The Falcon and the Sparrow (13 page)

C
hase poured himself another swig of brandy, grabbed the glass, and tossed the golden liquid to the back of his mouth. It slid down his throat like fire and plunged into his belly, radiating a pleasant numbness to his agitated nerves.

“Sir, should you be partaking quite so much before the dance?” sebastian asked.

Chase spun on his heel and glared at the butler as the slender man brushed off Chase’s navy frock and ensured the gold buttons on the cuffs were snug. He knew the man was right, but ever since dinner that evening—dinner he had reluctantly consumed in the company of both his son and Miss Dawson—he had been unable to stifle a rising tide of trepidation.

The conversation had flowed well enough, and the food had been delicious as always, but Miss Dawson’s alluring smile, the ease of her intelligent conversation, and the way she interacted with William had caught Chase off guard. The boy beamed in her presence as if a part of him had been brought back to life, that part within Chase that he preferred to remain dead and buried.

Unfamiliar confusion stormed through him as he stomped across his bedchamber. He hated these blasted balls, should be furious that he’d been finagled into going, should dread the whole event. Then why did he find that a small part of him sparked with anticipation? The unwelcome sensation kindled a burning fury, and that, coupled with extreme unease, had led to his drinking.
Why couldn’t he be out upon his ship where life was simple and straightforward? He hunted the enemy and then blasted that enemy with his cannons. Here in London, he had no idea whom his enemy was. Everything was muddled beneath pretensions, etiquette, peerage, and treacherous courtship rituals. Even his own feelings betrayed him.

“Why did you never marry, sebastian?” Chase huffed as he plopped into a chair and shoved his foot into a leather boot. Sebastian had been with him for seven years, but Chase felt he barely knew the man. He had only recently learned of his butler’s French heritage on his mother’s side, something that, as a british admiral in wartime, he should have known. He cursed himself for his negligence and eyed sebastian with suspicion. Yes, indeed, why hadn’t the man taken a wife?

The butler raised one gray eyebrow and disappeared into the dressing closet, reappearing within seconds, a white silk cravat in hand. “I have always believed, sir, that marriage is naught but a prison that serves only to keep a man from achieving success.”

“Indeed?” Chase thrust his other foot into his boot, surprised at the butler’s declaration and wondering if it were more of an excuse than the truth.

Sebastian cleared his throat, his cheeks purpling as if he were suddenly afraid of Chase’s anger. “ ’Tis only my personal belief, sir. I know it was not the way of things with you and Mrs. Randal.”

“Never fear, sebastian. I do not fault you for it. In fact, I find myself quite in agreement with you these days.” Chase stood and tugged the hem of his blue navy waistcoat, wondering why his thoughts had drifted to marriage in the first place.

Sebastian gave him a curious look. “But surely you did not…” He dropped his gaze. “Forgive me.”

“You may speak freely, sebastian.”

“Surely you did not believe so with Mrs. Randal?”

Chase cringed at the second reminder of his wife. Why did everyone in the country have to mention Melody? Wasn’t every inch of this house enough of a reminder? Even this room—this room they had shared. His gaze took in the massive italian oak bed,
and a sinking feeling consumed him. He needed another drink. His eyes shifted to the bottle of brandy sitting on his desk, beckoning him. No, he must keep his wits about him tonight. He would need them to guard against the conniving chicaneries of his sister.

He gave sebastian a stern look. “Mrs. Randal is gone. Do not mention her again.” Chase snatched the cravat from sebastian and flung it about his neck as the butler’s jaw tightened. Sebastian took a step back, and a distant, impassive expression descended on his features. Perhaps Chase had been too harsh. He examined his butler. Tall, slender, always impeccably attired in a white ruffled linen shirt beneath a double-breasted black waistcoat and dark wool breeches, sebastian had the bearing of a stately prince. And although his butler was now fifty and well past the age of marrying, Chase had always wondered how the successful, well-groomed man had been able to resist the more alluring gender. “Did you ever have a lady love, sebastian?”

“No,” the butler replied staunchly, stepping forward to fold the neck cloth in the usual Gordian knot. “My aim has been to oversee the home I am employed in with the utmost efficiency, and to do so affords me little time to pursue other activities.” He stepped back to examine his work, and the lines around his mouth folded into a frown. “No, this will never do…never do.” He hurried forward and engaged in another battle with the silk cloth.

Chase raised his chin, allowing the man to work. Sebastian had done a fine job, especially since Chase had fired his steward recently, forcing sebastian to take over those duties, as well. But had Chase ever complimented the butler on his exemplary work? Had he ever spoken to him outside of an order? Chase opened his mouth to voice his long-overdue approval, but the high-strung butler kept fidgeting with his cravat, jerking Chase’s neck and sending annoyance rather than approbation speeding through him.

He hated being fussed over, even by sebastian, who prided himself on every detail of the Randal home—including the faultless attire of his master. Though Chase didn’t know the man well, surely sebastian’s loyalty for so many years precluded any possibility of
duplicity. The light scent of cedar rose from the aged man as Chase examined a fleet of gray hair atop his head surrounding a last stubborn squadron of brown. Was the man happy with his choice?

“There is something to be said for achieving success in one’s career,” Chase began as sebastian finished with the cravat and held out Chase’s frock. “But do you ever long for anything more?”

Sebastian snapped his head back. His brows sprang up, and Chase wondered whether he was surprised at the question or at the fact that Chase had bothered to ask. “More, sir?”

Chase thrust his arms into the coat then eased it over his shoulders. Had the man wanted love? He harrumphed. “Family.”

“Nay, sir, I came from a rather large family.” sebastian handed Chase his pocket watch and key. “Ten children in all. We had barely enough to eat. My mother died trying to take care of us while my father was away at sea. No, sir.” He shook his head and scratched his bushy gray sideburns. “I find family, even love, vastly overrated.”

Even love.
“Your father is a seaman?” Chase realized he knew nothing about his butler.

“Yes, sir. Was. A petty officer aboard the HMs
Bristol
.”

“Indeed, I had no idea. But you said
was
?”

“He died of the scurvy, sir.” A flicker of malice cooled sebastian’s gaze.

Slipping the watch and key inside his topcoat pocket, Chase studied his butler, curious at his quick change of manner. Did he harbor bitterness about his childhood, and if so, toward whom? in Chase’s employ, the man had never lacked for food or shelter, but in all those years, Chase had yet to see him smile.

Leaning forward, sebastian adjusted the collar of Chase’s frock and handed him his service sword.

“What are your thoughts about Miss Dawson?” Chase asked as he strapped on the sword.

“William seems quite fond of her. But she is a bit skittish, sir, and she often has the cook up in arms.”

“Really. How so?”

“She seems to be consuming large quantities of food, sir.”

Chase chuckled. “You must be mistaken, sebastian. The woman is as tiny as a mouse.”

As Chase examined himself in the gilded looking glass perched by the dressing room, a wave of disgust passed over him. He looked like a navy dandy. He would much rather be wearing the uniform he wore aboard ship than this frock with the stand-up, gold-fringed collar matched in opulence by the gold bullion of his epaulettes. In fact, he would much rather be walking across the weathered deck of his ship at this moment than walking out onto a dance floor at Lady billingsworth’s ball. But he had already given his word to his sister, and a gentleman never goes back on his word.

Chase shrugged off the sudden concern about his appearance.

“You look splendid, sir.” The butler took a step back and nodded. “You’ll have all the ladies swooning, to be sure.”

“That is not my desire, sebastian.” Yet Chase wiped an unintended smile from his lips as his thoughts drifted to Miss Dawson.

Inhaling a deep breath of the misty, chilled air in front of the billingsworth house, Chase proffered his hand to assist Miss Dawson from the landau. She laid her delicate gloved fingers in his, and her eyes met his briefly. Volumes spoke from within their amber depths, and Chase felt weakened in their wake.

When Miss Dawson had descended the stairs that evening, a heated clot had formed in Chase’s throat. It wasn’t the simple but elegant dress she wore or the way she had arranged her hair in a bouquet of chestnut curls around her face. No, there was an aura about her, a sweet spirit that drifted over her—a vulnerability, an innocence that pulled on him with the force of a summer squall, and he’d suddenly regretted inviting her. What had he been thinking?

Percy hopped out of the carriage, gave Miss Dawson one of his lascivious winks, then turned to assist Lady Irene and Chase’s sister. Chase perused the petite governess beside him, only to enjoy the blush rising on her cheeks from Percy’s blatant flirtation. He found her naïveté both refreshing and charming.

Miss Dawson had barely said a word during the carriage ride to the billingsworth house, not when they’d stopped at his parents’ massive estate, nor when his sister had uttered a rude exclamation upon finding her in the landau, nor when Lady Irene snubbed her with her disapproving silence, nor even when Lord Markham had allowed his drooling gaze to feast upon her during the whole journey. She’d simply smiled and endured their cold mannerisms and surly remarks with a grace that confounded Chase. Was it weakness…or something else?

After showering Chase with her most seductive smile, Lady Irene glared at Miss Dawson with a tilt of her pert nose before taking Percy’s arm and proceeding to the front of the house. Couples donned in their finest attire milled about on the square and exited from other carriages that pulled up all along the gravel courtyard.

Lord Markham burst from the carriage, shaking it on its hinges. A waft of strong wine emanated from him. His glazed eyes scanned over Miss Dawson before he offered his arm to Chase’s sister. “Would you do me the honor, Mrs. Barton?” He gazed at the towering white pillars of one of the largest town houses on Grosvenor square. From the windows, orchestra music floated on shimmering light that drifted down upon new arrivals. “Looks to be a fine party, eh, Randal?”

Chase snorted. “We shall see.”

“Really, Randal, quit being such a boor. You have a beautiful lady on your arm and an evening of wine and dance to enjoy. Have fun for a change.” Lord Markham led Katharine to the back of a crowd that had formed at the front entrance.

“You’ve been silent this evening.” Chase glanced at Miss Dawson. Disappointment gnawed at him when her features were lost in the shadows. Then she turned toward the house. A wash of candlelight flickered over her face, and he had a strong urge to caress her cheek. Her eyes glanced over the scene as if distracted before they landed on him again.

“Better to be silent than to say something I would regret, Admiral.”

“Hmm. A good philosophy, I’ll wager. And certainly one which present company could use some instruction upon.” He chuckled, and her responding smile seemed to scatter the darkness around them. He took her arm and caught up to his sister and Lord Markham, feeling a sudden lightness in his step.

Katharine turned to Chase, ignoring Miss Dawson at his side. “How could you offend Lady Irene so?” she hissed.

“Offend?” Chase snickered. “You invited me to this soiree. You never said I couldn’t invite a guest.”

Lord Markham bellowed his greetings to people he knew as he made his way toward the door.