he followed them. She gave the man a nod and turned back toward the door. Lady Marianne squeezed Jamie’s arm, and a pleasant shiver shot up to his neck. He tried to shake it off, to no avail. Wafting up from her hair came the faint scent of roses, compounding his battle to distance his feelings from her.

“Mama takes such delight in these visits,” Lady Marianne whispered as she leaned against his arm. “She loves the children dearly.”

He permitted himself to gaze at her for an instant, and his heart paid for it with a painful tug. “It seems you do, too, my lady.” Indeed, her eyes shone with an affection far different from the loving glances she’d sent his way. How he longed to learn of all her charitable interests. But that could not be.

“Oh, yes.” Her strong tone affirmed her conviction. “They do such fine work here, rearing these girls and teaching them useful skills. My own Emma came from this school.”

“Ah, I see.” Jamie was glad they reached the massive double front doors before he was required to comment further. He had yet to discover just how deeply Quince cared for Lady Marianne’s little maid, but he knew his friend would not play her false. Still, both men would likely end up sailing home with broken hearts.

As the group moved through the doors and into the large entrance hall, which smelled freshly scrubbed with lye soap, the soft thunder of running feet met them. Some hundred and fifty girls of all sizes hastened to assemble into lines, the taller ones in the back ranks, with descending heights down to the twenty or so tiny moppets in front. Each girl wore a gray serge uniform and a plain white pinafore bearing a number.

Jamie swallowed away a wave of sentiment. An orphan himself, he, too, might have been a nameless child raised with a number on his chest, had his uncle not taken him in.

A middle-aged matron in a matching uniform inspected the lines, her plain thin face betraying no emotion as she turned and offered a deep curtsy to their guests. As one, the girls followed suit.

“Welcome, Lady Bennington, Lady Marianne.” Another matron, gray-haired and in a black dress, stepped forward. Authority emanated from her such as Jamie had witnessed in the sternest of sea captains, but he also noted a hint of warmth as she addressed the countess.

“Mrs. Martin.” Lady Bennington’s countenance glowed as she grasped the woman’s hands. “How good to see you.” Her gaze swept over the assembly. “Good afternoon, my dear, dear girls.”

Mrs. Martin lifted one hand to direct the children in a chorus of “Good afternoon, Lady Bennington, Lady Marianne.” One and all, their faces beamed with affection for their patronesses.

While the countess made some remarks, Jamie noticed Lady Marianne leaning toward the little ones as if she wished to go to them. The countess then gestured to John the footman, who brought forth one of the boxes. Jamie followed Moberly’s lead and moved back against the wall while the two ladies disbursed knitted mittens, scarves and caps they and their friends had made. The children’s joy and gratitude punctured Jamie’s self-containment, and he tried to grip his emotions. Still, breathing became more difficult as the scene progressed.

When Lady Marianne knelt on the well-scrubbed wooden floor among the smallest orphans, gathering in her arms a wee brown-haired tot to show her how to don her mittens, Jamie’s last defenses fell away, and a shattering ache filled his chest.

Lord, forgive me. I love this good lady beyond all sense, beyond all wisdom. Only through Your guidance can I walk away from her. Yet if, in Your great goodness, You could grant us happiness—

Jamie could not permit himself to complete the prayer. He would neither request nor expect the only answer that would give him personal joy. Not when there was a revolution to be fought and a fourteenth colony to draw into the mighty fray. If he must lose at love, so be it.

But he must not lose at war, for in that there was so much more at stake—nothing less than the destiny of a newborn nation.

“C
aptain Templeton looks quite presentable in his new riding clothes, do you not think, Grace?” Marianne sat in the open carriage beside Mama’s companion, whom she had borrowed for today’s outing to Hyde Park. “Robert approves, or he would not have agreed to bring the American with us.” She herself had been stunned when Jamie walked into the drawing room just an hour ago, for the cut of his brown wool coat over his broad shoulders and the close lines of his tan breeches over his strong legs emphasized his superior masculine form. Why, if not for his colonial speech, he could pass for a peer of the realm.

Grace looked toward the two men, who rode their horses slightly ahead of the open black landau. “Yes, my lady. The captain has the appearance of a true gentleman.” She pursed her lips, and her eyes took on a merry glint. “And I do believe with a little practice, his horsemanship will improve.”

Marianne responded with a knowing smile as she searched Grace’s face. But the lady’s countenance bore no hint of feeling for Jamie other than her usual kindheartedness. A modicum of shame warmed Marianne’s cheeks,
despite the brisk March breeze that fanned over them. She need never be jealous of dear Grace.

“I agree. But I am not altogether certain my brother can be trusted to see to Captain Templeton’s riding lessons.”

A shadow flitted over Grace’s face. “Surely you do not think Mr. Moberly would permit the American to be harmed.” She gazed at Robert, her eyes glowing with a softness that Marianne had never before noticed.

Withholding a gasp of realization, she forced her own gaze to settle on Robert. This morning she had observed the usual shadows beneath his eyes and his languid posture, which bespoke his many nights of intemperance and little sleep. Could pious Grace care for such a reprobate? Marianne hated to think of her brother in terms their father would use, but Robert truly met that description.

Before she could respond to Grace’s concern, Robert hailed another open carriage passing from the other direction. “Ho there, Highbury. Do stop for a chat.” He waved to Wiggins to stop Marianne’s conveyance.

The young man called to his driver, who reined his horses to a stop. Beside Mr. Highbury sat his sister, Lady Eugenia, and Marianne felt a rush of pleasure at seeing these friends. Due to Lord Highbury’s Whig politics, Papa no longer associated with him, and out of loyalty, both families deferred to their patriarchs.

Robert presented Jamie to the Highburys, and pleasantries flew about the little group.

“I see you and Lady Marianne have taken advantage of this rare sunny day, too, Mr. Moberly.” Lady Eugenia gave Robert a warm smile, and her eyelashes fluttered.

Marianne heard Grace’s soft sigh beside her. It was clear Eugenia was flirting with Robert. But Lord Highbury would never permit her to marry a second son.

Robert, all charm and energy now, bowed in his saddle. “My lady, it must be Fate that brought us together.”

“I absolutely concur.” Mr. Highbury’s gaze settled on Grace, and he nodded to her. “Even the ground is dry. We simply
must
take a turn around the park.”

With all in agreement, the ladies were assisted from their carriages. While Eugenia maneuvered her way toward Robert, Marianne managed to edge close to Jamie. Mr. Highbury seemed more than agreeable to pairing with Grace, bowing and offering his arm to her.

“Your riding has improved, Captain Templeton.” Marianne gave his arm an expectant look.

“Thank you, my lady.” He offered it without meeting her gaze. “I would not call myself a horseman, but at least I’ve remained astride.”

A light laugh escaped her, as light as her heart felt over walking beside him on this fine day. “Your modesty is as refreshing as today’s weather.” Indeed, the invigorating air in Hyde Park carried no hint of the unpleasant city odors.

“It is a good day.” He lengthened his stride, as if eager to catch the other two couples walking several yards ahead of them on the brown grass.

After several seconds of trying to keep up with him, Marianne tugged at his arm. “Perhaps when your ship is repaired, we can enjoy a short voyage on the Thames, as we did last year.”

Jamie stopped, but his gaze remained on the others as the distance between them widened. “I am sure Lord Bennington will be too busy for such an excursion.”

Again, Marianne laughed, a strained sound she hoped Jamie would not notice. “Of course Papa will be too busy. But Robert—”

“Ah, yes. Robert.” Jamie looked at her, and his eyes filled
with concern. “My lady, I would not wish to presume…anything. However, Moberly seems to regard me as a friend. It may be that I can have some good influence on his, um, habits.” He glanced away. “Please continue to walk with me.”

“Yes, of course.” Her heart dipped in disappointment.

They resumed their stroll across the almost empty park. She did not wish to discuss Robert, but he was very dear to her. Jamie’s Christian charity toward her brother moved her.

“I have often spoken to my brother about his lack of spiritual interest. Our brother Frederick is also concerned about him. But Robert assures us he will take care of that matter when he grows older.”

“An error too many people make, if I may be so bold, my lady.”

A hint of dread touched Marianne’s heart. “I hope you will be bold enough to speak to him of Christ’s redemption.”

Jamie’s expression grew thoughtful, but he did not seem inclined to say more. Her heart heavy for more than one reason, Marianne gazed around the landscape, where trees had begun to bud and tiny shoots of green appeared in the brown grass.

“Moberly would benefit from our prayers.” Jamie’s deep, rich voice resounded with concern. “In truth, though I would not judge the man, I fear that his immortal soul is in danger.”

Gratitude for his observation filled Marianne. “I have the same fear. Oh, Jamie—”

Wincing, he stopped again, but avoided her gaze. “Please, my lady.”

The pain and censure in his voice cut into her. “I—I mean, Captain Templeton.” She resumed her stroll, and he followed suit. “What can we do for him?”

“I would not wish for Lady Bennington to think ill of me, since I am a guest in her house, but I have considered going to one of these routs with Moberly. They’re all he speaks of, and seem to consume his life.” Jamie paused. “What does a rout involve?”

The tightness of his tone almost made Marianne laugh. “Why, a rout is just a gathering at someone’s home. The hostess invites a huge number of people who want to be seen and to see others.” She sobered. “But Robert only says he’s going to a rout to avoid stating his true plans. Oh, he may indeed attend one, but he then goes gambling and—”

“You need not continue, my lady.” Jamie cast a quick glance her way and patted her hand, sending a pleasant shiver up her arm. “I understand your meaning.” He studied the ground before them. “Nevertheless, I feel compelled to go with him.”

They walked in silence for a few moments. Jamie’s large form blocked much of the breeze that fluttered the edges of her cape and carried the scent of his woody shaving balm in her direction. She could not resist the temptation to lean against his arm, as if she could absorb some of his strength. But he seemed to sway away from her to a degree so small she might have been mistaken.

“You would put yourself in temptation’s way…for Robert?” Marianne felt tears forming. Jamie’s godly goodness and selflessness were just two of the reasons she loved him.

“By God’s grace, I have so far resisted such temptations. The Book of Proverbs fully addresses the subject, and it is my guide.”

“But there are other dangers.” Marianne shuddered to think of the vicious packs of wellborn miscreants who wandered the night streets of London filled with evil inten
tions. Thievery, beatings, even murder were their games, and if they chose their victims carefully, they never had to pay.

Jamie nodded. “I’m sure there are. But our Lord dined with the worst of sinners that He might demonstrate God’s love to them.”

“Oh, Jamie…Captain…” She again tugged him to a stop. “Our Lord knew when and how He would die. He was in full control of everything. You are not. Why would you risk your life this way?” She argued against her own heart, for she did love Robert and longed for his salvation.

Jamie drew himself up to his full height, yet his gaze into her eyes was gentle and full of conviction. “Lady Marianne, there are causes worth giving one’s life for. Christ died to free us from sin and give us eternal life. Should I not willingly give
my
life for another man…and for freedom?” He clamped his lips closed and shook his head. “We should join the others.”

Confusion filled her. Jamie seemed to think he had spoken amiss, yet she found no fault in his words. “I am deeply grateful for your willingness to befriend Robert. I will pray God will bless your efforts.”
And that He will protect you both, my love.

Jamie was surprised so little time had passed during his torturous walk at Lady Marianne’s side. A few more minutes alone with her would be his undoing. He could see she understood his concern for Moberly and that she truly loved her brother. This, along with her earnest words of faith—and the heady scent of her rose perfume—created in him a powerful yearning to confess his love that he was scarce able to deny. His weak, silent prayer for strength brought no relief, and the journey across the park left his emotions ravaged by the time they reached the others.

Not one of the four seemed to have missed Lady Marianne, and certainly not him. With great effort, he forced his mind to address this fortuitous meeting with young Highbury, a lad of perhaps twenty-one. Jamie had learned Lord Highbury was a prominent Whig who, with others of his party, opposed King George’s vile treatment of the colonists. In fact, their opposition extended to refusing to take their seats in the current session of Parliament. Jamie’s orders from General Washington included uncovering any allies among the Whigs who might help the Revolution, but Bennington’s social circle excluded those very men.

“Captain Templeton.” Lady Eugenia gazed at him, her eyelashes fluttering. “You must tell us all about the conflict in the colonies.”

A pretty girl somewhat younger than her brother, she had a merry disposition, and her flirting was harmless. Yet Jamie would remember his station, at least the way these aristocrats might view it, and be pleasantly formal. He had long ago rejected any plans to deflect Lady Marianne’s affections by showing interest in someone else. If he must break her heart and his own, it would not be through deceit.

“You must forgive me, Lady Eugenia.” He bowed to her. “My travels at present do not take me to the troubled areas.”

“But, my good man,” Mr. Highbury said, “surely you hear news of the war…or at least rumors.” An intense look flickered in his eyes, and he leaned toward him.

Jamie smiled and lifted one shoulder in a light shrug. “Sir, the North American continent is vast. An entire war can be fought at one end without a ripple reaching the other.” He observed the disappointment in Highbury’s expression, but could say nothing more. The lad might indeed be sympathetic to the Cause, but his emotions were too much in evidence to invite Jamie’s trust.

“Oh, bother.” Moberly emitted a long sigh. “Must we talk of politics? It is beyond enough that our fathers engage in their tedious debates over such things.”

“I agree, dear brother.” Marianne put one arm around Lady Eugenia’s waist. “For my own part, I have missed dear Genie very much these past months. We simply must have more time together. I think Mama should give a ball. Everyone has been in London since October, and here it is March. Yet she has not done her share of entertaining.”

“Oh, a ball at Bennington House.” Lady Eugenia’s voice trilled with excitement. “Indeed, that would be lovely.”

“Rather,”
Mr. Highbury said with a chuckle. “That is, if you don’t think Lord Bennington will cast us out for disloyalty.” He sent Jamie a meaningful look.

Jamie returned a placid smile and looked to Moberly to respond for them. But inwardly, he groaned. In his search for allies, the last thing he needed was a foolish young pup who might ruin everything.