Ransome's Honor (12 page)

Chapter Eleven

W
illiam. stood at the drawing room window, looking over the bask garden. He turned when Collin and Susan entered, Susan dressed in a white gown that made her look ghostly pale with her fair skin and light hair.

On Susan’s heels came Charlotte. William couldn’t believe his eyes at the woman standing before him. The pale pink gown and her hair were trimmed with pearls and roses, and she looked like royalty—and like she needed something to cover up with, as the lace inset at the low neckline did not do the job adequately.

His mother swept in behind them. “Mrs. Yates, your dressmaker is a wonder.”

“Charlotte has such a fine figure, it would be hard for her not to look good in anything.” She patted the blushing debutante’s cheek. “Shall we go then?”

William kept his less-than-favorable comment about the indecency of the gown behind his teeth and followed Collin and the women downstairs.

“I am certain,” Susan said, taking her wrap from the ancient butler, “that no women of the party this evening can boast of not just one but two of the most handsome men in the Royal Navy as their escorts.”

“Yes, my dear,” Collin helped her with the shawl, “I believe you are correct.

Susan continued her gay chatter all the way to the Witheringtons’ home, enumerating the guests and what she knew to expect at table, from what “dear Julia” had told her. His mother and Charlotte seemed like mutes beside her.

How did Collin put up with the continual talking? William loved Susan like a sister, but staying under the same roof with the woman had, in just a matter of a few days, made him wonder at his friend’s forbearance. From the benign expression on Collin’s face, his friend didn’t seem to mind the pointless prattle.

The barouche stopped before a large white house, where they were greeted at the front door by a butler with the snap and bearing that marked him formerly of the navy. After being divested of hats and shawls, they were shown upstairs, where several other uniformed men and white-gowned women milled about, accompanied by loud voices and feminine laughter—real laughter, not the simper usually heard in society.

The butler announced them from the door, creating a stir as Admirals Witherington and Hinds turned to greet them.

William bowed to his host. “Admiral Sir Edward Witherington, I am certain you remember my mother, Mrs. Maria Ransome.”

“Mrs. Ransome, what a great honor it is to welcome you into my home.” Admiral Witherington took Mrs. Ransome’s gloved hand and brushed the knuckles with his lips.

“And this is my sister, Miss Charlotte Ransome.”

The admiral’s eyes crinkled in the same indulgent smile William had only seen Sir Edward give Julia. “Miss Ransome, you are a most welcomed addition to our number—and to Portsmouth at large.”

Charlotte turned as pink as the roses in her dark hair. “Thank you, Sir Edward.”

Admiral Witherington’s attention caught on something over Charlotte’s shoulder. William turned to see who approached aft, and his breath caught. Julia Witherington was the very image of an Athenian statue—but not of cold white stone. Her gown looked as if it had been made of liquid bronze, hair done up with gold ribbon woven throughout the mass, while several mahogany curls bounced around her shoulders.

Regret lapped at his soul like waves against the hull of his ship. She could have been his wife—
should
have been his wife—if only he’d not been such a coward.

Admiral Witherington made the introductions between Julia, Charlotte, and Mrs. Ransome.

Julia’s smile flickered in her emerald eyes. “Mrs. Ransome, Miss Ransome, welcome to our home. I cannot tell you how pleased I am to make your acquaintance.” She turned to William; her cheeks reddened, and she dropped her gaze as she inclined her head. “Captain Ransome.”

Dawling had tied his neckcloth too tight tonight. And had a hot draft just flowed into the room? “Miss Witherington.”

She turned to greet Collin and Susan—but he caught her steal a glance at him. He stopped the smile wanting to bloom, admonishing himself for behaving like a schoolboy, and turned his attention to the other officers.

A few moments later, Julia joined them. “Captain Mason, I wondered if I might ask you to escort Mrs. Ransome down to dinner this evening.”

The man who’d served as Admiral Witherington’s first officer for years smiled at Julia. “It would be my great pleasure.”

“Captain Ransome,” her green eyes seemed depthless in the glow of dozens of candles, “If you could lend your arm to your sister?”

He inclined his head. “Of course.”

A hint of dimple appeared in her left cheek. “Thank you.”

“Admiral Thomas Glover,” the butler announced.

“Ah! Now the party’s all here.” Admiral Witherington greeted the other admiral and performed the necessary introductions.

“Well, then, I suppose Creighton will announce dinner any time.” Admiral Witherington patted his slim stomach and winked at his daughter. “I’ve been smelling the wonderful aromas from the kitchen all afternoon.”

“Papa, we are waiting on one more guest to arrive,” Julia said softly. The sound of the door and voices in the hall did not bring relief to her countenance; rather, her brows pinched a little tighter together.

When the parlor doors opened, William understood.

“Sir Drake Pembroke,” Creighton announced.

This roused Lady Pembroke and her companion, who both rose and crossed the room to greet him. Julia and Admiral Witherington excused themselves to greet this guest, and William tried to keep his attention on the story Mason was telling about his last voyage, but he was having too hard a time trying to watch Julia’s interaction with her cousin. Was it William’s imagination, or did all the vivacity and sparkle she’d shown since his arrival vanish when she greeted the baronet?

A few moments later, Julia eased around the room, unobtrusively arranging the couples. Charlotte, still looking flushed and excited, came and took his arm.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, happy he could provide her with an experience like this.

“Oh, immensely. Thank you, William, for seeing that we were invited. I’ve never seen a house like this before. And Miss Witherington... her gown...” Charlotte’s raptures continued as they took their place in the order of precedence—just before Collin and Susan, who brought up the rear.

William’s focus strayed beyond the two couples ahead of him to the reddish-brown curls that skimmed Julia’s skin as she took the stairs on Admiral Glover’s arm. The curve of her shoulder up to the column of her neck reminded him of the refined lines of the bow of a man-o’-war-

He trimmed sail and reversed course. Every time he was near this woman he devolved into a blithering idiot with no thought but her pleasing appearance in his head. Where was the famed Ransome discipline ?

They entered the dining room, passing Lady Pembroke, who was being seated at the foot of the table by Sir Drake. He could not help but contrast Julia’s behavior toward their guests with her aunt’s. Her aunt had shown no pleasure in anyone’s company but her son’s and Lady Dalrymple’s, whereas Julia seemed truly happy to have everyone here—with the exception, perhaps, of Sir Drake.

He smiled at that thought.

Glancing at the name cards, William was pleased to see he was to be seated between Susan—who sat at Admiral Witherington’s left hand—and Mrs. Hinds, with Captain Mason on her other side. Julia held the seat of honor across the table from them at her father’s right hand, with Collin beside her. William could not have asked for a better arrangement.

To his right, Susan talked with animation—about what, William had no idea—but as long as he feigned interest and reached for whatever dish she wished to sample next, she seemed content. At his left, Mrs. Hinds spoke to Captain Mason, their tones low.

“William?”

He turned at a nudge on his right elbow. Susan looked up at him in question. “I do apologize, Mrs. Yates.”

She smiled at him, showing the dimples in her round cheeks. “So formal—I know, I know, ‘in public’ and all that rot.” She dabbed her mouth with the white napkin. “I asked if you had already engaged someone for the first dance at the Fairfaxes’ ball next week.”

“In the few days I have been ashore, I have been nearly all day at the port Admiralty or in your company. Whom, pray tell, might I have asked?” The thought of spending an evening in a public place surrounded by young women trying to snare rich husbands—and even worse, their mothers—sent a chill down his spine.

“Cheeky! Did not any lady catch your fancy at the concert?” Susan’s eyes flickered to Julia.

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from showing his frustration at Susan’s continual implications.

Admiral Witherington turned his attention to Susan and William. “I spoke with Lord Fairfax yesterday, and he assured me your presence is much anticipated. And you will have little chance at such amusements, once you’ve put out to sea. Do not deny all the young ladies of Portsmouth the pleasure of partnering you for a dance or two.”

William kept his groan inside, but only with great effort. “Of course, Sir Edward.” He couldn’t help from looking across the table at Julia, but her attention was on something Collin was saying in low tones.

Conversation lingered on the ball for longer than William would have cared, but he noticed Julia did not join in Mrs. Hinds’s and Susan’s animated anticipation of the event. In fact, the more they discussed it, the less amused Julia seemed. Only when she shot a furtive look toward the opposite end of the table did William understand why Julia might not look forward to the ball. If the baronet’s behavior toward her at the concert was any indication, she was right to worry about how he might behave toward her if they danced. He hoped for her sake the scandalous new dance gaining popularity on the Continent—the waltz—had not gained acceptance here.

The subject waned, and Mason mentioned a recent trip to the Caribbean, resupplying ships participating in the blockade of American ports in the Gulf of Mexico.

“And had you the opportunity to stop in Jamaica, Captain Mason?” Julia asked, leaning forward, interest illuminating her features.

“Alas, no, Miss Witherington, and I would have dearly loved to see Kingston again. We spent quite a happy fortnight there, did we not, Ransome? Yates?”

What William remembered most about his only visit to Jamaica was his disappointment at finding a very European city where he had expected grass-thatched huts and natives in animal skins. Collin had laughed at him and accused him of reading too many fantastic stories of the wilds of the West.

“Do you expect the American war will continue much longer?” Julia asked. “Now that the War Department and the Admiralty can commit more men to fight in North America?”

“It is hard to tell,” Mason answered. “I spoke to only a handful of officers. They have quelled American privateers for the most part, but they are not at the forefront of the fighting-most of that is farther north.”

Julia nodded, her brow furrowed. “I deplore the idea of war, however it has decreased the competition for Tierra Dulce from sugar coming out of New Orleans. But it has also made us a target of pirates more often, as there are fewer merchant ships coming out of the Caribbean.”

“Pirates?” Collin asked. “I thought we had cleared those scoundrels out ages ago.”

“For the most part, yes.” Admiral Witherington signaled the butler to have footmen clear the dishes from the first course and begin laying out the second. “But there are a few that remain thorns in our side. There is one in particular...” He gave William a quick glance.

Part of the orders the admiral had given William this afternoon—the part he was not to share with any of his crew until their arrival in western waters—was the list of pirates he was commissioned to hunt down and bring to justice by any means necessary. He would inform Collin tonight when they could go over their orders and list in detail.

“Yes. Shaw, as he has fashioned himself.” Julia’s voice held a mixture of disdain and anger. “He has been haunting the waters of the Caribbean the past fifteen or twenty years. And he seems to know our harvest and shipping schedules intimately.”

“He’s no Morgan or Teach, nor has he caused the Royal Navy as much grief as Jean Lafitte seems intent to cause.” Admiral Witherington passed a dish of plovers’ eggs in aspic jelly to Susan.

William joined happily in the abuse anyone wanted to parcel out on the heads of pirates and foreign privateers, and the conversation continued until the dessert course was served. The atmosphere at the table reminded William more and more of the camaraderie found aboard a fellow officer’s ship rather than a formal dinner.

A distant clock chimed nine o’clock. Julia invited the ladies to join her upstairs for coffee and tea. William stood and assisted Susan with her chair. Before Julia departed, Admiral Witherington had a whispered conversation with his daughter and then sent her on her way. Footmen cleared the dishes with quiet efficiency, and the butler saw to the service of port and Madeira.

Once each of the seven men in the room received their full measure, Admiral Witherington raised his goblet. “Gentlemen. To King George.”

William raised his glass and voiced the Loyal Toast.

“To our ships at sea,” Admiral Hinds toasted-the standard Monday toast. But along with the rest, William raised his glass.

“To our men,” Admiral Glover added the Tuesday toast, and William smiled. Each day had its own traditional dinner toast, and as they’d all been off their ships a while, a week’s worth of toasts seemed in order, though he did limit himself to small sips of the potent wine.

Mason smiled and said, “To ourselves, because no one else is likely to bother.”

William took his turn, combining the Thursday and Friday toasts. “To bloody wars, willing foes, and sea room.”

The toasting paused as the butler refilled several glasses.

Which left the Saturday toast for Collin. “To wives and sweet-hearts.” He raised his glass.

“May they never meet,” the other officers at the table intoned in good humor.