Mrs. McVinnie's London Season (38 page)

“
Aye,
sir. We’ll practice outside with the sextant, sir, if you think
that advisable.”

“
I
do.” After another look at Edward’s work, Captain Summers nodded
toward a pile of letters. “See that those are posted right away,
Pringle.”

“
Aye,
sir,” Pringle hesitated. “Are, are you off to the Admiralty
House?”

“
Aye.
And I will sit there until I have an audience with His Pudginess,
the First Lord of Procrastination. Jeannie, walk me to the door and
let us talk.”

She followed him into
the hall. “I have put you in an awkward position, my dear, even
setting aside my declaration, which I trust you will put your mind
to.”

“
Yes,”
she agreed, her face alive with merriment.

“
Oh,
God, you’re beautiful,” he said.

“
No, I
am not! You have merely been at sea too long. Now, what is it? And
don’t look at me like that. Suppose the servants were to happen
by?”

“
You
are a source of continual amusement to me, dearest,” he said, and
kissed her hand. “I won’t be here for Larinda’s come-out, with any
luck at all. It will fall upon your shoulders, Jeannie.”

He put his arm around
her waist as they strolled toward the door. “I suppose navy lads
have been doing this to their women for years and years. You get to
make all the arrangements and do the dirty work. It’s vastly
unfair, but I must confess to endless relief.”

Jeannie laughed. “At
least you are honest enough to admit it.”

“
I am.
Kiss me, Jeannie. I’m off to engage the enemy at the Admiralty
House.”

She kissed him,
standing on tiptoe. He picked her up, planted a noisy kiss on her
lips that echoed in the entry hall, and set her on her feet
again.

“
I’ll
stay there until I’m done.” His hand strayed to her face again and
he touched her cheek. “And do think on what I have suggested, my
dear.”

“
I
shall, Will.”

“
Make
up your mind, you Scottish grammarian! Shall or will?”

She was still smiling
as she pushed him out the door and turned to face Larinda, who was
struggling not to laugh out loud.

“
I
heard that,” she said.

Jeannie put her hands
to her red face. “How could you help? Oh, Larinda, I don’t know
what to do.”

‘‘
I
think my uncle knows what to do. ” Larinda turned to the roses that
still spread their perfume about the entry hall. She twitched out
the blossoms beyond full bloom and laid them on the table. “But
Jeannie—oh, may I call you that?—Uncle Summers does. Jeannie, what
about Bartley, Captain MacGregor?”

It was Jeannie’s turn
to look away. “I do not think he will be proposing to me again. We
had a slight falling-out yesterday.”

“
I
wondered.” Larinda was silent a moment and then chose her words
carefully, her voice offhand, casual. “Do you think he will come
back at all?”

Jeannie looked at
Larinda and noticed the blush that had risen to her cheek. Trimming
roses must be a strenuous business, she thought. “My dear, I
thought you could not understand one word in ten that he
uttered.’’

“
I am
up to one in five, now,” was Larinda’s quiet reply. She turned
around to face Jeannie then, and her eyes filled with tears. “Aunt
Agatha will be so upset with me. Jeannie, all I want to do is go
home to Suffolk. I want to sit in my room, look out at the ocean,
and think.”

Jeannie sank into a
sofa. “That makes two of us, my dear.” She patted the space beside
her and Larinda flopped down. “I do not know two females who could
have made a better botch of what promised to be a smashing London
Season.”

Larinda laughed out
loud, even as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “Too true,
Jeannie! And here is Brummell, ready to squire you anywhere, and we
have more invitations than the Grand Turk’s harem could possibly do
justice to, and all the pretty gowns in London.” She burst into
tears and sobbed on Jeannie’s shoulders. “And if Bartley does not
return, I will go into a nunnery.”

Jeannie chuckled. “Only
think how well-dressed you will be, my dear.” She put her arms
about Larinda. “I don’t mean to quiz you, but sometimes it’s less
wearing to laugh than to cry.” She kissed Larinda’s cheek. “And
think what crying does to your face.”

Larinda stopped at once
and sniffed. “Oh, I had not thought. Suppose Bartley should come
and see me like this.” She leapt to her feet and looked in the
mirror. “What will he think?”

Jeannie joined her in
front of the mirror. “You’ll discover that Bartley doesn’t worry
overmuch about things like that. Oh, Larinda, I hope he comes.”

They were unable to
convince Lady Smeath that the sole desire of their hearts was to
remain
en famille
that day.

“
What!
You would abandon all these offers for your amusement?” Lady Smeath
shrieked. “When I have worked and slaved so hard for you to get
them?” She clutched at her ample bosom. “My heart is pounding like
a drum.”

Jeannie was kind enough
not to remind Agatha Smeath why the offers had poured in. She set
her lips in a firm line and tried to reason what Captain Summers
would do in such a situation. The thought brought a smile to her
face. No, she would not deal with Lady Smeath that way.

Larinda clutched at her
handkerchief. “But I don’t want to go to the Kensington Gallery
this morning with Lord Tutton.” She sobbed into the soggy scrap in
her hand, and Lady Smeath stared at her in openmouthed
surprise.

“
You
have prejudice against paintings?”

Larinda sobbed
harder.

Lady Smeath raised her
eyes to the ceiling and patted her chest. “I think I will lie
down,” she said, her voice filled with deep regret. “My heart,
Larinda, you know how it is.”

Jeannie watched
Larinda, wondering if she would rise to the bait that Lady Smeath
held out, wondering if she would knuckle under at the threat of her
aunt’s health, and cosset her and soothe her and bend her will to
her Agatha Smeath’s petty tyranny.

Larinda dried her eyes.
“Yes, perhaps you should do that, Aunt. I will send a little note
to Lord Tutton, and I am sure he will understand. If you are
indisposed, my place is surely at your side, not staring at some
Rembrandts.”

Check and mate, thought
Jeannie as Larinda held her shoulders erect and gazed at her aunt.
For the first time, Jeannie noticed something of Captain Summers’
look in that level stare that Larinda directed at Lady Smeath. A
daunting family resemblance, she thought as she watched the little
scene before her. If Bartley MacGregor has the good sense to return
today, he will find himself in capable hands.

After another moment,
Lady Smeath wilted under Larinda’s even gaze. She murmured
something about a headache coming on and took herself upstairs.

“
That
was rude of me, I suppose,” Larinda confessed, more to herself than
to Jeannie. “But my aunt schemes and plots.” She stopped and looked
with some embarrassment at Jeannie. “And so did I.” She managed a
little laugh. “With all these newfound scruples of mine, I will
likely not find a husband here in the marriage mart, but I hope I
can return to Suffolk a little wiser than I left.”

I wish I could have
said that, thought Jeannie as she nodded to Larinda and let herself
out of the breakfast parlor. I seem to be growing more foolish by
the minute. When Captain Summers returns from the Admiralty House,
I will give him my answer straight.

The thought unnerved
her. She darted up the stairs, grabbed a pelisse from the dressing
room, and hurried out into the sunshine. She walked swiftly, her
head down, not looking to the right or the left, until she came to
the little park that hid itself between Jermyn and Regent
Streets.

With a thankful sigh,
she sat down on the bench by the pond and stared into the water.
There was no east wind this morning. The surface of the pond was as
smooth as a mirror.

As she watched the
water, thinking of home and Tom, and Captain Summers, the water
began to move in ever-widening ripples. Surprised, she raised her
chin off her hand and watched as a young boy, presided over by his
nanny, launched his schooner onto the water. He prodded it with a
long pole until it was in the middle of the pond.

The sails hung limp
with no breath of wind to push them anywhere. The boy’s face grew
longer and longer, and Jeannie thought he would surely cry as the
boat just sagged in the water, a thing of no more beauty than a
fledgling bird.

As she watched, a
little breeze ruffled the tops of the trees and then dipped down
and made itself known to the people far below and the sailboat that
drifted without bearings.

With a crackle and
slap, the sails caught the breeze and the schooner heeled over,
tottering upon the edge of capsizement. Shouting encouragement, the
boy ran around the pond, raising his hands high as he ran, as if to
inspire his sailboat. When it righted itself and came swooping
toward him on the breath of the wind, he clapped his hands and
capered about until Jeannie wanted to join him in his mad, glorious
dance.

“
All
ye that go down to the sea in little boats and do business in great
waters,” she whispered out loud. I would like to have a son
capering about on the water’s edge, a son not afraid of the east
wind or a lee shore. Someone who would stand firm and hold a true
course when everyone else had a different opinion.

She would marry Captain
Summers. If he wouldn’t be home above five times in as many years,
she would learn to live with it. She would have to learn to make
every precious moment with Will Summers pay with interest. When
other women were tired to distraction of wifely duties and boring
routine, she would still be alive to the wonder of Captain Summers,
who only came home to go away again, who would love her, but who
would always be restless on land.

Jeannie sighed and got
to her feet, circumnavigating the pond herself, which by now was a
mighty sea of choppy water that bore a whole fleet of boats. A
handful of lads had joined the first captain, who stood watch over
his schooner, alert to the nuance of wind and wave.

She found herself in
Jermyn Street again. A half-hour’s brisk walk would take her to the
Admiralty House, where she could quite profitably spend the day
with her beloved captain. Jeannie shook her head. She did not
belong in the Admiralty House. The news could wait until he
returned to Wendover Square.

Jeannie walked slowly
toward the Summers’ house. Pringle and Edward stood beside the
fence, shooting at the sun overhead with Caleb Matthew’s beautiful
sextant. Jeannie stopped to watch, noting that Edward’s trousers
were getting short and his wrists were starting to come out of his
sleeves. Soon he would be as tall as his uncle.

Edward tucked the
sextant under his arm and waved to her. “Mrs. McVinnie, see what I
am learning,” he shouted.

She waved back. “Do be
careful with that sextant, my dear,” she said. “When you are a
great proficient, you can teach me.”

He looked doubtful. “I
would, but surely that is not something for a lady to know.”

She laughed. “You are
likely right, laddie. Just keep the
Venture
off lee shores
and out of the Vatican, think ye.”

He patted the sextant
and turned back to Pringle for further instructions, and Jeannie
entered the house. The front hall was deserted, and she was
grateful. A few moments’ quiet reflection in her room would be
welcome indeed. As she climbed the stairs, she thought of Galen
McVinnie and resolved to write him a letter. She could not bring
herself to tell him of the sad events of last winter, but perhaps
someday she would.

It would be hard enough
to explain Captain Summers to the uninitiated. Galen would never
understand why, after a year’s widowhood, she was ready to caper to
the altar again, and with someone as thoroughly unsuitable as a sea
captain.

No more do I understand
it. Perhaps if he comes to know Captain Summers …. Ah, well. I
will likely be living far away from Scotland anyway.

That unwanted thought
brought tears to her eyes. It was an exile she had not considered
until this moment, and, in its own way, no less wrenching than
death. She leaned her forehead against the windowpane. Captain
Summers, come home quickly, or my resolve will vanish
altogether.

She opened her eyes and
looked across the square. Bartley MacGregor was coming toward the
house. She admired his familiar, marching stride and wiped her
tears. As she removed her pelisse and straightened her hair, she
heard light footsteps running down the stairs and the sound of the
door flung open. I will wait here a minute or two, she thought. Why
interrupt Larinda?

When she came down the
stairs several minutes later, Bartley was seated in the parlor,
Larinda beside him. He rose when she entered. There was a moment of
uncertainty in his face, and then it was gone when she held out
both hands to him.

“
We
were wondering how to spend a dull morning without company, Bart,”
she said.

“
That’s a whisker, Jeannie dear,” he said. “I sorted that list
of invitations yesterday, and as I came into the house, didn’t I
see a carter dropping off packages at the servants’ entrance?
Larinda—Miss Summers—tells me that you are expecting a great parcel
of clothes. And bless me, but there were roses in the hands of the
delivery lad who followed.”

Jeannie smiled. “It’s
nothing of importance, I vow. Whatever brings you to visit us this
morning?” she asked.