Ransome's Honor (4 page)

“It seems to have worked. Every day when I come home, there are more calling cards and invitations on the receiving table than I can count.” Going around behind his desk, he opened one of the cabinets and withdrew a small, ironbound chest. With an ornate brass key, he unlocked it, placed his coin purse inside, secured it again, and put it away.

“Yes. I have met so many people since she came to stay three months ago. And I am grateful to her for that. But she is so...” Julia struggled for words that would not cast aspersions.

The admiral’s forehead creased deeply when he raised his brows. “She is what?”

“She is...so different from Mama.”

“As she was your mother’s sister by marriage only, that is to be expected.”

Julia nodded. To say anything more would be to sound plaintive, and she did not want to spoil whatever time her father could spare for her with complaints about his sister-in-law, who had been kind enough to come stay.

Sir Edward sat at his desk, slipped on a pair of spectacles, and fingered through the stack of correspondence from the day’s post. He grunted and tossed the letters back on the desk.

“What is it, Papa?”

He rubbed his chin. “It has been nearly a year...yet every night, I look through the post hoping to see something addressed in your mother’s hand.”

Sorrow wrapped its cold fingers around Julia’s throat. “I started writing a letter to her today, forgetting she is not just back home in Jamaica.”

“Are you sorry I asked you to return to England?”

“No,...”
And yes.
She did not want her father to think her ungrateful for all he had done for her. “I miss home, but I am happy to have had this time with you—to see you and be able to talk with you daily.” Memories slipped in with the warmth of the Jamaica sun. “On Tuesdays and Fridays, when Jeremiah would leave Tierra Dulce and go into town for the post, as soon as I saw the wagon return, I would run down the road to meet him—praying for a letter from you.”

His worried expression eased. “You looked forward to my missives filled with nothing more than life aboard ship and the accomplishments of those under my command?”

“Yes. I loved feeling as if I were there with you, walking
Indomitable’
s decks once again.”

His sea-green eyes faded into nostalgia. “Ah, the good old
Indy.”
His gaze refocused and snapped to Julia. “That reminds me. An old friend made berth in Spithead yesterday. Captain William Ransome.”

Julia bit back sharp words. William Ransome—the man she’d sworn she’d never forgive. The man whose name she’d grown to despise from its frequent mention in her father’s letters. He had always reported on William Ransome’s triumphs and promotions, even after William disappointed all Julia’s hopes twelve years ago. He wrote of William as if William had been born to him, seeming to forget his own son, lost at sea.

Her stomach clenched at the idea of seeing William Ransome again. “He’s here, in Portsmouth?”

“Aye. But not for long. He came back at my request to receive new orders.”

“And where are you sending him, now that we’re at peace with France?” Please, Lord, let it be some
distant port.

Sir Edward smiled. “His ship is to be in drydock several weeks. Once repairs are finished, he will make sail for Jamaica.”

Julia’s heart surged and then dropped. “Jamaica?” Home. She was ready to go back, to sink her bare toes into the hot sand on the beach, to see all her friends.

“Ransome will escort a supply convoy to Kingston. Then he will take on his new assignment: to hunt for pirates and privateers-and if the American war continues much longer, possibly for blockade-runners trying to escape through the Gulf of Mexico. He’ll weigh anchor in five weeks, barring foul weather.”

Five weeks was no time at all. Julia relaxed a bit—but she started at the thump of a knock on the front door below.

“Ah, that must be him now” Sir Edward glanced at his pocket watch. “Though he is half an hour early”

“Him?”

“Aye. Did not I tell you? Captain Ransome is joining us for dinner.”

Chapter Two

S
ir Drake Pembroke followed the Witheringtons’ butler upstairs to the drawing room. Upon being announced, Drake stalked past the underling with an insolent tone into the richly appointed room, but he stopped after a few paces.

Lady Augusta Pembroke did not rise from the settee at the other end of the room, nor did she look up from her needlework. His mother’s dark hair framed her face in tight curls, the rest of it drawn up in the back and covered with a white mobcap.

“Have you an explanation for why you are in Portsmouth instead of London, where I sent you?”

Drake’s stomach cramped with anxiety. “London was...everyone has left Town for the country. There was no point in continuing the expense of the stay”

“What of Miss Harworth?”

“Circumstances...beyond my control...before I could propose marriage, her mother removed her to Oxfordshire to stay with family there.”

His mother laid her sewing in her lap and pressed two bony fingers to her left temple. “I thought I told you to be cautious—to take every care to ensure no one in London discovered our circumstances.” Each word, carved out of her soft voice by her sharp enunciation, reached Drake clearly across the distance. “The Harworth girl’s legacy would have covered all of your debts, as well as the lien on Marchwood. How could you let her slip through your fingers like that? I spent more than a year working on the mother, befriending that insipid woman. For what? For you.”

Drake flinched, though she never raised her voice. “I do not know...I never told her...”

“Never mind. I have a new plan. Come, sit. We have little time before the others join us.” She waved him over to join her. “But Drake, I must have your word, your solemn oath, that you will do nothing to jeopardize this. No paramours, no gambling.”

He stopped midway down into the chair. “No gambling?” He sat and pulled the chair closer to her. “But.. :” He implored her with his eyes.

“Oh, all right. Cards only Nothing else. And no more borrowing money. I have a little set by. I can pay for two servants—no, just two—a man and woman of all works. The Witheringtons believe Pembroke Hall is being gutted and refit, else I would have had to go live in the gloomy old place myself weeks ago. The last of the riding horses from Marchwood is here—I had to terminate as many of the staff there as I could. You may have the beast for your transportation.”

The panic Drake had lived with for the past fortnight evaporated. Staying one step ahead of the debt collectors had worn on him—he’d actually plucked a gray hair from his eyebrow this morning. “So tell me of your new plan.”

She looked around the grand room. “What think you of Admiral Witherington’s house?”

“I am sitting in a room that looks like the furnishings could pay off several of my debts. Naturally, I like it. I wish our houses were so richly appointed.”

A smile deepened the creases beside her thin lips. “This is my plan.”

He waited, but she said no more. “What?”

“This—this house, the money that bought and furnished it, dear boy”

He frowned. “Have you...you aren’t...Mother—not you and—and—and the admiral?”

Lady Pembroke’s mouth dropped open into a horrified
O.
“No, indeed! I cannot believe you would think such.” She leaned forward and clasped his arm. “I mean you...and Miss Julia Witherington.”

He inhaled when he should have swallowed and coughed so hard tears came to his eyes. “Me?” he croaked. “And the admiral’s old-maid daughter?” He shook his head and glanced around for something to ease his throat. A sideboard holding several glittering crystal decanters beckoned from near the enormous fireplace. He shot from his chair like arrow to target. The first burning gulp of brandy returned his senses. His hands stilled, his stomach and mind settled.

Leaning his shoulder against the mantel, he turned to face his mother. “I apologize, ma’am. Pray, do continue.”

She closed the distance separating them. “Miss Julia Witherington, as you so aptly pointed out, is a spinster. At nine-and-twenty, she is no yearling filly out for her first Season. However, she is not unattractive, though a bit wide through the hips. That makes it less likely she’d die in childbirth, more’s the pity.”

“Mother, really” He did not want to be saddled with a wife, but he did not wish the girl harm.

“You have not yet met—well...the point is that she has a thirty-thousand-pound legacy. I know, not quite so grand as Miss Harworth’s fifty; however, it is enough to cover the mortgage on Marchwood. And her father has always been very generous with her pin money. I suspect he gives her fifty to one hundred pounds each month, so I should be surprised if she does not have a large bank account of her own.”

“Paying for the mortgage would be a good start, but I do not see how marrying her for the thirty thousand will be beneficial in the long term.”

“She stands to inherit all of her father’s properties and fortune.”

Drake stared at his mother, poured another drink, swallowed it in one gulp, and stared at her again. “Properties?”

“This house, some little farm in the north part of the country, and one of the largest, most lucrative sugar plantations in the West Indies.”

Drake tried to imagine the pecuniary value of all his mother listed. The sums were too vast for his mind to grasp. “How? Why is the fortune not going to the nearest male relative?”

“Unlike the Pembroke baronetcy and estate, Sir Edward’s fortune is his own, gained through his deeds at sea and the astonishingly wise investment in the sugar plantation. He can leave it to whom he pleases. It pleases him, apparently, to leave it all in the hands of his daughter.” She raised one meager, dark brow. “Which will be of great benefit to you.”

“What do I need to do?”

Lady Pembroke smiled. “I am still thinking over the details. But I do know you only have a short amount of time.”

“Why?”

“Because her father wrote the terms of the legacy such that if Julia is not married by her thirtieth birthday, she receives the money in her own right. I have heard her talking about giving most of it to the fund for those slovenly sailors’ families down near the docks.” She reached over and took his hand in hers. “Your need is greater than theirs, my dear. And after all, her mother was a Pembroke by birth—why should not her money go to rebuilding the Pembroke family fortune?”

“How long until her birthday?”

“Six weeks. So there is no time to waste.”

Julia ran her hands down the skirt of the blue silk she’d hurriedly changed into so she looked presentable for dinner with outsiders. Her emotions swung between anger at her father for inviting William Ransome for dinner and fear that she would be unable to hide the hurt that still clung to her like barnacles on the bottom of a ship. At least she knew from her father’s letters that William had never married. Could he possibly, after all this time, regret...?

She stopped the unbeneficial line of thought and grasped the door-knob, reminding herself she’d sworn never to forgive him. Steeling her spine and trying to appear as though the memories did not affect her, Julia entered the drawing room.

Her heart rattled in a staccato tattoo at the sight of the man standing near the fireplace, his back to her. Black ribbon secured the queue of black hair at the nape of his neck. She didn’t remember William’s hair being quite so dark.

Taking a deep breath, she continued toward them, drawing her aunt’s attention and interrupting whatever it was Lady Pembroke was saying.

“Ah, Julia dear, do come in. I am so pleased to finally have the opportunity to introduce my son, Sir Drake Pembroke, baronet.” The man at the fireplace turned, revealing a handsome if somewhat haughty face.

Shocked relief nearly knocked Julia off balance. She recovered and curtseyed before her cousin came out of his bow. “Sir Drake, your mother has spoken of you often.”

“Miss Witherington, I find my mother has not been quite forthcoming in her letters. I expected to find my cousin a handsome creature, yet I see before me a radiant young woman whom none in London can rival.”

The calculated falsehood in his words nearly made her laugh. “Sir, you flatter me.”

Aunt Augusta’s tightened lips indicated she, too, found the compliment empty and unnecessary. “As soon as the admiral joins us, we can repair down to dinner.”

A spasm of nerves churned Julia’s stomach. “My father has also invited a guest for dinner—” The brass knocker on the front door sounded again. Dear Lord, please let me make it
through
this night
without embarrassing myself by becoming violently ill.

She clasped her hands at her waist, pressing the nail of her thumb into the opposite palm to keep them from trembling.

Footsteps on the stairs—Creighton leading William Ransome closer. In a brief moment, the man on whom Julia’s girlhood dreams had centered would once again be in the same room with her.

“Ransome!” Her father’s voice reverberated through the sitting room doors. “Good of you to be punctual.”

William’s deep tones carried, though his words did not. Like an iceberg in the middle of the Caribbean, Julia’s tight hold on her emotions began rapidly melting.

The bright brass buttons and gold braid adorning the two officers’ coats gleamed and glittered in the candlelight.

The intensity in William’s blue eyes pierced her, even from across the large room. Though he was more weather-worn, the years had been kind to him. He moved with the confidence of an experienced captain instead of the more submissive scurry of a lieutenant.

Not wanting to see William’s scrutiny of herself, Julia affixed her gaze on her father.

Lady Pembroke introduced Sir Drake to the admiral, and each greeted the other with civility, though neither appeared impressed.

“Lady Pembroke, Sir Drake, may I present William Ransome, captain of His Majesty’s Ship
Alexandra.”

Julia stood still as a Grecian statue as bows were performed. She clamped the tip of her tongue between her teeth and drew in a deep breath to try to abate a wave of light-headedness.

“And I am certain you recall my daughter, Julia.”

Again, William’s blue eyes seemed to burn into her own. She managed a semblance of a curtsey.

“Miss Witherington.”

“Captain Ransome.”

“Now we are all here, shall we go down to dinner?” Lady Pembroke took her son’s arm and started toward the door.

“By all means. I shall go ahead and inform Creighton we are ready” Admiral Witherington charted a course for the door. “Ransome, you will be so kind as to lend your arm to Julia?”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Aye,
aye, sir,
as if responding to his superior’s order, not as if he were about to perform a duty out of pleasure.

Thankful for the layers of separation her glove and his sleeve provided, Julia rested her hand as lightly as possible atop his arm. At least, when side-by-side, she did not have to try so hard to avoid his gaze.

They followed Sir Drake and Aunt Augusta, who whispered to her son all the way to the dining room. Halfway down the stairs, Drake glanced over his shoulder and gave Julia a smile that sent a cold chill down her spine. Though handsome, his slightly hooked nose and thick, dark brows that hooded his eyes gave him an air of menace.

William cleared his throat. “Are you finding Portsmouth to your liking, Miss Witherington?”

“Inasmuch as it is not Jamaica, I find that there are enough diversions to keep me entertained. And, of course, Susan Yates is nearby.” She glanced up at him and caught the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“I called on Mrs. Yates this afternoon. She asked me to pass along a message to you.” His upturned lips now twitched.

“Yes?”

His eyes flickered toward the ceiling before he spoke. “She asked me to convey her disappointment that you will not be at Lady Fairfax’s party this evening, and to tell you she will be thinking of an apt punishment for abandoning her in such a manner.”

Julia did something she’d been certain she could not do in William Ransome’s presence: she laughed. “I fear I shall be paying that punishment for some time to come. Thank you for serving as messenger.”

He paused two steps from the bottom and turned to look at her. Julia’s heart nearly stopped—her breathing did.

“Miss Witherington, I—”

“Come, you two, no dawdling.” Augusta Pembroke’s shrill voice severed the tension between Julia and William.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and led Julia into the dining room.

Julia dropped her hand from William’s arm and walked to her regular seat at her father’s right hand. Sir Drake held the chair for her, his eyes glittering like onyx. Though she dreaded conversation with William, she discovered she would much rather sit beside him—whom she knew and resented—than her cousin, whose very presence made her feel like she was covered with sand fleas.

The admiral prayed, asking God’s blessing on the food, the guests present, and the Royal Navy. “Eat hearty, Ransome. You won’t find a better cook than our Mrs. Stooksbury. Whatever happened with your man—Doughty, wasn’t it?”