Ransome's Honor (9 page)

Chapter Seven

D
rake adjusted his gloves, trying to twist the middle finger of the left hand to hide a small burn hole. The five hundred pounds his mother had lent him “for housekeeping” had not stretched far beyond a cook-housekeeper and a manservant—and the stake for the game in which he planned to participate after this evening’s entertainment.

The crowd milling in the vestibule outside the concert room of the assembly hall represented the highest echelon of Portsmouth society. Oh, how Lady Everingham would laugh at the pretensions of these people—“rustics,” she would call them. Young dandies migrated about the room like bees, stopping to drink in the beauty of each successive blossoming female race—not nearly as adept at the art of flirting as those who grew up in the ballrooms and card rooms of Almack’s.

Admiral Sir Edward, Miss Julia Witherington, and Lady Pembroke were announced. Rather than go to them immediately, Drake stood back and observed. He was not overly anxious to see his future wife up close again so soon, and he needed to know his competition and Miss Witherington’s reaction to them. Several older couples—most likely the admiral’s colleagues—approached and spoke to the Witheringtons, blocking his view of Julia.

When the crowd around them parted, Drake drew in a sharp breath. A gown of pale green that would not be out of place at St. James’s flowed and draped the figure of a Greek goddess. Her long russet hair, unfashionably loose around her shoulders and in a cascade of plump curls to her waist, framed a face tolerable enough to see across the breakfast table each morning. Although small, her mouth was well shaped. But the square set of her jaw and somewhat stubbornly pointed chin kept her from being a true beauty.

He took several steps forward but then stopped. Why would a woman with wealth and tolerable looks such as hers remain unmarried at her age? He wanted to believe his mother’s explanation that Miss Witherington had lived too sheltered a life in the West Indies and that Lady Witherington had protected her daughter by not allowing Julia to degrade the family by marrying someone in Jamaica.

He steeled his will. No matter the reason for her marital status, he would and must court her.

Flicking a piece of lint off the lapel of his black tailcoat, he started across the room, nodding at several women who gave him interestedly curious glances. Whispers followed in his wake.

“Drake, there you are!” His mother shot him a heated glance and then turned to the two she’d arrived with. “Sir Edward, Julia, you remember my son, Sir Drake Pembroke.”

Admiral Witherington regarded him with an appraising gaze as he returned Drake’s bow. As Miss Julia rose from her curtsey, Drake had a hard time coaxing his gaze away from the lace fitted into the low, square neckline of Julia’s gown, which did little to conceal her pleasingly ample endowment.

“I hoped I might have the honor of sitting beside you during the concert, Miss Witherington. I am fluent in Italian and could translate the lyrics for you.” He gave her a smile no woman had ever been able to resist.

Her full lips tilted up slightly—he wouldn’t call it a smile, though. “Though I do not speak Italian, I am fluent in Spanish and picked up a little French as a girl. So I can make sense of the Italian lyrics.”

He took a bold risk, lifting her hand and placing it in the crook of his elbow. “Then you must sit beside me, Cousin, and we shall compare our understanding of the words to see if you are correct.”

“Ransome!” Sir Edward’s voice made Julia jump, and she pulled her hand away from Drake’s arm.

Drake ground his teeth. Could he ever have an evening in Julia Witherington’s presence without that man around?

“Good to see you here, lad. Enjoying society while you can?” The admiral shook hands with the man, whose black suit and white waistcoat and cravat could not hide his military bearing.

“Aye, sir.”

Drake bowed and couldn’t help but notice the stiffness of Miss Witherington’s posture and her averted gaze as she made curtsey to the captain. Before any conversation could be entered into, the doors to the concert room opened.

“Miss Witherington, shall we?” Drake extended his arm to his cousin.

Her gaze dropped to his arm as if considering its worth, and then under her long, dark lashes, she glanced toward Ransome. She looked up at Drake with a slight smile and rested her hand on top of his arm with a feather-light touch. “Yes, Sir Drake. Lead on.”

William accepted Admiral Witherington’s invitation to sit with him and ended up directly behind Julia and her cousin. For someone who seemed concerned with the niceties and fashions of society, Pembroke’s long queue of black hair made William wonder just how socially astute the baronet was. After all, not even the oldest of the admirals—men famous for resisting change—wore their hair long anymore. And his cologne! In the two years William had been gone from England, the fashion of bathing often rather than wearing heavy scents to disguise body odor had caught on—but apparently not with everyone.

The featured soloist, a plump soprano with tall ostrich feathers stuck in her auburn hair, held the room in her command with the strength, range, and beauty of her voice. Though he thought her an adequate singer, William’s attention strayed time and again to the curtain of mahogany hair hanging before him and the mother-of-pearl decorations glimmering in the candlelight. With each new song, Pembroke leaned closer to Julia and whispered a rough translation of the Italian lyrics. Even with William’s limited knowledge of the tongue, he comprehended the meaning of the text better than Pembroke. Each time the man leaned toward Julia, her back stiffened, and she leaned farther away until she had moved several inches down the bench.

William wondered at himself for being pleased at her reaction to her escort. He had no right to jealousy; he’d lost that privilege long ago. But something about Pembroke—something other than his boorish behavior at dinner last week—unsettled William’s gullet. Perhaps it was the way the man’s eyes continually strayed to her chest. Or it may have been the overly pleased look in Lady Pembroke’s eyes at the pair of them. If a man had looked at Charlotte the way Pembroke did with Julia, William would have called him out. Yes, the man’s impertinence bothered William most. William had lost a suitor’s right to take exception to Pembroke, but the admiral had become like a father to William, and that made Julia like a sister, did it not? As such, he could allow himself to be concerned on her behalf

The first intermission brought agreeable relief. He assumed the music to be excellent, but it far exceeded his taste. The mixed voices of his crew singing hymns on Sunday mornings—from the soprano of the young boys to the deep bass of the saltiest of old seamen—with hearts and voices lifted to God in praise and thanksgiving was the most beautiful music of all.

He rose to stretch his legs and be introduced by Admiral Witherington to several other men of the navy, standing where he could see Julia from the corner of his eye. Lady Pembroke swept her son away to introduce him among her circle, leaving her niece seated alone on the bench.

Julia raised her hands and rubbed her temples, eyes closed, her brows drawn together in a pained expression.

“Gentlemen, please excuse me for a moment.” Admiral Witherington bowed away and returned to his daughter. She immediately dropped her hands to her lap when her father sat beside her. A whispered conversation ensued, the admiral’s brow furrowed in concern. His daughter sat straighter and shook her head several times at what he said to her. William couldn’t see her expression or make out her words, but after a moment of the admiral’s listening to her, she leaned over and kissed his cheek.

Never, since the few months following his own father’s death, had William missed him as much as he did now, witnessing the tender gesture from daughter to father.

“She is a lovely young woman, is she not?” A female voice whispered to starboard.

William turned. “Good evening, Mrs. Hinds.”

“Captain, may I take your arm to my husband across the room?” She rested her hand on the arm he immediately offered, and they walked at her sedate pace through the crowded hall.

“I have heard the rumors of an engagement expected between you and Miss Witherington when you were younger that never came about.” She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I am a great crusader for people marrying for love rather than for duty or money. Since you did not marry, I assume there was no love between you.”

A bit taken aback by the lady’s blunt comment, William searched for an appropriate answer. “I respect Miss Witherington and have no wish to further any rumors—”

“Nor am I insinuating either of you have done anything to bring about this gossip—other than just being who you are. As the daughter of a prominent and popular officer, she was bound to be thrust into the fore of the rumor mill for which the naval community is famous. As the favorite of said prominent officer, it is only natural your name should be linked with hers.”

William strolled along beside her in silence, not sure where her thoughts led.

Mrs. Hinds stopped and turned to face him, her hand still grasping his arm. “All I am suggesting, Captain Ransome, is that you do not let the murmurings of the gossipmongers lead you to an action—or an inaction—that will make both you and Miss Witherington unhappy in the future.”

Before he could answer, she left him, breaking her way through the crowd like HMS
Victory
through the French line at Trafalgar. He made his way back to the concert room, speaking only when spoken to, pondering Mrs. Hinds’s words.
Action
or
inaction
that would make both of them unhappy? Leave it to a woman to be cryptic rather than straightforward.

The second set continued much as the first. The warmth in the room increased, and Julia attempted to cool herself with a fan that had some design painted in shades of green. She kept it flying fast, so William could not make out the image.

At the next intermission, she rose from her seat almost before the final note finished. “Please excuse me,” she said to Pembroke, who stood beside her. She dipped her knees slightly before fleeing the room. And William could not blame her. The increasing warmth in the room served only to intensify the strength of Pembroke’s cologne. William returned the baronet’s brief nod and escaped to the hall himself

Though accustomed to living aboard a ship carrying more than seven hundred men, the press of people in the hot room disagreed with him. He found the door that led to the balcony where several others had sought a breath of somewhat cooler air. He strolled the length of it, as he would the deck of
Alexandra,
hands clasped behind his back.

He was nearly to the end when he saw her. Pressed against the wall, deep in the shadows, was the unmistakable form of Miss Julia Witherington. The decorations in her hair and gold embroidery in her dress caught the light coming from a nearby open door. Her right hand rubbed her temple and forehead, and her left arm wrapped around her middle. William had seen that look aboard ship too many times not to recognize it.

He stepped closer and cleared his throat, then grimaced when she startled. “I apologize for disturbing you, Miss Witherington. But is there something I can get for you? A glass of wine to settle your stomach?”

She turned toward him, her face nearly the same pale green of her dress. “Thank you, Captain, no. I am well enough.” Her eyes shifted to look beyond him toward the door halfway down the balcony.

He followed her gaze and saw Sir Drake Pembroke come out, lighting a cigar. William scowled. A gentleman did not smoke in the presence of ladies, and several still milled about.

William turned and offered his arm. “May I escort you back in?”

Indecision warred in her pale countenance. He thought he knew some of what gave her pause—the gossip her appearance on his arm in a social gathering would stir. But Sir Drake’s turning and coming their direction seemed to help with the decision.

“Yes, Captain Ransome. If you would be so kind as to let me take your arm to my father, I would be grateful.” She rested her hand atop his arm, but then her grip tightened as she swayed against him, her eyes squeezed tightly closed.