The Captain's Lady. Louise M. Gouge
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toward her plate. Please do not permit Jamie to go. Her silent prayer was directed to both her earthly and heavenly fathers. Before she could fully compose herself and observe Papa’s reaction to Robert’s plan, the gentleman seated to her right cleared his throat.
“Lady Marianne,” Tobias Pincer said, “how exquisite you look this evening.” As he leaned closer to her, his oily smile and the odors of camphor and wig powder nearly sent Marianne reeling off the other side of her chair. “Do tell me you plan to attend the rout this evening. I shall be nothing short of devastated if you do not.”
With the tightest smile she could muster, she muttered her appreciation of his nightly compliments. “You must forgive me, Mr. Pincer, but my mother and I have prior plans.” Did this man actually think she would consort with his crowd, even if Robert was a part of it?
“Of course.” His smile turned to a simper, but before he could say more, Grace Kendall claimed his attention from the other side.
“Why, Mr. Pincer, you are neglecting this delicious soup.” Her pleasant alto tones dropped to a murmur as she shared a bit of harmless gossip. Mr. Pincer bowed to propriety and turned his full attention to her.
Marianne wanted to hug Grace. For the past three years, Mama’s companion had frequently sacrificed herself to deflect unwanted attention Marianne received from suitors. Although more than pretty herself, Grace had no fortune and no prospects. At six and twenty, she would likely remain an old maid, but her selfless companionship always proved a blessing to both Mama and Marianne.
Freed from polite necessity, Marianne looked back across the table just in time to see Papa’s approving nod in Jamie’s direction.
“We shall see to it tomorrow,” Papa said.
What had she missed? Would Jamie go out with Robert this evening? From the defeated look on her brother’s face, she guessed he would not. Even as her heart ached over the way Papa often crushed Robert’s spirits, she could not help but rejoice that Jamie would not be dragged into the gutters of London.
“Papa,” she ventured in a playful tone, “what plans are you making? Have you and His Majesty already subdued those dreadful rebels in America?” She saw Jamie’s eyebrows arch, and she puckered away a laugh.
Papa chuckled in his deep, throaty way. “You see, Templeton, these women have no sense about such things.” He leaned toward her. “Would that it could be done so easily, my dear. No, I have another project in mind, one in which Captain Templeton has agreed to participate. Our good Reverend Bentley—” he nodded toward the curate, who sat at Mama’s right hand “—has agreed to school the captain in some of our more tedious social graces.”
Marianne turned her gasp into a hum of interest. “Indeed?”
The color in Jamie’s tanned cheeks deepened, and charming bewilderment rolled across his face.
“Yes, indeed.” Papa straightened and puffed out his chest. “If this partnership goes as planned, I shall be introducing Captain Templeton to other peers and gentlemen. Through our mutual business efforts, we will make East Florida the standard of how to prevent a rebellion, shall we not, Templeton?”
“That is my hope, sir.” Jamie’s attention remained on Papa.
“Furthermore, daughter,” Papa said, “I am enlisting your assistance, as well. Your mother can spare you for a while. I want you to take the captain to see the sights about the city.” He glanced down the table. “I suppose Robert should go along for propriety’s sake.”
She could hardly believe her ears and could not call forth any words to respond. Jamie blinked and avoided her gaze, perhaps as stunned as she was.
Robert stopped balancing his spoon on the edge of his soup plate and stared at Papa, his mouth agape. He shook his head slightly, as if to clear his vision, and a silly grin lifted one corner of his lips. Marianne would have laughed if her brother’s reaction did not seem almost pathetic. Papa never entrusted him with anything.
“Humph.” Now a wily look crossed Robert’s face, and he studied Jamie up and down, then sniffed. “Well, for gracious sakes, Father, before I am seen in public with this fellow, do let me see about his clothes. Look at him. Not a length of ribbon nor an inch of lace. And this awful black. And not even a brass buckle to catch anyone’s attention. Gracious, Templeton, are you a Quaker? Who makes your clothes? No, never mind. I shall see that you meet my tailor.”
Jamie’s narrowed eyes and set lips, if visible only for an instant, steadied Marianne’s rioting emotions. How she would love to thump her dear brother right on the nose for his rude words, spoken so shortly after his own invitation to take Jamie out for the evening. But Marianne could see the resolution in Jamie’s face. Her beloved could take care of himself. And although he was at least five years Robert’s junior, she had no doubt Jamie would have the greater and better influence on her brother. She would make that a matter of most earnest prayer.
“I thank you, Mr. Moberly,” Jamie said to Robert with all good humor. “I shall look forward to any improvements you might suggest.”
What graciousness he exhibited. Was that not the epitome of good breeding and good manners? Marianne blushed for the rudeness of her father and brother for suggesting that he needed anything more.
As for the favor Father was heaping on Jamie, she felt her heart swell with joy. If he considered Jamie a partner and an ally in saving the colonies for the Crown, this could be regarded as nothing less than complete approval of the man, perhaps even to the point of accepting him into the family, despite his being a merchant. Her parents had never insisted she marry. Was that not very much like permission to marry whomever she might choose? Hadn’t they themselves married for love, despite Mama’s lower status as a baron’s daughter and no title other than Miss Winston? But in the event she was mistaken, Marianne must take great care to hide her love for Jamie, at least for now.
Chapter Three
For the first time since he had set out on this mission, Jamie began to wonder if General Washington had chosen the wrong man. As a whaler and merchant captain, Jamie had learned how to employ patience and strategy to accomplish whatever goal was at hand. But the gale brewing around him in Lord Bennington’s grand London home just might sink him.
He had no difficulty maintaining his composure when the earl offered to introduce him to some important people. After all, that was why Jamie had come. But this scheme for improving his manners almost set him back in his chair, especially when the earl instructed Lady Marianne to help. Now he would be forced into her company and that of her foppish brother, a dark-haired fellow not exactly corpulent, but on his way to it. Jamie had only just met the curate, a slender, compliant fellow, but he preferred the clergyman as a tutor, for every minute in Lady Marianne’s company would be torture.
Bent over his roast beef, he wondered if he was doing anything amiss. Not that he cared whether someone pointed out a blunder, for he would welcome a chance to learn better manners for future use in such company as this. But he also would like for Lady Marianne to think well of him. Belay that, man. He must not think that way. Yet, without meaning to, he lifted his gaze to see how she wielded her cutlery. Her lovely blue eyes, bright as the southern sky, were focused on him, and he could not look away.
She glanced at the earl. “Papa, have you asked Captain Templeton about Frederick?”
Lord Bennington cast a look down the table at his wife. “Later, my dear. Your mother will want to hear the news of your brother, too.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Lady Marianne resumed eating, stopping from time to time to speak with the man beside her. From the prim set of her lips and the way she seemed unconsciously to lean away from the fellow, Jamie could see her distaste, especially when the man tilted toward her. If some dolt behaved thus toward a lady aboard Jamie’s ship, he would make quick work of the knave, dispatching him to eat with the deckhands. But civility had its place, and this was it. Jamie watched Lady Marianne’s delicate hands move with the grace of a swan, and he tried to copy the way she cut her roast beef