The Rogue's Return (26 page)

“Remember,” Hal said, “that the same applies to Blanche.”

 

Jancy had eaten the tea and bread, and perhaps something in her stomach did help to bring her back to earth—quicksand earth, though it be. She wanted to hide, but clearly that was impossible. Therefore she would face everyone and for Simon's sake try not to appear insane.

She dressed, took up her sewing, and went out into the cuddy. A number of people were there—not Simon, she instantly noticed. She headed for a chair by Mrs. Ransome-Brown, but Lionel Dacre dashed over. “Feeling a bit queasy again, Mrs. St. Bride? Come and sit with Rebecca and me.”

She couldn't think how to refuse, and avoiding him completely was impossible, so she went with him to one end of the table, where Rebecca Dacre was also sewing.

Rebecca looked up with a smile. “Very rough, isn't it? I can't imagine venturing out on the deck.”

Jancy sat and took her needlework out of its bag. She was keeping her flaming handkerchief for private moments, which meant she wasn't making much progress with it. For now, she would embroider a plain S on another. “I did go out for a moment, but it was too much for me.”

“We're making excellent time, however,” Dacre said. “Soon be home. Fancy you being from Carlisle, Mrs. St. Bride. I've been telling Rebecca about the school. Not a bad place . . .”

Jancy fiddled with her sewing, not wanting to set stitches that her unsteady hands would make a mess off, but gradually she relaxed. He wasn't at all interested in quizzing her but only in telling yet more stories to his adored wife. All he seemed to require from Jancy was an occasional, “Yes, I believe so,” or “That's true.” She even became comfortable with, “I don't remember.”

It was a soothing interlude. His chatter confirmed that the schoolboys had seen Jane only at morning prayer. Jancy worked on the plain monogram as she tried to store away details that might be useful one day. In that impossible one day when she and Simon faced the world together, confident that the deception would hold.

Simon came in from the deck with Hal, his devil's hair wet and windblown, his cheeks damp with sea spray, his hazel eyes moving immediately to hers. She smiled, partly to reassure him that she was well, but also because she couldn't help it. Love truly did blossom like a rose, even in a storm, even in a desert.

His answering smile came more slowly but then deepened. When he went into their cabin, she watched until the door closed.

“You love him very much,” Rebecca said softly.

“As you love your husband.” Dacre had risen to speak to Hal.

“It is a special blessing God sends to us, isn't it?” She glanced at Jancy's sewing. “You do beautiful work.”

“Thank you.” Jancy looked at Rebecca's work and smiled. “For a baby?”

Rebecca blushed. “Yes.”

“Unfortunate on a voyage. Are you well?”

“Very. I wasn't even sick in the early days, whereas Lionel was. I joked that he was suffering in my place.”

“How long will you stay in England?”

“We intended to return on the
Eweretta
in the spring, but that is about when the baby should arrive, so we'll wait. Probably in London, for Lionel will be employed there for a while.” Rebecca smiled at Jancy. “Perhaps you and your husband will be there in the spring. I understand many people go there for the Season. Of course, I will be in no state to enjoy it, but if you are there, I hope you'll visit us.”

“Of course,” Jancy said. By spring everything would be settled, one way or the other.

“I'm very happy we have peace at last,” Rebecca said, setting neat stitches. “I want my child to be born into a world of peace.”

Jancy smiled. “Amen.”

“Amen, indeed,” Dacre said, having caught the last of the conversation. “A world of peace and prosperity. I make no secret, Mrs. St. Bride, of wanting to found a dynasty in the New World. There's land and opportunity for everyone. Canada and America will reach the Pacific within decades, mark my words, and we will be part of it.” He rested a hand on Rebecca's shoulder. “We and our children.”

Jancy made a fastening stitch and cut her thread, sighing for Simon's cause. No mention of land for the Indians in Lionel Dacre's all-too-plausible plans.

It hurt that she probably wouldn't be by Simon's side to console him.

And that tonight, she would have to again find a way to deny him simpler comforts.

But that night, Simon took her hands. “Jancy, dear heart, I don't think we should make love again until we reach land. You're clearly not well,” he said quickly as if fearing an argument. “It's not that I don't desire you—I'm sure you know that. I just don't like to see you distressed.”

“I'm not distressed by the thought of making love, Simon. Truly.”

“Then can you tell me what is upsetting you?”

Why had she protested? She grasped the excuse he'd offered.

“Perhaps it is that I'm still not recovered.” She stroked his cheek. “It might be worth the wait. Imagine how it will be. Steady ground. A big bed. Freshly laundered sheets. A bath using copious amounts of water.”

But I'll have to tell you first, so this is only a dream.

“A wedding night. I never did complete my courtship of you, did I? So let it be as if we're stepping lightly toward our appointed wedding night, each day building anticipation. I will shower you with gifts.”

“How?” she asked, amused despite everything. “You're somewhat far from a shop.”

“I am famous for my ingenuity.”

Jancy blinked but couldn't clear tears. “You are the most wonderful man.”

“Far from it, but I love you, Jancy St. Bride, and I hope you love me.”

What could she say but the truth? “With all my heart and soul.”

He rested his head against hers. “Then how can we come to grief, no matter what the storms?”

A
s there was no escape and no point in showing a sad face, Jancy threw herself into acting the unworried lady. She sewed with Rebecca, listened to Mrs. Ransome-Brown's accounts of grand occasions, and cheered the men during a shooting match. She also wondered what Simon would do about courtship gifts. Remembering the leaf, she half expected a fish.

Instead he took her to a quiet corner of the deck and gave her a pale rose. It was wood—pine, probably—neither painted nor varnished but delicately carved. Her vision blurred. “Where did you find it?”

“One of the sailors makes them. Next summer, my love, I'll shower you with real roses. There's a white one with a sweet smell that rambles near the stables at home.”

There would be no Brideswell roses for her, but she would have this to treasure.

She wanted to reciprocate, so the next morning she woke early and slipped out into the cuddy to finish her flaming handkerchief.

She was enjoying the peace and quiet, but then Miss Ransome-Brown came out of her cabin, yawning, in a frilly robe over her nightgown. Jancy thought that inappropriate, but the sulky girl wasn't hers to instruct, thank heavens.

“What's that?” Eliza asked. “A colored handkerchief
for a gentleman? How peculiar. And”—she leaned closer—“flames?”

“It's a joke between my husband and me.”

“Oh.” The girl sat beside her. “Do gentlemen like jokes?”

“Of the right sort,” Jancy said.

“We're going to London, but Mama says I may not take part in any formal entertainments for
years
.” With disgust, she added, “I'm to be sent to
school
.”

“You might enjoy it. Girls of your own age.”

Eliza cast her a disbelieving look. “Captain Norton is handsome, isn't he? Of course, Major Beaumont is more tragic.”

Jancy hoped Hal didn't hear that. She'd never spoken alone with the girl before and clearly hadn't missed anything.

“But both nearly twice your age,” she pointed out.

“Fie for that. I like older men. I must admit that I prefer a
whole
man, but Captain Norton lacks prospects even though he's well connected.”

Jancy stared at the shallow-minded twit.

“You're very lucky to have caught Mr. St. Bride,” Eliza went on, oblivious. “Mama says he will be an earl one day.”

Jancy was sure the conversation had continued on the lines of,
Such a shame he didn't meet you first, dear.

“A very distant day, we hope, as it would require a number of deaths, including that of Simon's father.”

“Mama says the earl and his heir are at death's door now.”

Before Jancy could respond, Colonel Ransome-Brown and his son came out of their cabin. He sharply commanded his daughter to go and make herself decent and then took his son on deck for their morning walk. Kirkby appeared and began to prepare for breakfast. Jancy vacated her chair, incredulous that her situation could become even more complicated.

Was it true? Might Simon arrive in England to find
his father an earl and tranquil Brideswell in an uproar? Perhaps his whole family would be moving elsewhere. And this was to happen just as she shattered him with the truth?

She felt the sweet bite of temptation.

Don't tell him, then.

Take the risk that no one will ever find out. . . .

But she wouldn't do that. If he was about to be thrown into the highest levels of society, it was particularly important that he know that an ax hung over his head. Exposure would be so much more terrible.

The new burden on her was, should she tell him what Eliza had said? Warn him? Perhaps the girl had been wrong, but Jancy suspected that the Grand Panjandrum had excellent intelligence on such things.

Simon emerged from their room, looking immediately for her, his eyes lighting as they met hers. She quickly stuffed the flaming handkerchief into her bag and held out a hand. As their hands touched, dizzying warmth sealed them and their fingers locked.

How was she ever to bear life apart?

How could she bear to send him into pain without her?

After breakfast she found a moment to talk privately with Hal on deck. He was the person who had most recently been in England and might know the truth. She told him what Eliza Ransome-Brown had said and saw confirmation in his expression before he spoke.

“Marlowe's been at death's door for years, but Austrey . . .” He shrugged. “When I left he was dwindling away. He was a robust man last year and now he's a frail invalid, and no one knows why. He has the best doctors, of course, but it looks bad. That was part of the reason I was asked to bring Simon home. He'll be needed. I was prepared to tell him, but as he was returning anyway, why torment him ahead of time?”

Like an amputation, she thought, or any other
operation. Far better to have it happen without warning than to have to anticipate the pain.

“So you'll tell him when we land?”

Must he bear multiple blows?

“I must. I know how much he wants to see Dare, but his parents will want him home.”

“Will Long Chart be much out of our way?”

“No. Not far at all.” He nodded. “Very well. I'll tell him there.”

At least he'd have the visit that meant so much to him, and he would receive the blow with friends around him. She must confess her sins sooner, however. As soon as they were ashore and private.

Simon came over to them. “What are you two conspiring about?”

Jancy smiled, making it mischievous. “Never you mind.”

“Saucy wench.”

Hal excused himself. She wanted to take Simon in her arms and keep him from all pain, and the fact that she could only make his pain worse crushed her heart.

She did what little she could. After dinner, she persuaded him out on deck, despite a cold that whitened their breath. There, she gave him the handkerchief.

“It's wonderful,” he said, his eyes shining as if the brilliant stars in the dark sky reflected there. “And a work of art.”

“It's only sewing.”

He raised the flames to his lips and kissed them. “Do you know there's a lady who's famous for her embroidered copies of great works of art?”

“No. But what's the point of that?”

He grinned. “Hush. But I suspect you're right. What was it Dr. Johnson said about a cat walking on its hind legs? That it wasn't remarkable for walking well, but for simply doing it at all. But this,” he said, looking back at his handkerchief, “is done well and is original. A true
work of art. Another way you and your cousin were alike.”

He tucked it through a buttonhole of his jacket, where it would be in full display. “We men are very competitive, have you noticed? How fortunate that I have another gift for you, too.”

He gave her a small box of a pale, smooth material, carved in some design.

“Ivory?” she asked.

“Just bone.” He opened it and showed her a heart of polished bone inside. “You are keeper of my heart, my Jancy.”

She swallowed tears. “It's lovely, and you're a miracle worker to find this.”

“Shall I keep my secret? No? There's a thriving workshop belowdecks. The sailors while away their quiet times making things to sell on shore.”

“Do they?” Jancy stored that information, and the next morning she found a quiet moment with Kirkby. “How do I find out if any sailors have made something my husband might like?”

His grin suggested that those belowdecks were aware of what was going on and that he might be earning a commission. “What do you have in mind, ma'am?”

That put her at a loss but then inspiration struck. “Does anyone do jewelry?”

“Of very simple sorts, ma'am.”

“Would someone be able to work a bit of silver into something else?”

“Aye, likely.”

She hurried to their room and returned with the misshapen pistol ball Dr. Playter had dug out of Simon and some silver threepenny bits. Simon had never asked for the ball, so she hadn't offered it, but now she said, “See if someone can mount this in the silver in some way so it could be hung as a fob.”

He looked at the lump. “Caused him a bit of trouble, did it?”

After dinner, he popped his head out of his quarters and winked at her. Simon had gone on deck so she slipped over. He opened his hand to reveal the ball wrapped in a band of silver with a ring formed on top and a bit of braid attached. “Five shillings to you, ma'am.”

It was probably robbery, but Jancy paid the price. She put on her cloak and went to give it to Simon.

It took him a moment to realize what it was, but then he laughed. “A very valuable reminder. Thank you.” He promptly tied it to his watch chain. Then he handed her a rolled-up paper bound with ribbon. Ribbon she thought was from her own supply.

“A promissory note?” she queried. “Your ingenuity has expired?”

“Look and see.”

She untied and unrolled it. “A poem?”

“I'm no Rossiter, but it seemed a suitable thing to attempt.”

Sunset hair, skin like snow,

Gold on cheeks and nose.

My love, my Jancy, all aglow,

Like a wild Canadian rose.

 

I was alone, I thought content,

How foolish man can be.

But then to me a rose was sent,

My love, my bride. Jancy.

She swallowed tears. “That's beautiful.”

“No, it's atrocious, but it comes from my heart.”

“Which makes it beautiful,” she said, meaning it. “How do I respond to poetry?”

“With a kiss?”

So she did, and it became long and slow. They were in a quiet corner of the deck, shielded to some extent by the stall, but they didn't even care. There was a
special magic, she discovered, in a long, deep kiss that would not lead to sexual delight. A restrained, desirous brilliance.

“Courtship,” he breathed against her neck, “is a wonderful thing.”

Oh, my love, it can't be right that we must part. Perhaps I don't have to tell you. Perhaps I'm with child. I'm overdue a little, I think. No point in telling you if there's a child . . .

But the next day she felt a dull ache and found the first trace of blood on her drawers. She had probably made love to Simon for the last time.

She continued as she'd resolved to do, however, pretending all was well.

She attempted poetry, making it deliberately worse than his. He gave her a necklace of blue beads. She paid a sailor a shilling for a virulently gaudy neckcloth, washed it, hung it to dry, and presented it to him, daring him to wear it.

He did so to dinner, leading to questions, and general teasing and high spirits. This began a raid on the sailors' store of crafts and little treasures, which doubtless spread the joy belowdecks as well. Spirits were high anyway. Gulls had been sighted. Land must be close. Everyone spent time on deck searching the horizon, but of course it was the lookout high in the crow's nest who first called it.

Captain Stoddard used his telescope. He slapped it shut and turned to boom down at them from the poop deck. “Land, my friends!”

“Ireland, sir?” Simon called.

“No, sir. England, and in under thirty days!”

The passengers cheered the achievement, but Jancy burst out laughing. When Simon asked why, she couldn't tell him. She wasn't entirely sure why she was laughing instead of crying, but good winds, a sound ship, and a skillful captain had raced her to her doom.

Everyone lingered on deck that day, passing round a
telescope to peer at the shadow on the horizon that was, apparently, home, but as the sun set they had to go in to dinner. Jancy went with Simon into their cabin to tidy herself. As always now, he took her into his arms and kissed her, long and slow.

“Home soon,” he whispered in her ear. “Terra firma. A big bed. Clean sheets. Unlimited fresh bathing water . . .”

She buried her head against his shoulder so he wouldn't see her expression.

When she pushed free, she looked behind and frowned.

“What's the matter?” he asked.

She was so used to guarding secrets that she almost lied.

“I don't think I left the chest like that, with that bit of cloth sticking out.” She knew she hadn't. She was tidy by nature.

He turned to look. “You think someone has been in here? Stolen something?”

She raised the lid. The cloth was part of a pair of Simon's drawers. She grabbed for the small box in which she kept her bits of jewelry and Simon's precious gifts, but everything was there. She checked her purse, but if any of the coins were missing, it could be only few. Simon kept his money in his valise.