Ransome's Honor (11 page)

Chapter Nine

T
hat is the eighth time you have looked at your watch in the past fifteen minutes.”

William tucked the watch back into his waistcoat pocket at Susan’s comment but stopped his pacing only to look out each of the windows overlooking the street. Mental images of a hired coach capsized on the side of the road quickened his heart.

What had he been thinking, to ask his mother and sister to take such a perilous journey on their own? “I should ride out and trace the route they were supposed to take.”

Susan reached the parlor door before he did, closed it, and held on to the knob with her hands behind her back. “William, be reasonable. There are any number of logical explanations for why they are late.”

“They were supposed to be delivered here at half-past twelve. It is now nearly one o’clock. They could have met with an accident—they could have been set upon by highwaymen—”

Susan burst into laughter. “Highwaymen?”

He glowered at her, ready to lift her out of his way.

She sighed. “Where will you go to look for them? Will you recognize the coach should you pass it? Do you plan to ride all the way to Gateacre if you do not see them on the road? And what should I tell them when they arrive twenty minutes after you ride out?”

His frustration needed venting, yet he could think of no outlet appropriate in present company. He stalked back to the windows and took up his pacing again, stopping abruptly before the one that had a view of the harbor.

He clasped his hands behind his back, set his feet shoulder-width apart, and let all emotion drain from him. He imagined the rhythm of the waves, and after a few moments, he could almost feel the floor beneath his feet rolling in time. His mother’s and sister’s lives were in God’s hands, and all he could do was trust God for their safety. He affixed his eyes on the gleaming waters in the distance and entered the quiet place in his spirit where the Scriptures and prayers he had learned by rote dwelled. As gentle as waves on a sandy beach, a need for prayer washed over him.

O Eternal Lord God, who alone spreads out the heavens, receive into thy almighty and most gracious protection my mother and sister. Preserve them from the dangers of travel, and deliver them safely here with a thankful remembrance of thy mercies to praise and glorify thy holy name; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

An insistent tugging at his sleeve brought him back to the parlor.

“William—is that the coach? There. I believe—it is slowing.” Susan patted his forearm. “They’re here. We must go down to greet them.”

Glorious anticipation swelled in his chest, and he turned and followed Susan downstairs.

Fawkes slowly rose from his chair beside the receiving table. “Shall I send for young Dawling to help with the baggage, sir?”

“Yes, please.” William kept his demeanor in check, curbing the desire to throw comportment to the wind and run out to the street to ensure his mother and sister were indeed well and safe.

He joined Susan at the door as the coach rolled to a stop. Smoothing his lapels, William reached the street just as the footman opened the carriage door. With a deep breath, he leaned his head into the cab.

Although her age showed in the lines around her mouth and eyes, his mother sparkled with energy and vitality. And beside her sat Charlotte, no longer the young girl he’d last seen but a stunning woman of seventeen.

The smile beaming on his mother’s face transported William into the past when, as a lad, his only goal each day had been to earn his mother’s words of commendation. As the firstborn, he’d taken very seriously his responsibility as man of the house during his father’s extended absences at sea.

He assisted his mother first. Once she reached the ground, she hugged him tightly and then raised a hand to caress his face. “William. Oh, how like your father you look.”

Warmth filled him. “I am happy to see you, Mother. And Charlotte.” He kissed her forehead after he helped her down. “I hardly recognized you.”

Mrs. Ransome laughed. “Hardly recognized? With her dark hair and blue eyes just like yours?”

Charlotte’s fair cheeks flushed scarlet. “Two years is too long, William. You must come home more often.”

He offered his arms to escort them into the townhouse. “I would make berth in Liverpool often if I could. However, I must go where the Admiralty orders. Fortunately for me, I have a good correspondent who keeps me informed of all news from home.” He smiled down at Charlotte.

She blushed yet deeper, and he caught a glimpse of the young girl he’d known in the expression.

“Mrs. Ransome, Miss Ransome.” Susan reached out toward them. “I cannot tell you how delighted I am to welcome you.”

His mother released his arm and took Susan’s hand. “Mrs. Yates, it is lovely to see you again. I hope our arrival is of no inconvenience to you.

“Not at all, ma’am! I have driven your son to distraction all morning with my eagerness for your company.” She hooked her arm through Mrs. Ransome’s. “Come. I will show you to your rooms so you can freshen up and rest before tea.”

The three women disappeared inside, William following in their wake.

Charlotte tried not to gawk as she climbed the stairs. Though the townhouse wasn’t much to look at outside, inside, it exceeded what Charlotte imagined the grandest houses in London looked like: gleaming dark wood, gilt-framed portraits, thick Aubusson carpets, sparkling crystal wall sconces...

“Here is your room, Miss Ransome. I hope you find it to your liking.”

Susan Yates opened a door near the end of the hall, stepped aside, and motioned Charlotte to enter.

The room was as delicate and frothy as Susan Yates herself—with surprising bursts of color scattered throughout. Ethereal white lace formed a canopy over the bed. Charlotte reached out to touch the exotic blue silk panels of the changing screen in the corner.

“Collin brought all of these back from China just a few years after we were married.” Susan ran her hand over a length of red silk draped over a white chaise. “I could never bear to have any of the pieces cut up, and I thought they looked nice with all the white in here.”

“They are exquisite.” Charlotte tried to imagine the market in China where Captain Yates had purchased these fabrics...though she was certain her imagination could not do justice to the colors, smells, and sounds of a foreign port.

“Beg pardon, Missus. Miss.”

Charlotte turned toward the door—and gasped. Her trunk balanced on one shoulder, her valise tucked under his other arm, the man entering the room looked unlike any household servant she’d ever seen—burly and scarred, his dark hair a wild tangle about his head.

“Ah, yes, Dawling. Please put Miss Charlotte’s things there.” Susan indicated a spot between the dressing screen and wash stand.

A tap on the door drew their attention from Dawling. William looked in. “Do you have everything you need, Charlotte?”

She’d forgotten how intense his eyes were. He had inherited their mother’s ability to be able to look through a person’s outside right to what they were thinking. “Yes, I believe I shall be quite comfortable.”

“If you find you are in need of anything, please send for Dawling to fetch it for you.”

“Oh, William, I already told you, there’s no need to make extra work for your steward.” Susan waved her hands to shoo him out of the room and then turned back to Charlotte. “Ella will act as your lady’s maid while you’re here. She can get you anything you need.”

Shocked not only to see a woman confident enough to dismiss her brother but also at the fact that he actually moved into the corridor, Charlotte could only nod. Dawling knuckled his forehead and bowed out of the room.

Knuckled his forehead? Suddenly, the rough appearance made sense. Dawling was William’s steward aboard
Alexandra.
Amusement trick led through her. If Dawling was at all talkative, Charlotte might just discover she needed him to fetch quite a few things for her. She could learn much from him.

“Tea will be served in about half an hour.” Susan softly closed the door behind her, leaving Charlotte alone.

A breath of air stirred the curtains, inviting her toward them. She pushed the lace aside and stepped out onto the narrow balcony. Shading her eyes, she glanced to her right, up the row of townhouses on the opposite side of the street. So different from the view of rolling pastureland from her bedroom in Gateacre. She scanned to her left and saw the reflection of sun on water and the unmistakable spikes of ship masts.

Excitement danced a reel in her stomach. So close to her goal. Yet she must proceed with caution, lest someone uncover her plan and keep her from it.

A giggly housemaid came up with water for washing and assisted Charlotte into her pink gown. The girl seemed to be enjoying her time away from her other duties, so Charlotte allowed her to brush out and re-pin her hair.

She met her mother on the landing. Mama touched the curls beside Charlotte’s ear. “Very nice.”

“Yes, I thought she did an excellent job.” She restrained her pace down the stairs to her mother’s. They glimpsed two maids entering a door with trays laden with tea service and food, and followed them in.

“Miss Ransome, do come sit beside me.” Susan patted the seat of the settee and then turned her attention to pouring tea.

William left his place standing beside the fireplace and sat in an armchair beside their mother. Nervousness disquieted Charlotte’s stomach. William’s expression was so stern and forbidding. After two years, he looked exactly as she remembered—except last time he had smiled at her often. How could this be the same man who had sent her drawings of sea creatures and birds when she was a girl and then answered her letters as she’d grown up? Where was the gentle humor, the compassion his words had conveyed?

In Susan Yates’s company, no one had to struggle for conversation—it was rather like being a passenger in a runaway carriage. Even Mama, always calm and collected in company, seemed rattled by the whirlwind chatter.

“Day after tomorrow we are all to attend a formal dinner at the home of Admiral Sir Edward Witherington. Then next week, there is the ball at the home of Baron Fairfax. The Baroness extended a most gracious invitation to both of you when she learned you would be arriving in time for it.”

Charlotte sneaked a glance at her brother. Was he truly so respected—and wealthy—that he counted aristocracy among his acquaintance? Excitement over the prospect of a formal dinner and a ball in the company such as Portsmouth afforded stole through her but just as quickly receded. She had no gown appropriate for such events, and the one person she would wish to dance with was on the far side of the Atlantic trying to make his fortune the hard way. Guilt over the idea of dancing with other men without his knowledge chased away all pleasant thoughts of the ball. She would go—she could think of no excuse that would not be a blatant lie—but she would not enjoy herself

“Miss Ransome is somewhat smaller than I,” Mrs. Yates was saying. “But I have just the gown to mark her coming out in Portsmouth society at the Witheringtons’ dinner. I shall brook no argument, Mrs. Ransome. We will visit my dressmaker tomorrow morning, and she shall alter it to fit our beautiful debutante. By my seventeenth birthday, I had been married nearly a year, and my husband had been sent to sea the month after our wedding.” Her eyes sparkled with irresistible humor. “But that did not stop me from dancing every dance at every ball—Collin, my dear, you are home!” With a laugh, Mrs. Yates rose and greeted the brawny blond man with a kiss on the cheek.

William performed the introductions—although their mother greeted Captain Yates like a long-lost son. Charlotte had a vague recollection of the fair-haired, freckle-faced young man who had come for a visit twelve years ago during the Peace of Amiens. She remembered mostly the funny faces he made and the acrobatics he performed to make her laugh.

Listening to William, Collin, and Susan tell stories about each other made Charlotte a little jealous. These two people—strangers—knew her eldest brother better than she did.

She shoved the envy aside. If her plan worked, she would have plenty of time to spend getting to know her brother better. And she could use that time to work her way so much into his affections that he would not deny her anything...not even her choice of husband.

Chapter ten

J
ulia trimmed her quill and reread what she had written to the Tierra Dulce steward so far, mostly questions about certain entries in the copies of the ledgers and the numbers that did not add up. She finished the letter and then wrote another to the plantation’s foreman, Jeremiah. She trusted no one else but Jeremiah to look after the plantation’s interests in her absence, but she suspected the steward she’d been forced to hire in a rush before leaving for England would not respect Jeremiah or his position due to his African heritage.

When Julia was halfway through copying out the questions for Jeremiah to ask the steward on her behalf, Creighton knocked and entered on her entreaty.

“Beg pardon, miss, but Lady Pembroke requests your presence in the parlor.”

“A caller?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Cannot you tell her that I am in my room resting?”

“I tried, miss, but she saw you enter the library.”

Reluctantly, Julia corked the ink bottle and laid aside her writing materials. She checked her appearance in the small gilt mirror over the fireplace. The pale gray muslin dress seemed as limp and tired as she felt. She smoothed her hair back to the thick coil of braid and, with a fortifying breath, crossed the wide hallway to the front parlor. The door stood open; Julia smothered a groan when she recognized the queue of black hair on the man who sat across from her aunt.

“Julia, dear, come in and greet your cousin.” Lady Pembroke rose. “He has come especially to inquire after your health.”

Sir Drake Pembroke’s movement as he stood was languid, slow—almost slothful. Julia forced a neutral expression as she entered the room. She paused to answer Sir Drake’s bow with a curtsey before stopping at the armchair beside her aunt’s. Not every man could move with the crisp quickness and precision of a naval officer. Such a pity.

“Thank you for your kind concern, Sir Drake. My strength returns by the hour.” Julia sat only after her aunt did so.

As Sir Drake moved to sit, a faint whiff of the cologne he’d been doused in at the concert two nights ago reached Julia’s nose. Her head pounded in response. Could it be? Could the fragrance he wore have felled her?

“I called yesterday but was told you were too ill to receive visitors. I am so pleased to see you have regained your...color.” Sir Drake’s voice went a bit weak at the end of his statement.

Julia knew she looked anything but robust, but she smiled her thanks at the flattery.

“I was just telling Mother of my recent sojourn in Scotland visiting our aunt, Lady MacDougall.”

A cold shiver trickled down Julia’s spine. She had never had the misfortune to meet her mother’s Aunt Hedwig, but she had heard about the baroness’s philosophies of how ladies should behave from her earliest memories.

“Do you know Lady MacDougall, Miss Witherington?” he asked.

“Only by reputation.”

Lady Pembroke cleared her throat, indicating her displeasure with Julia’s response. “I thought we might visit Aunt Hedwig this autumn, when the weather is more pleasant for traveling. I am most anxious for Julia and our aunt to become better acquainted.”

This was news to Julia. Of course, she would be back in Jamaica before autumn, so she gave the scheme no further thought. The conversation turned from Aunt Hedwig’s late husband’s estate in Scotland to London, and Julia clamped her lips together over a threatening yawn while Sir Drake droned on about what he had seen and done while in Town for part of the Season. Her mind drifted back to her unfinished letter, and she thought of a few more questions for Jeremiah to put to the steward. Only by extreme force of will did she remain seated, feigning interest in Sir Drake’s pompous, self-gratulating anecdotes.

After what seemed like a great while—but only ten minutes by the grandfather clock in the corner—the unmistakable sounds of her father’s homecoming reached the parlor. Julia strained to hear his movements, hoping he would come rescue her. After a few moments, the house once again fell still, and she returned to mentally composing the letter to Jeremiah.

The parlor door swung open and her rather—still in full admiral regalia—marched in. Julia stood, relief flooding her.

Sir Drake popped up from his chair. So he could move with something more akin to snap and attention than she’d first thought. “Sir Edward. I am so pleased. I was uncertain I would have the honor of seeing you today”

Admiral Witherington wore a slightly disdainful expression. “Pembroke.” He gave the baronet a quick visual inspection before inclining his head slightly. Much of the insipidness drained from Sir Drake’s stance at the admiral’s cold greeting.

Julia’s legs twitched with the desire to cross the room to him.

“Daughter, I would see you in my study”

“Sir Edward.” Lady Pembroke’s voice had a shrill edge to it. “Perhaps you could take your tea with us before Sir Drake leaves, and speak with Julia later.”

Julia cringed.

Her father made no movement, but a definitive sharpness overtook his gaze. “Thank you, madam, but I fear this is an urgent matter of business which cannot be delayed.” He extended his hand. “Come, Julia.”

Eyes trained on her father, Julia willingly obeyed. He clamped his hand around her elbow and led her from the room, securing the door behind them.

Crossing the hall, Julia whispered, “Aunt Augusta will be cross—we did not bid Sir Drake farewell.”

He raised his brows and glanced over his shoulder at the closed door. “He is her son, is he not? Can she not bid him farewell for us?” He frowned. “I do not like her countermanding my request in front of a guest, though.”

“Papa.” She rested her hands flat against the braid-covered lapels of his coat. “My aunt meant only to be polite by asking you to stay.” She kept her voice low so as not to carry.

He kissed her forehead, put his arm around her waist, and led her into the library, where a maid was setting up a tea tray. He dismissed the girl and closed the door behind her.

“Your defense of your aunt is admirable, if undeserved, my dear.” He shrugged out of his coat, draped it across the back of a sofa, and sank into a plush leather chair.

Julia perched on the edge of the more delicate carved armchair beside the table and began to prepare her father’s tea. “She wants nothing more than for you to become enamored of Sir Drake Pembroke.”

He grunted. “She wastes her time, then.”

“Papa,” Julia chided, handing him his cup. “We know too little of him to judge for favor or ill.”

He turned a surprised expression toward her. “How can you say so? Was not his impertinent behavior toward you at the concert enough to form an opinion of him? Had you but said the word, I would have had him flogged round the fleet—yes, in full presence of all assembled.”

Julia tingled with pleasure at the compliment to herself implied in her father’s words. “Thank you, Papa.”

“I do not trust the man—but then, I learned long ago not to trust Pembrokes from the way they treated your mother. Thank God you take after me. Though, in some ways, you are much like your mother—she somehow managed to escape becoming like the rest of her family.” He reached for a sandwich. “I believe your brother may have had more of the Pembroke constitution. He was a good boy, and I was prodigiously proud of him; but I think his lack of ambition for advancement in the navy may have come from the Pembroke blood.”

Julia’s innards froze solid. “I do not understand how you can say such a thing, sir. I have read to you from his letters where he expressed his greatest desire to please you and find patronage and move up the ranks.”

“Now, now, Julia. Do not let my comments upset you so. I meant no offense, I assure you. Your loyalty to your brother does you credit. But you must admit to the differences in your temperament and disposition, for all that you were twins. Your quickness with books and learning, your head for numbers and business...Are not you the one who convinced me—and many of our neighbors—of the economic benefits of freeing our slaves and hiring them on at fair wages? Of making Jeremiah the foreman? And all when you were yet a girl of fourteen.”

“It was Michael’s idea. His plan—all except for the calculations of profit.” Her throat clogged thinking of her twin’s compassionate heart. Compassion was a more admirable trait than cleverness with numbers. If they continued speaking of Michael, she would only become upset with her father. “For what ‘urgent business’ did you want to see me, Papa?”

“What? Oh, did not you recognize it as a ruse to grant you escape from a situation you had no desire to be in?”

She swallowed the remainder of her tea, along with the emotion clogging her throat. “I did not want to assume of your intentions.”

“I saw the letters to Jeremiah and the steward. If you finish them tonight, I will send them out on the supply ship that sails early tomorrow morning.”

Ah, yes, the letters. Julia retrieved the papers, quill, and ink, and finished the missive to Jeremiah while her father read his correspondence.

Both looked up at a rap on the door.

“Enter.” Sir Edward removed his spectacles as Creighton entered.

“Admiral Sir Edward, sir, there is a messenger from the port Admiralty downstairs with a message for you.”

“See him in, please, Creighton.”

Julia left her writing table and crossed to help her father into his uniform coat and then straighten the red sash across his chest.

“Thank you, my dear.” He squeezed her shoulders.

“Should I go?”

“I see no reason.”

Creighton returned with a man with a lieutenant’s epaulette on his right shoulder, hat tucked under his arm.

Sir Edward stood before his desk, hands clasped behind his back, looking more imposing than she’d ever seen him. “Report.”

“Sir—this arrived for you after you left.” The young man handed over a letter. “I’ve been told to await your response, sir.” His Adam’s apple bobbled as he swallowed, his eyes not quite meeting the admiral’s.

“Very well. Please, have a seat.” Sir Edward motioned the officer to one of the chairs flanking his desk.

Julia returned to the smaller writing table in the corner and tried to put her attention back on her own letter, but her gaze kept drifting to her father. He perched his spectacles on his nose and sank into his large chair to read the missive. After a few moments, he took up pen and parchment and scratched out a brief note.

Within ten minutes of his arrival, the lieutenant departed with Sir Edward’s response. Julia rolled the tip of her quill between finger and thumb.

Sir Edward removed his glasses and rubbed his forehead. “I’ve been summoned to the Admiralty in London. I am to depart at dawn Friday morning with Admiral Hinds.”

“For how long?” She wiped the ink from her fingers and moved to the chair the lieutenant vacated.

“A month, possibly as long as six weeks. They are in need of admirals to adjudicate courts-martial.”

Julia clasped her hands together in her lap, anxiety contorting her insides. “I see.”

“I would offer to take you with me, but I am informed that we shall be quartered at the Admiralty so there will be no undue influence upon us by family members or interested parties in the cases.” He tapped his spectacles against his chin. “Your aunt is here, so you will not be left alone. For all that I do not trust her, at least she will see to it that you are well chaperoned and no harm will come to you. I know you are capable of looking after yourself—that you took care of your mother for years while running the plantation almost singlehandedly. But your aunt knows the ways of society better than you do. She can continue to help you take your place here. Follow her lead—she will not lead you astray”

But her father was supposed to be here—to buffer her from her aunt’s attempts to push Sir Drake upon her. “Yes, Papa.”

“And the timing is not all bad—at least I shall not miss our dinner party.”

“No, not the dinner party.” But he would, once again, miss celebrating her birthday because duty called him away.

“And I am certain that the Yateses and Ransome can be counted upon should you need anything.”

“Of course.”

“In fact, I believe I shall ask Ransome to watch over you. His mother and sister will be most helpful to him and to you in that task, I believe. I am certain Mrs. Ransome will be most anxious to be of service to you, as her husband was to me for so long.”

“I will be honored to make Mrs. Ransome’s acquaintance.” Was this an attempt to subtly push Julia and William together? “But you need not ask Captain Ransome—”

“Nonsense. He will be glad to do it.”

She was about to protest again when she remembered that William Ransome was to sail for Jamaica before the end of August. If she wanted passage aboard his ship, she needed to start trying to ingratiate herself to him. “Very well. I shall be grateful for his watchcare.”

After all, turnabout was fair play.