Ransome's Crossing (3 page)

The concern written on his face eased into a smile. “Within the twelvemonth, I promise.” He patted her cheek and stood, groaning as he did so. “It is a sad day when I have grown too old to kneel before a beautiful woman.” He kissed her forehead.

Julia refolded the handkerchief and handed it back to him. “Will you return to London?”

“I must. There are still many cases to be heard. I shall leave early on the morrow.”

“And you plan to join us for dinner at Brampton Park?”

“I thought perhaps I might join Admiral Glover at the Spice Island Inn for supper this evening.” Sir Edward regained his seat behind the large desk.

Julia laughed. “So, we shall expect you at six o’clock, then?”

“Aye, though I am still uncertain that having dinner in so formal a setting is more preferable to the company of a bore. However, as it will be my last chance to be with you, I shall endure it.”

“Lady Dalrymple is not like most other people in society, Papa. It shall be an enjoyable meal, I promise.”

They both turned at a knock on the open study door. Creighton inclined his head. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but the carriage is ready.”

Julia turned back to her father, confused. “I did not realize you had plans to go out, Papa.”

“I am making inspection of Commodore Ransome’s ship. And I thought you might like to accompany me. I shall need to see all areas of the ship. ’Twill likely be your only opportunity to see her from stem to stern.”

Julia’s mind immediately jumped back to her conversation with William at breakfast. “I do not think that is a wise idea—my accompanying you. I’ve no wish to be a distraction to William.”

Chuckling, her father came around the desk and offered his hand, though she did not need his support to stand. “My dear girl, you are hardly a day married. He
should
be distracted by you.” He tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and escorted her from their favorite room. “As his admiral, I admire his devotion to duty. As your father, I am disturbed that he left the bridal chamber before the three days I gave him to see to his wife.”

Julia’s face flamed at her father’s mention of the bridal chamber and the implication of the duty it held for a new husband and his bride. And, as he continued talking of husbands and wives, reminding herself that her parents had once been bride and bridegroom only made her embarrassment worse.

When she heard the word “grandchildren,” though, she burst out in uncontrollable, mortified laughter. “Papa, please, no more talk of a husband’s duty to his wife! I did not live to the grand age of nine-and-twenty without understanding something about marriage.”

He stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned her to face him, his hands on her shoulders. “I fear I did not do a very good job of showing you what a good husband is like. I should have recalled your mother from Jamaica years ago.”

Julia pressed her fingertips to his mouth to stop him speaking further. “But you still would have been at sea and left her here alone where she had no acquaintance in a climate not suited for her delicate
health. Though she loathed being separated from you, especially whenever we received word of each naval engagement in which you might have taken part, at least at Tierra Dulce she was surrounded by people who loved her and could care for her, instead of here, in this big house with only servants for company—or worse, her Pembroke relations.” She arched her left brow.

“Aye, you are correct, as always.” He tweaked her chin. “Come. No more dawdling. I have a task which must be performed. And a new son to remind there are greater duties than to king and country.”

“Sir, a boat is coming up.”

Along with Commodore Ransome, Ned looked up from the bills of lading the purser had been reviewing for them. William’s steward hovered in the doorway between the commodore’s dining cabin and the wheelhouse.

“Where away?” William gained his feet.

“Starboard, ’midships.”

Ned and the purser rose also.

“Commodore, sir, I believe it is Admiral Witherington…and Mrs. Ransome.”

William’s face flashed from mildly interested to concerned. “My mother?”

“No, sir, your wife. Miss Witherington, as was.”

Ned nearly choked on his laughter at Dawling’s comical expression. Though frustrated by the interruption, seeing his commander’s brief flicker of uncertainty made William seem more like a mere mortal than usual.

The commodore shrugged into his uniform coat. Ned groaned. Of course. No shirtsleeves if the admiral was coming aboard. He mopped his brow and forced his arms into the woolen sleeves. Readying a ship for sail in August must be God’s punishment for a lifetime of sins.

He trailed William out onto the quarterdeck and toward the star-board waist entry.

Lieutenant Eastwick had apparently just given the order for the bosun’s chair to be made ready for
Mrs. Ransome.
Scant moments later, everyone on deck snapped to at William’s command as Admiral Sir Edward Witherington cleared the accommodation ladder and stepped onto the deck.

The admiral returned William’s salute. “As you were.”

The swing-style seat at the end of a block-and-tackle rope appeared over the gunwale, and both the admiral and the commodore moved forward to assist Julia Ransome—who hopped off the seat onto the deck before either officer could assist her.

Ned did not bother to hide his smile. Even though her visit meant delaying their work yet again, he couldn’t help but admit how very much he admired his friend’s wife. She was exactly the kind of woman every officer should be blessed to find.

An image of Charlotte Ransome rose unbidden, but he cleared it straight away. At only seventeen, Charlotte was too young to marry; yet when Ned returned to England in a year—perhaps two, depending on how long the American war lasted—she would most likely be married. And to someone more worthy than Ned. Someone of fortune and property. Someone with ambition and not afraid of advancement. Someone who hadn’t killed two men.

A
fter a trying day, made even more so by the admiral and Julia’s visit to
Alexandra,
William gladly left the tedium of Lady Dalrymple’s card party to join Julia and her father outside as they said their farewells. Though he’d initially believed the admiral’s explanation for bringing Julia out to
Alexandra
this morning—that he simply brought her to see the ship—subtlety was not Sir Edward’s greatest ally. Julia’s father repeatedly hinted and then outright lectured William during their private conference on William’s duty to Julia as her husband.

“Ransome.”

He stepped forward, planted his feet shoulder-width apart, and clasped his hands behind his back. “Aye, sir?”

“You will remember my words.” Admiral Witherington held Julia’s right hand in both of his.

“Aye, sir.”

Sir Edward narrowed his eyes. “I have my ways of learning whether or not you follow my instructions.”

William took in a measured breath. “Aye, sir.”

The admiral glanced at Julia and then back at William. He opened his mouth, stopped, and then cleared his throat. “I am entrusting you with what I value most in this world, son. I am depending on you to keep her safe—and to make sure she is happy.” He held Julia’s hand toward William.

William reached out, took her hand, and tucked it in the crook of
his elbow. The hand, along with her chin, trembled. “I shall protect her with my life, sir, and do my best to ensure her happiness.”

Julia’s grip around the inside of his elbow tightened.

Her father cleared his throat again, but it did not keep the gruffness from his voice. “Elton shall come for you at ten o’clock tomorrow morning to take you home. Creighton has had the staff in a fury today preparing for your arrival.”

Julia shook her head. “I’ve been away only one night. What could…”

When she did not continue her question, William looked down. Her lips had withdrawn into a thin line, and she averted her gaze away from both William and her father.

The admiral, apparently, did not realize his daughter’s embarrassment. “They have been preparing your mother’s chamber for you. It is larger and should accommodate the two of you better.”

Infernal heat climbed the back of William’s neck, making him bless the darkness.

Through the open front door echoed the chiming of the great clock in the entryway.

“I should leave. Catching the early stage to London.” Sir Edward adjusted his black formal coat. He seemed strangely diminished—and much older—out of uniform. Though perhaps it was a trick of the darkness and the lateness of the hour.

“Goodbye, Papa.” Julia’s voice came out reedy, strained, thin. “Godspeed on your journey. Write as soon as you arrive.”

“I promise.” The admiral made no move toward his barouche. After a long moment, Sir Edward—the man famous throughout the Royal Navy for his gruff, irascible demeanor—pulled his daughter into his arms.

William averted his gaze—not out of a desire to avoid watching his commander’s emotional outburst, but because the scene made him too keenly aware of his own father’s absence. He needed to spend as much time with Mother—and Charlotte—as possible before sailing.

Sir Edward finally broke away from Julia, kissed her forehead, and
beat a hasty retreat to his waiting carriage. Julia stood on the top step and waved until the barouche disappeared into the night.

Despite the darkness, William could see the devastation and loss in her expression when she turned around. Her heartache kindled the need to comfort her. He extended his arms, and she flew to him, burying her face in his chest.

She made no sound as she wrapped her arms around his waist and let him support her trembling weight. Fulfilling the second part of his promise to her father had come much sooner than William expected, though he thanked God Julia was not one to weep. He pressed his cheek to her forehead and hoped his embrace communicated his desire to offer her comfort—as he knew not what to say.

Inside, the clock chimed another quarter hour gone.

“I might never see him again.” Her voice barely reached his ears.

“We will have none of that.” He took her upper arms and moved her back enough to look at her. He then cupped her chin and tilted her head back until their eyes met. “What has you thinking such morbid thoughts?”

“Your father died before you saw him again.”

“He died of fever while at sea. The worst thing your father could catch is the attention of the Lord Admiral of the Royal Navy and come down with a promotion to the Admiralty in London.” He smiled, hoping to lighten her mood.

“But
we
shall be at sea. I could contract yellow fever and die.”

William refused to let her see the cold dread her words caused. “Have you ever fallen ill with yellow fever?”

“Once, when I was a child.”

His skin crawled at the idea of the child he had known wracked by such a terrible illness. “But never since then?”

She shook her head.

“Then you are unlikely to die of yellow fever. I have engaged a fine surgeon who also apprenticed with an apothecary. No sickness shall befall you.”

“We could be set upon by privateers—or a rogue French ship. I
could be killed in the battle.” Julia’s wide eyes displayed a distant yet frenzied expression William did not like in the least.

Even though his stomach churned at the real—however remote—possibility he kept his tone light. “I will protect you. No enemy vessel will be able to get within firing range of
Alexandra.”

“I could be captured by pirates—there could be a hurricane—”

He clapped his hand over her mouth. “Enough. You cannot allow yourself to think these things, Julia. I will keep you safe. I will protect you.” Originally annoyed by his agreement to neglect his duty once more and sleep off his ship, he now could not imagine leaving her tonight.

Some of the fear in those beloved green eyes abated. “And who will protect you?” she asked against the palm of his hand.

“God will protect us both.” Unable to resist, he lowered his hand, leaned down, and kissed her. “Now, my macabre bride, shall we rejoin the card party?”

“I shall ask her when she returns.”

“Miss Fairfax, I do not think she will—”

The baron’s daughter cut off Charlotte’s protest with a light tap of her fan on Charlotte’s wrist. “Nonsense. As Miss Witherington, she proved herself very obliging—and talented as well. As Mrs. Ransome, I wager she will be the same. Look, here they come.” Penelope Fairfax rose and started toward the entrance of the formal parlor.

The shadowy light cast by a myriad of candles did nothing to hide the paleness of Julia’s countenance when she entered the room on William’s arm.

“Mrs. Ransome, how fine you look. It is not fair of you.” Penelope leaned closer to Charlotte’s sister-in-law. “Everyone will no doubt make a mad dash for the warehouses tomorrow morning and buy up all of the dark green fabric to be had in Portsmouth.”

Julia’s smile tried to convey appreciation for the flattery, but her eyes remained distant and forlorn.

Charlotte’s heart went out to her. The idea of saying goodbye to Mama…she shuddered. She moved forward to try to stop her friend from trespassing on Julia’s good nature. “Julia, you look fatigued. Perhaps—”

“Of course she does,” Penelope interrupted. “We have all been dull company this evening. Mrs. Ransome, might I entreat you to play for us so we can dance? No one plays so well as you.”

Charlotte stared at Miss Fairfax. Her demeanor had changed from the commanding, assured young woman of society Charlotte knew to an insecure, uncertain debutante in the space of a wink. But if there was one thing Charlotte had learned about the Honorable Miss Fairfax, it was that Pen always got her way.

Julia’s expression took on a resigned air. “Of course, Miss Fairfax. I shall be happy to play for you.”

“Oh, thank you.” Penelope clapped her hands and hurried off to spread the news.

With slow deliberation, Julia began removing her gloves.

“You do not have to accede to her will, no matter whose daughter she is,” William grumbled.

Julia handed him one long, white glove and started on the other. “How can I refuse her? She is the one who warned me of Lady Pembroke and Sir Drake’s scheme.” She released a short, dry laugh. “The first one, anyway.” She glanced at Charlotte. “My aunt and cousin planned to force me to marry him by spreading rumors that Sir Drake and I were engaged. They were certain I would feel honor bound to marry the…man.”

Charlotte stood stone still, drinking in every word, grateful to finally be learning some of the secrets held by her family for the past several weeks.

“I can never repay her for the blessing she bestowed on me by not only telling me what she overheard, but also by not telling anyone else, especially her mother.”

William received the second glove. “Why especially her mother?”

Charlotte joined Julia in gaping at her brother.

“Lady Fairfax is the person who told everyone you and Sir Drake were to fight a duel. She is a busybody of the highest manner; and I shall never forgive you, Charlotte Ransome, if you ever tell a single soul I said such a thing.”

Julia’s words came out so fast, it took Charlotte a moment to realize Julia now addressed her. “I promise I would never say a word. Unlike the baroness, I know how to keep confidences.” After all, she’d had quite a bit of practice.

“Speaking of the Fairfaxes…” Julia looked past Charlotte and inclined her head.

Charlotte turned just as Percy Fairfax gained her side.

“I hear there is to be dancing. May I claim you as partner for the first, Miss Ransome?” Percy extended his elbow toward her.

Though in looks he was no Ned Cochr—Henry Winchester, Percy Fairfax’s attentions flattered Charlotte. “Yes, Mr. Fairfax.” She placed her hand atop his forearm.

“Then I had best take myself over to the pianoforte and start playing.” A hint of amusement trickled through Julia’s words.

“Capital! Come, Miss Ransome. If we are not quick, Pen and St. Vincent will try to usurp us to gain the best position, but as Lady Dalrymple’s guest, you should take precedence over her and lead off.”

Leaving it to the baron’s son to know more about precedence and leading off the dancing, Charlotte followed him to the opposite end of the room, strategically cleared by Lady Dalrymple’s staff for just such an eventuality.

Julia struck up a lively country dance on the pianoforte, and Charlotte began the familiar steps. Had it truly been two years already since Henry showed her the steps in Eliza’s sitting room? If Mama had heard of it, Charlotte would never have been allowed to see Henry—or visit Eliza—again.

Now here she was, going through the same rounds of patterns with another man, a man whose attentions flattered her vanity. Yet she wondered at the flirtation Percival Fairfax lavished on her. As the son of a nobleman, he could have no serious designs on her. She might not
yet be eighteen, but she knew enough of the world to know the heir to a barony—and all the wealth and estates thereto—would never seriously consider marrying the daughter of a common sailor, regardless of Lady Dalrymple’s patronage and Charlotte’s ten-thousand-pound legacy, settled on her by her sailor brothers.

Mr. Fairfax complimented her dancing. Charlotte gave him a coquettish smile, all the while grateful for the fact of Henry, making her in no danger of having her heart broken by Percy.

When the song ended, Charlotte glanced around for another partner in time to see Penelope and Mr. St. Vincent—the future Viscount St. Vincent—break away from the dancers and step out through the open doors to the porch that ran along the back of the house with grand views of the gardens—or at least grand views during daylight hours.

“St. Vincent and Pen’s engagement will be announced tomorrow.” Percy’s lips almost touched Charlotte’s ear; his breath tickled her cheek. “My father is beside himself at the match. Made the expense of my time at Oxford worthwhile, he told me. That is where I met the rascal, you know. He had always been fascinated by the sea and the navy, so I invited him to come for a visit over a school holiday.” Percy laughed. “That was almost six months ago. He has only left Portsmouth twice, and he could not stay away long either time.”