Her Heart's Captain (18 page)

Toby looked up from his plate. “I tried to convince your daughter to do so, right after we'd set Jenny down at the crossroad near Winchcombe, but you know your Andrea. She
would
have her orchid gloves.”

Tris looked up, startled. He'd not inquired of Jenny how she'd come to be standing alone at the crossroad, so it had not occurred to him that her outing and Andrea's had been in any way connected.

“See here, Toby,” Andrea was saying irritably, “I've heard enough on the subject of my gloves. You are becoming very vexing. Though I suppose one can't expect a man to understand the importance of such things.”

“Do you mean to say,” her aunt Dulcie inquired, “that you worried your parents and kept this young man on the box for hours in the sleet just to purchase a pair of
gloves?
”

“But it was not only gloves, Aunt Dulcie,” Andrea responded with cheerful complacency. “I purchased an ell of swansdown for a scarf, and some French lace—you'll love it, Mama, for it will make a beautiful collar for my green lustring—and a new pair of slippers.”

“You see?” Toby grinned at the gentlemen. “With such important errands to execute, what could we do but ignore the sleet and spend the entire afternoon parading through the Cheltenham shops?”

But Tris was staring at him with knit brows. “I beg your pardon, Boyce, but did I understand you to say that you'd set Jenny down at the crossroad? Jenny
Garvin
?”

“Yes, I did say that. She traveled with us as far as Winchcombe, you see, to visit my grandmother. But she couldn't go on with us to Cheltenham, so we put her down at the crossroad.”

“You left her there all alone?” Tris persisted, a wave of anger flooding over him.

“Well, yes,” Andrea said, a shade defensively. “Her brother was coming to take her home.”

“Was he indeed?” Tris looked at his cousin with cold disdain. “Did you wait to
see
that he did?”

Toby began to feel uncomfortable. “Why are you asking these questions, Captain Allenby?
Didn't
he come?”

“No, he didn't, as a matter of fact.”

Toby and Andrea exchanged looks of guilty alarm. “How do you know?” Toby inquired, his face falling. “Has something … happened to Jenny?”

“No. She's safe, no thanks to you. I happened along and took her home.”

“Oh, good,” Andrea breathed in relief. “Everything's all right, then.”

“Is
that
what you think?” Tris threw down his fork and leaned forward, his jaw clenched tightly. “She's safe, and therefore you've nothing for which to reproach yourself, eh?”

Andrea looked across the table at him, her hazel eyes widening with injured innocence. “Cousin Tris, you're not
angry
with me, are you?”

“Angry is scarcely the word,” he said in disgust.

“But I don't see why. It wasn't my fault that her brother didn't come, was it?”

“
Really
, Andrea!” her mother chided, upset by this new evidence of her daughter's selfishness.

“But it
wasn't
my fault. Besides, if nothing happened—”

Tris expelled an impatient breath. “I said she was now safe. I did
not
say that nothing happened. The fact is that she was left to stand in the cold and sleet for almost an hour, that she was assaulted by a drunken ruffian—”

“Oh, no!” cried Lady Clement.

“My word!” muttered her husband.

“—a drunken ruffian who, if she hadn't had the presence of mind to clout with a jar of jam, might have done God-knows-what dreadful harm to her person, and that she may yet fall ill from exposure or the upset to her nerves.”

“Oh,
Tris
!” Lady Rowcliffe breathed, horrified.

“Good God!” Toby's mouth hung open and his knife fell from his hand and clattered on the plate. “It's all
my
fault. I should
never
have—”

“No, you shouldn't,” Tris said sternly. “It's inconceivable to me that a young man of sense, as you appear to be, could have been so utterly thoughtless—”

“It w-was
I
!” Andrea confessed, beginning to cry. “I told Toby not to wait. I was
certain
that Robbie would b-be right along.”

“And you were too eager to buy your gloves and laces to wait and make sure.” Tris, glowering, rose to his feet. “I don't see how you can call yourself her friend and yet have treated her with such callous lack of consideration. It seems to me that you treat your blasted
lap dog
with more solicitude.”

“Tris,” his mother hissed in a cautionary undervoice, “sit down! We
are
at your aunt's table, you know, not on board the
Providential
. You might at least restrain your ‘blasted's.”

Tris glanced down at her, momentarily arrested. Then he turned to face his aunt at the foot of the table. “Forgive me for making this scene at your dinner table, Aunt. It was unpardonable of me … and also high-handed to have taken it upon myself to upbraid my cousin
in loco parentis
. As my mother reminds me, this is your dining room, not my ship. I'm sorry this came up right in the middle of your excellent dinner, but I can't be sorry for what I said. However, I shall say no more on the subject. If you don't mind, Aunt Sally, I'd like you to excuse me. I find I've lost my appetite.” With that, he gave his aunt a formal, frowning bow, nodded brusquely to his uncle and strode out of the room.

Some time later, his mother found him in the library, slouched in an easy chair staring into the fire. “Ah, so this is where the awesome Captain Allenby has hidden himself,” she said, coming in and closing the door behind her. “You've shaken the household to the foundations, you cawker. Andrea has gone crying to her room; her father, who wanted to follow and console her, was given a scold by Sally for his indulgence of the girl (as if she doesn't indulge her shamefully herself), and now
they
aren't speaking; and Toby has slunk away to
his
room in abject shame. And all this because my son wants to run the world as he does his ship. I hope you're satisfied.”

He gave her a rueful grin. “Is it as bad as that? Shall we have to leave in disgrace, do you suppose?”

She shook her head, made a little moue at him and took a chair. “No, it's merely a passing tempest. It will all blow over by morning. But I must say, Tris, that I cannot like watching you ride roughshod over everyone, even if you
did
have provocation. Is the habit of command so strong in you that you forget the limits of your authority?”

“I hope not,” he said, abashed. “Forgive me, Mama. I shall do my best not to overstep again. But I find myself out-of-reason vexed by the manner in which everyone ignores Jenny. Her welfare seems to be of only secondary concern to people who should be putting her first—people like her own family and friends.”

“Yes, I noticed that, too. Her mother's largely at fault, I believe. The woman seems to have fallen into the habit of cutting her daughter down. It is very odd.”

“Perhaps not so odd. She has a son, you see. Mothers who have sons and daughters all seem to favor their sons.”

“That's not true at all. I'm sure that if I'd had a daughter, I should have loved her above
both
my sons. So there!”

“That's only because your elder son in a misanthropic recluse and your younger an overbearing make-bait who's far out to sea when you want him near and insufferably arrogant when he's at hand.” He threw her a sympathetic smile. “You haven't had much luck with your offpsring, have you, poor dear?”

She grinned back at him affectionately. “I've done well enough. But I shall do even better when you've given me a daughter-in-law. Am I right in surmising that you've made some progress in that direction today?”

“I'm not sure. I've learned that I want her more than ever. Some small part of her wants me, too. But the other part—”

“The other part still rejects you?” Her brow knit worriedly. “Have you learned why?”

“No. I've only had a glimmering. Something about me frightens her.” He ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture of helplessness. “Mama, I know you've found me overweening and top-lofty from time to time—behaving as if the world were the deck of the
Providential
, as you put it—but would you call me vindictive?”

“
Vindictive
? What a very strange question. Of course not! I don't find you top-lofty very often, either. Not nearly enough to cause anyone to be
afraid
of you.”

He sighed. “I suppose I should feel comforted by those words. But you
are
my mother. I can hardly expect an impartial judgment from you.”

“I may be your mother, but I'm not
besotted
.” She jumped up, pulled herself to her full height and glared down at him. “In all your thirty-five years, you've never shown yourself to be vengeful or to hold a grudge. No one with sense would call
my son
vindictive.”

“All right, Mama, all right. You needn't gird yourself for battle over this.”

“I can't help it. If Jenny Garvin finds you vindictive, she hasn't the intellect with which I credited her.” She shook her head and sank into her chair. “I think you must have misunderstood the signs.”

“Perhaps. But, Mama, let me pose a hypothetical situation. Suppose you were being attacked by a lecher and managed successfully to subdue him. And then I came along, evaluated the situation, picked up the wretch by the scruff of his neck and landed him a facer. Would you be horrified by my behavior? Horrified to the core?”

“No, I don't think so,” she answered after considering the question carefully.

“Even if, since you were already safe, my blow was no longer necessary for your protection?”

“Ah! I begin to see. The blow in that case was more retributive than useful, is that what you mean?”

“Vindictive, yes.”

“But the wretch would have
deserved
the blow, wouldn't he?”

“
I
thought he would.”

“But Jenny did not?” She fixed her sharp, knowing eyes on her son's face. “Jenny had subdued her attacker with a jar of jam—that's what you said at the table. And she felt that
that
was sufficient punishment. She didn't approve of your subjecting the fellow to additional battering. Have I come to the heart of it?”

“Yes, more or less.”

“But the incident occurred
today
. It doesn't explain her earlier aversion.”

“When we met at Portsmouth, she disagreed with my desire to see the thieves who'd stolen her brother's baggage put in prison. Perhaps she found me vindictive even then.”

“Vindictive? For merely wishing to see that thieves are given just punishment?” She shook her head in disapproval. “I begin to believe, Tris, that your Jenny has too-delicate sensibilities.”

“Perhaps so. Or perhaps your son is too brutal,” he murmured thoughtfully.

“
Brutal
! What nonsense! I won't listen to any more of this foolish self-castigation.” She rose from her chair once more and went to the door. “I liked your Jenny very much, my love, when I met her. Very much indeed. But if she succeeds in convincing you that you're anything less than a man of the finest character and highest ideals, I shall rue the day you ever set eyes on her. Brutal, indeed! I never heard such rubbish in all my life!”

She slammed the door behind her, but her vehemence only made Tris smile. She'd sprung to his defense like a tiger with her cub … and with as much foolish ardor as Lady Garvin would have exhibited in defending her “Robbie.” The judgments of mothers, even his own, were not to be trusted.

But by his
own
standards of judgment he didn't find himself a brute. If the lovely, seemingly sensible Jenny found him so, which of them was right?

On the other hand, did it really matter? He loved her. Even if he was brutal and vindictive to the rest of the world, he would never be so with her. She would always, find him the kindest, gentlest, most forgiving of mortals—he'd have to convince her of that. His mother might disapprove of his willingness to accept Jenny's assessment of him. His mother might well rue the day he first set eyes on her. But he couldn't rue that day … not as long as he lived.

Chapter Fifteen

The winter-bright sun shone into the sitting-room window at Willowrise with a hazy innocence, as if it knew nothing about having deserted the landscape so devastatingly the day before. Except for some patches of white on the lawn and a number of dripping icicles clinging to the eaves of the outbuildings, the tree branches and the frame of the window, Jenny could see no sign of yesterday's sleet.

“I wish you'd hold your head still,” Toby said crossly from the other side of the room where he sat, sketch pad propped up on his knee, working earnestly on a drawing of Jenny with the sunlight on her hair. He'd already thought of a name for it—
Girl in the Window, with Icicles
. If only she'd sit still, he was convinced the sketch would turn out to be his finest piece of work.

“Sorry. But it's taking you such a long while to finish. Am I so difficult a subject?”

“On the contrary, this is going very well.
So
well that I won't have you spoiling it by moving about. Tilt your chin just the slightest bit. Now to the left … ah! Yes, just like that.”

“Can we speak while you work, Toby? I'd like to hear more about what happened last night. Is Andrea really coming over here to
apologize
?”

“Yes, she is. After luncheon, I expect. Lady Clement made us both promise.”

“I think it's quite ridiculous. That business at the crossroad came about through my own decision. No one else should be blamed.”