Mrs. McVinnie's London Season (37 page)

“
I
know,” she agreed, “but it will keep long enough for me to think
about it.”

She put her hands
behind her back. And it will give you time to reconsider marriage
to a Scottish widow with nothing to recommend her but a passable
face. You can do better, Captain, and you should. The thought was
vastly unsatisfactory, but it gave her the courage to move quickly
to the door and open it.

He was by her side in a
moment. “I don’t know that I could ever mean as much to you as
Tom,” he began doubtfully, “but life is a risk, Jeannie, and I’m
willing to take it.”

Before she could edge
out the door, he took her face in his hands and kissed her.

In idle moments in the
last few days, Jeannie McVinnie had contemplated such an event,
even as she scolded herself for light-mindedness and refused to
entertain the notion that she had considered a kiss from the
captain that first night she sewed on his button. The only man who
had ever kissed her before was Tom McVinnie, and to the best of her
limited knowledge, he was wonderfully proficient. Bartley MacGregor
had tried on several occasions, but she had always moved a little
faster, dancing out of his reach, to his good-humored chagrin.

The captain’s lips were
warm, and he smelled slightly of brandy and metal polish. It was
the easiest matter in the world to close her eyes and kiss him
back. When she wasn’t paying attention, her hands strayed up to his
neck and she stood on tiptoe to reach him better.

For some reason or
other, one kiss wasn’t enough. Jeannie could only credit this
excess to remarkable deprivation on the blockade. She considered it
her patriotic duty to respond with some spirit when he kissed her
again and again, little kisses that sent her heart leaping about
like a wild animal.

The captain broke off
the encounter before she was quite ready, and her eyes flew open in
surprise, to find him smiling down at her. “A certain spirit of
enthusiasm was noted among the crew when Captain S. issued an
order,” he said out loud, as if reading his words on some imaginary
paper. “That’s what I should put down in the log if we were at
sea.”

He put his hands about
her waist and set her off a little from him. “So consider my
impetuous offer, Jeannie,” he said, his voice a little breathless.
“I can think of nothing finer than to spend the rest of my life
kissing bonnie Jean Summers. With the idle diversion tossed in, of
course,” he added, and laughed when she blushed.

“
You’re ridiculous, Will,” she protested, and then shrieked
when he grabbed her again and scraped his early-morning whiskers
along her cheek.

“
Do be
more quiet, Jeannie,” he ordered, and kissed her again when she
opened her mouth to remonstrate with him. “You’ll wake up Wapping,
and you know how I love to bait butlers.”

She rolled her eyes and
pushed him away, and then attempted to gather her dignity about her
again. “I had no intention of doing that,” she insisted. “I can’t
imagine what you must think of me.”

“
Well,
I had every intention of doing that,” the captain said, “and I
think you are adorable. Marry me, Jeannie.”

She shook her head.
“It’s folly, and you know it, Captain, but I promised that I would
think about it, and I shall.”

He folded her in his
arms once again and spoke into her hair.

“
Consider it well, but don’t give it too much thought, dearest.
I had a Scottish captain once when I was a lieutenant. He would
chew through a problem so many times that he never could make a
decision. Damned unfortunate in a captain. We did not miss him over
much when a hurricane swept him away.”

She giggled and he
kissed the top of her head. “Now go upstairs, Jeannie. If you’re
lucky, you might crawl into bed before Clare wakes up and decides
to join you.”

Suddenly shy, Jeannie
darted up the stairs and blew him another kiss from the safety of
the landing. He waved a hand at her and went into the bookroom.

Jeannie undressed and
got into bed. She longed for the luxury of lying in bed until all
hours and considering the matter before her. She pillowed her head
on her hands and stared at the ceiling, wondering how it was
possible for her well-bred resolutions to be overthrown without a
struggle.

She smiled then and put
her hand upon her stomach. At least he knows, she thought. At least
someone besides me and my sister know that there was a baby, and I
can talk about it, if I wish. How dreadful to think I might have
gone through life and no one would have known that Tom and I
created a life.

With a sigh, she turned
her thoughts again to the matter closest at hand. He is everything
you do not want, Jeannie, and you know it, she told herself. He is
a sea captain engaged in the most dangerous profession there is.
And you thought Tom was gone too much? Will Summers will be forever
away, and home only long enough to tease you and then leave your
bed empty. And he is not fond of children. Her smile faded and she
tugged the blanket up around her neck. Or is he? And you will be at
the mercy of the postman’s whistle once again.

The door opened and
Clare padded into the room. She peered up onto the bed to see if
Jeannie slept. With a triumphant chortle, she scrambled across the
end of the bed and threw herself into Jeannie’s open arms.

Jeannie tucked her in
so close that the child seemed like an extension of her own body.
“Clare, you silly, you will be cold and blue.”

Clare shook her head.
“I will not. You are warm.”

Jeannie opened her eyes
wide. “Clare, that is more than you have ever said to me before.”
She kissed her and then tickled her until Clare giggled and
squirmed. “Did you just not have something to say before?”

Clare cuddled in close
again and shook her head, the subject closed as far as she was
concerned. Instead of further reply, she held out her towel doll to
Jeannie.

Jeannie turned the doll
over in her hands. Other than having suffered a sea change from
white to melancholy gray after her dip in the Thames, the doll
appeared none the worse for wear. Jeannie looked closer. Someone
had sewn a gold uniform button on the shoulder where the tartan
came together. “Captain Summers?” she asked.

Clare nodded, her eyes
anxious. “Will he be in trouble?”

Jeannie smiled and
shook her head. “I think not, my dear.”

Clare sighed in
satisfaction and reclaimed her doll.

Jeannie hugged her
close and watched as Clare’s eyes grew heavy. And what is to become
of you when Captain Summers goes back to sea? she thought. And what
is to become of me when I marshal my wits about me and tell him
no?

It didn’t bear thinking
on, but she thought on it anyway, until she was as limp with
indecision as Clare’s doll. When not another moment of worry could
force its way into her head, she gave it up for a lost cause and
went to sleep.

Jeannie woke up only an
hour later, groggy and surprisingly ill-at-ease. For the smallest
moment, she hoped that she had imagined the whole declaration in
the breakfast parlor. But she knew she had not imagined the
wonderful strength of Captain Summers’ lips against hers or the
peaceful feeling of protection that had enveloped her. It was all
as real as Clare sleeping beside her, and just as uncertain as the
child’s claims on Will Summers.

She sat up carefully so
as not to disturb Clare, and regarded herself in the dressing-table
mirror on the opposite wall. The face that stared back was anxious
and worried. What had happened to the competent, organized, rather
staid widow who had traveled south only a week ago? I was so sure
of everything then, and now I am sure of nothing except that saying
goodbye to Captain Summers will number among the hardest duties I
have ever done.

And say good-bye she
must. He would realize the wisdom of it soon enough and probably
thank her for not taking him seriously when he was so vulnerable.
If only he were not so comfortable to lean against ….

Jeannie, this will not
do. She had seen unequal marriages before. She thought of Laird
Robert Maxwell, who resided in that decrepit stone pile on the way
to Brixton Head. He had courted and married a mill-owner’s
daughter, had used her money to restore his ancestral home, and
then was too embarrassed by his wife’s imagined deficiencies to
exhibit her in public.

Such a thing will never
happen to me, Jeannie decided. She would not give Captain Summers
the power over her life to wake up one morning and look upon her
with loathing because she was so far below him in station. She
sighed. But just to spend one night in his arms, just one sleepless
night tracing his body with her hands and allowing him to rest his
head on her bosom.

Jeannie McVinnie, you
are the worst kind of a fool, she told herself severely as she got
out of bed, sponged herself off with cold water from the pitcher,
and hurried into her clothes. Too bad ye hae nae a hair shirt,
Jeannie, or a scourge to whip yourself with, she thought, and then
smiled a sour smile. “Ye can give up Captain Summers for Lent.”

The thought had all the
invitation of a pitcher of Highland water dribbled over her bare
body, but it braced her, and she resolved firmly to nip such
silliness in the bud before it got out of hand.

There was no
opportunity in the breakfast parlor. Captain Summers, freshly
shaven and smelling of bay rum and dressed impeccably in another
uniform, stood by the window and read the
Times
while
Larinda and Lady Smeath considered the day’s occupation and made
plans for Larinda’s come-out ball.

“ ’
Twill be a frightful expense,” Lady Smeath warned her
brother’s back. “We’ll need new gowns, of course, and flowers, and
potted plants, an orchestra, and a caterer.”

Summers only grunted
and turned the page. Taking this for agreement, Lady Smeath
continued, “And I’m not sure that the ballroom draperies are equal
to such an event as this must be.”

Another grunt and
rustle of paper, and Lady Summers looked in triumph and added the
suggestion to her growing list.

“
And a
partridge in a pear tree,” Larinda said suddenly, her eyes
twinkling at Jeannie.

A third grunt from the
captain sent Jeannie coughing into her napkin while Lady Smeath
skewered Larinda with one glance and drummed her fingers on the
table in a menacing fashion.

Captain Summers took
out his pocket watch, studied it with great interest for a moment,
and then clicked it shut. He went to the door and motioned Jeannie
to follow. Before he closed the door behind him, he looked at his
sister. “I’d go easy on the four calling birds and three French
hens, you two. It must be the very devil to clean up.”

He closed the door
behind them. Jeannie tried to be severe with him, but the effect
was hampered by the grin that threatened to spread across her face.
“You must have been the veriest trial to poor Jeannie McVinnie
twenty-five years ago,” she said. “It is only a wonder that your
father didn’t put you to sea in a basket like Moses.”

He nodded in total
agreement. “He would have if he could have, I am sure.” He put his
arm about her waist. “I wonder, should I mention to Agatha that
while I have no aesthetic objection to swans a-swimming, I cannot
allow maids a-milking in the ballroom.” He drew Jean closer for
emphasis. “I didn’t know Larinda had a sense of humor. Could she
become almost human, do you think?”

“
I
think there is a distinct possibility, Captain Summers. Now, unhand
me before the servants see us.”

“
Very
well,” he agreed amicably enough. “Stop in the bookroom a moment
and see how profitably Edward spends his time, now that his
guidebook is jetsam.”

She allowed Captain
Summers to lead her by the hand into the bookroom. Edward, with
Pringle looking over his shoulder, stared at a chart in front of
him. He looked up and waggled his quill pen at her.

“
Mrs.
McVinnie, only think! Pringle is teaching me to navigate.” A light
came into his eyes and he looked at his uncle.

“
I
told you not to entertain the notion yet,” Captain Summers warned.
“I have not yet mustered the courage to mention this to your aunt,
who will in all likelihood flutter about and call me a rascal and a
mountebank and say that I am sending you to a watery grave for my
own purposes. This whole event will want no little tact, Edward,
and probably all the skill of a Richelieu.”

He came closer and
studied Edward’s work. He blinked his eyes, and then his shoulders
began to shake, even as he wiped the huge smile off his face and
his lips turned down in that familiar, grim stare that she was
finding strangely attractive.

As she watched in
amazement, he crossed himself and winked at Pringle. “Edward,” he
began, his voice frosty, “thank God you do not wear a hat, or you
would be guilty of a serious breach of etiquette.”

Edward slewed around to
stare up at his uncle. “I don’t understand, Uncle Summers,” he
said.

“
According to your longitudinal reading, we are upon holy
ground.”

“
Sir?”

The captain pointed to
Edward’s smudged figures and the answer he had circled. “From the
looks of this, you have placed the
Venture
square in the
middle of St. Peter’s Basilica, probably at the high altar.” He
sniffed the air elaborately. “I wonder that we cannot smell the
incense.”

Edward laughed, frowned
over his figures another moment, and then crossed out a number and
wrote in something else. He held up his paper and Captain Summers
nodded in approval.

“
Excellent, lad, excellent. Now we are tacking along the coast
of Valencia, where every good blockader longs to be,” Captain
Summers nodded to Pringle. “As you were.”