Her Heart's Captain (7 page)

“Mama,” Jenny exclaimed in disapproval, “surely you're not sorry to avoid the acquaintance of the mother of that monster!”

Lady Garvin shrugged. “Well, there's no use in discussing it, for we shall not have the opportunity. Naturally I shan't accept an invitation which requires us to sit at the same table with that man.”

But the matter was not so easily settled. Robbie, when he heard the news, indicated that he was positively eager to meet his captain socially.

“Robbie, you must be joking!” his sister cried, aghast. “You
can't
wish to be in his company. It's bad enough that you must come face to face with him aboard ship, but now you're on holiday.”

“That's just it, Jenny. On holiday, on a social occasion, I can meet him on a more equal footing and make a better impression.”

“But that's … that's
toadying
!”

Robbie threw her a look of scorn. “Not at all,” he denied vehemently. “Is it toadying, Mama, to wish to be better myself in his eyes? After all, without his commendation, I may not even sit for the lieutenant's examinations when I've become qualified. My whole career depends on his favor.”

Lady Garvin studied her beloved boy with a brow wrinkled in concern. “Is it as bad as that? Can't we ask Uncle Alistair to arrange for you to be transferred or some such thing?”

“No, it can't be done, Mama. I'm in the Navy, you know, not in some trumpery boys' school. Besides, I don't wish to be transferred. I've become accustomed to the ship. I have friends … and a standing with the other Middies. And now I've stumbled into this amazing opportunity—I find myself a mere two miles down the road from where the captain will be staying! The other fellows will be livid with envy when they hear of my luck—”

“
Luck?
” Jenny could scarcely believe her ears.

“Yes, luck. At a social occasion like a dinner party, the captain will not behave as he does on shipboard, you know. He's not the captain of the Clement household but only a guest. He can't issue orders or take command.”

“But—” his mother began.

“I think,” Robbie cut her off, excitement building in his breast, “that it will be the greatest lark to be able to talk with him familiarly.”

Lady Garvin exchanged alarmed glances with her daughter. “But what if he shouldn't care to speak familiarly with a member of his crew?” she asked her son.

“Oh, I shan't be so foolish as to force myself into his notice. But if he gives me the opportunity to converse with him—”

“Robbie, love,” Jenny said gently, “I think that, for many reasons, it would be much better
not
to try to stand on terms of familiarity with him. It seems to me to be most advisable to remain completely apart from the festivities at Clement Hall.”

“That's not to be thought of,” Robbie responded emphatically. “It's a real opportunity for me. I'd be a fool to miss it. Besides, if he learns that I was invited and didn't attend, he might very well take offense. It wouldn't stand me in good stead to arouse his ire.”

“That's as good as admitting you're afraid of him,” Jenny said bluntly. “I've never heard you speak this way before. It sounds to me, love, as if you are succumbing to cowardice.”

“You may call it what you wish,” Robbie retorted, “but now that I've seen something of real life, Jenny, I realize you're rather unworldly. An innocent idealist. I've learned to live as a realist, and I see that it will do me no good if the captain learns from the Clements that I've been complaining so bitterly about him that my family refuses to sit down to table with him!”

“Good heavens, I never thought of
that
!” his mother said worriedly.

“Then you'd better think of it. If he made my life miserable before, just because I left Jenny alone on the dock for half-an-hour, only think what he'd do if he learned I'd spoken ill of him to my relations and to his own!”

“Oh,
dear
,” Lady Garvin murmured, “I
have
been telling the Clements how we feel about Captain Allenby. And all the while I
knew
they were related.”

“You knew?” Jenny asked in considerable surprise. “Why did you never mention it to me?”

“I don't know. It didn't seem very important. He's never come to visit in all these years, so it didn't seem as if the man was any closer to them than to strangers. Now, however, it's clear that I should have been more discreet.”

Robbie looked perturbed. “Are you saying you told the Clements what I'd written in my
letters
? Good God, you don't think they'd
repeat
any of that, do you?”

“No, I don't. But I shall go to see Sally Clement first thing tomorrow and tell her we shall be delighted to come to her welcome dinner. I'm certain that, if I drop a word in her ear, she'll caution her family not to repeat any of the things we've been saying about Allenby all these months.”

“I hope so, Mama,” Robbie said, “for if she spills the beans, I
shall
be in the soup. And as for you, Jenny, I hope you can be discreet as well. If you show the captain the slightest dislike, he'll undoubtedly blame me for it. So be sure to be polite to him, if my future means anything to you.”

Jenny stared at her brother and her mother in dismay. They were both behaving in a way that Jenny could not admire. At
best
they could be called self-serving, and at worst hypocritical. And they seemed to expect her to fall right in with their machinations. She opened her mouth to remonstrate but on reflection closed it again. She couldn't impose her standards on them. Besides, she adored her brother. Suppose he was right about the captain's ability to determine his future? She couldn't take it upon herself to endanger that future because of her own—how had Robbie put it?—unworldly idealism.

Thus she made no objection when her mother and brother decided that the family was to take part in the festivities at Clement Hall after all. As soon as the decision was made, Jenny excused herself and went up to her room. Her stomach churned in agitation. She would have to face Captain Allenby, offer him her hand and even talk to him. She wasn't at all sure she could manage to endure it.

She sank down on her bed, her mind swimming with images of the forthcoming scene at the Clements' dinner, when she would face the captain for the first time. Would he smile at her in intimate recollection of their earlier meeting, or would he have forgotten her completely? If he remembered her, would he try to kiss her hand? She shuddered in repugnance. When she looked at him again, she would no longer see that kind gentleman of her former imaginings—the one who'd recovered her baggage and whose eyes had gleamed in a flash of attraction. No, that gentleman had been nothing but a fiction—the figment of an innocent girl's dreams. When she looked at him now, she would be able to see only the beast who'd ordered a man to be whipped until he bled.

She loved her brother, and for his sake she would have to hide her revulsion toward his captain. For the sake of Robbie's future, she would have to be polite, expedient, hypocritical. In a word, civil.

But to act such a role was very much against her grain. She
was
idealistic and didn't enjoy having to join her family in playing toady. Only for Robbie would she restrain her natural instincts and be civil; but even for Robbie she would do no more. She couldn't. She would be completely incapable of showing the captain a smile, a glance or the slightest expression of warmth. Toward the horrid Captain Allenby mere civility was all anyone could expect of her.

Chapter Six

Despite the fact that Lady Garvin awoke next morning with a digestive upset and a severe attack of the megrims, she rose from her bed, dressed and, refusing to swallow any breakfast, sent for the carriage. As she explained to Jenny, she intended to correct her indiscretions of the last few months (during which she'd poured into Sally Clement's ear every complaint Robbie had written about his captain and a few more of her own devising) by going to see Sally without delay. To avoid further damage to Robbie's career, it was necessary to secure Sally's promise never to repeat those confidences to a soul.

She returned home several hours later in a strange mood. Although her megrims were gone and her stomach had settled itself well enough to permit her to order Cullum to serve an early and proper tea that afternoon (she'd already partaken of a luncheon in Sally's company, but it had been light and quite inadequate), she couldn't say whether she felt relieved or annoyed as a result of her visit. “Though why I should feel so annoyed I don't understand,” she said to Jenny as she joined her in the music room and sank down upon a chair.

Jenny, who'd been playing the piano energetically in an attempt to lose herself in the music, stopped playing and looked at her mother curiously. “Annoyed, Mama? Why?”

“Because Sally behaved as if we'd never uttered a word about Captain Allenby's reprehensible character. I believe that she's so delighted at the prospect of entertaining her distinguished guests that she's wiped from her mind all of my disparagements of the fellow.”

“Then I think you should be delighted. You need no longer concern yourself about the problem of your remarks being repeated.”

“I
am
delighted,” her mother said, her frown so pronounced that it belied her words, “but doesn't it strike you as irritating that my earlier remarks should have made so shallow an impression on her?”

“Not so very irritating. I've noticed that one's troubles rarely make as deep an impression on others as they do on one's self. Lady Clement, not being Robbie's mother, can't be expected to feel as deeply about his problems as you do.”

“You're right. She has no sons and therefore can't be expected to understand my feelings. And it's just as well that she doesn't remember all my complaints. The less the Clements remember, the smaller the chance of anything being repeated to cause us embarrassment.”

“Or to cause difficulty for Robbie,” Jenny added.

“Yes. I shall force myself to look upon the bright side. No matter how revolting it will be to associate with that man, we shall at least have the pleasure of meeting Lady Rowcliffe and of attending all the festivities.” She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes reflectively. “I think, Jenny, that I shall need a couple of new gowns. I've worn the purple ducapes too often, and the turquoise crape is sadly out of date. And as for you, my girl, I won't have you wearing that dove-colored poplin one more time. It makes you look a positive dowd. I've been saving five yards of the most beautiful apricot-colored silk which I shall have Mrs. Elvin make up for you.”

“Just as you wish, Mama,” Jenny murmured, turning back to her music.

Lady Garvin rose to leave. “I hope you don't intend to hammer away at the piano very much longer, Jenny,” she said from the doorway. “I'm quite famished, as you may surmise (not having had any breakfast and only having taken the lightest of luncheons), and I've told Cullum to serve tea as soon as possible. I shall be ready for it in ten minutes. Don't keep me waiting for you forever.”

Jenny resumed her playing, but though her fingers flew over the keys as busily as before, her heart and mind were no longer engrossed in the act. She was aware of a painful lowering of her spirits, and the few minutes left to her to lose herself in the music seemed an inadequate amount of time to lift those spirits to their usual, cheerful level. She'd always considered herself a lighthearted sort, finding contentment in many aspects of her daily life despite her mother's carding. (Even in childhood she'd been able to slough off the barbs that her mother shot at her, realizing that they were unwitting and not really intended to cut away at Jenny's self-esteem.) She'd always been optimistic, waking each morning with an eagerness to explore the coming day. It was only in the last few months that she'd begun to notice that her usual cheerfulness was harder to maintain.

Just now, for example, she'd found herself unable to ignore (as she'd always managed to do before) her mother's remark about her “hammering away” at her music. Jenny was quite proficient at the pianoforte; in truth she believed she possessed some little talent for it. Yet her mother rarely sat down to listen and never offered a word of praise. Ordinarily, Jenny would not be disturbed by this. After all, her mother had little knowledge of or interest in music of any sort;
clementi himself
might play for her without receiving a nod of approbation. But today, Jenny had felt a little catch of tears in her throat when her mother had said those words. Why, after all these years of indifference to her mother's disdain, was she all at once so hurt by it? Why was she suddenly so vulnerable and so filled with unwonted sensibilities? Why after all these years had she become so painfully aware of being second in her mother's affections?

But it was not only her mother who could lower her spirits. Everything, of late, seemed to depress her. It was as if she'd moved abruptly from a sunny world to one of shadow. The people she met seemed, somehow,
darker
than they were before. They now seemed to hold within them the possibility of evil. An innocent-seeming little boy could be, in reality, a decoy for a thief; a gentleman who appeared kindly could really be a cruel, power-maddened tyrant. Things and people that had once seemed pleasant and friendly now might possess ugly, hidden secrets.

Probably that had always been so, but she hadn't seen it before. Something had changed within
her
. Some innocence that had made things seem light had died, and nothing was the same.

Perhaps her earlier cheerfulness had merely been childishness. Perhaps this new awareness of the darkness underneath the smiling surface of things was a symptom of adulthood. Was
this
what was happening to her—was she growing up at last? If that was so, it was really too bad. Life had been more pleasant before.