Ransome's Honor (10 page)

Julia held her breath as a wave of nausea passed through her. The evening had started out well enough, but as soon as the concert began, the left side of her head started to throb, first at the temple, then shooting back behind her ear—the way her most incapacitating headaches started. Sitting beside Sir Drake had been no help either, with his overwhelming pungency. Even now, the thought of his cologne churned her stomach.

She swallowed hard. She should have let her father take her home an hour ago as he had suggested. If Elton drove her home now, he would be back in time to retrieve her father and aunt at the end of the concert.

“Are you certain there is nothing I can get for you, Miss Witherington ?”

Why did William Ransome have to be so considerate? In this moment, she could almost forgive the man helping her navigate the clusters of preening, gawking, whispering ladies and gentlemen. Oh, but the stories that would be told of her tonight. Taking the arm of one man—a baronet and her cousin, no less—into the concert room, sitting beside him all evening, and then to all appearances, taking the air with Captain William Ransome, the man all of Portsmouth knew had not wanted to marry her.

She squinted against the dim light of the hall, the pain in her head making any illumination horrendous. The noise generated by so many people thundered in her ears, pulsating in time with the thrumming agony. She squeezed Captain Ransome’s arm again, pausing in her steps as another wave of queasiness nearly overwhelmed her. A chilled sweat covered her body in the pressing heat of the room.

Where was her father? She took as deep a breath as she could against the stays of her corset and risked a glance up at William Ransome. Something about the expression of concern on his face brought back a memory of him as a midshipman. Her mother had been the one with a sick headache that time—compounded by seasickness from a storm tossing the ship about—and Julia had gone on deck in search of the surgeon. But as soon as she had stepped out of the cabin, the ship careened wildly, throwing her from her feet. Had it not been for Midshipman Ransome’s quickness in catching her, she most likely would have been severely injured or even flung overboard. Michael, though, had not been so fortunate. But he’d considered the deep scar across his forehead from the loose block-and-tackle that knocked him unconscious a mark of distinction.

She stole another look at William, unable to suppress a surge of gratitude toward him. Finally, she heard her father’s booming voice and was able to quicken her step to reach him.

He excused himself from his colleagues and took Julia’s free arm. “My dear daughter.” He kissed her forehead, and she leaned into his strength. “Come, I will take you home. Ransome, thank you for your consideration of Julia.”

William bowed to them before she remembered to release her grip on his arm.

“Yes, thank you, Captain Ransome.” Her head spun, so she settled for a slight bend of her knees and bowing her head instead of attempting a full curtsey.

Ransome seemed not to be offended as he took his leave. Julia quickly turned her gaze to the floor to keep from watching him walk away. Even with as horrid as she felt, she couldn’t help noticing the way his hair in the back curled just a bit on his collar. Gratitude thumped in rhythm with the pounding of her headache. As much as she wanted to despise the man, every time she saw him, she became less and less able to hold on to the animosity she’d nurtured over the years.

Her father asked one liveried footman to deliver a message to Lady Pembroke as to their absence, and another to send for his barouche.

“Nay, Papa. You should stay. I am well enough to travel home alone. Elton will see no harm comes to me, and then Creighton and Nancy will take care of me once I arrive home. Aunt Augusta will be furious if both of us leave.”

She could see clearly written in his expression that he did not want to stay for the last hour of the concert. Finally, he kissed the top of her head. “You are correct, as always. I shall stay if you are certain.”

“I am certain, Papa.”

He squeezed her hand. “Very well then.”

They stood in silence a moment, Julia leaning again into his strength as she would against the thick trunk of a palm tree.

“What think you of your cousin Sir Drake?” Sir Edward’s green eyes twinkled.

“He seems to have inherited the Pembroke countenance.”

“Always the lady, aye? Diplomatic even when too ill to stand on her own feet.”

The Witherington carriage rolled to a stop, and Julia took the steps carefully as the very ground below her seemed to shift to and fro. “Nay, just too ill to vent my spleen when others may be listening.” She kissed her father’s cheek and let him hand her up. “But in spite of my diplomacy, do not enter upon any marriage contracts with him without consulting me, please.”

His booming laugh startled the horses, jolting the carriage and unsettling Julia’s stomach again. He latched the door. “I will be highly upset if you rise apurpose to breakfast with me early in the morning.”

“I plan to stay in bed as long as this headache remains, sir, have no fear.”

He knocked twice on the frame. “Take her home, Elton.” He waved as the coach rolled away.

Home
. That was a place Elton and the horses could not take her. She closed her eyes against threatening tears. Going home meant leaving her father. Until he decided to leave the Royal Navy, he would stay in England. But having Aunt Augusta living with them for the past three months had shown Julia she would never be happy here. Jamaica was where she belonged. But she had no way to get there.

William Ransome.

Her eyes popped open. William would be sailing for Jamaica in four weeks’ time. Regardless of whether she could forgive him for breaking her heart, she would be on that ship.

Chapter Eight

C
ollin, dressed in uniform, greeted William when he walked into the dining room at eight o’clock, serving kippers, ham, and sausage from the sideboard onto a plate.

“What’s this?” William picked up a handwritten note from his place at the table.

“Dawling mentioned to Fawkes you are in need of a tailor.” Collin carried his mound of food to the table. “Sturgess is fast and not overly expensive if you’re just looking for pieces to tide you over until you weigh anchor. Susan wants me to go into High Street with her this morning to look at some furniture for the front parlor—she thinks it requires new fitting up. Rubbish if you ask me. We can drop you by the shop and pick you up when we’re finished. It will not take long.”

William had forgotten how talkative Collin was in the mornings. As Collin talked on, William examined the slightly frayed sleeve of his blue coat. Though Dawling’s presumption irritated him, maybe new clothes were in order, even though as he hated to waste the money on them. He’d already received cards from several prominent members of Portsmouth society. At least his black evening attire, which he’d worn last night, was serviceable. And he suspected his dress uniform was receiving daily attention from Dawling’s lint brush in preparation for Thursday’s dinner at Admiral Witherington’s.

He filled his plate from the sideboard and accepted the
Naval
Gazette from Collin, who disappeared behind the Portsmouth newspaper. The Gazette proved too depressing to read. What had once been a vital source of information on promotions, battles, and ship deployments was now filled with the lists of ships decommissioned and advertisements from men looking for placement on any ship that would have them.

Susan swept into the room, very pretty in a pale blue gown. Her blonde hair flowed loose in the back with a pink ribbon around the crown.

“I do not understand how you navy men can eat so early in the morning.” She took two pieces of toast, which she spread generously with marmalade, and ate them with gusto. “It really is uncivilized to breakfast before ten o’clock.”

Collin looked over the top of his paper, went back to reading, and then lowered it again. “Is this a new fashion that has taken hold in my absence?” He reached across the corner of the table and touched her hair.

“From what I heard the maids gossiping about this morning, wearing one’s hair loose is the very latest. At least, that’s what Cook heard at market this morning.” Susan fixed her gaze on William. “Is it true? Did Julia actually wear her hair unbound?”

William remembered the way the long dark hair framed Miss Witherington’s face, making her look as young as a debutante. “Aye, Susan, she did.”

“My dear,” Collin gave a melodramatic sigh and took up the paper again, “one person’s actions do not make a fashion.”

“You just wait and see if everyone does not think Julia a first-rater. If we do not see at least ten women with their hair unbound this morning, I will...” She looked around the breakfast room as if searching for something.

“You will what?” Collin challenged, face still hidden.

“I’ll throw that yellow hat of mine you hate so much into the harbor.”

Collin looked at her over a lowered corner of the paper, one eyebrow quirked. “You so believe everyone will follow Miss Witherington’s lead that you are willing to get rid of your favorite hat to prove your point?”

Susan nodded. “I do. Now, if you are finished eating, we really should leave so we can accomplish all our errands before you have to report in to see Admiral Witherington.”

Her husband stood, leaned over, kissed her on the cheek, and knuckled his forehead like a common sailor. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.” He left the room.

Susan sipped her coffee. “William, do not look at me like that. I’ve not gone mad. But like our dear Julia, I get so tired of pins sticking into my head all day long.”

William held his hands out in front of him in a defensive gesture. “I said naught. I claim no knowledge of women fashions.” He looked down at his coat and then rose as she did. “But you do seem assured it will catch on simply because Miss Witherington did it last evening.”

Susan laughed and took William’s proffered arm. “Not assured, but hopeful.”

“But you said...” He frowned, looking down into her dancing blue eyes.

“What Collin doesn’t know—and what you are not allowed to tell him—is that I do not care two figs about that yellow hat. I wear it only because he hates it so.”

Shaking his head, not understanding why a woman would purposely taunt her husband, he escorted her into the front hall. There, he took his civilian hat from Dawling but waved off the seeming ever-present lint brush. The annihilation of lint from all William’s clothing seemed one of the stewarding duties Dawling considered of supreme importance.

Collin’s barouche carried them along at a fair clip toward the heart of the city. From under the brim of the bonnet in question—a contraption in straw lined with bright yellow silk and decorated with all manner of flowers and ribbons—Susan kept up a running commentary on all the gossip she’d heard about last evening’s concert from
dear
Julia’s unbound hair to her green gown. William kept his opinion to himself, but Julia’s gown had been rather a relief to the eye in a room full of women dressed in white.

“And I understand, Collin, that Miss Julia Witherington was seen taking in the evening air on the balcony with a rather well-known and distinguished sea captain.” Susan smiled at her husband before turning her amused gaze on William. “Is that so, William? Did you happen to take a stroll with Julia?”

William gave her the best smile he could muster. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I did not, as you put it, take a stroll with Miss Witherington. I happened upon her when I stepped out on the balcony for a breath. She was not feeling well, so I offered her the support of my arm to her father. That is all. I would have done the same for you had you been in the same situation.” He turned his gaze to the passing buildings to avoid Susan’s speculative gaze.

As they entered High Street, Susan began to look eagerly around them. “Look, there, in front of the post office—two young women with their hair loose. And there—”

William looked about as well, but his interest was in seeing the cut and color of the clothing worn by the men out and about. Wearing his uniform would be much easier. But regulations dictated that uniforms were to be worn for official business or functions only.

The carriage pulled up in front of Sturgess & Sons, and William alighted to the street.

“We’ll return for you in about an hour.” Collin touched the fore point of his high-domed hat, and William returned the salute.

He turned to enter the shop and inclined his head in greeting of the young dandy just coming out the door. Feigning enthusiasm he did not feel, he sailed into uncharted waters.

Drake shrugged into his burgundy coat. “Please have the finished articles sent round to my townhouse.”

Sturgess, while not the most renowned tailor in Portsmouth, did have a way with the cut of a garment that pleased Drake-and fit within the budget of last night’s winnings. He made his mark in the book, promising his payment at the end of the month.

Sturgess stepped away from the high counter toward the door. “Ah, Captain Ransome. Please, do, come in.”

Drake kept his growl of frustration inside. Was there no escaping the man? The sight of him today after his interference with Julia last night was almost more than Drake could bear. Had Ransome merely been performing a favor for the admiral, or was the man a rival for the attentions of the wealthiest unmarried woman in Portsmouth? If the gossip he’d heard at the club last night held any truth, Ransome bore watching. Most held that the captain and Miss Witherington were altar-bound, having been promised to each other for years.

But if that were so, why hadn’t they married before now-or why hadn’t their impending nuptials been announced already? He couldn’t forget that Miss Witherington had seemed uncomfortable when the captain arrived last night and had willingly accepted Drake’s escort into the concert room. Perhaps, as per the usual, the gossip was wrong.

However, he needed to know for certain. Stepping forward, he placed himself in the naval officer’s path. Both inclined their heads in greeting.

“Captain William Ransome, is it not?”

Ransome looked no more pleased about the encounter than Drake. “Ah, yes, Sir Drake Pembroke.”

“Did you enjoy the concert last evening?” Drake despised small talk with other men, but the niceties of society would not allow him to be blunt and ask the captain’s intentions toward a certain not-so-young lady.

“Aye—yes. And you?”

“I enjoyed the first two sets immensely. I am only sorry my dear cousin fell ill and had to depart early. She seemed to be enjoying the music so.”

Ransome’s face remained an inscrutable mask. “Indeed.”

Irksome man. “Are you to be long in Portsmouth, Captain?”

“Nay, little more than a month.”

A smile tried to tug at the corners of Drake’s mouth, but he resisted the urge. Banns had to be posted three weeks before a marriage could take place—unless a special license were obtained—so if no announcement came within the next week or two, Julia’s fortune was Drake’s for the taking. “Well, I am certain you will find many more amusements to fill your time.” Drake settled his tall hat on his head. “Good day.”

Ransome gave a curt nod.

Drake stepped out onto the walkway, pausing to give his eyes time to adjust to the morning’s brightness. Perhaps he’d best call on his mother today to inquire after his
dear cousin’s
health.

Strolling down High Street, he returned nods of several young—probably married—women. Until he had secured an engagement with Miss Witherington, any thoughts of finding agreeable companionship must wait. Portsmouth, for all its pretensions of grandeur and elegance, was still little more than a country town where discretion would be nearly impossible. Once married and assured of an heir on the way, he would send Julia to Marchwood Hall and hie himself off to London to enjoy all that city had to offer someone with nearly unlimited financial resources. And he would renew his flirtation with Lady Margaret Everingham. The grandeur of Margaret’s wealth and her social connections were worth forgiving her jealous gossiping.

Espying a jeweler on the opposite side of the street, he cut through the busy traffic and slipped in. A small trinket sent with a discretely worded note would bring her to contrition, especially once he shared his ideas for what he planned to do with the Witherington wealth.

“Why, my dear son!”

He flinched and turned. “Mother.” He swept off his hat and bowed. “What a pleasure to see you. I had planned to call upon you later to inquire after Miss Witherington’s health.”

“Naturally And I shall still expect you to do so.” Augusta swept past him but then stopped and laid her hand on his arm. “If you come around three o’clock, she should feel up to receiving you.” She winked and exited the shop.

Drake let his smile fade as the door clicked shut behind his mother. What would he do with Mother once he secured Julia Witherington’s inheritance? His mother had made it clear she gained no pleasure in sharing the same home with her niece. He knew she desired to return Marchwood to its former glory and live there like a queen.

He browsed selections of jewelry for a half hour, interrupted by his inability to solve the problem of where to put his mother and Julia after the wedding. Finally, he settled on a pair of intricately etched silver hair combs. Margaret might be able to help him devise a plan—especially once he convinced her it would be in her best interest to ensure neither his mother nor Julia could interfere with Drake’s activities once the marriage license was signed.

He might just be magnanimous and allow Julia to return to Jamaica after she produced his heir.