Texas Viscount

by Henke, Shirl

  As they filed into the house for tea, Sabrina whispered to Josh in passing, “Smooth sailing.”

  * * * *

  Josh would have prayed for a hurricane but he figured he wasn't exactly in the Deity's good graces at present, and probably never would be. The day dawned bright and clear with a very brisk wind. He stood staring bleakly out the large window of his bedroom, watching the whitecaps boom against the sandy shore. Just looking at the swells made him start to sweat. No help for it. He would have to convince Uncle Ab to make up whatever excuse the old man thought would pacify the Chiffingtons.

  The humiliating decision made, he headed toward the earl's room just as Hambleton stepped into the corridor. “Morning, Uncle Ab,” he said casually. “Could I palaver with you in private?”

  One white eyebrow arched. “If by that you mean hold a conversation, certainly. I do wish you would master the English tongue, Joshua. It would make your life as a peer ever so much easier. Not to mention that of Miss Edgewater,” he muttered to himself as he started to turn back into his room.

  But before the earl could reopen the door, the sounds of an argument carried from around the corner of the long hallway. “Please, Papa, you know how sick I get. Please don't make me,” Drucilla begged in a plaintive voice breaking with desperation.

  “I'll not hear another word about your imaginary illnesses. The Palmers have been seafarers for generations. Why, your great-grandfather fought alongside Lord Nelson himself!” The marquess' voice was crisp and authoritative but bored, as if this family-history lesson had been delivered many times before.

  “Oh, Gerald, she does tend to...well, you know,” his wife interjected softly.

  “You mean vomit like a puling infant. Say it,” he replied irritably. “Small wonder the girl's such a weakling. Little doubt she inherited her mal de mer from you. Thank heavens Eunice is a splendid sailor, in spite of her delicate femininity.”

  “ ‘Delicate femininity’ isn't quite what I'd call it,” Josh muttered to himself as the argument was settled—in the marquess' favor, naturally.

  Everyone would go sailing and that was simply that.

  With a look of distaste on his face for the way the marquess had treated his wife and younger daughter, the earl motioned for Josh to follow him back into his room. “I believe I know what you wanted to discuss,” he said. When his nephew did not respond immediately, the old man chuckled. “A bit of a pickle, isn't it?”

  “If you ask me, it's more like a whole barrelful,”

  Josh responded grimly. “Did you know about the marquess' hero being ole Lord Nelson?”

  “When Chiffington issued the invitation for us to come to his seaside cottage, I feared he might want to take us out on his yacht,” Hambleton admitted.

  “Then why the hell did you accept? You knew I'll do the same thing poor Drucilla does.”

  The earl shrugged. “What was I to say? That my wild Texas heir suffers from mal de mer? No, dear boy, this is one situation which I fear you must master, for if you cannot, then the beautiful Lady Eunice Palmer will never consider you suitable. Most certainly, her father will not.”

  “Oh, she's beautiful, right enough, and just about bright enough to skip and talk at the same time...as long as the conversation is about her. I wouldn't marry that heifer if I was stranded with her smack in the middle of the Llano Estacado for the rest of my life,” Josh said vehemently.

  “Indeed? I rather thought she would appeal, as she's an heiress of some consequence and great beauty. Not to mention that the family name is sterling,” Hambleton replied in a bland tone. “Ah, well, if you must find another lady who suits better, at least do me the courtesy of not offending the Chiffingtons any more than you're able to help doing.”

  Josh stood watching the earl's back as the old man strolled out the door with an utter lack of concern. He scratched his head, puzzled. “If I live to be older than one of those Galapagos turtles, I'll never understand the English.” He sighed.

  After mustering up his courage for the walk to the dock, Josh was surprised to see Sabrina decked out in a simple white blouse and skirt, her hair plaited in a fat braid that hung down her back. The wind loosened tendrils of bronze hair and whipped them about her smiling face.

  “Good morning,” she said, falling into step beside him, her slippers sinking into the sand as they walked.

  Being in no hurry to reach the dock, he slowed to accommodate her. “What's good about it?” he replied.

  “You might try some of these,” she said, handing him a small sack. “I had poor Drucilla eat several instead of breakfast...which I noted that you missed.”

  “Don't even mention food,” he muttered, looking inside the sack. “Crackers?”

  “Sometimes it helps. I don't know why, but perhaps it acts like glue for one's inner parts,” she replied cheerfully.

  “I know better than to put anything in my mouth,” he replied, recalling all too vividly the ten-course dinner he'd consumed the night before. Surely it was digested by now. They had eaten fashionably late, but he'd had nothing since arising.

  “Suit yourself,” she said.

  “You're enjoying my misery.”

  She looked up at his accusing expression. “Why, not at all, my lord. You have not yet even begun to experience misery. My real sympathy goes to poor Drucilla. She should not be forced to do something that humiliates her.”

  He agreed, but he was damned if he'd let her know it. “But I should?”

  “Shall I say you require an extensive diminution of hubris?”

  “More ten-dollar words,” he groused.

  When they reached the dock, Josh placed one foot on the springy wooden planks and felt them give ever so slightly. He looked down the seemingly endless distance to where a large double-masted sailing vessel bobbed and dipped vigorously on the waves. He would rather run a mile-long gauntlet of hatchet-wielding Comanches than walk those creaking planks to that boat.

  Just looking at it pitch was bringing back the sweats he'd willed away earlier. The wind picked up abruptly. Even the elements were conspiring against him. If he could charge up a hill with artillery gouging holes the size of grizzlies all around him, why was he going all weak in the knees now? He glanced over at Sabrina, who was negotiating the rough planks as if she were on a ballroom floor, damn her sea-blue eyes.

  “Here, take my arm. You might trip,” he said, seizing hold of her hand in what he hoped appeared to be a gallant gesture.

  It did not fool her. She chuckled beneath her breath and waved to the earl and the Chiffingtons, calling out a warm greeting to the wan Drucilla.

  The poor girl didn't look half as bad as Josh. He gritted his teeth and forced a jovial smile for the assembly. That was when he noticed that Uncle Ab was not with the others. “Where's my uncle?” he asked.

  Chiffington gave a dismissive chortle. “Oh, he's not coming. My wife remained at the house to keep him company He suffers from mal de mer, can you imagine?”

  It's hereditary and the old goat didn't tell me! “Oh, I reckon I can imagine,” Josh managed.

  “Good morning, Lord Wesley,” Eunice purred.

  She was dressed in a spotless white sailing costume, trimmed with navy blue piping. The skirt was inset with pleats, and the blouse had a fancy square collar in the back, which was blowing against her nape. Eunice had secured her hair beneath a jaunty straw hat with a wide brim to protect her delicate face from the sun. Navy blue ribbons trailing from the hatband snapped in the breeze. The ensemble was far more elaborate than the simple rig Sabrina wore.

  “Papa feels sailing is a true test of manhood, but of course Lord Hambleton is quite elderly now and cannot be expected to exert himself,” Eunice cooed, inspecting the slightly greenish pallor of the Texan's face. “Surely you are not afflicted by an illness of old men and young girls?”

  Josh felt mad enough to chew barbed wire and spit fence staples. Impugn his manhood, would she? And worse yet, in front of Sabrina. “Nothing afflicts me,
Lady Eunice,” he replied, grinning like a shark. He gave Sabrina a hand as she climbed aboard, then vaulted over the side onto the deck himself. Willpower, that was all it took—that and holding on to the irresistible image of strangling the life from Uncle Ab when he got back on solid ground.

  “Capital,” said the marquess. “Then we're off!”

  As a footman unfastened the last of the moorings, the would-be admiral issued crisp instructions to his crew and they began releasing the complex of lines that allowed the sails to unfurl and catch the wind. The craft rolled sharply to one side as Chiffington steered it away from the dock toward the open ocean. Josh planted his size-twelve boots firmly on the deck and refused to seize hold of the railing to keep his balance when no one else seemed to require such aid.

  Once they made it away from the coast, the water grew a bit less choppy and the wind softened. Sabrina and Drucilla stretched out on deck chairs in the sun as they conversed. A bit of color seemed to return to the girl's cheeks as she responded to Miss Edgewater's questions. Eunice strolled about the deck, pretending to examine ropes and pulleys as she posed artfully, letting the breeze mold her clothes to the ample curves of her body.

  Every sailor aboard the yacht was aware of her, although they dared to slip surreptitious glances only when the marquess was not looking. That woman is more trouble than a prostitute at a prayer meeting, Josh thought as he observed her exhibition. At least the diversion took his mind off the movement of the boat. Maybe there was something to that mind-over-matter ballyhoo after all. He decided he'd given the marquess' spoiled darling enough attention and walked deliberately over to where Sabrina and her charge were seated.

  “May I join you, ladies?” he asked.

  Sabrina looked up and smiled as Drucilla shyly nodded. He wore a dark brown jacket and tan twill trousers that were tailored magnificently to his body. His green paisley cravat, loosened by the wind, made the color of his eyes come alive in the brilliant sunlight. A lock of black hair tumbled over his forehead and he combed it back carelessly with one sun-bronzed hand. The sweating pallor of earlier appeared to be gone now.

  A part of her was glad, yet a small, niggling voice in the back of her mind suggested how much fun it would be to see him brought low as he had done to her on so many occasions. Heavens, she was growing mean-spirited. And enjoying it, too. “You seem to feel better, my lord,” she said with a smile. “Did you try the crackers?”

  “Oh,” Drucilla interjected, blushing beet red the moment she emitted the exclamation. ”D-do you suffer from seasickness, too?” she dared to ask.

  He leaned closer. “Don't tell your pa, but yep, I sure do. It's nothing to be ashamed of, anymore than catching a cold or breaking your a—arm when a bronc bucks you off his back.” He looked at Sabrina, who was hiding a grin behind her hand as she nodded approval at his correction.

  “My papa thinks it is disgraceful. I wish I were more like Eunice,” Drucilla said plaintively.

  “You're just fine as Lady Drucilla,” Sabrina said firmly.

  “But she's ever so much prettier and she can play tennis and sail and dance. I'm so clumsy.”

  “Beauty is a many-sided thing,” Sabrina said carefully. “There is beauty of the soul and spirit—not to mention the beauty of a quick, bright mind. While the physical fades, the rest...well, those qualities you have for all your life.”

  “And don't worry about having two left feet,” Josh added with a wink. “You just have to grow into ‘em. It takes a while. When I was your age, I couldn't walk across a barnyard without stepping in—er, tripping over a twig. Tall folks when they're young are kinda like foals. You ever see a newborn horse?” he asked. When she nodded, he continued, “They get their legs all tangled up at first, but then as they get older, they learn to run like the wind.”

  “But it's not fashionable for ladies to be tall like gentlemen,” Drucilla replied.

  “Who says? Did you ever hear of Lillie Langtry?”

  “The famous actress? Of course.”

  “I met her when I was about your age. She's right tall—taller than you are. So's that famous Russian toe dancer or ballerina or whatever they call her, Natasha Samsonov.”

  “Really?” Drucilla said, her posture visibly straightening as her eyes grew wide with delight.

  Sabrina watched as Josh talked with the girl, drawing her out of her shell. He was utterly wonderful with children, had a natural way of explaining things in terms they understood. She almost forgave him for mentioning that Samsonov hussy. Almost.

  The morning progressed smoothly although Eunice, noting that her supposed suitor was paying more attention to her wallflower sister and that nobody “governess” than to her, tried to lure him away by insisting he take a turn about the deck. It was difficult to refuse without appearing rude. Asking Sabrina and Drucilla to excuse him, he did as the lady commanded.

  Her entire conversational repertoire consisted of talking about herself—her new clothing, the latest social affairs in London she had attended, even the suitors she had won. The only other subject worthy of consideration was her paragon of a father.

  “Papa is the most marvelous sailor, isn't he?” she said as they reached the upper deck where the marquess stood at the wheel. “Have you ever taken the helm?”

  “Well, Lady Eunice, considering that I lived hundreds of miles from the coast, that's one chore I never had to do,” he replied.

  “Oh, it isn't a chore at all. We have common seamen to do the hard labor. Steering is a skill, isn't it, Papa?”

  Her father beamed at her, then turned to Josh and said, “I say, I would ask you to take the wheel for a bit, but it does take a special talent to hold her steady.”

  “I understand how you feel, Lord Chiffington. I sorta feel the same about my Mercedes. I reckon I'll stick to steering automobiles and let you steer boats.”

  The marquess' eyes widened in disapproval. “Automobiles?” he echoed. “Dangerous things.”

  “Papa doesn't approve of horseless carriages,” Eunice interjected needlessly. “Personally, I think they're nasty smelling.” She made a face.

  Josh grinned. “A little smelly. Nothing compared to a stable...but then, that's why you have servants to clean up, isn't it?” he couldn't resist adding.

  “Of course,” she replied blankly. “Whoever would muck out their own stables?”

  “Surely the better classes don't do that in America,” the marquess said, horrified.

  Josh shrugged. “I couldn't speak for folks born rich, but I earned my first cash money cleaning out stables.”

  “How unspeakably vulgar,” Eunice said, wrinkling her perfect little nose as if she could smell a pile of fresh horse manure.

  Just then Sabrina and Drucilla passed by below, engaged in laughing conversation. “I do hope the governess can do something with that girl. At least she's managed to hold down her breakfast,” the marquess said with a sigh.

  “If she does, it will be her only accomplishment,” Eunice interjected snidely. “Drucilla is quite beyond help, I'm afraid. She can't dance or even dress properly.”

  “All the girl needs is time to grow up. She's only a tadpole,” Josh responded.

  Lady Eunice's expression was positively malicious as she looked at her sister. “She'll be as tall as a man before she's grown. Papa will have a terrible time finding her a husband.”

  “That's why I'm hiring that glorified maid to tutor her,” he replied, aggravated.

  Josh bristled at the dismissive insult to Sabrina. “Miss Edgewater is a highly educated lady who's fixing to start her own school.”

  “How dreadful to have to work for one's living...and to be a spinster in the bargain. At least Cilla won't have to worry about working,” Eunice said.

  Josh was beginning to dislike both father and daughter more by the moment. His most devout wish was to get this weekend over with and return to London. Then he and Uncle Ab would have a serious talk about any further selection of matrimonial candidates.
<
br />   As the sun reached its zenith, the marquess instructed the cook to serve luncheon below deck in the dining area. The old martinet even deigned to allow one of the crew to take the wheel while he played host at table. While they were making their way below, the wind began to pick up once more. Josh had been doing decently until then, above deck and distracted by conversation, even if some of it had aggravated him.

  But once he stepped into the low-ceilinged dining area with its small portholes, that old queasy feeling began to creep up on him again. The horizon rocking from side to side through a round window was altogether more difficult for him to deal with than bouncing up and down on a bucking horse. At least when you fell off, it was on solid ground. Nothing aboard a boat was ever stationary.

  The marquess took his seat at the head of the cramped table and the others sat in their assigned places. Josh was at the opposite end of the table with Eunice at his right and Drucilla at his left. Sabrina was seated next to Chiffington, who began to discuss what she could teach his daughter. The cook served the first course, a lobster bisque, and everyone began to eat with relish.

  Except Josh.

  The aroma of sherry and heavy cream blended with lobster was definitely not a culinary delight when one was beginning to turn the color of the second course—assorted summer greens in vinaigrette. Shoving the soup away barely tasted, Josh manfully attempted a few forkfuls of the greens, but the pungent dressing made him immediately abandon that. Oh, for those crackers I turned down earlier!

  “Whatever is wrong, Lord Wesley?” Lady Eunice asked. “You've scarcely touched a thing, just like Cilla. But then, we all know why she won't eat,” she added with a smirk. “Do you not approve of our cook?”

  “The cook is doing his job just fine,” Josh managed, as he and Drucilla exchanged sympathetic glances. “Being raised in Texas, I reckon I'm just naturally more of a meat-and-potatoes sort of fellow.”

  “Ah, then the saddle roast of venison coming up should suit you perfectly,” the marquess said as a huge chunk of beautifully browned meat was presented for him to carve. “Here, pass me your plate.”