The Captain's Christmas Family (5 page)

Before she could think of a suitable topic of conversation, Dolly turned toward the captain. “How do you go to church when you’re on your ship?”

“Dolly…” Marian addressed the child in a warning tone. Though Captain Radcliffe might not be the sort of seagoing tyrant she had mistakenly believed him, he probably expected the younger members of his crew to speak only when spoken to.

At first he appeared taken aback by the child’s forthright curiosity. But after a moment’s consideration he seemed to decide he might do worse than answer her question. “At sea it is not possible to go to a church building, as we are doing now. But most ships in the Royal Navy have chaplains who conduct Sunday services on deck when the weather permits or in the wardroom when it does not.”

“What’s a wardroom?”

A sterner warning rose to Marian’s lips, but before she could utter it, the captain replied, “That is what we call the officers’ mess on a ship, a sort of dining room and drawing room combined.”

Dolly digested all this new information with a look of intense concentration that Marian wished she would apply to her studies. “Your ship must be a great deal bigger than the boat we row on the lake. How many rooms does it have?”

By now Marian thought better of trying to restrain the child, for Dolly had clearly discovered one subject certain to set the captain at ease. To his credit, he did not seem to mind being bombarded with questions about all matters nautical. Marian was also favorably impressed with his answers, which were couched in simple enough terms for the children to understand without insulting their intelligence.

His discourse proved so informative that Marian
found herself listening with rapt attention. It was not only what he said that engaged her interest, but the mellow resonance of his voice that made it a pleasure to listen to.

Almost before she realized it, the carriage came to a halt in front of the village church.

In the middle of an intriguing explanation of sails and rigging, the captain grew suddenly quiet again. “I can tell you more about it on the ride home, if you like.”

His features and bearing tensed as he gazed toward the other parishioners making their way into the church.

A qualm of doubt rippled through Marian’s stomach as she speculated what sort of reception awaited them. She hoped the villagers would not be as quick to misjudge Captain Radcliffe as she’d been. Otherwise, he might refuse to accompany them to church again. That would be a great calamity because she could not conceive of any other way to bring the captain and his young cousins together without deliberately disobeying his orders.

As the footman pulled open the carriage door, Captain Radcliffe seemed to steel himself for the ordeal ahead. Once the steps had been unfolded, he climbed out. Dolly bounded after him, eagerly seizing the hand he offered to help her.

Marian nodded to Cissy, who followed her sister with a reluctant air. When Marian emerged a moment later, Captain Radcliffe assisted her with thoughtful courtesy. For the fleeting instant his gloved hand clasped hers, she could not suppress a sensation of warmth that quivered up her arm. It reminded her of the previous evening when he had grasped her hand to keep her from
rushing away. For hours afterward, she could not stop thinking about that brief contact between them.

“Come, girls.” Marian chided herself for succumbing to such a foolish distraction at that moment. She needed to keep her wits about her to divert the captain, if necessary, from any unpleasant reception he might receive.

She cast a swift glance around the churchyard, troubled to see a few people staring rudely in their direction. But others offered welcoming smiles.

Dolly ignored Marian’s summons. Instead she seized the captain’s hand and announced, “I’ll show you the way to our pew.”

Cissy shook her head and frowned at her governess as if to ask why she wasn’t scolding Dolly for her forwardness. But Marian had no intention of doing any such thing. Instinctively, Dolly had managed to provide the captain with the diversion he required.

Perhaps he recognized it, too, for he showed no offense at the child’s behavior. Indeed, her impudent grin provoked an answering flicker of a smile. “I appreciate your assistance. I have attended services at this church, but not for a very long time. I could not have been much older than you are now.”

“My gracious,” Dolly replied with her accustomed bluntness, “that
was
a long time ago!”

Marian was aghast. “Dorothy Ann Radcliffe, mind your manners!”

But the captain greeted the child’s tactless remark with an indulgent chuckle. “Do not fret, Miss Murray. I find my young cousin’s honesty refreshing. When I
was her age, I remember thinking any person above five-and-twenty was hopelessly ancient.”

The man had a sense of humor, Marian noted with approval, wishing she’d perceived it earlier. It was a most desirable trait in a person responsible for bringing up children.

“Please don’t encourage her, Captain,” she murmured as they entered the vestibule. “Or I fear she may take advantage of your good nature.”

“Hush, Miss Marian.” The child raised her forefinger to her lips. “You always tell me not to make noise in church.”

Marian exchanged a glance with Captain Radcliffe that communicated exasperation on her part and barely suppressed amusement on his. Somehow that look made her feel as if she had accidentally wandered into a cozy room with a cheery fire blazing in the hearth.

They made their way into the sanctuary of golden-brown stone, bathed in the glow of sunshine filtered through the stained glass windows. Dolly led the captain up the aisle to the Radcliffe family pew, where he stood back to let “the ladies” enter first. Cissy scooted in at once and Marian followed. Dolly hung back, no doubt to claim her place beside the captain.

Later in the service, when it came time for prayers of thanksgiving, Marian offered a silent one to the Lord for answering her earlier plea.

His reluctant attendance at church had not turned out to be the ordeal he’d feared. Gideon reflected on it the following evening as he consumed his solitary dinner.

He’d been aware of a few hard looks, but most of
the parishioners were more welcoming. That reception gave him greater hope that he might be able to get a fair hearing at the inquiry after all. During the service itself, a curious sense of peace had stolen over him as he’d listened to the familiar readings and joined in the hymns and prayers. It had scarcely seemed to matter whether or not God was listening. Surely, there was something worthwhile in a person expressing gratitude for his good fortune and identifying what he wanted in life for himself and others.

For himself, Gideon had only one wish—to have his reputation restored so he would be permitted to resume command of his ship. Had he been guilty of taking the blessings of an honorable reputation and a fulfilling career for granted in the past? If so, then his present difficulties might yield a worthwhile outcome, after all—by reminding him to appreciate all he had achieved.

When the pudding was served, Gideon cast an expectant glance toward the dining room door, half hoping Miss Murray might appear to discuss some matter about the children. He could not stifle an unaccountable pang of disappointment when she did not.

Though he had not been pleased by the governess’s sudden appearance on Saturday evening, he’d soon found himself enjoying her company. At first he’d been reluctant to grant her request to accompany her and the girls to church, but now he was grateful she’d persuaded him.

He’d discovered his young cousins were not quiet the alien beings he’d dreaded, but two small people, each with her own feelings and personality. He could not help but be drawn to the younger one, any more than
he could resist a frolicsome kitten that rubbed its head against his hand, hungry for attention.

The elder girl was a good deal more reserved and appeared every bit as wary of him as he was of her. Gideon could hardly fault the child for that since it showed her to be similar to him in temperament.

“Can I get you anything more, Captain?” asked the footman as he removed Gideon’s plate. “Another helping of pudding? More tea?”

Gideon shook his head. “I have had my fill, thank you. More than is good for me I daresay. If I keep on at this rate, my girth may soon rival the Prince Regent’s.”

The young footman strove to suppress a grin but failed. “You won’t be in any danger of that for quite a while, sir. When you first arrived, Mrs. Wheaton said you needed filling out. I reckon she’s made that her mission.”

Though he knew such an exchange between master and servant was more familiar than it should be, Gideon could not bring himself to discourage it. He had opened the door, after all, with his quip about the Regent. Besides, he preferred a little cordial familiarity to the hostile silence with which he’d been treated upon his arrival at Knightley Park.

“When I return to sea, I shall have to send my ship’s cook to Knightley Park so Mrs. Wheaton can train him properly.” Gideon pushed away from the table. “I have no doubt my crew would thank me for it.”

In search of something to occupy him until bedtime, he headed off to the library. He had recently finished the books he’d brought with him, and he was confident
he would find some suitable replacement on the well stocked shelves.

Uncertain whether he would find the room lit, Gideon took a candle from the hall table as he passed by. But when he pushed open the library door, he glimpsed the soft glow of firelight from the hearth and the flicker of another candle. It danced wildly as the person holding it gave a violent start when he entered.

Not expecting to find the room occupied, Gideon started, too. A quiver of exhilaration accompanied his surprise when he recognized his young cousins’ governess.

“Forgive me for disturbing you, Miss Murray.” He explained his quest for fresh reading material.

Clearly the young woman did not share his welcome of their unexpected encounter. Her eyes widened in fright and one hand flew to her chest, as if to still her racing heart.

When she answered, her voice emerged high-pitched and breathless. “It is I who should beg your pardon, Captain, for making free with your library.”

She offered a halting explanation of how his late cousin had permitted her the use of it.

“Then, by all means, you must continue,” Gideon assured her. It troubled him that she had feared he would be unwilling to extend her the same courtesy as Cousin Daniel had. “Though I enjoy the pleasures of a good book more than your late master, I have never had the knack of reading more than one at a time, let alone all of the hundreds collected by my family over the years. Having so many books for one person to read strikes me as a singularly inefficient arrangement. I would ap
preciate your assistance in making better use of this library.”

Miss Murray did not appear to grasp his attempt at levity.

“That is very kind of you, sir.” She bobbed a hasty curtsy. “But I still should not have presumed without asking your permission. If you will excuse me, I shall return at another time when my presence will not disturb you.”

Her eyes darted as if seeking the quickest route to the exit that would give him the widest possible berth. Did she really find him so alarming still?

“You are not disturbing me in the least, Miss Murray,” Gideon insisted, though he knew it was not altogether true. Her presence
did
affect him, though not in an unpleasant way. “Besides, if one of us must withdraw, it should be me. You were here first, after all, and I believe you have far more claims upon your time than I. If you were to go away now, I doubt you would easily find another opportunity to return.”

“Not very easily perhaps, but—”

“I will hear no
buts,
Miss Murray. I should feel like the worst kind of tyrant if you left this library empty-handed on my account. Surely you would not want that?”

“Of course not, Captain.”

“Good. Then we are agreed you must stay long enough to choose a book at the very least.”

“If you insist, sir.” Miss Murray reached toward the nearest shelf and pulled out the first book she touched, without even looking at the title. It might have been in
Latin, for all she knew, or a sixteenth century treatise on agriculture.

It was clear she wanted to make her escape as quickly as possible. A few days ago Gideon would have wanted the same thing. But having dined with Miss Murray and escorted her and the children to church, he’d discovered he preferred her company to his accustomed solitude.

Was there any way he might detain her there and keep her talking?

Perhaps…

“Before you go, Miss Murray, I hope you will not mind informing me how your pupils are getting on. Is Dolly still as determined to resist going to church? She seemed in fine spirits on Sunday and quite attentive to the service for a child her age.”

His words had the most amazing effect on Miss Murray. All trace of diffidence fell away, and a winsome smile lit up her features. Clearly he had discovered the key to engaging her interest.

That accomplishment brought him an unexpected glimmer of satisfaction.

C
aptain Radcliffe’s inquiries about the girls banished any thought of leaving the library from Marian’s mind. However uncomfortable she might feel in the captain’s presence after the way she had imposed upon him, she could not neglect such a golden opportunity to further her plans. She fancied she could feel the warm hand of Providence resting on her shoulder, approving her efforts and helping to move them forward.

“The girls are quite well, thank you, Captain,” she assured him, encouraged by his sudden concern for their welfare.

When he’d first entered the library to find her there, Marian had feared her presumption might cost her beloved pupils dearly. All she’d wanted was to apologize and make her escape as quickly as possible so the captain might forget she’d ever been there. To her surprise he seemed anxious for her to stay and not at all offended that she had made use of the library without his permission. Such generosity only made her more
ashamed for sneaking around and assuming he would refuse her if she had asked.

“As for Dolly,” Marian continued, “she has not uttered a single word of complaint about church, though she has asked a great many questions about ships and the sea. I believe you sparked her interest in those subjects. I hope to make use of that enthusiasm to engage her more fully in her studies.”

The captain’s brow furrowed. “And how do you propose to do that, pray?”

Did he truly want to know? It sounded as if he did.

“Today, for instance,” she explained, “I had Dolly read a little verse about the sea, then choose a particular line to copy to practice her penmanship. Later we examined the atlas, and I pointed out some of the waters in which you might have sailed.”

“I believe I understand your method.” Was it a trick of the candlelight, or did a twinkle appear in the captain’s gray eyes? “For sketching you would have her draw a ship. In music you would have her play or sing a sea shanty…one of the less bawdy variety, I hope.”

His unexpected jest surprised a gush of laughter out of Marian and brought an answering quip to her lips. “Is there such a thing?”

The instant the words were out, she clapped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late. How could she have said such a thing, least of all to a man of the sea? Her years at school and later serving as a humble governess had trained Marian to guard against giving offense. Yet something in the captain’s manner seemed to invite her to speak her mind.

His rumbling chuckle assured her he did not resent
her thoughtless jest. “I have never heard one. Still, I approve of your manner of teaching. I wish my old tutor had used something like it.”

The captain’s sincere interest in her profession gratified Marian. “Thank you, sir. Far too many people regard the education of girls as nothing more than furnishing them with a few superficial accomplishments necessary to snare a suitable husband.”

That was one positive thing she could say about the Pendergast School. Its pupils had received a rigorous education, training them to make their own way in the world. It had been continually impressed upon them that their lack of fortune made it highly doubtful they could ever hope to marry.

“What about you, Miss Murray?” The captain set his candle on a low table beside one of the chairs upholstered with dark leather. “How do you view the education of girls—my young cousins in particular?”

No one had ever bothered to ask her any such thing, especially in a way that suggested respect for her opinion. For that reason, the captain’s question flustered her, though in a strangely pleasant way.

“I—I suppose it means cultivating the development of my pupils in all areas—not only their intellect, but artistic sense and character—to the best of which they are capable. No doubt that sounds like a lofty ambition for a simple country governess.”

The captain shook his head. “It sounds like a fine aim to me, Miss Murray. My young cousins are fortunate indeed to be taught and cared for by someone so devoted to them. Your task cannot have been easy considering the losses they’ve suffered.”

Marian raised a silent prayer of gratitude for this unexpected encounter with Captain Radcliffe. Talking to him about Cissy and Dolly was a perfect means to stir his sympathy for the girls without forcing him to spend time with them—something he was clearly reluctant to do.

“It has been difficult to witness them suffer such sad losses at so young an age. I have tried my best to fill some small part of the void left by the passing of their parents. I want them to feel secure and loved.”

“It is obvious how much you care for them.”

“Thank you, Captain. They are very easy children to love. There is little I would not do for them.” Her greatest fear for the girls and for herself was that they might be removed from her care. Though Marian was satisfied she loved Cissy and Dolly Radcliffe more than anyone, she had no legal right to decide their future or make certain they stayed with her.

Tempted as she was to confide her worries in the captain, Marian sensed it was far too soon to raise the matter. If he suspected her hope that he might become the girls’ guardian, she feared he would retreat into his earlier solitude. She needed him to learn to care for his young cousins as she did. Then he, too, might be willing to take any action necessary to protect them.

“Very commendable,” he replied, though Marian sensed a slight chill of formality in his manner. Had her talk of love made him uncomfortable?

Perhaps so, for he hastened to change the subject. Gesturing toward the tall shelves crowded with books, he observed, “You must be far more familiar with this
collection than I, Miss Murray. Are there any books you would recommend?”

Though part of her wished they might continue discussing the girls, Marian could not resist the chance to talk about books with someone above the age of ten or who did not live many miles away and must communicate exclusively by letter.

She swept an appreciative glance around the library, grateful to Captain Radcliffe that she would not have to give it up, as she’d feared. “I have derived many hours of entertainment and instruction from your family’s books, sir. But I would hesitate to recommend any one in particular without first discovering what subjects interest you. Are you partial to poetry, biography…gothic novels?”

What had made her offer such an absurd suggestion? Could it be the hope of coaxing that twinkle back into the captain’s eyes? Indeed it must have been, Marian realized when her effort succeeded, and her heart gave a sweet little flutter of triumph.

“I must confess, Miss Murray, I am not well acquainted with gothic novels. Though the two I have read proved exceedingly amusing.”

She could not help but laugh. “Poor Mrs. Radcliffe read little else, rest her dear soul, and constantly urged them upon me. I must confess I found their dark melodrama and sensational subject matter all rather silly. I prefer heroic adventures or stories with intentional comedy.”

The captain nodded. “Life can be quite dark and sensational enough at times without carrying those over into our reading.”

Marian wondered if he could be thinking of his own situation—unjustly accused of dark deeds that would not be out of place in the pages of a gothic novel.

“What
do
you enjoy reading, Captain? What is your favorite of all the books you’ve read?” She did not tease him with facetious suggestions this time for she was sincerely interested in hearing his answer. His reading tastes might reveal aspects of this very private man that she might not discover any other way.

But why was she suddenly so eager to be well acquainted with Gideon Radcliffe? For the girls’ sake, of course, Marian insisted to herself. The better she came to understand the captain, the better she would know how to appeal to him on Cissy and Dolly’s behalf.

Captain Radcliffe stared toward the shelves with a look of intense concentration. “I like history. Gibbon’s
The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire
is a work I admire. When I was younger, though, I had a thirst for adventure stories.
Robinson Crusoe
was a favorite of mine for many years. Have you read it, Miss Murray?”

Marian shook her head, almost ashamed to admit such a lapse. “I have heard of it, of course, but never actually read it. That is an oversight I must rectify at once. I know I have seen a copy in this library.”

She turned toward the nearest shelf, scanning the titles. “Here it is. To think I could have passed over it so many times.”

Pulling down the book, she replaced the other volume she had taken earlier. For the first time she glanced at its title. “I have no doubt I will find Robinson Crusoe’s adventures more stimulating than
The
History and Art of Chalcography and Engraving in Copper.
”

“They could hardly be less.” Captain Radcliffe tried to suppress a grin. “So tell me, Miss Murray, if you were stranded on a deserted island, like Robinson Crusoe, what is the one book you would want to have with you?”

An answer to his question sprang immediately into Marian’s mind, though she hesitated to reveal it. “There are many books I would like to take with me in such a case, but only one I could not do without—my Bible.”

The captain rolled his eyes. “I should have guessed. A very pious choice, indeed. I hope you will pardon me if I do not take your recommendation as eagerly as you took mine.”

“I did not
recommend
you read the Bible, sir. You asked what one book I would want to have with me if I was castaway on a deserted island. I did not mean to give you a pious answer, only a true one. If I were to endure such a trial, I would need the consolation I could only find in that particular book.”

“Forgive me, Miss Murray.” The captain looked as if he might approach her, then changed his mind. “I did not mean to question either the sincerity or suitability of your choice.”

Although she believed him, Marian felt compelled to defend her decision in a way he might understand. “Even if those writings did not hold such power for me, I still believe it would be a worthwhile book to possess if I had no others. It contains a whole library in a single compact volume. It has a great history of the Hebrew people and adventure stories of Daniel, Jonah and other
such heroes. It has biography, law, romance as well as some of the most beautiful poetry ever written.”

As she spoke, Captain Radcliffe nodded in earnest agreement. Then a quicksilver twinkle lit his eyes once more. “But, alas, no gothic fiction. Could you survive without that?”

“Very easily, thank you.” She did not resent his good-natured teasing for it showed they could disagree without creating hard feelings. “You must admit, though, the story of Salome demanding the severed head of John the Baptist in return for her dance verges on the gothic.”

“You have me there, Miss Murray. I see I may have to read the Bible again more carefully, if only so I can hold my own with you in conversation.”

They continued to discuss their other favorite books until the pedestal clock beside the door chimed the hour of ten. Marian gave a start and fumbled the book she was holding. Where had the time gone? She’d only meant to stay here long enough to return one book and take another. But talking with the captain had made the evening fly by. Though she’d started out wanting only to talk about the girls, she had soon come to enjoy his company for its own sake.

But realizing how long they had been talking together also made her aware of how long they’d been alone in this room. What if one of the servants came into the library to check the fire or deliver a message to the master? Their conversation had been perfectly innocent. She trusted Captain Radcliffe would never do anything improper, even if he thought of her as any
thing more than a servant—which she was quite certain he did not.

Still, if they were discovered together, it might lead to gossip in the servants’ hall.

The captain’s recent troubles proved what a danger the
appearance
of impropriety could pose to a person’s reputation. Marian could not afford the slightest blemish on her character. Her livelihood depended on it.

“If you will excuse me, Captain, I must get back to the nursery.” Clasping the copy of
Robinson Crusoe
tightly to her chest, she made a hasty curtsy. “Cissy sometimes wakes with bad dreams. She would be very upset if I wasn’t there to comfort her.”

“Of course.” Was it her imagination, or did the captain also seem surprised by the swift passage of time? “I am sorry to have kept you from your duties, though I must admit I have enjoyed this opportunity to talk to someone about books.”

“As have I, Captain.” Was that the only reason the evening had passed so quickly and pleasantly, because they’d been conversing about a subject she enjoyed but seldom had the opportunity to discuss?

Marian edged between the writing desk that stood against the far wall and a trio of leather upholstered arm chairs clustered in the center of the room.

Meanwhile, Captain Radcliffe moved toward one of the chairs as if he intended to sit and read awhile after she’d gone. “Do not forget, Miss Murray, you have my express permission to continue making use of this library as often as you wish. And do let me know what you think of Mr. Defoe’s book. Good night.”

“Good night, Captain. And thank you.” Marian
fled from the library as if to escape some unnameable danger. And yet, she could not deny her reluctance to part from Gideon Radcliffe.

All the way back to the nursery she cradled the book in her arms as if it were the most precious object she’d ever held.

The next evening Gideon rushed through his dinner, exchanging a few pleasantries with the young footman who served him. Afterward, he sent his compliments to the kitchen, for the chine of beef had tasted even better than usual.

The moment he finished his last bite of pudding, he rose and headed for the library. On his way, he paused for a moment to adjust his neck linen in front of a pier glass in the hallway.

The cloth was pristine white and perfectly tied, yet Gideon still scowled at his reflection. He had never noticed before that his face was so long and angular or how his sailor’s tan accentuated the fine crinkled lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes. He looked every day of his seven-and-thirty years, something that had never mattered to him before.