Ransome's Honor (26 page)

Dry. Formal. Cheerless. Not that Drake expected anything else from the stodgy captain, but the lack of emotion in the words registered false. He laid out the information as might be expected for a plan of battle, not a man in love expressing his joy over securing his bride.

Drake returned it to the box and removed another. He skimmed Julia’s rather plain script until he came to the paragraph he sought.

It will please you to learn that I have become engaged to marry Captain William Ransome. I know he has long been your favorite, and I pray it will bring you joy to hereafter call him your son. We plan to be married before his ship makes sail so I may return to Jamaica with him. I do hope you will be able to return for the wedding. I will write when a firm date is set.

Neither letter read as if written by a person still affected by the rush of emotion a love match should bring. And strange that Julia should write that she “became engaged” rather than accepted Captain Ransome’s proposal of marriage. Wouldn’t a woman in love want to express the details of the proposal to her loved ones? Especially since Ransome was the admiral’s favorite?

The cold truth rained down upon him. Ransome had not been the instigator of the proposal. Julia, having somehow learned the Pembrokes’ plan ahead of time, plotted her own course of action and convinced Captain Ransome to marry her.

Drake secured the letters in the box and the box in the drawer. Punching his arms into the sleeves of the coat, he hurled the door open. It hit the wall with a loud crack followed by a shower of debris and a cloud of dust as the plaster gave way. He hated this place and could not wait to raze it to the ground. Perhaps burn it as he had those letters. His boots echoed like marching soldiers down the stairs.

Although he held Lady Pembroke responsible for this complication, he needed to see her with all due haste. If the trust she put into the Portsmouth rumor mill was well founded, they could perhaps use this subtle evidence to their advantage. But as he was not as well versed in the starting and spreading of rumors, he would once again have to bring himself to rely on her. Hopefully this time she would not ruin everything.

“How came you to be so far down that pier?” William regarded his sister with a careful eye, trying to discern the veracity of her words. He did not want to think her dishonest, but the entire length of her visit, he sensed she had something she was keeping to herself—a secret she was unwilling to reveal to anyone.

“I do apologize. I lost track of how far I wandered. I was only trying to discover the name of the ship that had just put in and was unloading.” Charlotte’s eyes met his with directness. “I did not mean to disobey you nor break my promise. But I found the bustle and activity so interesting it was hard not being a part of it.”

William narrowed his eyes and remained very still, standing at attention beside the coffee table in the Yateses’ front parlor. He had never met anyone with a guilty conscience who could abide a direct gaze and silence for long. Charlotte’s focus never wavered. Her hands remained folded in her lap, her posture on the edge of her seat straight but comfortable.

Finally, he relaxed his stance, clasping his hands behind his back. “I accept your apology. You have been indulged at home, allowed freedom of movement. But Portsmouth is not Gateacre. I had good reason for eliciting your promise you would stay beside me and not wander alone through the dockyard. I would hope that my fellow officers are all honorable men, but I know they are not. And I know the men who serve below decks have even fewer claims to the title. Many of them have not seen a woman for months, or years even, and are seeking relief for their baser desires. I have no wish to see you hurt in any way.”

“I understand. Next time—”

“No.” William grimaced when his sister winced at the sharpness in his voice. “After what happened today—you were almost killed—I cannot risk taking you to the dockyard again.”

She rose, still so small for a woman full-grown, and crossed to stand directly in front of him. “How am I to regain your trust if I cannot prove to you I can keep my word? When will I ever have the opportunity to witness the grandeur of the Royal Navy except to see it in action here and now? And, as you will be moving on to your ship as soon as it comes out of dry dock in three days, what other time will I have to spend with you except to dog your footsteps down at the docks?” Tears welled in her eyes.

Compassion flooded out the concern he’d carried with him since he turned from his conversation with Master O’Reilley and realized they had become separated. Seeing her nearly crushed to death by falling cargo—his heart climbed into his throat again just thinking of it. But she wanted to spend time with him. He might not see her again for years—and by then she would be married with children of her own...she would be a stranger. He arrived at the decision with great reluctance.

“Very well. But you must remain with me at all times. Or if not with me, with Captain Yates or Lieutenant Cochrane. Agreed?”

The dark curls framing Charlotte’s face bobbed with the vigor of her nod. “I promise.” She threw her arms around his waist, taking him by surprise. “Thank you, William.”

He hesitated a moment, but then he wrapped his arms around her. “You’re welcome.” He kissed the top of her head and prayed he would not regret this decision.

Chapter Twenty-Six

T
he clatter of carriage wheels and horses�� hooves drifted up through the open windows. Julia glanced at the clock over the fireplace and then at Creighton. “That sounds like it stopped here.” She closed the household account ledger and crossed behind her father’s desk. Through the verdure in the front garden, she had a clear view of the large coach but could not make out the crest on the door. “It did stop here. Come back when you can, and we shall finish the audit.”

“Yes, Miss Witherington.” Creighton bowed out of the room.

A one o’clock visit meant the caller was one of her aunt’s closer acquaintances. Julia tucked the stack of receipts Creighton had given her into the front of the ledger and laid it on the desk. A loud knock resounded through the house. She strained to hear voices through the open study door—

“Yes, Lady MacDougall. This way, please.”

Cold dread tingled on Julia’s skin. Lady Hedwig MacDougall, her mother’s aunt. How could she have gotten here from Scotland so quickly?

Footsteps on the stairs stirred Julia; she grabbed the ledger and fled up to her room. She had no desire to see the baroness before absolutely necessary. Aunt Augusta would want time alone with Lady MacDougall to fill her head with all of Julia’s shortcomings and misdeeds, which should take most of the afternoon.

She slipped out of her room and padded on her toes halfway down the stairs to the turning to try to hear anything, but the voices were too soft. She crept the rest of the way down. Creighton came out of the admiral’s study, a puzzled expression on his face—until he saw her. She motioned him to follow her upstairs, where they would be safe from any sudden opening of the sitting room door.

Creighton stopped at the threshold of Julia’s room. Without Nancy or another woman present, coaxing him to come in so they could have the privacy of a closed door would be impossible. Julia sat at her desk and uncorked her ink bottle. “Is Elton back from town yet?”

“Yes, miss, I believe he arrived a quarter hour past.”

“Good. I have another errand for him.” She finished the brief note, reread it, nodded, signed and folded it, and sealed the flap by impressing the wax with the stamp of an intertwined, scrolled
TD.
She and Susan had agreed the Tierra Dulce stamp would be better employed for their private correspondence. Maybe she was overreacting to her great-aunt’s visit, but she wanted someone outside this house to be aware more mischief might be afoot.

After Creighton departed to take the note to Elton, Julia paced her room. The condemned awaiting execution. Half an hour passed. An hour. Two. At a commotion downstairs, she cracked her bedroom door open to listen. The housekeeper delivering tea.

Tea? Julia’s stomach rumbled. She’d breakfasted in the kitchen early this morning but had eaten nothing since. If she rang for Nancy, would Lady Pembroke hear it and be reminded of Julia’s presence in the house?

Disgust coursed through her veins at her own fear—hiding like a fox in its den from the hounds baying in the distance. Staying in her bedroom would not hinder Augusta from coming for her whenever she pleased—but it did hinder Julia from finishing the review of the household accounts with Creighton.

She retrieved the ledger from her desk and softly made her way downstairs to her father’s library—across the hall from the sitting room where Lady Pembroke and Lady MacDougall doubtless planned Julia’s demise. She pulled the bell cord and set out the account book and receipts.

Creighton entered. “Are you ready to continue?”

Bless him for keeping his voice low. “Yes. But first I could do with some tea.

He nodded and departed silently, returning several minutes later with a tray laden with the cook’s wonderful pastries-and with the housekeeper. Julia ate until sated, and then she carried her teacup to the desk, where she resumed the accounting of expenditures.

At six o’clock, dressed in a gray silk gown that was embroidered about the wrists and hem in black, Julia entered the dining room, stomach churning.

“Come into the light, child.” The words washed over Julia like a soft wave embracing the beach. Her mother’s voice! No, a little lower, a little more raspy. “Let me have a look at you.”

Julia moved from the shadowed doorway into the room, which was glowing yellow in the late afternoon light. She grabbed onto the back of the nearest chair to maintain her balance. The woman standing beside Lady Pembroke could have passed for Julia’s mother—only her hair was white, her pale skin more lined.

She had always pictured her mother’s Aunt Hedwig as a large, imposing woman. And yet here she stood, the very image of Eleanor Pembroke-Witherington, small and thin, her face sharp in its beauty.

Remembering herself, she released the chair and curtseyed. “Lady MacDougall, I am pleased to meet you at last. My mother spoke of you often.”

The baroness came across the room and clasped Julia’s hands. “My dear, you must call me Aunt Hedwig. No formality among family!” She stepped back to arm’s length. “How like your mother you are. Her nose, her chin, and that hair! Though hers was a bit more titian, was it not?”

“Yes, my la—Aunt Hedwig.” Her throat clogged around the words. Homesickness and longing for her mother might undo her—but she could not let that happen in front of Augusta Pembroke.

“But you have your father’s eyes. I do believe it was those green eyes Eleanor first loved about Witherington.”

If they didn’t stop talking about her mother soon, Julia might disgrace herself by weeping. “What brings you to Portsmouth, Aunt Hedwig?”

“Augusta wrote me in London to share the news of your engagement.”

Julia stiffened. So, Augusta had called Hedwig in as an ally in her campaign to coerce Julia into marrying Sir Drake.

“I had to come congratulate you myself—and to see you before you leave these shores for another twenty years.”

Julia’s gaze flickered unbidden toward Augusta. Lady Pembroke stood beyond Hedwig, eyes downcast, mouth pulled into a tight line. That cheered Julia a little. If Hedwig were in league with her, Augusta would not look so grim, as if fighting to keep a scowl from her face.

“I am happy you’ve come, my—Aunt Hedwig.”

Over dinner, Lady MacDougall asked about Jamaica, a topic in which Augusta had never shown an interest. For the first time since returning to England, Julia could recall Jamaica and Tierra Dulce without a pang of grief for her mother.

At eight o’clock, Augusta stood and invited Lady MacDougall to join her in the sitting room for coffee. Julia rose as well, intending to join them.

“If I may be allowed an indulgence,” Hedwig folded her napkin and placed it beside her plate. “I wish to retire for the evening. The journey from London has overtaxed me, I fear.”

Augusta’s expression was inscrutable—Julia could not tell if she was relieved or offended at her invitation’s rejection.

“Aunt Hedwig, may I show you to your room?” Julia offered.

“Yes, my dear, that would be a delight.” Hedwig swayed a bit when she stood. Julia clasped the older lady’s elbow to steady her. Hedwig patted her cheek. “Such a sweet child.”

The housekeeper had made up the other spare bedroom for Lady MacDougall—the room that her father had commissioned decorated with Julia’s mother in mind. Hedwig exclaimed over the delicately carved furniture and Brussels lace curtains.

Augusta stood in the door, arms crossed. “We have been invited for tea with Lady Dalrymple tomorrow. Aunt Hedwig, we will be honored if you will attend us.”

“Yes, my dear, that sounds lovely.”

Julia returned to her room, her heart lightened. She finished balancing the household ledger. Then, just before bed, took up her father’s prayer book and flipped through it until she found a section on gratitude.

The stories her mother had told about Aunt Hedwig over the years must have been exaggerated, and perhaps Hedwig had softened as she grew older.

In the morning, Julia sent another note to Susan, recanting her concerns over Lady MacDougall’s presence. She was disappointed, though, that Lady MacDougall did not feel well enough to come down for breakfast. At half-past two, Aunt Hedwig came down, looking robust and rested.

As soon as they crossed the threshold into Lady Dalrymple’s front parlor, Augusta’s haughtiness transfigured into grating adulation—she praised everything from the decor to Lady Dalrymple’s gown. With grace, the dowager viscountess received the flattery, though the corners of her mouth grew tighter the longer the fawning continued.

“And had you a pleasant stay in London, Lady MacDougall?” Lady Dalrymple cut off Augusta’s remarks about the flower arrangement on the mantelpiece.

“Oh, ever so entertaining. Naturally, when one has status and means, any place can be made pleasant.”

Augusta gave a grating, sycophantic laugh. “I really do not understand how everyone does not spend at least part of the Season in Town.”

“I cannot speak for
everyone,”
Lady Dalrymple enunciated, “but there are some who prefer the quiet of the country or a small town to the wild gaiety of London. Do you not agree, Miss Witherington?”

Julia nodded. “Oh, yes, my lady. I much prefer the quiet of the country to city life.”

“You are fortunate to be returning to your home soon.” Wistfulness infused Lady Dalrymple’s voice. “I rarely return to Graysdown—the seat of the Dalrymple family for centuries. And when I do go, I do not overstay my welcome.”

Julia regarded the dowager with curiosity. Never before had she spoken so openly-with such vulnerability or bitterness.

“But enough of that.” Lady Dalrymple waved her hand as if shooing a fly. “Julia, how come the wedding preparations? Have you and the dashing Captain Ransome set a date yet?”

Julia chided her cheeks for growing hot. “No, my lady, no date is set yet. Our wedding is to be a simple affair-with our friends the Yateses to stand witness.”

“Oh, no, my dear!” Lady Dalrymple reached over the low table between their chairs and tapped Julia’s wrist with her fan. “You would deny all of Portsmouth the pleasure of witnessing the joining of the couple who have generated the most gossip this town has ever known?”

“But a large, public wedding? It would be unseemly” Not to mention an opportunity for the Pembrokes to try something underhanded.

“Of course, you are correct” Lady Dalrymple leaned forward and rested her hand on Julia’s arm. “But I hope you might allow me the pleasure of holding your wedding breakfast here. You have become such the darling of Portsmouth society that they all want to wish you joy. And it will be a chance to bid you farewell. What say you?”

Julia opened her mouth but could not force a sound to escape. She took a deep breath and tried again. “Thank you for your generous offer, Lady Dalrymple. I—Mrs. Susan Yates has already begun planning a wedding breakfast for us in her home. We expected mostly naval officers and their wives to attend—”

“And they are all welcome here. Yes, even the captain’s crew may come and have a glass of punch and piece of cake with the staff.” She squeezed Julia’s arm. “Think no more of it. I shall call on Mrs. Yates tomorrow morning, and the two of us will come to terms.” Her one-brown-one-blue eyes twinkled. “You should know by now I am not to be denied my way, Miss Witherington.”