The Captain's Lady (14 page)

“E
ast Florida is a fine place for a new beginning.” Jamie walked beside Moberly around Bennington Pond, a long, narrow lake edged with cattails, ferns and weeping willows, and inhabited by swans and ducks watching over their hatchlings. In the distance, a man from the village sat in a rowboat and fished the black depths. “Marry Miss Kendall and come with me. Your brother Frederick would be pleased to see you, and there’s no end of possibilities for new businesses.” Even as he spoke, he questioned the wisdom of his invitation. Moberly never expressed any serious views on the Revolution other than to say it would be interesting to see how it all turned out. Yet Jamie felt God’s urging to encourage him.

“You are a true friend, Templeton.” Moberly found a rock and flung it sideways into the lake. It skipped several times across the water, scattering a group of ducks, who quacked in protest. “But Miss Kendall and I have decided the Lord would have us stay here. These past days, through her insights, I’ve come to realize my desire to go into the church was the misplaced zeal of a newly converted man.
Thus, I shall have to find a way to support us before we can marry.” He exhaled a long sigh. “Of course, it will require another lengthy period of good behavior on my part so my next endeavor will meet with my father’s approval. In the meantime, I shall plumb the depths of my interests and talents to see if anything pops to the surface.”

“I understand.” Jamie nodded. “You know we’ll sail in just over a week. If you change your mind, I’ll give you a berth aboard the
Fair Winds.
” He found a smooth, flat stone, but once he threw it, it sank beneath the surface, much like his heart each time he thought about leaving Marianne. Up to now, his determination had held strong. Now that resolve wavered like the oak leaves fluttering in the wind on a branch above him. Somehow he must distract himself. “Tell me more about this garden party. Who’s coming? What do you do?” Since Bennington had come home, the evenings in the drawing room had become more than boring. He hoped the upcoming event would be a good diversion.

“You may have noticed Lady Bennington loves to throw a party.” Moberly chuckled, and his eyes lit with fondness. “This one began as a replacement for the annual Midsummer Eve festival, which of course is pagan in origin. Neither my stepmother nor Father could countenance such celebrations, yet they desired some sort of summer entertainment. They hit upon the idea of a garden party the week after Summer Solstice, so as to make a distinction. Theirs was to be decidedly more sedate—bowling, billiards, riding, grouse hunting, that sort of thing—an enjoyable way to gather like-minded friends for a week or so. They’ve hosted this event these past three and twenty years.”

“Ah, what a fine idea.” Jamie again considered the earl’s contradictory ways—faithful in his religion, generous to his friends and to charity, but cruel to his sons. “Christians
can always find ways to enjoy themselves without participating in godless merrymaking.”

Moberly laughed ruefully. “I’m beginning to truly understand that…thanks to you.”

Jamie shrugged. “More thanks to the Lord, I’d say.” He looked across the lake toward the fisherman. “Any good fish out there?”

Moberly followed his gaze. “Sometimes. Want to give it a try?”

“I would. I haven’t been on water since March, a sorry thing for a sailor to admit.”

They found a rowboat and fishing equipment in the gray stone boathouse and rowed out to a likely spot. In the lazy quiet of the afternoon, both dozed beneath their wide-brimmed cocked hats, not minding in the least that no fish tugged on their lines to disturb their sleep.

Marianne threw herself into helping with the preparations for the garden party, as did everyone in the household. Mama spent a great deal of time with Cook planning a week’s worth of menus to serve the expected thirty-seven guests. The men practiced their marksmanship in anticipation of the grouse hunting. Servants scoured the house until not a spot of dust could be found, nor a scuff mark on the floors, nor a frayed edge on chairs or drapes. The guest wing was opened, furniture uncovered and linens aired. Mama assigned Marianne the duty of planning for the evening entertainment of the younger set.

Papa did not permit the hanging of bunting or evergreen bows, but he approved of flowers, as many as could be gathered to decorate the house. Marianne and Grace enlisted Jamie’s and Robert’s help and secured the use of a dogcart to bring wildflowers from the woodlands and fields, and
blooms from Mama’s garden. The servants filled vases and scattered them around the manor, filling every room with delightful and varied fragrances. As much as Marianne loved Mama’s roses and carnations, her favorite flower was the sweet pea, imported from her maternal grandparents’ villa in Tuscany.

For all their enjoyment of Bennington House in London, it was Bennington Park the family claimed as home. And when Marianne considered all she was sacrificing for love, and how few days remained before she left, never to return, she found herself grieving the loss. But she had many more moments of giddy happiness—mixed with terror—over her own audacity. The ups and downs of her emotions left her exhausted at the end of each day.

In the evenings, she stared out of her bedchamber window, her gaze caressing the beloved countryside. She imagined her coming voyage and prayed she would not succumb to seasickness. She must secure some powdered ginger root from the kitchen. And, with a single small bag for all her possessions, she must decide what to take and what to leave. Some items she’d once considered treasures now proved to be foolish luxuries. She decided to take only two plain dresses. Would that she could ask Jamie which ones he preferred to see her wear.

But first she must get past the garden party. She drew out her volume of Shakespeare to design word games. In a moment of mad defiance, she considered presenting the elopement scene in
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
to tease Jamie or to give a hint to her parents of her plans. Papa could play his counterpart, the heartless Egeus, while she and Jamie were well suited to portray the fleeing lovers, Hermia and Lysander. She could hear Jamie repeating Lysander’s line, “‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’” But
such foolishness would ruin her flight. In any event, Papa did not care for that particular play because of its pagan setting. Instead, he preferred the Bard’s histories, especially
Henry V,
which he likened to George II’s courageous leadership in fighting for England and making the throne secure for the House of Hanover.

As her musing continued, a startling thought occurred to her. Jamie had never asked her to marry him. Did he love her as Lysander loved Hermia—enough to risk his entire future for her? What if, when they were far out to sea and he found her aboard his ship, he brought her back home in disgrace? Papa might be hurt by her desertion, but he would be destroyed to see his only daughter behaving like certain infamous society women whose affairs he had widely condemned. Before Marianne ran away to sea like a boy longing to be a sailor, she must force from Jamie the truth about the depth of his feelings for her, even as she gave no hint that she planned to sneak aboard his ship.

A
s the carriages began to roll up the lane in a procession, Jamie grew morose. He’d become tired of these aristocrats with all of their frivolities. Yet he knew his irritation came more from a mixture of heartache over leaving Marianne and the limited information he’d gathered for General Washington. The best he could do for the next four days was watch the unfolding spectacle and try to enjoy himself in this hodgepodge of people.

Servants rushed around taking care of the incoming guests and their baggage. The aroma of cakes and meats wafted up from the kitchen, making Jamie’s mouth water. Bennington’s mastiffs—spoiled beasts—barked incessantly, while the children got loose from their nursemaid and ran about causing mischief. Through little Georgie’s efforts, more than one vase of flowers crashed to the floor, causing extra work for the harried servants. But Lady Bennington insisted the children must not be punished, for everyone felt the excitement of the day.

In the midst of it all, Thomas Moberly came home to announce he had indeed been promoted and given command
of a forty-four gun frigate christened HMS
Dauntless
. Jamie had hoped
this
Captain Moberly would be delayed until his own departure. But as numerous guests gathered in the drawing room, and Robert drew Jamie into the family circle, he was presented to a man who one day might very well try to blast his own ship out of the water.

“Another one of Father’s pets, eh?” Captain Moberly, in an indigo uniform replete with brass buttons and gold braid, stood as tall and slender as his father, with broad shoulders, straight posture and a lift to his chin that suggested the man was full of himself—a younger version of the earl by some forty years. Like Marianne and Robert, he had thick black hair and sky-blue eyes. But whereas Marianne’s eyes exuded gentleness, and Robert’s earnestness, Thomas’s icy stare bored into a man like a cold steel blade. Jamie could not fault him too much. He’d used the same stare himself on insubordinate sailors.

“Your father is a generous man.” Effecting a humble bow, Jamie glanced beyond Captain Moberly and noted Marianne’s dismay. The dear girl loved all of her brothers.

“Indeed.” Captain Moberly turned away to speak to another guest. Several unattached ladies hovered nearby, but his stiff demeanor seemed to indicate he didn’t welcome their attentions.

Marianne sent a quivering smile Jamie’s way, and he returned a wink. If anyone but Robert or Miss Kendall noticed, he no doubt would have been sent on his way forthwith.

In the afternoon, the younger set moved outside to bowl on the leveled lawn. Jamie had bowled in Nantucket and Boston, and if invited to join the aristocrats, he would not embarrass himself. For the first hour or so, he had to be content to watch, until Marianne dragged him in to replace a wearied young lady.

“’Tis quite easy, Captain Templeton.” Marianne placed the black wooden ball in his hands. “You only have to roll this ball across the lawn and try to knock down as many of the ninepins as you can.” Her tutorial tone and the twinkle in her eyes sparked high spirits in him.

“Like this, my lady?” He held the ball in both hands over one shoulder, as if he would lob it through the air like a cannonball.

“No, no. Just one hand.” She reached for the ball. “Let me show you.”

He lifted it higher. “Ah-ah. ’Tis my turn, is it not?”

Murmurs erupted around them, intermingled with a few titters from the ladies. Had he gone too far to tease a lady of her station in front of them?

Marianne moved back and crossed her arms. “Very well. You have seen us play. Do it right.” Her lips puckered, as if she was containing a laugh.

He longed to wink at her again, to secretly convey his love to her while everyone looked on. But he dared not risk such an affront, as they all would see it. Instead, he bowed. “I shall do my best not to embarrass you, my lady.”

Gripping the ball in both hands, he held it up and eyed the pins some twenty-five feet away. He moved the ball to his right hand, swung it back and whipped it across the closs-cropped grass, knocking down all nine pins.

“Well done, captain.” Marianne applauded, as did several others. “You have played before. Tell me, what other hidden accomplishments do you have?”

Some in their audience again murmured their disapproval, but Jamie threw caution to the winds. “My lady, I have ridden the back of a whale in the South Atlantic and shot a bear in the wilderness of East Florida.” He put a finger on his jaw in a thoughtful pose. “I have climbed a tree
and rescued a kitten for your niece, Miss Elizabeth.” His audience now began to chuckle. “But my most difficult accomplishment has been to dance the minuet without tripping over my own large feet and falling flat on my face.”

The laughter grew, and the bowling continued, with others taking the center of attention. Marianne pulled up the fan on her wrist and waved it lazily. “After all of those amazing deeds,” she said softly, her eyes sending a silent plea, “do you suppose you could brave the dangers of escorting me to the refreshment table?”

Not twenty feet away and near the house, servants had set up a long, linen-draped table and filled it with beverages, cakes and sweetmeats. The temptation to speak to her alone was too great. Perhaps this would be the last time they could talk privately before he left. Jamie bent low in a formal bow. “My lady, it will be my pleasure.”

He offered his arm, and she set her dainty gloved hand on it. He couldn’t resist the urge to cover it with his own. If anyone found this closeness inappropriate, he would declare himself a boor, and she would be blameless. He longed for the courage—or stupidity—to put an arm around her waist and draw her close to his side, where he wished to keep her forever. The ache he always felt at the edges of his chest now moved to the center, cutting deep into his heart.

At the table, they each took a crystal cup brimming with lemonade, then, as if they’d planned it, turned and walked the pathway down the hill toward the lake. One of the rowboats lay available for use at the water’s edge. Nearby, in the care of nursemaids and footmen, Georgie and his sisters played with the dozen or so other little lords and ladies, offspring of the various adults who amused themselves around the vast estate.

The weather had bestowed its approval on Lady Benning
ton’s garden party. Warm enough for outdoor activities, cool enough not to overheat the guests. Sunny enough to provide a profusion of light softened by a few puffy white clouds. The gardens bloomed in abundance, filling the air with varied pleasant scents and showing no evidence that many flowers had been plucked from them to grace the house.

If Jamie were a poet, he would pen the sentiments of his heart. At most, he could only think of Shakespeare’s sonnet, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate—” He could not remember the rest, and felt the fool for it. Perhaps he would memorize the Sidney love sonnet Marianne had read.

Now was the time. Now he must tell her how deeply he loved her, how leaving would be the hardest thing he’d ever done. Did she long to hear those words as much as he longed to say them? Or had their love been a mere pastime to her, the game of a bored, wellborn lady? Yes, she’d proclaimed her love and shown all the courtesies and generosities of such a sentiment. But had that merely been an amusement, safe for a young lady of her station to engage in because he would leave one day?

They came to a weeping willow and found refuge beneath its abundant tresses, a bower wherein he might speak the overflowing emotions of his heart. He turned to her and drew in a quick breath. Her eyes seemed like sparkling sapphires in her porcelain face, and tiny teardrops clung to her long black lashes. A rush of protectiveness overwhelmed him. He set both of their cups on the ground and pulled her into his arms.

“Marianne.” He sighed.

“Oh, Jamie.” Trembling, she laid her head against his chest and encircled his waist with her arms.

He held her for some time. When she tilted her head back
and gazed up at him, he kissed her. The sweet softness of her lips, the innocent trust in her eyes, made him realize all the more that he
must
protect her from every danger, including himself. “If someone should see us—” He tried to move back.

She clung to him. “I do not care.”

He brushed his hand across her cheek and kissed her again, breathing in her sweet jasmine perfume.
Lord, help us. How easy it would be to fall into the world’s ways. But I will not corrupt her or myself, as difficult as it may be to resist the temptations of the flesh.
He lifted his head. “We must not do this, my lady.”

Marianne gave him a playful smirk. “Yet you do not push me away.”

“No, my lady, I would never do that.”

“Enough of ‘my lady’.” She tapped his lips with one finger. “Have I not told you? I am your Marianne, and you are my Jamie. ‘My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.’”

He shoved away his fond remembrances of Sidney’s poem. “That was long ago in a dream world. Now we must live in reality.”

Her broken sigh cut into him. “Would you marry me if you could?” In her eyes, he read the same despair his own heart held. Somehow, for both of them, he must lighten this mood.

“Yes, my darling daughter of a lord. If I were the eldest son of a prince or duke or whatever you English consider worthy, I would marry you.” He gently removed her arms from around him and gripped both of her hands. “But I am not. I am a simple merchant sea captain, your father’s business partner, a working man.” He pulled off one of his gloves. “Do you see these calluses? I’ve worked hard all my life, and I’m proud of them.” She reached out to touch his hand, but
he pulled back and put the glove back on. “Please don’t think me vulgar for it, but that is the essence of who I am. And I will never be what your family and your station require.”

She stepped back and crossed her arms. “Lady Weston married her footman.”

“Lady Weston was a widow whose reputation set no example for a Christian girl.”

Marianne stared at the ground for a moment, then lifted her gaze to meet his. “But you do love me, and you would marry me if Papa gave his permission?” A strange gleam flitted across her eyes.

Jamie blinked. “Yes, of course. I’ve already said that.”

She seemed to suppress a smile and instead released another long sigh. “Very well. I am content with that knowledge.”

“Good.” Yet he didn’t feel very good. The conversation had shifted without warning, and he had the strange feeling she was neglecting to tell him something important. But he dared not ask what it was. Perhaps reality had settled in her heart at last, as it had in his, and she’d decided to make the best of it. But if she went to her father and declared their love, he’d simply have to beg the earl’s forgiveness. “May I escort you back to the others?” He offered his arm.

As they walked beside the lake, her mischievous smile further unnerved him, making him reconsider his conclusions.

Suddenly she peered around him toward the water and gasped. “Georgie!”

Jamie followed her gaze.

There in the middle of the bottomless lake, the rowboat was foundering, and the earl’s grandson flailed and splashed his arms.

“Help me!” The boy’s gurgling wail sounded across the water.