The Captain's Lady (8 page)

Underneath the drawer, toward the back of the desk, he felt a latch and tried to open it.
Locked.
But a small bit of paper stuck out through the tiny slit between the compartment and the drawer. Jamie eased the sheet through, careful not to tear it, and slipped it under his waistcoat. He felt again to see if he could unlock the latch. A click echoed throughout the room, but instead of coming from the desk, it sounded from across the library. The wide door opened slowly, and a dark form entered, eerily lit from behind by the hallway candles.

J
amie eased down in the chair, rested his head against the carved back and stretched out his legs. Surely no one would believe he’d chosen this place to sleep, but he had no other option but to pose that way.

As if in a familiar place, the person moved to the center of the room without bumping into any furniture.

“Jamie?”

He bolted to his feet. “Lady Marianne?”

She hurried to the desk and found a candle to light. “Mr. Highbury said you were ill.” The flame revealed her lovely face pinched with worry. The scent of flint blended with her jasmine perfume.

He ached to comfort her, to reassure her, but shoved away that impulse. “And so he sent you instead of your father or brother or a servant?” Jamie thought he might strangle Highbury.

Lady Marianne laughed softly, but a little catch in her voice cut it short. “No. I asked him if he had seen you, and he told me you came in here to rest.” She lifted the candle high. “Do not be alarmed. No one knows we are alone.”

His heart pounded as if it would leap from his chest. If they were discovered, all would be lost, especially if the paper in his waistcoat was found. “And we shouldn’t be alone, so I’ll just say good-night, my lady.” He strode toward the door.

“Jamie.”

He stopped, all senses heightened by his near discovery. But he would not turn back to face her. “My lady?”

“How long must we pretend?” Her voice thick with tears. “My love for you did not diminish in your absence. It has grown stronger with you here.” The sound of her soft footsteps on the Wilton carpet drew nearer. “And I believe you love me still.”

Her tears had ceased. Jamie wished that gave him more relief than it did. But her words shattered the last of his reserve. “Yes, I do love you still.” He still would not look at her, though at this moment he could cast his entire future to the wind just to proclaim that love to the world.
No.
One of them must be strong.

She touched his arm, and he covered her hand with his—an instinctive gesture he could not undo.

“Jamie.” Her voice caressed his name.

He turned and pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on her head. Ah, the comfort of her responding embrace swept through his entire being, even as his heart ached for their impossible situation, even as he feared she might notice the crinkle of the stolen letter.

A soft, shaky laugh escaped her. “Will you kiss me?”

Shoving away every thought of intrigue, he pressed his lips against her smooth white forehead. “My beloved.”

“But I meant—”

He cut her short, bending to kiss her lips gently, then firmly. “Will that do?”

Another shaky laugh. “Yes. It tells me what I wished to know.” She moved out of his embrace and took his hand, leading him to the settee in front of Bennington’s desk.

And now he sat there holding her white-gloved hands and thanking the good Lord they both had a strong measure of self-control. But it was those very hands that made marriage impossible for them. If he took her back to East Florida, no matter how his business prospered, she would have work to do, as did every person in that wilderness, whether wealthy or poor, master, mistress or servant. She would not be able to wear gloves for her work, and soon her hands would become callused like everyone else’s. He could not do that to her.

“What are we to do, Jamie?” The innocence and trust in her voice stabbed into his heart.

He reached out to caress her smooth cheek. “Beloved, you realize there is nothing we
can
do, don’t you? We are not well suited. Therefore, we must pray for strength to follow the paths God has chosen for us. For as surely as we sit here, He has ordained separate paths for us.”

“No.” She gulped back a sob, and he could see she was trying not to cry. It was no use. A flood of tears poured down her cheeks, and she grasped his hand tighter. He bent close and touched his forehead to hers.
This too shall pass,
he told himself.
One day this pain will subside.
But he’d never been successful at lying to himself.

Marianne could not stop her tears, but with deep breaths, she managed not to sob. She would save that for later in her bedchamber. Despite her denial, she knew Jamie spoke the truth, although it stirred a bitter rebellion within her. There simply must be a way for them to share a future together.

“I do wish to follow God’s path.” She reached for the handkerchief in her sleeve and dabbed her cheeks. “But I am not convinced His will is to separate us.”

Jamie took the handkerchief and finished the job of patting away her tears, a tender gesture that calmed her. “He’s already separated us through our births, and the work He’s given each of us will take us to different places.” Sorrow creased his broad forehead.

“Yes, you have important work to do. But what work has God given me? I am pampered by my parents and society, and I know full well my uselessness on this earth.”

“How can you say that?” He reached out as if to touch her cheek again, but then withdrew his hand. “Your charitable work among London’s orphans is an example to that same society, and I know it comes out of a true Christian heart.”

“But are there not poor people everywhere? I can minister to the needy wherever the Lord sends
you.
”

“Not at sea. Not to my crew.” His words were a whisper, yet she flinched at this truth.

“But will you always sail your own ship? As you prosper, will you not hire others to import your wares so you can settle in comfort either here or in East Florida?”

He started to speak, but she touched a finger to his lips. “Would we not have a lovely life there? You and I, Frederick and Rachel. Oh, Jamie, I so dearly long to know my brother’s wife, my own dear sister. Will you not take me there to meet her?”

Jamie moved back, staring beyond her as if contemplating her words. But then he shook his head. “Lord Bennington will never approve our marriage.”

“Perhaps we should give him a chance to approve or disapprove. He surely thinks well enough of you. He has
made you like a son, even favored you over his own.” She felt like a traitor to Robert for saying it. William, Thomas and Frederick had all found their places in life, but dear Robert was still far from it, even with his recent improvements. “We have not been fair to him. We must give him a chance to say yes or no.”

“But what if it’s no, as it likely will be?”

“I cannot think he would deny me my happiness when he himself has been so happy in marriage with Mama.”

A loud sneeze came from the room’s other settee, which faced the hearth. Marianne jumped, and Jamie drew in a soft breath. The man chuckled as he peered over the settee back. His face was shadowed, but the well-formed shape of his head was unmistakable.

“Well, isn’t this a pretty pickle?”

“Robert!” Marianne thought she might faint. “What are you doing here?”

Robert sat up and scratched his jaw. “I came to escape the ball.”

“But you were having such a grand time.” Marianne feared some lady had wounded him.

“Perhaps I should say I came to escape trouble.” He rose and crossed the room. “The brandy looked all too inviting, and Tobias Pincer was there waving a glass under my nose.” He gave Jamie a weak smile. “I turned him down, but somehow I do not feel as if I entirely won that battle.”

“Pincer.” Jamie’s voice resounded with disdain. “I thought you got rid of him.”

“I did, but his father has some influence with Bennington, so I certainly could not avoid him.” Wearing a teasing grin, Robert sat on the chair next to the settee and looked
back and forth from Jamie to Marianne. “So my suspicions are correct. What are we going to do about this fine mess?”

Jamie cringed. Things were getting far too complicated. He’d nearly lost his life—twice. His love for Marianne had no future, he felt the burn of an important document against his chest, and now Moberly was putting himself in the mix. Had he heard Jamie examining the desk? What a fool he’d been for not searching the dark corners of the room first. Moberly hadn’t made a sound, nor had the scent of his bergamot cologne carried across the room.

Jamie must turn this conversation away from delicate matters of the heart. “Why don’t you feel as if you won the battle against the brandy?”

Moberly slumped in his chair. “Strange, is it not? I turned away from it, but I wanted it very badly. I went away feeling deprived and cross that other men can drink and I cannot. Once I begin, I cannot stop.” He rested his elbow on the chair arm and propped his chin on his hand. “Even now, my mouth waters at the thought of brandy.”

“Oh, Robert.” Marianne reached out to squeeze her brother’s arm. “I am very proud of you. I had the lemonade. It is quite tasty and has a splash of strawberries. Will you not have some of that?”

He gave her a paternal smile. “Yes, I should do that. Next time I will.” He straightened and patted her hand. “But for now, here we are, and you two still have not answered my question.”

Jamie permitted himself to feel a bit relieved. Moberly didn’t seem in any way suspicious of him. The best way to handle the other situation was straight on. “If you heard our conversation, my friend, you know of our feelings for each other. But you also know the impossibility of our being any more than friends. Please help me convince
your sister of this painful truth.” How he regretted his confession of love to her. He should have walked right out of the room.

“Well…” Moberly drawled the word. “You could elope. There would be a bit of a scandal, but then, society needs one of those from time to time. Eventually it would die down, and you could live on in bliss, oblivious to it.”

Jamie stiffened. “Lord Bennington has done nothing but good for me. I would never do that to him.” Except for advising the king to send thousands of soldiers to quash the Revolution.

Moberly’s laugh was sardonic. “Ah, my good man, I would do
that
to Bennington. But then he would disown me completely, and my ladylove would suffer for it.”

“Speaking of your ladylove.” Jamie grasped this diversion. “You and Miss Kendall enjoy each other’s company.” He glanced at Marianne for her confirmation.

She nodded and gave Moberly a mischievous smile. “You do indeed.”

Moberly snorted. “And how will penniless I provide for penniless her?” A pained, wistful look overtook his shadowed countenance. “Indeed, how?” Again he snorted. “I should have gone into the church. Father could have found me a living among his friends. But alas, I came to faith far too late.”

“Why too late?” The idea pulsed through Jamie. “You have your Oxford education. You know your Scriptures. With the proper mentor from among the clergy, you could become a very fine minister.”

Moberly’s frown lessened. “I was joking, but—”

“But why not?” Marianne’s face glowed with love for her brother. “Do you have any idea how long Grace has prayed for you?” She bit her lip. “Oh, do not tell her I told you. She
would be mortified. But if anyone would suit for a minister’s wife, it is she.”

A smile broke over Moberly’s entire face. “I will…it seems strange for me to say this…
pray
about this matter. Yes, I will pray, first, that the Lord will show His will regarding my future. And second, that He will make Miss Kendall a part of that future.”

“Well reasoned,” Jamie said. “I’ll pray likewise for you.”

“And I, too.” Marianne stood. “Now, we must return to the ball. Mama will be disappointed to find us shirking our hosting duties.”

Jamie and Moberly rose, each offering her an arm. With a laugh, she took both of them, and the three proceeded to the door. “We look like a trio of conspirators, do we not?”

Her words sent a chill down Jamie’s spine.

Marianne lay abed that night thinking of all that had transpired. Although Jamie had confessed his love, they had not settled anything. But if he thought she would give up on their future, he was quite mistaken. Robert’s suggestion about elopement had long ago occurred to her, but that would ruin Jamie’s partnership with Papa. Somehow she must find a way either to break his resolve against asking Papa for her hand, or throw all to the wind and follow him back to East Florida, which would protect Jamie and put all the blame on her shoulders.

How could it be accomplished? Her brother Thomas was an officer in His Majesty’s navy. Perhaps he could see to her passage. No, Thomas was all rules and order. He would never help her against their father.

She stared through the darkness toward the little chamber where Emma slept. When Marianne came upstairs after the last guest left the ball, her servant seemed particularly
happy. Upon examination, she’d confessed to a pleasant visit with Aaron Quince under the watchful eye of Mrs. Bennett, the housekeeper. As surely as Marianne trusted Jamie’s integrity, she trusted his Quince not to play with Emma’s heart. She fully understood that if they married, Emma would return to East Florida with him. While Papa might be mildly displeased to have a servant desert his household, he would not go against Mama, who had brought the orphaned Emma into their home.

Feeling far from sleep and more than a little envious, Marianne let her imagination wander. She could see herself bundled up in a plain brown cloak, boarding the
Fair Winds
as Emma’s lady’s maid. No one would know the difference, even Jamie, until they were far out to sea. She laughed into the darkness at the silly idea. Then sat straight up in her bed.

Perhaps the idea was not so silly, after all.