The Captain's Lady (7 page)

Once there, he slid his feet halfway out of the stirrups and began his dismount. On the way down, he discovered his left boot would not come free. Puck shifted his massive weight, and Jamie felt a jolt of panic as he rolled toward the ground. The back of his head hit the hard-packed dirt in the exact spot where he’d been struck by the footpads, and pinpoints of light stabbed his eyes. The last thing he heard was Marianne’s voice.

“Jamie!”

“S
o there Templeton lay, dazed as a duck, with my sister and Miss Kendall nearly undone thinking we’d murdered Father’s protégé.”

Even Marianne found herself joining the laughter as Robert regaled their friends at Mama’s ball. For Jamie had recovered and was none the worse for his accident, as evidenced by his flawless dancing in the first two sets.

“Permit me to say—” Jamie lifted his hands to quiet them “—landing on one’s back in the ocean, even surrounded by thrashing whales, is much less dangerous than landing on hard English soil.”

Laughter erupted again, and Marianne felt a measure of pride in how well he blended into this exalted company. Wearing his new periwinkle silk coat and white satin breeches, and his long blond hair held back in a queue with a black satin ribbon, he looked every bit as noble as any titled man in attendance. Perhaps even more so, for his sun-browned skin bore a healthy glow and set him apart from the powdered, foppish men around him. His dark brown eyes gleamed as he spoke, his American accent was giving way
to English pronunciations, and his every gesture was filled with grace. Papa had outdone himself with Jamie Templeton. He had made him into a true gentleman and proudly introduced him to several exalted politicians and lords this very evening, each of whom had commended his loyalty to the Crown.

“Do tell us more about whaling, Captain Templeton.” Miss Martin, the pretty daughter of a baron, who would one day inherit her own fortune, stood near Jamie sipping ratafia. Her green-eyed gaze never left his face, even when Robert was speaking. Marianne felt a twinge of annoyance. Last season Miss Martin had played with Robert’s affections, then cut him. Everyone knew she was looking for a titled husband, but she would ever torment those whom she considered unsuitable. The game was played by several of the young ladies in this crowd. Jamie’s good looks and graceful dancing brought them buzzing around him like bees, but not one would think twice about stinging him merely for her own amusement.

Jamie appeared to consider Miss Martin’s question about whaling, but before he could answer, Mr. Highbury wedged himself into the group.

“I say, Templeton, I’m all keen on the happenings in America. Have you heard anything new?”

Several ladies tittered. Several gentlemen groaned. Marianne gave Jamie a sympathetic smile, for he blinked at Mr. Highbury as if he were some odd creature.

“Mr. Highbury,” she said, “do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to secure an invitation for you and Eugenia? If my father hears you spouting your Whig opinions, he will be most displeased.”

Robert nudged him with his elbow. “Indeed, perhaps you should stay out of Bennington’s vision altogether.” He tilted
his head toward Papa, who stood across the room talking with Lord Purton.

As the musicians began another tune, Mr. Highbury winked at Jamie and ducked away. A surge of anger swept through Marianne. Mr. Highbury was more than a little obnoxious, and his casting aspersions on Jamie’s character was simply too much. He would not even have been invited if not for his sister Eugenia, whom Robert now approached to claim a dance. The very idea. Thinking Jamie was disloyal to the Crown simply because he was an American.

The others dispersed, most taking their places on the dance floor. Marianne had declined an invitation so she could remain beside Jamie. She sipped her lemonade and moved closer to him, almost brushing his sleeve with hers as they watched the dancers.

“A very fine ball, Lady Marianne.” He smiled down at her, but his eyes held caution. “Lady Bennington seems to be having a grand time.”

Marianne saw Mama, with Grace Kendall beside her, chatting away in the midst of the older women seated in the far corner of the ballroom. “Yes, she does. And so does Papa.” She noticed Papa chatting with his friends and laughing heartily, a good sign. “But I have not stayed with you to speak of them.”

His smile dimmed. “Indeed? Then how may I be of service, madam?”

His formal tone, as devoid of emotion as John the footman’s, stung her. “I require nothing. But I should like to warn you that Miss Martin and her friends may decide to make sport of you. Please guard your…your heart.”

“Guard my—” Jamie gazed at her, and his formal facade melted into tenderness. “My lady, thank you for your concern. And please be assured that my heart is…well-
guarded.” A light sparked in his eyes, then vanished as he turned away and cleared his throat.

If she had even the slightest doubt about his love, it now disappeared. But even more, she stood in awe of his confidence and poise, surely the results of his being a self-made man. In this society, where birth and rank meant everything, her wellborn friends might scoff at such a notion. But she saw within Jamie something they would never possess. Now more than ever she knew she would give up everything for him. Could he not do the same for her? Could he not cease this foolishness and confess his love?

Jamie wondered how long he could stand beside Marianne—
Lady
Marianne—without surrendering to the constrained emotions swelling within his chest. Her curly black hair framed her porcelain cheeks, and her modest pink gown outshone the garish, wide-skirted fashions of many other ladies in the room. She wore jasmine perfume tonight. He liked the jasmine better than the rose, but the rose also—

Think of something else, man.
Of the
Fair Winds
now being serviced across the Thames in the Southwark shipyard, under the watchful eye of his worthy first mate, Saunders. Of his crew, who had sworn themselves to good behavior as they awaited their return to East Florida. Of the cargo he would deliver there—fabrics, leather goods, perfumes, plows and harnesses, dishes…and several dozen crates of muskets from Spain that Lord Bennington knew nothing about.

“Have I commended you on your dancing, Captain Templeton?” Lady Marianne interrupted his thoughts with more than words. Her sweet smile contrasted with the tears at the corners of her eyes.

He looked away. “You have, my lady. Thank you. And you may thank Mister Pellam for his fine skills in teaching me.”

“Yes, I shall do that.” She lifted the delicate lace fan hanging on her wrist and began to wave it slowly.

The ladies of East Florida would appreciate fans.
Fans, parasols, bonnets in the latest fashion—

“Have you recovered from your fall?” Her voice took on a higher, softer pitch.

“Yes. Very well, thank you.”
No.
Sometimes his head pounded like Puck’s hooves on the dry ground, especially at the end of the day. Especially when he was in her presence. Perhaps he’d suffered a concussion. He’d seen a man succumb to such repeated injuries—

“You cannot imagine how frightened I was when you fell off of Puck.”

Yes, I can. You’ve shown me nothing but kindness and goodness. Your concern is everywhere in evidence, even to the protection of my heart against your friends.
He forced a chuckle. “I was a bit alarmed myself.”

Her responding laugh was more like a squeak. His resolve almost shattered.

“Would you excuse me, my lady.” His own voice sounded thin. He knew it was bad form to leave her alone. But as he bowed to her, he looked into those blue, brimming eyes and knew he could not stay in her presence.

“Yes. Of course.” She returned a curtsy. “Lord Goodwyn will soon claim his dance.”

Unreasoning jealousy joined the warring emotions within Jamie’s heart. “Ah, yes. The thin fellow.”
Whom I could break like a stick.

She smothered her laugh with her fan. “Shh. Here he comes.”

The young viscount, dressed in green and blue, strutted toward them like a peacock about to spread its tail. He greeted Jamie, then offered his hand to Marianne, and off they walked to the dance floor. While her expression was pleasant enough, Jamie could see her sway away from Goodwyn when the man leaned near to speak to her.
Lord, forgive my unreasoning jealousy.

With a mixture of relief and a sense of loss, Jamie forced his attention away from her to concentrate on the large ballroom’s decor. The polished wooden floor gleamed in the light of hundreds of candles whose flames were magnified by exquisite girandoles, ornate candlesticks hung before tall mirrors to intensify the light. The tall windows had been opened wide, and red-and-gold-liveried servants waved large feathered fans to keep the crisp night air moving. The room was awash with the scents of countless perfumes. A table laden with punch, cakes and various liqueurs offered refreshment to the guests between dances. And among the powdered wigs and ceruse-covered faces were some people who had eschewed those hideous, impractical fashions. But with or without their masks, he could not discern the political leanings of any of them. Except for Highbury, who was becoming a serious nuisance. Fortunately, he was busy with the newly begun country dance in partnership with some young lady Jamie hadn’t met.

The ballroom itself had seemed much larger during Jamie’s dance lessons, but now, despite the brightness, the walls seemed to close in around him. In the midst of this mass of people, he longed for the open sea, where he could breathe again.

Across the room, Lord Bennington had lost his pleasant demeanor and waved his hands about, as he did when expounding on the Revolution. Even if that was not his topic,
his familiar gestures brought to Jamie’s mind his purpose for being here. This would be the perfect time to slip away and locate the secret desk drawer Quince told him about. Earlier, Jamie saw Lord Shriveham hand a document to Bennington, who treated it like a treasure and briefly retreated to his study.

No one seemed to notice Jamie move toward the large double doors and into the hallway, where another crush of people milled about or stood talking in groups. He slipped through, not looking directly at anyone, but focusing beyond and smiling as if his destination was a particular acquaintance. With only two friendly greetings from those he passed, he managed to make it down the wide staircase to the brightly lit first floor.

He kept a casual pace, stopping to admire a painting hanging in the hallway leading behind the stairs, stopping to adjust his silk cravat in a mirror a few feet away. He had his hand on the study door when he felt a sharp tap on his shoulder.

Stifling his alarm, Jamie feigned calm as he turned around.

“Hi ho, Templeton.” Hugh Highbury stood there with a wide grin. “I’m so glad to have found you alone. We simply must talk about the war in the colonies.”

A mix of relief and irritation swept through Jamie. He knew he should pretend to be insulted. But something in the younger man’s eyes stopped him. He rested one shoulder against the study door, praying he would be able to find the right words. After all, this man and his father supported the Revolution in open defiance against their king and powerful men in Parliament, and he might know something of value. Jamie would be foolish to make him an enemy.

“Highbury, I came down here for a short rest.” He
touched the back of his head. “That blow when I fell off the horse still has me a bit off balance.”

“I’m terribly sorry, my good fellow.” Highbury reached up to pat Jamie’s shoulder. “Had I known you did not ride…” He smirked. “I no doubt would have challenged you, anyway.”

Jamie winced and offered a weak chuckle designed to confirm his need for rest.

Highbury glanced around the candlelit hallway and up the stairs, then sniffed the air and cupped a hand behind his ear. “Can’t see anyone. Can’t smell anyone. Can’t hear anyone. We’re in the clear. Why don’t we step into the privacy of Bennington’s library, and you can tell me what old Washington and his friends are up to. Is it true this entire rebellion began in a Boston tavern?”

Jamie swallowed a groan. Those words revealed far more than Highbury could possibly realize. If he knew anything of value about the Revolution, he never would have asked such a foolish question. Nor would he be so flippant about it.

“Listen, Highbury.” Jamie stood to his full height, head and shoulders above the other man, and leaned toward him like the sea captain he was. The shorter man blinked and his jaw went slack, just the effect Jamie had hoped for. “For you this is a game. But I could be accused of treason merely for meeting privately with a Whig. Surely you realize, as Lord Bennington’s guest, I will defer to him in all things. Now, I don’t have anything against you, lad, but if you have any decency, leave me alone so I can rest.” For further effect, he once again put his hand on the back of his head.

“I—I say, Templeton, easy on.” Highbury’s shoulders slumped. “I’m merely looking for diversion.” He waved in a dismissive gesture. “You cannot imagine how boring life can be when one is on the outs with the cream of society.”

Comprehension swept through Jamie. He’d almost trusted this man. This silly, pampered pup. He clamped one hand on Highbury’s shoulder harder than he needed to, and was rewarded when panic swept over the man’s youthful face. “But look around, lad. You are right here among that cream of society tonight. Why are you wasting time with me when fifty eligible young ladies are no doubt awaiting your attention upstairs?”

Highbury shrugged. “I suppose.” He brightened. “Yes, that’s just the thing. I believe the minuet is up next, and I would loathe to miss it. You see, Miss Martin actually promised to dance with me, and she would never speak to me again if I stood her up.”

Jamie gave his shoulder a hearty shove. “By all means, go. You must not keep Miss Martin waiting.”

Grinning broadly, Highbury dashed toward the stairs and ran up them two at a time. Jamie waited until certain the young pup was gone for good, then ducked into the library, praying no one else would accost him.

The dark, quiet room was cool, with just a hint of Bennington’s favorite tobacco in the air. Outside the velvet-draped windows, torches lit the street so guests could make their way to the door. Jamie could see drivers tending their carriages and footmen standing by to assist latecomers. At any time, one of them might peer in the window. In the torchlight, Jamie saw his own shadow flicker on one wall, but when he moved to Bennington’s desk, darkness covered him. He sat on the tapestry seat of the ornately carved white chair and felt around the edges of the drawer. Quince said it was well known among the staff that this desk had a secret compartment where the earl stowed his latest missives from the king. In fact, Jamie had seen such a hiding place in the desk of Bennington’s youngest son in East Florida.