The Captain's Lady (10 page)

“B
ertha.” Marianne hurried into the musty-smelling attic room of the manor house. “We are home for the summer.” As she knelt by the heavy upholstered chair where her old nurse sat, her voluminous skirts puffed with air and then settled about her. There, light beams from the single window shone on airborne dust particles, sending them into a swirling tempest.

“Lady Marianne.” The nearsighted woman dropped her knitting to her lap and reached out to take Marianne’s face in her soft, wrinkled hands. “Oh, my child, how I have missed you.” Tears slid down her lined cheeks, but her smile was radiant.

“And I have missed you, my darling.” Marianne’s heart ached at the thought of the sorrow Bertha soon would feel. Once Marianne left England, it was doubtful they would ever see each other again this side of heaven.

“Now, you must tell me all about your season.” Bertha picked up the woolen scarf she had been knitting and resumed her work. “Did you meet any fine young gentleman worthy of my little girl?”

Marianne laughed. “No, dear, I did not meet anyone new.” Her nurse had asked the same question for the past four years upon the family’s return from London. But despite her gift of discernment, she had failed last year to realize Marianne’s heart had been claimed.

“Ah, no one
new.
” Bertha’s eyebrows rose in thick gray arches. “But there is something you are not telling me.”

Marianne seldom did well at keeping secrets from Bertha, who was more like a grandmother than a servant to her. But this time she must hold her own counsel.

“What I will tell you is that the orphans at St. Ann’s were delighted with the wonderful mittens and scarves and hats you knitted for them. Many a child keeps warm because of these hands.” She reached out to envelop and still the busy fingers that had cared for her since birth.

A glow softened the wrinkles on the old woman’s face. “God is more than generous to permit me to perform this service in my last years. One longs to be ever useful, you know.” Her gaze, while a bit unfocused, settled on Marianne’s eyes. “You have not diverted me, my little lady. But I am so pleased to see you that I shall not press you.” She reclaimed her hands and set to knitting again. “When you are ready, I will be grateful to hear it all.”

Marianne leaned close and nudged aside the woolen scarf, laying her head on Bertha’s lap and closing her eyes. How good it would be to have a confidante in her plans. But Bertha’s loyalty extended beyond Marianne to Mama and ultimately to Papa, whose generosity provided her a home for as long as she lived. She would be bound by honor to report such a scheme as an elopement. Well, not exactly an elopement. A runaway? Marianne’s insides quivered at the thought of what she was planning.

“Shh, my dear one.” Bertha must have set aside her
knitting, for she placed both hands on Marianne’s head as she always had when praying for her. “Seek God’s wisdom, and let Him guide your path,” she whispered.

Even through her thick coiffure, Marianne felt the tender touch of those guiding hands. Warmth spread through her like the blessing of a biblical patriarch, sweeping aside her embattled emotions and replacing them with peace.

This is the man you will marry.
Thus had her prayer been answered two long months ago, and thus she continued to believe. She had searched the Scriptures for some example of what to do, but none was to be found there. With no other recourse but to stow away aboard Jamie’s ship so that honor would require him to marry her. How else could God’s will be accomplished?

She permitted herself a few tears, enough to dampen Bertha’s gray muslin skirt. But she would not burden the woman with her secrets. Lifting her head and brushing away the moisture from her cheeks, she patted Bertha’s hands.

“Take up your knitting, for I have many stories to tell you.” Marianne rose and fetched a straight-backed chair to sit beside her nurse. “Now, do not be alarmed, but Robert had quite an adventure. In the company of Papa’s guest, a Captain Templeton from America…”

For the next half hour, Marianne recounted to Bertha the long winter’s many happenings. She took care not to mention Jamie’s name too often, but when she did, she noticed Bertha’s eyebrows wiggling. Could the old dear discern her feelings for him? If so, Marianne feared that her heart might give away her plans.

“A common sea captain.”

A woman’s harsh voice brought Jamie to a halt outside the open door of the manor house’s drawing room.

“And not even in His Majesty’s navy.” The voice continued within the chamber. “A merchant and an
American.
Really, Bampton, could your father not choose someone of rank, or at least an Englishman for his current pet?”

As quietly as he could, Jamie inhaled a deep, calming breath. So far Lord Bennington’s friends had viewed him as just that, a powerful aristocrat’s “pet,” whose acceptance in their society was due to his sponsor’s influence. He had an uncomfortable feeling he would not find that same acceptance from the earl’s oldest son and heir.

“Now, now, my dear,” a languid male voice responded. “We must let the old boy have his fun. And after all, the man did save Robbie’s life.”

“Humph.” The woman sniffed. “Whatever else should a servant do? ’Twas his duty.”

“He could have run.” Moberly’s voice. “As your good friend Mr. Pincer did.”

Jamie ground his teeth. He’d been summoned to the drawing room to meet the viscount and his wife, but he would have difficulty managing his temper if they treated him with the contempt he now heard in their voices.

“Jamie?” Marianne appeared beside him and touched his arm. “We should go in.”

He recoiled, moving several feet away from her, then regretted it when dismay covered her lovely face. “Forgive me, my lady,” he whispered, “but we cannot enter together.”

She winced but nodded. “Of course not.” She moved past him and walked into the room. “William. Lady Bampton. How wonderful to see you.”

A painful ache tore through him. He couldn’t bear to hurt her, yet couldn’t avoid it. Nor could he fail to notice the differences in her address to her oldest brother and to his wife.
In her life of so-called privilege, Jamie’s ladylove was forced to play many games.

He leaned against the wall and gazed around the vast entry hall. As grand as the Grosvenor Square town house was, this vast hundred-year-old mansion outshone it by far. Daylight streamed in through tall, narrow windows onto pale green wallpaper framed by dark oak woodwork. The requisite life-size ancestral portraits lined the wide, elegant front staircase, and brass candlesticks and delicate figurines sat on every table. The air smelled of roses, fresh from Lady Bennington’s gardens. Jamie looked forward to touring the grounds, for Moberly had hinted at the many interesting sights and activities the Park afforded.

A footman walked past carrying a tray of refreshments, and cast a curious look in his direction. Jamie shrugged and rolled his eyes, playing on the camaraderie he’d established with that particular rank of servant. The man puckered away a smile. Waiting a few seconds, Jamie followed him into the drawing room. Or, rather, he followed the aroma of coffee wafting from the carafe on the tray. Although he rarely chose that drink, a good jolt of the dark brew should fortify him against the coming interview.

“Ah, here he is.” Moberly rose from a brocade chair and strode to greet Jamie, shaking his hand as if it had been a week since they’d seen each other instead of merely since breakfast not an hour before. “Come, my friend, I want to present you to my elder brother and his wife.”

Moberly’s voice held a hint of strain along with its jollity. Could it be he feared his older brother because one day William would hold the title
and
the power? Jamie pasted on a smile, but not a wide one. He must perform a delicate balancing act in this company.

“Lord and Lady Bampton.” Moberly guided Jamie to
where the others sat in a grouping of furniture in front of a great stone hearth. “May I present Papa’s…and
my
particular friend, Captain James Templeton.”

“I am honored, Lord Bampton, Lady Bampton.” Jamie bowed to each to the same degree he would to Lady Bennington, and cast a quick glance at the viscountess’s hand to see if she would lift it to be kissed. She did not. Jamie tried to recall Reverend Bentley’s instructions about such things, but nothing came to mind to indicate an error on his part. So he bowed to Marianne, who was seated in a nearby chair. “My lady.” He then moved to stand by the hearth until invited to sit, though he guessed such an invitation would not come. He didn’t want to sit, anyway, but rather to walk out into the fresh air and be away from all this stuffiness.

“Well, I must say…” Lord Bampton stared at Jamie up and down through a quizzing glass. “These Americans do grow tall.” Though seated, the viscount appeared not to have inherited his father’s height nor his slender frame. Like Moberly before his stabbing, he owned a well-rounded form and a pasty complexion.

“La, such height seems unnatural to me.” The viscountess was her husband’s mirror image in feminine form, although her round, smooth face did hint at the beauty she must have been in her younger days.

“Why, Lady Bampton, whatever do you mean?” Marianne held out a cup of coffee to her sister-in-law. Again, her use of the woman’s title told Jamie much about their relationship. No wonder she wanted to go to East Florida and meet Rachel, who would be a dear sister to her. If only he could grant her desire.

“Why, nothing, Lady Marianne.” Her voice edged with disdain, the viscountess used
her
quizzing glass to study Marianne before accepting the coffee. “What a question.”

This couple was quite a pair. Jamie could only guess what tortures they put the earl’s younger offspring through. He could not keep his gaze from straying to Marianne to see if the other woman’s tone had hurt her feelings. Marianne wrinkled her nose so quickly Jamie thought he might be mistaken. He had difficulty not laughing. His sweet lady would take nothing from this pompous woman. All the more reason to love her.

“Well, then.” Moberly moved closer to Jamie rather than sit back down, but he addressed his brother. “What shall we do today?”

“Oh, la,” the viscountess said. Jamie wondered if that was her favorite word. “I must rest from the journey. Swindon is entirely too far from Hampshire. I shall be glad when we take up permanent residence here.”

Marianne’s jaw dropped, and Robert choked on his coffee. Yet the woman seemed not to realize what she’d said. Nor did her husband, if his approving nod indicated his attitude. Even Jamie comprehended that they would not inherit Bennington Park until Lord Bennington died. Yet how could they act as if the patriarch’s death counted for nothing?

Jamie bowed his head as guilt crowded judgment from his chest. Was betrayal a lesser sin than wishing someone dead?

“G
eorgie.” Marianne waved to the children on the far side of the duck pond, where her nephew and nieces frolicked on the lawn under the watchful eyes of their nurse, a maid and two footmen. “Katherine. Elizabeth.”

“Aunt Moberly! Uncle Robbie.” Eight-year-old Georgie ran around the pond. Behind him six-year-old Elizabeth raced to catch up, while twelve-year-old Katherine kept a more sedate pace.

Georgie slammed into Robert, nearly knocking him over, and Elizabeth leaped into Marianne’s outstretched arms. Amid much laughter, the children traded targets and lavished kisses on the two. Even Katherine let down a bit of her reserve to embrace them with open joy. Then she glanced beyond Marianne and stood up straight, a perfect lady.

“Good afternoon, Miss Kendall.” Katherine’s sweet, inclusive manners sent a surge of pride through Marianne. Most people, and certainly Lady Bampton, utterly ignored Grace because of her status as a mere companion to Mama.

“Good afternoon, Miss Moberly, Miss Elizabeth.” Grace curtsied to the girls and Georgie. “Mr. Moberly.”

“I say, Aunt Moberly.” Georgie smiled up at Jamie. “Who is this tall chap?”

“This, Georgie, is your grandfather’s good friend Captain James Templeton. He is an American sea captain.”

“I say, a sea captain. How dashing.” He stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Templeton.”

“My honor, Mr. Moberly.” Jamie’s bemused expression as he shook Georgie’s hand made Marianne want to laugh. She had never asked him if he spent much time around children. And no doubt he wondered how many more Mr. Moberlys he would be meeting.

After all the proper introductions were made, Marianne beckoned to the children. “We were about to go visit the Roman ruins and—”

“Oh, do let us go.”

“Please take us with you.”

“What fun!”

The children jumped up and down and clapped their hands.

“Not this time,” Robert said. “We will plan a picnic for you there soon.”

Their whines and fussing ceased at his stern frown. Marianne wondered how long they would show such respect to this uncle when their parents treated Robert so shabbily. She wanted to give an extra kiss to each of them for their courtesy to Jamie. In fact, Katherine’s gaze had not left Jamie’s face. This pretty niece would soon become a young lady and already showed an interest in her future social life.

“Now run back to your play, my darlings.” Marianne gave little Elizabeth another hug. “You will see us often enough this summer.”

The four adults walked toward the downs on the northwest end of the Park. Jamie and Robert had brought walking
sticks, and each offered an arm to assist his lady with the ups and downs of the inclines. Once past the thatch-roofed outbuildings beyond the manor house, over a rise and around a stand of trees, they paired comfortably without a word or look, as if all were in mutual agreement.

Indeed, Marianne guessed that another silent concurrence had been reached, for she felt certain Grace was aware of her love for Jamie. Yet as much as Marianne longed to ask for Grace’s prayers regarding her plans to follow Jamie, she dared not. A deeply spiritual woman, Mama’s companion would surrender her claim on Robert before doing anything so drastic to marry him. If Marianne confided in her, Grace, like Bertha, might feel bound to speak to Mama or at the least urge Marianne to abandon her scheme. If they did not speak of the matter, Grace could honestly say Marianne had told her nothing. Thus, Marianne must be content with these stolen moments and find solace in her own prayers.

Enjoying the fresh spring breeze that carried the fragrance of honeysuckle and new-mown hay, the group ambled over the grass-covered chalk downs to a small cluster of trees a half mile from the manor house, wherein lay a clearing of hard-packed clay.

“Right there.” Robert pointed to the familiar enclosure rising some eighteen inches from the earth. “This is the site of a Roman settlement of some sort.”

“At least we think it is Roman.” Marianne felt a rush of childhood memories. She and Frederick had discovered the outline of the stone structure during a family picnic. Their three older brothers proclaimed it a Roman ruin, and they all dug furiously to reveal how deep it went into the earth. Later, servants exposed the entire eight-by-eight-foot square with an opening on one side and even evidence of ancient
fires that had burned within it. “Father said it might have been a forge built by earlier settlers whom the Romans conquered.”

When Marianne and her brothers played here under the watchful care of servants, they’d dug around, trying to find other ancient structures. Those times of exploration had been happier days for the family, and Marianne could never discover what had changed…or when.

“Interesting.” Jamie bent down to touch the rough surface of the wall. “What stories must dwell in these stones. Yet the people who built this structure are lost to history.”

“How like the verses in Psalm 103,” Robert said. “They speak of a man’s days being as the grass of the field, flourishing one day until the wind passes over it, and it is gone. I think one of the loneliest sentences in all of Scripture is ‘and the place thereof shall know it no more.’” His face grew sober.

Marianne felt so pleased with his new interest in the Holy Bible, and her heart warmed to think of this new spiritual depth, even though the passage seemed to depress him.

“But the verse continues with a hopeful promise.” Grace hooked her arm around his and gave him a sweet smile. “‘The mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear Him, and His righteousness unto children’s children.’”

“Well quoted,” Jamie said. “I’m sure you both recall that the promise is to those who keep His covenant and do His commandments.” He stood and stared beyond the ruins in the direction of Portsmouth and the sea beyond, as if deep in thought. “It seems we have all been moved by those Scriptures to realize how transitory our lives are and how important it is to obey His laws.”

Laws such as honor thy father and thy mother.
Convic
tion bore down upon Marianne, but she stiffened her back. Or perhaps it was not conviction at all, but guilt, when she had nothing at all to feel guilty about. Did not the Lord create marriage? Did not her father and mother have a rich and happy marriage to a person chosen of their own free will? Should she not have the same privilege?

“Are you all right, Marianne?” Robert’s gentle questioning interrupted her inner turmoil.

Jamie and Grace turned her way, and tears scalded her eyes at their concern. She raised her parasol as a shield against their concern. “We should not stay out in the sun much longer.”

“No, we should not.” Grace’s voice lost its cheerfulness. “And perhaps I should return to the house to see if Lady Bennington requires anything from me.”

“My dear stepmother will not mind if we stay away a bit longer.” Robert drew his linen handkerchief from his pocket and dusted portions of the wall. Jamie followed suit, and soon all were seated, Grace and Robert close together on one wall and Marianne and Jamie across from them—a full two feet apart.

The ever-present breeze rustled Marianne’s muslin gown and blew black strands of hair from her already loose coiffure. She glanced at Grace, who was, as always, a picture of modesty and control, with her muslin skirt smoothed beneath her and her dark brown hair tucked perfectly under her white cap. Only a frown marred her lovely appearance.

At this rare mood, Marianne cast off her own concerns. “Grace, you must tell us why you have grown melancholy. Is something amiss?”

Grace shook her head, but tears formed as she looked at Robert.

“What is it?” Marianne studied her brother’s face.

He shrugged. “She is put out with me because I did not speak to Father about a living before we left London.”

“I am not put out, Mr. Moberly.” Even Grace’s protest was gently spoken. “Merely sad. You are a new man in Christ and, as such, you must not let fear keep you from doing God’s will.”

Marianne withheld a laugh at this new assertiveness, but Robert grimaced.

“Let me see if I understand.” Jamie’s eyes lit with playfulness. “You expect to have the boldness to preach the gospel to sinners, yet you can’t gather enough courage to ask for your own father’s sponsorship for your studies?”

“You know Bennington.” Robert’s wry expression matched his tone. “Why would he give me an egg when he can give me a scorpion?”

“Mr. Moberly.” Grace shook her head.

“Robert!” Marianne would have smacked his arm if he had been closer.

“Now, now, ladies.” Robert’s light laugh held no mirth. “You well know Bennington showers you two—and Lady Bennington, of course—with nothing but kindness. But not one of his four sons will ever live up to his high standards, nor will we even comprehend what those standards might be.”

“Nevertheless, Moberly,” Jamie said, “you
must
ask him to sponsor your bid for a church post. Just ask yourself whether, at the end of your life, you’d rather have pleased your earthly father or your heavenly Father.”

“Well put, Captain Templeton.” Grace clapped her hands, another unusual display of emotion that surprised Marianne. “You see, Mr. Moberly, we are all with you in this. That is—” Her face grew pink. “I have said too much.”

“Nonsense, my dear.” Robert grasped her gloved hand and kissed it. “Very well, then, since I can count on all your prayers, I shall speak to Father as soon as he arrives from London.”

“Perhaps the morning after, brother.” Even Marianne had received a sharp retort when approaching Papa too soon after his arrival from a long journey.

The others laughed, and in the corner of her eye, she noticed Jamie looking at her. With all his talk of courage, she longed to ask why he could not exert the same daring and speak to Papa for her hand. “Now we truly must go home.” She stood, and the others joined her.

As they left through the small opening in the stone enclosure, Robert chuckled. “I have been meaning to tell you all a very fine joke, but thought it best not to speak it within the hearing of others.” His laughter grew. “Ah, if only those who think they are wise had any comprehension, they would discover us all too soon.”

Marianne eyed him with curiosity. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“Why, do you not know, sister?” Robert clapped Jamie on the shoulder and reached out to pat Marianne’s cheek. “Your lovely mother and our exalted father think Miss Kendall and Templeton here have formed an attachment.” More laughter, real and deep from his belly. “Isn’t that rich?”

Marianne stared first at Robert, then Grace, her gaze landing at last on Jamie. “So that is why they permit, even encourage, the four of us to spend time together. Why, they expect Robert and me to be your chaperones.”

Grace’s smile held a great deal less amusement and a great deal more worry as she looked around their circle. “Oh, dear. Now what shall we do?”

Robert moved closer to her and captured her arm. “We shall enjoy our little secret, Miss Kendall. That is what we shall do.”

So Jamie needed only to focus his attention on Miss Kendall when others were around, and no one would discern the true object of his love. The idea tantalized him. To think he could set aside his guilty feelings over the hours spent in this merry little group. He could feel free to enjoy Marianne’s company as long as they were all together. After all, until Lord Bennington returned to his country home, bringing the latest news about the Crown’s plans for defending East Florida, Jamie had nothing to do but wait for word that the
Fair Winds
was ready to set sail.

Halfway back to the manor house, the couples changed partners, and Jamie offered his arm to the compliant Miss Kendall. He gave her a teasing wink to lighten her mood. But the scarlet blush on her fair cheeks sent a dagger of conviction into his heart. Clearly their scheme did not please this Christian lady. And Jamie felt the same old guilt gnawing at his soul.

In the days following their excursion to the ruins, Jamie permitted himself to appreciate country living. Each morning he rode around the shire with Moberly and his brother, finding Bampton much more pleasant when not in the company of his snobbish wife. As weather permitted, afternoon walks afforded much-needed exercise. And each evening the adults gathered in the drawing room after supper to play whist or to read poetry.

The night before Bennington was to return home, Marianne brought out a leather-bound volume. “The sonnets of Sir Philip Sidney rival those of Shakespeare.” She opened the book. “I have a favorite, and should I ever find a man worthy of my affections, I shall embroider it on a sampler for his wedding gift.”

“Do read it, my dear.” Lady Bennington’s eyes lit with interest. “And do not despair over love, for the man of God’s choosing will come into your life one day.”

Jamie swallowed hard and turned to study a figurine on the table beside him, praying Marianne’s audacity would not cause them both further heartache.

She settled in a chair and glanced around at her audience, pausing briefly to give Jamie a smile that sent his ravaged emotions tumbling. “‘My true-love hath my heart, and I have his, By just exchange one for the other given.’” Her voice wavered, and she cleared her throat. “‘I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss. There never was a bargain better driven.’”

The tender words spun through Jamie’s mind and reached his soul, pulling the breath from his lungs until he thought he might have to leave the room—an unforgivable affront.

She continued. “‘My heart was wounded with his wounded heart; For as from me on him his hurt did light, So still, methought, in me his hurt did smart. Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss, My true-love hath my heart and I have his.’”

Marianne closed the book, and her eyes glistened. Sweet, brave girl, she didn’t look at Jamie. Yet for one mad moment, he longed to shout “amen.” For she truly had his heart…and would have it forever, no matter how much it hurt.