How to Treat a Lady (6 page)

Now that she considered it, this man did look somewhat like that pirate. Elviria tilted her head to one side. The man's feet touched the bottom of the bed, so he was tall, with broad shoulders and tapered hips, much as one would expect from a sea captain. Of course, he didn't seem the nautical type, but with a little help—

Elviria caught her thoughts. Did she dare? If she could convince the man in the bed to pretend to be Captain John Frakenham for a short period of time—no more than a week or two at most—it would be enough to quiet the bank and gain the family the time they needed to get the wool to market.

But…would he? How could she even ask? She didn't even know the poor man, and he was bound to refuse, just based on the ridiculousness of it all. He didn't owe them a thing.

She sneaked a look at him and frowned. Beneath
his polite exterior, there was something hard about him, something implacable that boded ill for her idea.

Perhaps…perhaps she shouldn't ask him. Perhaps she should just
tell
him. Tell him that he was Captain John Frakenham.

The audacity of the idea held her frozen in place, her mind racing. How bold! And how…perfect.

The sudden thought of Harriet, who was even now in the sitting room with that horrid Mr. Gower, solidified Elviria's resolve. How difficult could it be to convince this man that he was the captain? He didn't know who he was, so what could he care? Perhaps, in a way, it would be a relief to the poor dear to know that he was
someone
. Someone important.

From the bed, Chase watched as a confusing flicker of emotions traced across Mrs. Ward's expressive countenance. Something was happening. She was astonishingly silent, staring at him as if he was undergoing some sort of transformation before her very eyes. He touched the bandage to see if his wound had reopened, but it was smooth and dry.

She smiled brightly. Too brightly.

An alarm sounded deep in Chase's head. He had a sister. He knew what that smile meant. Mrs. Ward wanted something. And from the degrees of brightness of her smile, it was something very uncomfortable.

She patted his hand in a maternal way. “I suppose you are wondering why my daughter, Harriet, seems so short of temper with you.”

“I…ah. No. Not really. We didn't have the chance to be properly introduced, and I suppose I might have irritated her into an ill humor.”

“Oh, Harriet is
never
in an ill mood.” Mrs. Ward paused, then said in a meaningful tone, “But then
you
know that.”

How could he know anything about Harriet Ward? He'd only just met her. Truly alarmed, Chase made sure his arms were free from the bed clothing. He might need both hands if he had to break free and make a run for it. “If Miss Ward was short of temper, it was because of me. I wasn't in a very pleasant frame of mind on waking.”

“Whatever you said, it wouldn't have mattered. Harriet is upset because—” She swallowed, as if the next words were too hard to form.

Chase wondered if he should prompt her on. Perhaps he should just leave it as it was, tell the woman that he was tired and hope she forgot whatever it was that she wanted.

But somehow he knew that whatever she wanted to say, would be said. Either now or later. So with a sigh, he asked, “Why is Miss Ward upset with me?”

Mrs. Ward looked directly at him, then said in a great rush, “Harriet is upset because you don't remember her.”

Chase touched his bandage. “Pardon me. My ears seem to be ringing. Did you say that your daughter believes that I should
remember
her?”

“Yes! That's it exactly!
You
may not remember who you are, but
we
, my dear sir, most certainly do.”

The low ringing in his ears turned into a dull roar. “Who am I, then?” he heard himself ask in a dumbfounded voice.

“Captain John Frakenham. You are betrothed to Harriet, and you, my dear, kind sir, have come to save the day!”

C
hase was hallucinating. Yes, that's what had happened. He was dreaming. In truth, he was still lying in his own blood in the forest, the thieves arguing over his possessions. He was not at a mysterious place called Garrett Park, surrounded by raving lunatics who just appeared to be normal. Like the angelic-looking woman in a lace cap who had just announced that he was a man named Captain John Frakenham and was engaged to her daughter.

What was even worse was that Mrs. Ward was so maddened by whatever spell held her brain in thrall, that she didn't even know to look shamefaced at such a lie. Instead, she beamed at him as if she'd just conferred a great gift of some sort.

Chase caught her eager gaze and sighed. He
wasn't hallucinating. This was really happening.
Bloody hell, what am I to do now?

Surely she didn't expect him to believe such a faradiddle. And even if he really had lost his memory and had fallen for her lame story, what did she think would happen when his memory returned?

When Chase had been ten, his younger brother, Devon, had fallen off his horse while taking a particularly brutal fence during a mad hunt. When Devon had awakened, he hadn't known who he was for almost a day.

For Chase and his older brothers, once they saw that Devon was fine, only confused, the incident had been cause for great merriment. Undetected by their parents, they had sneaked into the sickroom and attempted to convince Devon that he was, in fact, the illegitimate son of the head groomsman, a huge burly fellow with an askance eye and a horrible scar down his face.

There had been hell to pay when they'd been caught, and they'd all been sentenced to muck out the stables under the stern presence of that very head groomsman, but it had been worth it.

Mrs. Ward went to the window, where a low chair stood in the swath of slowly growing sunshine. She pulled the chair to the side of the bed, angled it toward Chase, then sat down, her skirts billowing about her, her gaze fixed on his face.

Chase wished she hadn't done that. The bed was rather high, and she was not the tallest of women. With the help of the chair, she was now staring him right in the eyes, her gaze wide and unblinking, as if she'd determined never to look away again.

He cleared his throat, wondering how to begin.

“Madam, I believe there has been some sort of mistake—”

“Oh, no!
You
are Captain Frakenham, though you don't remember it.”

“Am I indeed?”

“Oh yes!” She nodded so hard her lace cap seemed in imminent danger of taking flight. “I've known you a long time myself.”

Chase lifted his brows. “How long?”

“
Very
long! In fact, you might say that I've known you longer than anyone.”

She seemed so secure in her belief that she could convince him that he was the admirable captain that Chase almost felt guilty for knowing who he really was. It was odd, but despite the fact that this woman was attempting to bamboozle him, Chase couldn't help but feel that she wasn't a truly untrustworthy individual—at least, not usually. She possessed far too serene a spirit to be anything other than guileless. And in all honesty, she wasn't a very good liar, either.

But what in the world did she hope to gain by this deception? “Madam, perhaps we had best speak plainly.”

Mrs. Ward blinked once. Twice. Then she cleared her throat. “Plainly?”

“You say I am this…Captain Frakenham?”

“Yes.”

“Who is engaged to your daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Then why does your daughter act as if she's never met me before?”

“Oh, you know Harriet!” Mrs. Ward said airily. “She can be a bit stubborn at times.”

Chase thought of the firm set to Harriet's mouth,
and he rather thought perhaps Mrs. Ward was understating the case.

Mrs. Ward placed her hand on his sleeve. “Captain Frakenham, I dislike placing this on your shoulders after your grievous injuries. But Garrett Park is in dire straits.”

Chase leaned his head back against the pillows. Here it was—the reason she wanted him to be someone he was not. “How dire are things?”

She gave him an embarrassed smile. “Very. But we were doing well until Mr. Gower joined the board of directors at the bank. Even though I've told him of your existence and the funds you will shortly provide—”

“Funds?”

“Profits from your sailing. You're a very good captain, you know.”

“That is reassuring to hear.”

“I thought so,” she said, unaware of his sarcasm. “Despite your existence, Mr. Gower continues to be an annoyance.”

Chase's lips twitched. A rising wave of curiosity was beginning to tickle his sense of the ridiculous. “I take it that there is some question to the existence of the good captain's fortune?”

“Well…not a question exactly. More of an inquiry. And not just about the fortune.” Mrs. Ward bit her lip. “You see, we mentioned…that is,
I
mentioned your existence to the bank officers—Mr. Gower in particular—thinking they might give us an extension on the mortgage.”

“I hope they were duly impressed.”

“Oh, very! You, my dearest sir, are in charge of a large ship! A very large ship. A very,
successful
large ship.”

“That's also good to hear. By the way, what's the name of the ship?”

She blinked. “I—I don't—”

“Where was I sailing from?”

“I—we never—”

“And my crew? Will they be joining me here? Or am I to meet them somewhere else?”

“Oh dear!” Mrs. Ward pressed a hand to her cheek. “I—I'm sure I know the answers but not at this moment. I'm a bit distraught, you see. Mr. Gower is here, and that always muddles my thinking.”

Chase regarded her steadily. Something strange was going on. Something stranger than he'd first realized. Not only was this woman telling him that he was someone he wasn't, but she didn't seem to have a firm grasp on who, exactly, he was supposed to be. It was almost as if this Captain Frakenham was a complete figment of someone's imag—

Chase's brows rose. Was that it? Had the Wards
concocted
the captain in an effort to stave off the bank?

He silently considered that, a glimmer of realization beginning to glow. “Let me see if I understand this; the bank was demanding their money, so you waved Captain Frakenham—”

“Which is you,” Mrs. Ward interjected with a hopeful look.

“—which you
say
is me,” Chase said implacably, “in front of the officers in an effort to gain some time?”

“Yes. And except for Mr. Gower, everyone has been quite satisfied. But now that you're here, we can set his pesky reservations to rest. All we need to do is let Mr. Gower see you—not for long because you are, after all, an invalid—but long enough that he stops asking so many questions.”

“I take it you don't wish me to reveal that I don't remember who I am?”

“If you don't mind, it would be best if you'd just pretend to remember that you are indeed the captain.” She clasped her hands together. “Oh, this will solve everything! Now we'll have time to get the wool to market and—”

“Wool?”

“Oh yes. Harriet bought hundreds of sheep. We're going to shear them and make the last payment; then Garrett Park will be ours.”

Bloody hell, they're sheep farmers, the lot of them.
That explained why Miss Harriet Ward had such a lovely, aristocratic accent, yet was as tanned as a laundress.

In fact, that explained quite a lot of things. For the first time since he'd awakened, Chase took stock of his surroundings. The chamber was large and square, with two huge windows that allowed sun to stream warmly into the room.

Perhaps it was the largeness of the windows or the warm red colors that decorated the room, but until that moment, he'd thought himself rather sumptuously housed. Now, however, he could see the threadbare spots on the rugs, the lack of decoration on the walls—as if all the pictures had been removed—and the overly soft, worn appearance of the counterpane.

The Wards might be from genteel stock, but it was rather obvious they were not well-off. And now, forced by penury to earn their way, they'd concocted a fictitious fiancé for Miss Harriet to keep the bank at bay.

It was a bold move. Chase eyed his hostess with a new respect. “You had some ill fortune.”

“Oh, my, yes! My husband passed away several
years ago. It's just me, my three daughters and two sons. So far, we've managed on our own. But now—” She placed her hand on his arm, a genuine plea in her eyes. “Captain Frakenham, we need your help.”

Chase looked at Mrs. Ward's hand, resting so innocuously on his sleeve. Good God, it was almost as if she thought him a knight on a white horse.

Unfortunately, Chase knew who and what he was. He was not a knight, and he felt anything but noble. “Mrs. Ward, I am not Captain Frakenham.”

“No? Then who are you?”

Chase opened his mouth to answer. But a split second's thought made him close it. He was supposed to have no memory of who he was. If he wanted the Wards to believe that and not ask incessant questions, then he couldn't really argue about who he was
not
, could he?

Damn it all, perhaps he should just pretend to suddenly recall his name…but no. Word would reach his brothers within the day, if not the hour. Devon's house was only a short distance from where Chase had been attacked. His brothers would immediately ride out and attempt to talk him out of his decision to leave England.

Still, it was a shame to leave the Wards in such a predicament. Perhaps…he frowned. What if…Good Lord, he couldn't believe he was even considering this, but…what if he
did
agree to become Captain Frakenham? For a few days, at least. He could be a great help to the Wards, and he'd have a safe place to convalesce without his brothers being the wiser to his proximity to London.

The idea had some merit. The thought of traveling with an aching head held no appeal. Besides, as much as he didn't want to admit it, he disliked the
thought of Miss Harriet Ward brangling with the bank official. He had no doubt she would hold her own, but at what cost?
Any
cost was too high. She was far too young to pay the price of her own father's shortsightedness. Chase had a sister who was almost the same age he judged Harriet to be, and the entire situation was untenable.

Chase eyed Mrs. Ward. “Tell me more about Captain Frakenham.”

Mrs. Ward straightened her lace cap. “More? Of course! Let's see, your name is Captain John Frakenham and you have a large ship.”

“That much, I know. Do I have any brothers or sisters?”

She bit her lip. “I'm not sure.”

“Where was I born?”

“Devonshire, perhaps. Or maybe Yorkshire. No, wait!” She beamed. “The Lake District! It's lovely up there; I traveled through it with my uncle when I was ten, and it was just breathtaking.”

“You don't know where I'm from.”

Her smile faded. “Well…not really. No one ever asked.” She caught his gaze and added quickly, “And you never told us. The topic simply never came up.”

“Hm. How long have I been sailing.”

“I—I—”

“And what items do I deal in? Tea? Silks? What?”

“I don't—”

“How old am I?”

“Old?” Her gaze grew somewhat glazed. “I'm sure I don't know. But it's not important. All you need to remember for your interview with Mr. Gower is that you're engaged to Harriet and stand to receive a large amount of money very soon.”

Chase wondered if he should press the issue and force Mrs. Ward to confess her deception, but then he thought he caught the glint of tears in her soft brown eyes.

His humor fled. Not tears. He could never hold his own against a crying female; it was his one weakness. When he'd been growing up and his little sister Sara had cried, he'd always given in. Always.

Sara was married now, a countess in her own right and the mother of two children. But even today, if she were to come to Chase, a tear on her cheek, he would do anything she asked. It was one of the things that drove him mad thinking about the woman he'd run down with his carriage. Had she cried? Had anyone heard her? Helped her?

Or had she been left to die alone in the middle of a cold, rain-washed street?

His throat tightened, his head aching anew. How could he live with this? How could he expect his brothers to live with it? He touched his forehead where it ached. He'd figure out what to do. As soon as he felt better. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, a surge of irritation washing through him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I am sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn't mean to let that slip.”

A faint smile touched her lips. “That's quite all right. Mr. Ward was renowned for just such slippage.”

Chase found himself regarding his hostess with a faint smile. It was hard to do else—the sun had shimmered her white hair into a lace-topped halo, and her eyes were amazingly like her daughter's.

“Captain John Frakenham,” he heard himself say, as if he was trying the name on for size.

Mrs. Ward beamed and, once again, Chase was reminded of Harriet. Harriet who was even now downstairs being importuned by Gower. Though Chase had never met him, he had no doubts about the quality of man Gower must be. “I suppose I'll do it.”

“Thank you! You will make an excellent Captain Frakenham!”

Chase looked at her.

“Oh—I—that is to say, you
are
Captain Frakenham so
of course
you'll do just fine.”

“Hm. Well, if I'm to meet Gower, you'd best tell me everything you know about the good captain. Or rather, what everyone here knows of him.”

Her brow lowered in thought. “Well, Captain Frakenham is very handsome.”