The Captain's Christmas Family (6 page)

Nor did it now. Gideon gave his reflection a final dismissive glance, then continued on to the library. When his hand closed over the knob, he hesitated an instant, making a deliberate effort to smooth the frown from his features.

He entered the room to find a small fire glowing in the hearth, just as it had the night before. The flickering light of his candle danced over the dark, polished wood of the shelves and the rows of richly colored book
spines, many with their titles embossed in gold letters. The chairs looked as inviting as ever. The portrait of his great-grandmother looked down on him with a brooding gaze that reminded him of the way Marian Murray regarded her young pupils.

Yet somehow the library felt much colder and emptier than it had the previous night. Gideon strove to ignore a vicious little stab of disappointment at finding it empty.

That was ridiculous. Until recently, he’d been quite content with his own company. Indeed, he often preferred it.

But not this evening.

His unexpected and surprisingly enjoyable encounter with Miss Murray must have spoiled him.

Slowly Gideon paced the length of the library, his gaze drifting over the book titles, hoping one might catch his interest. Yet even as he read them, the words ran through his mind in a meaningless litany while his thoughts returned to the previous evening and his conversation with Marian Murray.

He almost fancied he could hear her voice, clear and melodious with that gently rolling Scottish cadence.

It was not only the way Miss Murray spoke that appealed to him, but what she had to say. Their opinions might differ widely, particularly when it came to spiritual matters, but he could not question her sincerity or her judgment. Indeed, he respected both. The differences between them added a certain zest to their discussion that made his conversation with anyone else seem stale.

Last evening, in Miss Murray’s company, time had
flown by more agreeably than he’d ever experienced before. Tonight, as he paced the library, hoping she might appear again, every minute crawled as if some physical force were hindering the movement of the clock’s hands. When those hands finally struggled to half-past eight, Gideon reluctantly acknowledged that he would not likely see Miss Murray that evening.

What had made him imagine he might? A sigh gusted out of him as he sank onto the nearest of the armchairs. Miss Murray had no reason to visit the library so soon again. Last evening she had procured a book that might take her many hours to finish in what little free time she had for pleasure reading. It was doubtful she would return to the library for a week at least.

To his bewilderment, Gideon found himself counting the days until Sunday when he could be certain of spending time in her company again.

“Will Captain Radcliffe be coming to church with us again this week?” asked Cissy as Marian fixed her hair the following Sunday morning. The child sounded as if she were bracing herself for something unpleasant.

“I’m not certain.” Marian tried to ignore the odd little spasm that gripped her stomach when Cissy spoke the captain’s name. “I suppose I ought to have asked him.”

She had been strongly tempted to seek him out the previous evening for that very reason, but she’d feared she might find him at dinner again and he might feel obliged to invite her to join him. Not that she would have found it unpleasant—quite the contrary. But a rep
etition of such behavior might provoke comment among the servants. She did not want to risk exposing the captain to more undeserved gossip within his own household.

Now she almost wished she had consulted him, so she would know whether she and the girls could expect to see him this morning. The uncertainty made her rather anxious.

“I hope he will come.” Dolly looked up from the atlas she had been examining with unaccustomed concentration. “It’s much nicer driving to church in the carriage than walking. Besides, I have lots more questions I want to ask him.”

“If the captain does accompany us,” Marian said, brushing a lock of Cissy’s lustrous dark hair around her finger to make a final ringlet, “please try not to pester him with too much chatter.”

“Why not? He didn’t seem to mind last week. He told me all sorts of interesting things.”

So he had, Marian was obliged to admit. Just by listening to them, she had learned a few new facts. Captain Radcliffe had been remarkably patient in answering the child’s endless questions about ships and the sea. In fact, he had appeared to welcome them to fill the awkward silence that might have pervaded the carriage otherwise.

“Get on your cloaks and bonnets, girls. If the captain is coming with us, we don’t want to keep him waiting.” And if he was not, she feared they might be late for church.

As Cissy rose from her chair in front of the dressing table, Marian stooped to glance at herself in the looking
glass. She’d given in to an unaccountable whim to wear her hair differently this morning, parting it to one side rather than straight down the middle. For such a minor change, it altered her appearance considerably, softening the severe simplicity she had affected until now.

She noted other changes, as well, that the difference in parting her hair could not account for. Her lips looked fuller and her nose less prominent than usual. Her complexion had a youthful brightness that made her look less than eight-and-twenty, and her brown eyes sparkled. Marian scarcely recognized herself.

“You look very pretty today, Miss Marian.” Cissy reappeared beside her, properly cloaked and bonneted.

Marian gave a guilty start. What was she doing, staring at herself in the mirror like some vain debutante when she and the girls were already running late? At school, her teachers had always impressed upon the girls the sins of pride and vanity. Humility, good character and diligence had been held up as virtues far more important than outward appearance.

Now she chided herself for forgetting those lessons. “That is kind of you to say, my dear. But remember, pretty is as pretty does. I should not have dawdled while you and your sister were busying yourselves to get ready.”

Throwing her cloak over her shoulders, she snatched up her bonnet and began to tie it in place as she shepherded the girls out of the nursery. Her stomach seemed to churn harder with every step she took. Marian told herself it was only because she might have made the girls late.

Despite her earlier warnings to the contrary, Dolly hurried on ahead with a spirited skip in her step.

“What have I told you,” Marian called after the child, “about bounding down the stairs two-at-a-time?”

But it was her heart that gave a bound when she heard Dolly cry, “Good morning, Captain! I’ve been learning all about ships and the sea. What is your ship called? How many masts does it have? Where is the farthest place you’ve ever sailed?”

Marian opened her mouth to remind the child not to plague the captain with questions. But just then she caught sight of him as he glanced up at her with a smile. It was unlike any expression she’d seen on his face yet. Not a wry grin at some jest. Not a cautious arch of one corner of his mouth. But an unreserved beaming smile that proclaimed his sincere pleasure at seeing them again.

The sight of it made Marian’s voice catch in her throat.

Fortunately, Captain Radcliffe did not seem to notice as he turned his attention to Dolly.

“HMS
Integrity,
” he rattled off the answers to her questions. “Three masts. And the farthest I ever sailed from England was to a place called New Zealand—a pair of islands on the other side of the world.”

Before Dolly could think of more questions with which to pepper him, Cissy addressed the captain for the first time. “Have you sailed all the way around the world?”

He nodded gravely. “I have, though that was quite a few years ago, when I was not very much older than you are.”

“How old are you now?” Dolly demanded. “May we call you cousin…what is your name again?”

“Dolly!” Marian gasped. “Mind your manners!”

But the captain gave an indulgent chuckle that would have astonished her if she had not previously discovered his droll sense of humor. “You are welcome to call me Cousin Gideon if you wish. As for my age, I must confess it is seven-and-thirty. Perfectly ancient, don’t you agree?”

The child nodded gravely. “That is old.”

“Dorothy Ann Radcliffe!”

“Don’t fret, Miss Murray. When I was her age I would have said the same thing.” Captain Radcliffe opened the door for them.

To Marian’s surprise, Cissy spoke up. “I don’t think seven-and-thirty is so very old.”

Clearly she was trying to spare the captain’s feelings. Marian gave the child’s hand a squeeze as they made their way out of the house to the waiting carriage. “I would say it is quite the prime of life for a man—an age when his character is set in a way it is likely to continue.”

Though she addressed her remark to the girls, it was intended for the captain. While he gave the appearance of not being offended by Dolly’s brutal honesty, Marian sensed that perhaps their opinion did matter to him.

D
id Miss Murray consider him as ancient as her young pupils so obviously did? When Gideon made his self-deprecating quip to Dolly, he stole a glance at the child’s governess, fearing her countenance would betray agreement.

To his relief it did not. The only reaction Miss Murray’s expression communicated was concern for his feelings. Not pity, though, fortunately. His pride could not have abided that.

He appreciated the older girl’s effort to relieve any sting her sister’s remark might have inflicted. Until now, he’d suspected Cissy Radcliffe might resent him for taking over as master of Knightley Park. He was touched by this sign that her feelings toward him might be thawing.

Once the girls and Miss Murray had passed through the open doorway, Gideon strode out and overtook them. With a pointed look, he dismissed the footman waiting by the carriage door so that he might help the ladies in himself.

When he overheard Miss Murray telling her pupils that she considered a man of his age to be in his prime, Gideon’s chest expanded as he stood taller. At the same time, he felt vaguely disturbed by her suggestion that his character was irrevocably set.

He had little time to dwell on it, though, for no sooner had they gotten seated than Dolly demanded, “Tell us more about how you sailed around the world, Cousin Gideon. How long did it take? What places did you visit?”

“Please,” Cissy added.

Although Miss Murray said nothing, the fact that she refrained from telling Dolly to stop asking questions made Gideon suspect she might also want to hear about his experiences. That made it impossible for him to refuse, even if he’d wanted to.

“Let’s see.” He plundered his memory for incidents that might entertain them without taking too long to tell on their short drive to church. “We set sail in 1789. The captain was an acquaintance of my uncle who had been among the crew on one of Captain Cook’s famous expeditions. I was a twelve-year-old cabin boy, eager to become a midshipman.”

As he told of the expedition to the west coast of North America to obtain furs for sale in China, two things surprised Gideon. The first was that young girls seemed to relish tales of adventure every bit as much as boys. The second was how flattering he found it to have a group of females hang on his every word.

Despite his best effort to keep his story brief and relate only the most interesting parts, he had just begun
to describe how his ship had been captured by the Spanish when they reached the church.

“Bother!” Dolly muttered. “I wish we could keep on driving and listening to your stories.”

Gideon cast a furtive glance toward Miss Murray. She had asked him to accompany her and the girls so he could be a good influence. He did not want his presence to have the opposite effect.

“Now, now,” he replied. “There are plenty of fine adventure stories from the Bible, you know. I have had some interesting experiences during my career at sea, but nothing equal to being swallowed by a whale or slaying a giant with only a sling and a stone.”

He climbed out of the carriage, then helped the girls and Miss Murray alight. His hand lingered on the governess’s longer than he intended, but she did not seem to mind. Her eyes met his for a moment with a glow of gratitude that warmed him in spite of the November frost.

“The captain is right, girls. I should read you more of those stories. Besides being thrilling adventures, they teach important lessons about trust, faith and courage.”

“It’s not the same.” Dolly shook her head. “I shall never meet David or that man in the whale. I can’t ask them about what happened like I can with Cousin Gideon and
his
adventures.”

Reluctantly, Gideon let go of Miss Murray’s hand and took the child’s instead. “I shall make you a bargain, then. If you can sit still in church and attend to the vicar, on the way home I’ll continue my story.”

“What if you’re not finished by the time we get home?” Dolly was clearly a shrewd negotiator for her
age. “Will you come and have tea with us in the nursery and tell us the rest?”

Gideon pretended to mull over his answer, though in truth there was no question in his mind.

“I believe I could be persuaded,” he said at last. “That is if Miss Murray does not object.”

“Not at all, Captain. We would be very glad to have your company.” The notion sincerely pleased her. Gideon felt certain of it. She had an air of satisfaction that verged on smugness, odd as that seemed.

“Then we have a bargain,” Dolly declared in a loud whisper as they moved through the church vestibule into the sanctuary.

A curious sensation spread through Gideon’s chest as he looked down at the child and felt her small hand enveloped in his. There was a heaviness about it that did not burden him like too much ballast, but rather promised to anchor him when the seas of life grew rough.

But what if Dolly could not keep her part of their bargain? That tiny worry nagged at Gideon far more than it should have. She was a naturally boisterous child, after all, who reminded him of her father at that age. If she squirmed or chattered or otherwise misbehaved during the service, he would have to enforce the consequences and save the rest of his stories for another day.

Yet he feared missing out on tea in the nursery might be more of a hardship for him than for the girls.

To his relief, Dolly proved as good as her word, conducting herself with perfect restraint for every minute of the service, though it ran longer than usual. Such docility did not come easily for the child, Gideon sensed
as he watched her clench her small fingers together and squeeze her eyes tightly shut during the prayers. He respected her strength of will and determination to honor their agreement. It flattered him to realize she considered his company and stories such a worthwhile inducement to put forth that kind of effort.

While they sat in the pew, his young cousin nestled up close beside him, warming his arm and his heart. During the liturgy, he held his prayer book down where she could easily see it, pointing to each word with his forefinger to help her follow along. The proportion of those words Dolly was able to read increased his respect for the skill and diligence of her governess.

As the service progressed, Gideon found himself intensely conscious of Miss Murray’s presence so nearby. Twice he glanced down at Dolly, only to look up and find her governess watching them with a tender glow in the brown velvet depths of her eyes. And when she sang the hymns, the mellow sweetness of her voice lent those familiar lyrics fresh significance.

Though perhaps there was something more to it, as well. He had only come to church to oblige Miss Murray and set a good example for the children. But now that he was here, the prayers, scripture readings and sermon all engaged him in a different way than they had for many years. Somehow their message felt far more personal—as if someone was calling to him in a soft but insistent whisper.

But did he dare to heed it?

After the vicar had pronounced the benediction, Dolly looked up at Gideon with a triumphant grin. “I did it!”

He could not resist smiling back at her. That smile lingered on his lips when he looked up at Miss Murray. “It appears you may be saddled with a guest for tea. I hope it will not be too great an inconvenience.”

“None at all, Captain.” She leaned toward him, lowering her voice so the children would not hear. “Fond as I am of my pupils, I sometimes hanker for someone older to talk with.”

“I certainly qualify.” Gideon could not keep a shard of bitterness out of his quip. It wasn’t that Miss Murray had any particular liking for
him.
She was so desperate for a little adult conversation that anyone would do.

He told himself he had no right to resent her motives. No doubt this bewildering fancy he’d conceived for her was only the natural attraction he might feel toward
any
woman with whom he spent time, after his long years away at sea.

Be that as it may, he made certain to spin out his story on the drive back to Knightley Park. By the time they reached the house, he had only gotten to the point where the Spaniards had finally released the ships, which then set sail for the Hawaiian Islands.

“Remember your promise,” said Dolly as he helped her out of the carriage. “You must come to the nursery and tell us the rest over tea.”

He nodded. “I would not think of going back on my word after you kept your part of our bargain so faithfully.”

A few minutes later they entered the bright, cozy set of rooms with its bank of bowed windows overlooking the lake.

“Welcome to our nursery.” Dolly ushered Gideon in with a flourish.

“Fancy that,” he murmured, more to himself than to his young cousins and their governess. “This place is still exactly as I remember it. Even the old stool in the corner where Danny was made to sit when he grew too boisterous.”

“You’ve been here before?” Dolly demanded.

“Danny?” cried Cissy. “Do you mean our papa?”

“Yes to both.” Gideon made a slow circuit of the room as a host of memories came spilling out of some long locked compartment in his mind. “My family used to visit here sometimes in the summer and always at Christmastime. Your father and I were near in age and both the only children.” Only
surviving
children, but he did not want to bring that up with two young girls who had suffered more than their share of bereavement.

“Danny and I always enjoyed the holidays together,” he continued. “Sometimes he and I would pretend we were brothers.”

“What was Papa like as a boy?” Cissy asked in an almost pleading tone. “What did the two of you do together?”

Concerned that such reminiscences might only upset the girls, Gideon looked to their governess for guidance. She replied with a slight lift of her brows and shoulders, followed by a subtle nod.

“Let me think.” He sank onto the window seat, and the two children flew to nestle on either side of him. “It has been many years, but I recall he had hair the color of yours, Cousin Celia, and a dimple in his chin
like your sister. He was a year younger than me—not as tall but sturdier. He loved to be out-of-doors riding or throwing sticks for the dogs.”

Gideon could picture his cousin so clearly he fancied he had only to look out the nursery windows to glimpse their boyhood selves larking about. “At Christmastime, we loved to skate on the lake and help gather boughs to deck the house. There was one special holly bush that always had the greenest leaves and the fattest, reddest berries. Afterward, we would hang about the kitchen and beg hot cider and nuggets of gingerbread from the cook.”

Those memories filled his heart with wistful pleasure.

“What else?” Dolly prompted him eagerly.

But Cissy grew quiet, her head bowed. A tiny wet spot appeared on the lap of her dress, made by a fallen tear.

Suddenly Gideon felt badly out of his depth and overwhelmed by the situation into which he’d blundered. It was as if he’d waded into inviting waters only to find himself caught in a powerful current with no idea how to swim. Perhaps his first instinct upon coming to Knightley Park had been right after all. Cousin Daniel’s young daughters did need things he was totally unequipped to provide.

Then Miss Murray spoke, and her words seemed to extend him a lifeline. “The captain can tell you more about all that later, girls. We invited him for tea, remember. Now we need to get ready.”

Dolly leapt up at once, but Cissy hung back, swiping her forearm across her eyes. Gideon pretended not
to notice, as he would have wanted if the situation had been reversed.

As he watched the girls do as their governess bid them, he recalled more of those happy Christmases when their father had so generously welcomed him to this nursery. He and his cousin had never met again after he’d been sent away to sea, something he regretted deeply.

Now another Christmas was coming—the first one Cousin Daniel’s young daughters would spend without their father and the last they would likely celebrate at Knightley Park.

Somehow that regretful thought gave birth to a much happier idea—one that brought Gideon a sweet thrill of anticipation he had not experienced in years.

He only hoped Miss Murray would approve.

Her plan to encourage Captain Radcliffe to care for his young cousins had been going so well. But as Marian headed down to the library two evenings later, she feared it might have begun to flounder.

She’d been vastly encouraged when the captain had appeared to escort them to church again without having to be reminded. Clearly when he agreed to assume a responsibility, he could be relied upon to fulfill it to the best of his ability. Knowing what she did of him, it came as no great surprise he possessed that admirable quality. His skill at storytelling, however, had come as a pleasant revelation. Hearing about his adventures on the high seas had made Cissy begin to warm to him. But listening to the accounts of his childhood visits
with her late father must have been a bittersweet experience at best.

Marian had sensed Captain Radcliffe’s ambivalence to relate those stories when the girls pleaded to hear them. Then, after Cissy had tried to hide her tears, the captain had grown quiet and seemed to withdraw. Marian hoped he had not been so disturbed by Cissy’s reaction that he might resist her future efforts to bring him and the girls together.

At the threshold of the library, Marian paused to smooth her skirts. This dress was one she seldom wore, its rich burgundy-red a bright contrast to her usual somber browns and grays. Was she foolish to have worn it this evening? The captain might not even be in the library. And, if he was, why should he take any notice of her appearance?

Still, Marian could not keep her pulse from beating a little faster when she nudged open the library door and entered the room. Neither could she suppress an unaccountable pang of disappointment when she saw it was unoccupied.

Chiding herself for being so foolish, she strode to one of the shelves and replaced the book she’d brought. She found herself reluctant to part with it after such an enthralling read. She’d hoped to find Captain Radcliffe here so she could thank him for recommending
Robinson Crusoe
and tell him how much she’d enjoyed it. Having missed that opportunity must be the source of her disappointment. Now she wished she’d thought to mention it to him on Sunday and tell him how much his personal stories put her in mind of the book.