Her Master and Commander (4 page)

“Oh, stop being so absurd.” She eyed his pipe with disapprobation. “Must you do that?”

“Yes.” He packed the bowl with tobacco and tucked the leather pouch back into his pocket.

Her lips thinned. “Captain Llevanth, I moved to this location to establish a teaching seminary for young ladies. My mother and I are working hard to have things readied, including the placement of some tiles in the garden to make a walkway. We cannot do that when that sheep traipses in over and over, eats our herbs and sends our housekeeper into hysterics.”

Tristan lit his pipe, shielding the tinderbox from the wind with one hand. Fragrant smoke drifted from the embers, and was immediately whipped away in the stiff breeze. “Do you know what I’d do if a sheep was causing my housekeeper to have hysterics? I would rid myself of the housekeeper. She is obviously unfit for duty. Pity you’re not on a ship, you could just have her keelhauled and stop her caterwauling that way.”

“Captain Llevanth, this is not a matter for levity.”

He raised his brows. “Mrs. Thistlewaite, I did not, nor do I now, wish you to be here. Which is why I also have no desire to see you successful in your endeavors to bring even more feminine distractions to this peaceful corner of the world.”

The widow lifted her chin. “Is that why you’ve been placing your sheep in our garden? To make us leave?”

“I don’t want you here, true. But I don’t care enough to go to such trouble as transporting a sheep anywhere. My sheep are marked and well within the free-range law of the borough. They may go wherever they wish.”

The woman’s back stiffened. “
Someone
is putting them in our garden. They cannot be opening the gate themselves.”

He flicked a gaze over her face, noting the proud curves and pure line. It really was a pity his sheep weren’t behaving. He’d only purchased them to give the men an occupation.

Tristan hadn’t expected to be responsible for his crew once he’d left his ship. But somehow, after moving to the house on the cliff with only Stevens for assistance, the men had shown up, one and two at a time. At first all was well, but every sea captain knew the dangers of idle hands. To head off any potential trouble, Tristan set his men to the occupations available, including caring for the sheep, cleaning the galley, scrubbing the little cottage top to bottom, and anything else he and Stevens could come up with.

Tristan took a calming draw on his pipe, the warm glow of the ashes stirred by the wind. “Madam, perhaps you aren’t aware of this, but I am a captain. Captains do not concern themselves with sheep.”

“Who does, then?”

“Stevens!”

The first mate stepped forward eagerly. “Aye, sir?”

“Listen to the woman for me. Pray let her think you are paying her the strictest attention. Meanwhile, I am going inside, where it’s warmer.” Tristan turned and walked back toward the house, leaning slightly on his cane.

The flash of a blue cloak halted him in his tracks. Mrs. Thistlewaite once again stood before him, only now she spread her arms to either side as if to block his way. Tristan shook his head at the futile gesture. Really, the woman had more tenacity than…well, just about anyone he knew. She was also rather pleasant to look upon if one ignored the fact she always seemed to be frowning.

She fixed those great brown eyes upon him once again and he noted that they sparkled angrily. Oddly, some of his own distemper melted at the sight.

“Captain Llevanth, I do not wish to speak to your butler. I always speak to Mr. Stevens and nothing is ever fixed.”

“Fixed? Is something broken?”

“My patience.”

“Your patience is not my concern.”

“Oh! You—you—you—”

“Brilliant return volley. Almost as good as shooting pea shot in retaliation for twenty-pound cannon fire. Surely you can do better than that?” Tristan wasn’t sure why he was goading the lively widow but…a faint smile edged onto his face. It was an enjoyable pastime for all that. Surely it said something about the sorry state of his affairs that he both enjoyed and loathed arguing with his nearest neighbor.

Her arms dropped to her sides, though her posture remained charged with acrimony. “I did not come to exchange pleasantries with your first mate or to discuss cannon fodder.”

“Shot. Cannon shot.”

“Whatever you wish to call it.”

“Madam, I’ve said it before and again; this is not my problem. Shut your blasted gate—
firmly.
There. Your problem is now solved.”

She stamped her foot, her boot landing in a puddle and splashing mud upon the edges of the moss green skirts barely visible beneath the voluminous blue cloak. “Captain, the gate
was
shut.
Firmly.
”

“So my sheep are
jumping
the fence into your garden?”

“Yes. The white one with the black face.”

Tristan looked over his shoulder. “Stevens, do I have a white sheep with a black face?”

Stevens scratched his chin, his brow furrowed. “Hm. Seems I seen one of that cut not too long ago.”

“Is it possible that this particular sheep can jump a fence the height of the one surrounding Mrs. Thistlewaite’s garden?”

“By Peter’s watery grave, no!” the first mate said, chuckling at the thought.

She frowned, her flyaway brows looking even more elfin. Before she could say anything, Tristan continued. “Stevens, is it possible for a sheep to fly?”

Stevens snorted.

“What about crawl? Could they crawl
beneath
a gate?”

“Lord, no! They’re too puffed up. Why they can barely fit through the gate upright and with it open as it is.”

Mrs. Thistlewaite’s full lips pursed into a scowl. “Captain, I do not know how your sheep manages to creep past my fence, but he does. And then he grazes through my spice bed like a great scythe, eating all of my herbs and—”

“Stevens?”

“Aye, Cap’n?”

“Do
we
have a garden?”

Stevens looked around them and blinked. “Why yes. Ye’re standin’ in the middle of it.”

Tristan took a draw on his pipe as he eyed the foliage that lined the path. “Are these herbs?”

“Aye, sir. Some of them.”

“Do any of our sheep cross the fence to eat these herbs?”

“Why no, Cap’n. Not once, that I can remember.”

“Hmm.” Tristan noted the rising color in the widow’s face. Perhaps he enjoyed teasing her so much because she looked so very prim and perfect, her hair so severely bound, her cloak buttoned to her throat, her mouth a determined line that almost dared to be invaded. Plundered.
Tasted.

He found himself staring at her mouth. The bottom lip was fuller than the top and gently rounded. He wondered if it was as sensitive as it looked, how she would react if he kissed her, and then gently—

Startled at the direction his thoughts were taking, he pulled himself back into the present. “Mrs. Thistlewaite, sheep do not jump good fences, nor do they crawl beneath closed gates, nor do they fly through the air to land in the midst of a garden. I, myself, have a garden, and the sheep never bother it, so I feel there are no grounds for your complaints. You will have to deal with the sheep issue on your own.”

“Captain,” Mrs. Thistlewaite said, her voice frigidly perfect, “I see I wasted my time coming here.”

“You not only wasted it, but you have made yourself unwelcome. If you keep pestering me, I shall train my dogs to herd all of those silly sheep onto your land every blasted morning. Then you shall have
real
cause for complaint.”

“Oh! I cannot believe you’d—How dare you?” She drew herself up, her eyes flashing fire, her mouth set. “You, sir, are no gentleman.”

No gentleman.
The words flamed across his mind. His father had been a gentleman. “I’ve never wished to be a gentleman. Not now. Not ever. From my experience,
gentlemen
are not worth knowing.”

“I daresay you know so many.”

“I know more than I wish I did,” he snapped, his temper rushing to the fore. “But what about you? If I am no gentleman, are you so much a lady? Where
is
your sense of propriety, coming to visit a single man, no chaperone in sight?”

Something flashed through her eyes, a spark of…was it hurt? Tristan instantly regretted his hasty words, for he’d meant to spar, not wound. But before he could say anything, she’d turned and sailed away. Her skirts swished around her ankles, the wind tugging on her hair as she rapidly made her way down the path, back to the gate and the safety of her own home.

The first mate watched her march away. “That is a fiery wench, that is. Stormy like the sea and just as unpredictable.”

There was admiration in the man’s voice. Tristan had to admit that he rather admired the spirit the young lady displayed as well. And that mouth of hers…so sweetly curved and gently plumped. He wondered what she’d feel like, beneath the voluminous folds of her ever-present cloak. She might be fat.

He didn’t realize he’d said the words aloud until Stevens shook his head. “Lud, Cap’n. Indeed she is not! She’s a trim rig and full-sailed like a proper woman should be. Not a bit of extra leeway to her. In fact, she’s—” Stevens caught Tristan’s incredulous look and colored deeply.

“When have you seen Mrs. Thistlewaite without her cape? I’ve never once seen her without the blasted thing.”

“’Twas when ye asked me to fetch the physician fer Mr. Thurwell. The doctor was at the widow’s house.”

Damn that doctor. Still…Tristan wondered why the widow had reacted so strongly to his barb. Something had definitely caused the wind to fall from the widow’s oh-so-righteously filled sails. He frowned, still perplexed. There was a mystery there. One that needed solving.

“Cap’n?” Stevens was now leaning far out over the rock, looking down to where the road wended up the cliff face from the village.

“Aye?” Tristan answered absently, his mind still on the lovely widow. What secrets were hidden behind her eyes? he wondered.

“Ye’d best come and see this.”

Tristan sighed and limped over to join the first mate, pausing to knock the dying embers from his pipe against a rock. “What is it?”

“There, sir. Two coaches and three wagons, full of things, all climbin’ up the path to here.”

Tristan’s frown grew. Who the hell would be coming to visit him on such a day as this? Indeed, who would come to visit with such an entourage? The front coach was huge, tied to six lumbering horses as they struggled to make it up the winding road. It was a fine equipage, he noted, much strapped with trunks and bags.

The cumbersome coach was even now slowly clambering up the steep, curvy road that traced the face of a treacherous cliff. As he wondered who it might belong to, the crest on the side panel flashed dully in the overcast gray sky.

Tristan’s heart turned icy. He knew only one person who possessed such fine coaches and horses. Only one person who would show up unannounced and bring an entire household of servants with him, to oversee his every want and need. And that was the last person who
would
come and see Tristan.

Or was it? Heart thundering an odd beat, Tristan straightened and turned back to the cottage. “Whoever it is, they will be an hour, perhaps more before they make landfall. Long enough for us to bite off the edge of this chill with something substantial.”

Stevens grinned, displaying a row of missing teeth. “A pint of the house’s best?”

“Or two.” Tristan hurried his step as much as his limp would allow, the wind ruffling the capes of his cape. The cold was beginning to affect his leg, making it ache even more. Whoever was coming to visit would be met with the same reception he gave everyone—nothing.

He had no need for people, other than the ones the sea had already thrown upon his shores. Those, he understood. Those, he would help. But for everyone else…he just wanted to be left alone.

He only hoped that the occupant of the coach did not expect a welcome of any sort, for the bastard would not get it, earl or no. Not from Tristan, anyway. Not ever.

P
rudence marched home, her heavy boots thumping loudly on the stone-strewn pathway. Blast that man! He was impossible, rude, arrogant, irritating, and worse. All she’d asked was that he keep his silly sheep on his own land. Why couldn’t he just do that one small thing?

Worse, he’d seemed supremely unimpressed she’d made such a request. Perhaps he wasn’t teasing when he said penning sheep was not required. Which was, of course, the silliest thing she’d ever heard. Of course, there’d been many things living in the country had taught her, one of them being the rather narrow nature of some of the laws.

She turned off the road and onto the garden path, the fragrant scent of mint lifting in the fresh air. The breeze danced about, rifling through the crisp brown leaves.

Prudence made her way to the front door. Painted red, it mirrored her temper. Scowling, she grasped the chilled brass handle and gave it a firm twist. It creaked open. Just as she entered, the wind grabbed the door from her hand and slammed it shut behind her, the sharp sound echoing through the house.

“Prudence?” Mother hurried out of the sitting room, her brow drawn, her gentle green eyes troubled. At fifty-two, she was still an attractive woman, her soft brown hair carrying only a touch of gray at her temples. “Prudence! Why did you slam the door?”

Prudence undid her bonnet and set it on the small table beneath the peg where she hung her muffler. “The wind caught the door. I hope it didn’t frighten you.”

Mother smiled, smoothing her skirts a bit, some of the tension leaving her face. “Oh no! I just thought you might be agitated about something.”

“Me? Agitated? Perish the thought!” Not that she didn’t
feel
like slamming the door—she had. But she refused to give in to base anger. The captain’s rude behavior called for something far more planned and cunning. A grand scheme, perhaps, one that would reduce him to a quiver.

Feeling somewhat placated by such an image, Prudence hung her cape over her muffler on the peg and managed a smile. “How was your morning, Mother?” Prudence went past her mother and into the sitting room. “Did you finish darning the tear—”

A man turned from where he’d been standing in the middle of the room. Of average height with brown hair and blue eyes, he was attractive in a rather quiet way.

Prudence dipped a reluctant curtsy. “Dr. Barrow. What a pleasant surprise.” She sent a hard look at Mother who colored but kept a determinedly innocent look on her face.

“Mrs. Thistlewaite,” the doctor said, gulping loudly. “H—How nice to see you. I just came by to, ah—I came to see if perhaps—that is to say, I was wondering if—” He shot a panicked glance at Mother.

“Prudence,” Mother said a little too brightly. “Dr. Barrow came to see if you were available for a ride in his new carriage!”

The last thing Prudence wanted was to ride in a carriage with a man who could not string two sentences together without blushing. While it was true the doctor was a very kind, gentle sort of man, there was none of the deep connection she’d felt with Phillip.

Phillip.
She looked down at her hands, clasped before her. She missed her husband even now, three entire years after his death. Not as much as she once had—there had been weeks, even months, when she’d wondered if she’d ever smile again. She had, of course. It had just taken time. A long time. But now, she was able not only to remember Phillip, but be glad for the time she’d had with him.

They’d met and married in six mad months when she’d been but eighteen. Phillip hadn’t been much older, so they’d practically grown up together. Perhaps that had been part of their friendship, their love. Whatever it had been, she missed that closeness. The pure loveliness of looking across the breakfast table at the person on the other side and knowing she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Mother gestured to the tea tray sitting by the fire. “Prudence, you returned just in time. Mrs. Fieldings just brought tea.”

Mrs. Fieldings was their housekeeper, and a sterner, more dour woman did not exist. Still, she had a magical touch when it came to pastries, which was evinced by the plate sitting with the teapot. Every pastry was golden and fluffy, glistening with honey coating, the room rich with the scent of warm butter and mouthwatering freshness.

Prudence finally found a smile. “Tea will be just the thing! I am famished.” She raised her brows at the doctor. “Will you be staying?”

He turned even redder, glancing wildly at Mother, then back at Prudence. “I—ah—I really must be on my way.”

Prudence wondered if the captain cared enough about anyone to blush. She tried to imagine him stuttering and could not. But then, she couldn’t imagine the captain being polite, either.

The man was a complete behemoth. Part of it was his size; he towered over everyone, his shoulders so broad they looked as if he could carry a ship as easily as command one. He wore his profession with every barked order, every impolite utterance.

What really bothered her was that he didn’t seem to care. He was perfectly happy being boorish. She remembered the way he’d looked at her when she’d first walked up to him in the garden—he’d stared at her head to foot, his gaze lingering in a very disturbing way. She shifted uncomfortably at the thought, her skin tingling as if he’d actually touched her.

“Um, Mrs. Thistlewaite, may I say you look well today?”

Usually Prudence found the doctor’s disjointed and milquetoast utterances rather irksome, but after spending twenty minutes with an oaf like the captain, she decided she rather liked the doctor’s nonthreatening presence. “You are too kind! I hope you are staying for tea. It’s so cold outside.”

He glanced regretfully at the clock on the mantel and shook his head. “Was just telling your mother I couldn’t remain a moment longer. I wish I could, but—patients, you know.”

Mother rushed forward. “Surely they would understand! I thought you’d stay long enough to have tea. At least
one
cup.”

“Perhaps next time.” He bowed to Prudence, meeting her gaze with a look of entreaty.

She immediately smiled. “Of course you must be on your way. Perhaps you will return another time and visit longer.”

His smile was blinding. “That would be lovely. Mrs. Crumpton. Mrs. Thistlewaite.” He bowed to both of them. “It was a pleasure.”

“And you.” Prudence dipped a curtsy, her gaze sliding to the tea tray. Her stomach rumbled so loudly she was certain the doctor had to have heard it.

He didn’t seem to notice, though, for he bowed again to her, then took Mother’s hand for a brief moment before leaving.

“Well!” Mother said as the door closed behind him.

“Well, indeed.” Prudence was already at the tea tray. “Mrs. Fieldings outdid herself yet again.” She carried the tray to the small table before the settee and poured two cups of tea. “I wonder what brought the doctor.”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Mother said, placing pastries on two plates and handing one to Prudence. Mother’s bright green gaze fixed steadily on Prudence. “You could at least have asked the doctor to dinner.”

Prudence took a bite of pastry. “I didn’t want Dr. Barrow to come to dinner. He is always ill at ease and it makes conversation so difficult.”

“He’s a doctor. Surely that has some merit.”

“Indeed it does. If I feel ill for eating too many of these delicious pastries, I shall call on him immediately.”

Mother sighed. “I don’t know what I am to do with you.”

“Nothing.” Prudence finished her pastry and wiped her hands on her napkin. “I can take care of myself, thank you.”

“So I see.” Mother took a sip of tea. “How was your visit with the captain?”

“It was horrid. The captain did everything but toss me out onto my ear.” Had the man had his way, Prudence had no doubt she’d have been tossed out on something far more ignominious than her ear.

Mother’s face fell. “That is too bad. I had hoped—” She frowned at Prudence. “Were you polite?”

“Of course I was! How can you ask that?”

“Sometimes—just sometimes, mind you—I’ve noticed you have a tendency to let your temper override your good sense.”

“Mother!”

“I’m sorry but it’s true.”

“I was very polite. It was the captain who displayed such a ferocious temper. In fact, he has such ill feelings about females in general that he said he wished our attempt to establish a seminary may fail. The man is a horrid, selfish person.”

“Perhaps you just caught him at a bad time,” Mother said cautiously. “He is a war hero, you know. Lucy has been talking to one of his men.”

“Mother, you should not gossip with the upstairs maid.”

“But she knows all about the captain! How else would we have discovered he is a war hero?”

“We still don’t know if he is a war hero. All we know is that one of the captain’s men told Lucy the man was a war hero. That is not quite the same thing.”

Mother sighed. “You are far too young to be so jaded.”

“And you are far too old to be so naive, though I must say you don’t look a year over forty. I hope I shall age so gracefully.”

Mother’s smile broke forth like the sun over the ocean. “You really think I look but forty?”

“I begin to think perhaps Dr. Barrow is coming to visit you and not me.”

That won a full chuckle and Mother settled in to enjoy her tea.

Prudence finished her second pastry. She had been furious when she’d left the captain, but sitting here now, before the fire, sipping a nice cup of tea with lots of sugar and extra cream, made her irritation disappear like smoke before a gentle breeze.

She glanced around their cottage with a deep feeling of satisfaction. It was warm and cozy here in the sitting room, the settee and drapes a delightful red color. Flowered pillows and a thick Aubusson carpet on which sat a matching set of cherrywood chairs filled the room with warmth and color. “Phillip would have liked this room.”

Mother paused in taking a sip of tea, her eyes darkening momentarily. “Oh, Prudence. I’m so sorry. What made you think of him?”

“I always think of him,” Prudence said with a sigh.

“I know.” Mother’s eyes filled as she reached over and patted Prudence’s hand. “Prudence, I wish sometimes that—Well, it doesn’t matter.”

“What? You wish I didn’t remember Phillip?”

“Oh no, dear! I would never wish that. I just wish you’d find someone else. You deserve to be happy.”

Prudence took a satisfying sip of tea. “I am happy. Very. Except for the sheep problem.”

“It is most vexing,” Mother replied, sending a side glance at Prudence. “I wonder how they are getting past the gate.”

“However they are doing it, the captain flatly refuses to pen up his sheep. The man is a nuisance.”

“Do you really think so?”

Prudence put down her cup, the bowl rattling against the saucer. “Mother, the man not only refused to pen up his sheep, but he threatened to train his dogs to
herd
those infernal animals onto our land unless we stopped
pestering
him about it!”

“Goodness,” Mother said, looking rather miserable. “Your interview did not go well at all.”

“No, it did not. But I am not finished with the captain.”

Mother brightened. “Oh?”

“No. I will find a way to
make
him listen to us. See if I don’t.”

Mother waved her pastry in the air, her eyes sparkling indignantly. “That foolish sheep, trudging through the new hedgerow and eating all the mint! The nerve of it!”

Prudence toyed with the handle of her cup. “How
do
those sheep get over that fence?”

“That is the question, isn’t it? I wonder if they have found a way to undo the latch.”

“And latch it back? I don’t think so.” Perhaps she’d go to the village in the morning and make some inquiries of the herding laws. She knew the perfect depth to curtsy to a princess, a duchess, a countess, and a viscountess. But she knew absolutely nothing about livestock.

“If you keep scowling like that, you will get lines in your brow.” Mother’s gentle voice held a touch of exasperation. “What
did
that man say to so upset you?”

Prudence picked up her teacup, absently staring into it. The captain had not said anything she hadn’t expected. Not really. It was more the way he’d
looked
at her; in a way that had made her feel painfully aware of herself. In the same way Phillip had looked at her, only…the captain’s look had burned, simmered inside of her. She’d never felt that with Phillip.

“Prudence?”

She looked up to find Mother staring at her, brows raised. Heat touched Prudence’s cheeks. “I’m sorry, Mother. I was just thinking about the captain. He was rude and it made me angry.” Which was true. Perhaps that was what she needed to focus on—how mad the man had made her. Yes, that was good. Prudence set her cup back on the tray. “Mother, I have had it with the captain’s lackadaisical manner of watching after his livestock. If he will not tend to them, then I will. Only I will use a spit over a hot fire and mint sauce.”

“Prudence! You cannot go about threatening to cook another person’s sheep.”

“Mother, we are now in the wilds of Devon. London rules do not apply. Let me deal with the sheep; you tend to starting our school.” Prudence straightened her shoulders. Yes. She’d deal with the captain in her own fashion. “Mother, have you heard anything from your friend, Lady Margaret? She promised her daughter would be our first student.”

Mother’s expression darkened. “I meant to tell you…”

Prudence’s heart sank. “She said no.”

“I’m certain she didn’t mean to make promises she didn’t intend to keep. Something very grave must have prompted her to—Well, here. Read it for yourself.” She pushed her hand into the pocket hidden in her morning dress and handed a very small note to Prudence.

“My, how Lady Margaret does go on and on,” Prudence said dryly as she opened the painfully short note. “She never meant to send Julia, did she?”