He sipped his claret, allowing the sweet, spiced wine to fill his mouth with flavor before swallowing.
The pretty heiress – Laura – was in tearful disarray. He shook his head. Silly, naive little thing. The girl sat there shaking beside a man Kit guessed to be her brother, a man as handsome as his sister was pretty – in a vapid sort of way.
And then there was the cousin, Miss Sophia Green, who looked unlike either of her relations – complexion dark while theirs was fair. They dressed to show off their wealth and finery. Miss Sophia, on the other hand, didn’t seem to give a damn how she looked.
What a color that gown. The brown made her look sallow. And there might be an attractive figure under the shapeless sack, but who could tell?
Munter… ugly witch…
Kit gripped the railing with residual anger as he recalled Havers’ words. They were brutal and, yet, this Miss Sophia retained her composure in the face of them. He watched her now, a picture of calm and reason in the sea of emotion about her, while she gave a thorough recounting to this Samuel fellow.
The front doors opened. He heard the sound of a carriage rolling to a halt under the portico. A breeze made its way up to him and, with it, he smelled a touch of damp.
He had to admit, he’d rather enjoyed playing the hero tonight. Correction – it felt good to do something physical and use some pent up energy. Cooped up here for months on end was almost more than he could bear – not even the impending arrival of what was laughably called spring in England could improve his mood. He wouldn’t have been here at all but for the refit of his ship, the Calliope, now almost complete. As soon as it was, he and his crew would sail back to the Mediterranean and be away from this cold, wet, miserable place for another few years.
He turned to the sound of footsteps behind him. It was still difficult to get used to seeing Elias Nash, his first officer, in evening dress. Such formal attire was useless for life at sea.
Elias quickly caught the direction of Kit’s focus. “So, this is where you got to.”
He looked over Kit’s shoulder to where the party of three was making their way into the carriage.
“Pining? It’s usually you leaving unrequited fancies in your wake.”
Kit accepted the good-natured ribbing as he would from few others. Of all the people he knew, only Elias had his full trust – only Elias knew his secrets.
“No, just an amusing diversion.” Kit raised his head to draw his friend’s attention. “So, what news have you?”
Elias looked grave but the expression didn’t last long. It was not in his nature to deceive. His nickname wasn’t “Preacher” for nothing.
“I had a fruitful result in the card room.”
Elias pulled a card from his pocket, smaller than a playing card. He let it pass through his fingers like a conjurer, so Kit couldn’t see what was on it.
“Card room? Since when do you gamble?”
“I don’t. But I happened to come across a certain Professor Jonas Fenton who is…” Elias looked at the card, “a ‘historian and antiquarian’. In fact, he describes himself as an archaeologist which has something to do with digging up old ruins, apparently.”
“Did you save him from sin?”
“I saved him from losing his shirt. The good professor told me how much he was being charged to take himself and an assistant to Sicily. I told him we could get him there cheaper and faster.”
Elias continued. “He’ll be right to leave as soon as the Calliope is ready to set sail. We’ll be back in the warm seas of the Mediterranean with a profitable cargo. The fare from the professor’s party will be all profit.”
Kit grinned. Attending the ball hadn’t been a waste of time after all.
Chapter Two
Oh, to be a thousand miles away – a thousand years away – instead of preparing for the interview she was to have with Samuel.
Sophia glanced wistfully at her copy of Winckelmann’s History of Art in Antiquity on the small table beside her. A red leather bookmark peeked out from the folio as though poking out its tongue, teasing her.
In a few weeks, she would be on a ship bound for the Mediterranean with Uncle Jonas, organizing and documenting his research into the architecture of ancient Greek and Roman cities – Palermo, Syracuse, the ruins of the Villa Jovis on Capri, Herculaneum and Pompeii. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine herself there instead of here in this English library.
She sighed.
Laura had not spoken a word to her since she ran from the Pembrokes’ maze. In fact, she hadn’t said a word to anybody, just sobbed uncontrollably, only offering a definitive shake of her head to Samuel’s question of whether she had been physically harmed. When they had arrived at their townhouse, Laura ran upstairs and slammed her bedroom door and refused to let anyone in but her maid. She loved Laura like a sister and, although there was only four years difference between them, Sophia felt so much older.
What a disastrous end to a debut season.
Of all the rooms of Brentwood House, she loved the library the most. The smell of wood and old leather – the gravitas of the large volumes of books collected by Samuel’s father, her own father’s cousin. She spent more time here than anyone else. Being here gave her courage. This was her domain.
Samuel entered and made his way directly to the brandy. Sophia rose but stayed silent. She had been in love with him for the longest time – ever since she had been fetched from the convent to live with her distant relations. She was ten years old and he was thirteen. Sophia watched him lift the glass stopper of a decanter and pour a generous portion into a cut glass tumbler. He didn’t offer her a drink. Samuel was never anything but courteous to everyone, even the servants. Sophia accepted the implicit censure and waited for him to speak.
“You went behind my back,” he said. The accusation was delivered softly, and all the more devastating for it.
A lump solidified in Sophia’s throat. Yet, she could not apologize. She wasn’t mistaken to be suspicious of Archibald Havers. The solicitor’s letter proved as much, and there was his behavior tonight. They were the actions of a dishonest man. Sophia threaded her fingers together to stop them from shaking and hid them in her gown.
“I’ve tried telling you for weeks there was something false about that man,” she said, trying her hardest to prevent disappointment seeping into her voice. “I love Laura and only care for her happiness. I would never wish her, or you, any ill.”
Samuel looked her in the eye; a lock of soft, light brown hair flopped across his brow and he flicked it away with a noble shake of his head. How many times had Sophia dreamed of touching it? Instead, she took a deep breath and waited for him to respond.
“Havers comes from a good family with an aristocratic name. Do you know how much it would mean to the prestige of the Capplemans if it were joined with the Earl of Whitworth’s family?”
Oh, Samuel. Sophia’s heart went out to him. He could never forget his great grandfather was a mere miner and the family fortune built on extracting coal from the ground. “Where there’s muck, there’s brass”, she recalled old grandpa Cappleman telling her. That “brass” provided a well-off life for two generations who would now prefer to mask their humble origins.
“They may be a good family, but Archibald is not a good man.”
Sophia went to her desk and withdrew an envelope from a locked drawer. She glanced at her own name on the address and handed it to Samuel. Their solicitor had been thorough in his investigations.
“I only did what your father would have done in evaluating a suitor.”
Her heart beat faster at standing so close; she could smell the brandy in the glass beside him. Samuel opened the envelope and read the letter for himself. It had only arrived that morning. The news it contained was shocking.
Archibald Havers was in serious debt, five thousand pounds worth, thanks to a failed business venture. There was evidence to suggest he may also have a secret wife, the daughter of a country doctor living
in the Midlands. The letter ended with a request for permission to undertake further inquiries to ascertain whether this was true. Sophia’s reply in the affirmative was already written, ready to be sent with tomorrow morning’s post.
She watched her cousin’s face and knew by his expression where his eyes had fallen on the page. They travelled back and forth as he read and re-read the lines. He grabbed at the back of a chair, hand trembling. He turned the chair and lowered himself on it.
“Now can you understand why I acted the way I did tonight?” she asked, her voice low, but strong. “Laura witnessed and I experienced his violence. If I had not found Laura when I did, who knows what he might have done to ensure she would be forced to wed him.”
Samuel remained with his head lowered, perhaps re-reading the letter, Sophia couldn’t be sure. She hoped when he raised his head, Samuel would look at her with new eyes – ones that would see beyond her unprepossessing looks and perceive someone who would always have his best interests at heart.
He stood, tucked the letter back in the envelope, and handed it back to her. Their fingers touched briefly and Sophia’s heart fluttered. His pale blue eyes met hers.
“Forgive my temper, Cousin. You are right – as always. Tell me, what should I do?”
His words disappointed her, although she couldn’t say why. Sophia pushed her reading glasses up her nose and brushed past him to where the decanter of brandy stood on a mirror-backed sideboard. She poured herself a glass and watched Samuel in the reflection.
“I think Mr. Havers may try to continue his attentions, but you must be strong and deny him,” she said after a long silence.
When she turned back, a look of disappointment showed on his face. Samuel didn’t approve of women drinking strong liquor. She ignored him, as well as the slight pang in her chest.
“Laura must go abroad,” she said, “for a little while at least.”
Except for Laura’s sake, she wouldn’t even have suggested it. But she could see no other way forward. She swallowed another mouthful of the brandy and watched Samuel muster the beginnings of an argument.
“There is no hiding a scandal,” she warned before he could speak. “Everyone saw Laura’s hysterical state when she returned to the ballroom. They will draw their own conclusions. Then there is whatever story Mr. Havers might spread…”
After a long pause, Sophia continued in her advice. “Let her go with me to Sicily for a few months. She can return with you in the autumn, by which time the bon ton will have some other gossip to amuse them, and Laura can continue with the rest of the season. Let it be known in your circle that Havers has fallen out of favor with you. I will speak to Laura… Cousin.”
Sophia surprised herself by using the familial title. She had always taken great pains to downplay the distant blood connection. If Samuel saw her as only a relative, he might never see her as someone he could fall in love with.
For once, the thought bothered her less.
*
“Get a move on, you lazy, scurvy dogs!”
All activity in the boat shed stopped and a dozen angry faces turned at the loudly yelled insult.
Kit put down the wooden crate he held on his shoulder and grinned. On recognizing their captain, the crew of the Calliope roared with laughter and resumed their tasks.
Despite the cold, driving rain outside, the shipyard interior was warm thanks to the heat from the forges. Kit detested the weather, although he had to acknowledge England still had the world’s finest shipwrights.
The hull was whole again. Aged oak planks had been replaced, and a team of men was sealing the exterior with pitch. The smell of it filled the room and he breathed it in deep. It was as intoxicating as any perfume.
He took off his coat and stripped to the waist just as his men were. He picked up the box containing brass hooks and lamp holders. It wasn’t just the exterior of the Calliope being refurbished. In two weeks’ time, she would be in the water, ready for her masts and, in three weeks more, she would sail out with the next favorable tide.
Soon, he was on deck, avoiding the group of four men laying down shellac.
The Calliope was Kit’s latest acquisition and he would captain it personally. Crewed by fifteen of his most trusted men, the three-masted schooner was fast, maneuverable, and perfect for his other business. The thought of returning to that trade made him all the more impatient.
The quarters would be comfortable for all. Two crew quarters with six bunks each, officer’s cabins for Elias and Jonathan, and the master quarters for himself. By reconfiguring the interior, the Calliope could take passengers as well as cargo – up to ten passengers in five separate berths.
Kit picked up a wall plank from the pile that stood by a small barrel of nails and the hammer beside it. He felt the first strike of the tool right along his arm and welcomed the jolt as he nailed the wood onto the frame.
The noise of the activity around him helped silence the voices in his head – the cries for help of the ones he could not save. He shook his head and focused on the job in front of him with renewed vigor. Building the internal cabin walls would be cathartic. He would have them done by the end of today.
“Captain!”
He continued to hammer.
“Captain,” the voice called again and, this time, he became conscious of it and of the passage of time – daylight through the high-set windows had nearly vanished. Jonathan Afua, his navigator, appeared above him in an open hatch, just visible in the remaining light.
“The men are going to the Black Boar. Will you join us?”
He shook his head. “Not tonight.”
Jonathan paused, as if about to say something, perhaps to ask him to change his mind, but he did not. Maybe he knew it was not the taste of ale his captain needed tonight. If so, he knew better than to mention it. Jonathan had nearly disappeared from sight when Kit called him back.
“Take some coin from the safe. Make sure everyone is well fed but don’t let them get drunk. We have too much to do tomorrow.”
“Already done.”
Kit remained fully dressed on his bed. He stared at the plastered ceiling, waiting for sleep to claim him. It was not late. He could easily join his crew at the tavern and still be ready for the full day of hard labor that awaited him tomorrow. He closed his eyes and willed his mind to rest as his body now did.
He turned his head. Before him on the nightstand stood a square glass bottle with its deceptively plain paper label. In it was a honey-colored liquid nectar. For more nights than he could care to count, it brought him sleep so deep he did not surface even from the terrors of his dreams.
The use of opiates had been the only subject on which he’d fallen out on with Elias. Holding a knife to someone’s throat while still in the throes of a nightmare would put a strain on anyone’s friendship.
At the memory, the muscles along Kit’s arms and legs twitched briefly in an unpleasant reminder of what kind of seductress opium was. He gripped the bottle and waited for the tremors to subside. He was not free of its call and doubted he would ever be so.
The voice of his ten-year-old self screamed inside his head, begging for the hurt to stop. He struggled against the restraining hands of the men raiding the Pendragon. He fought, but he was a small and skinny boy then, made to witness his crewmates – men he looked up to – slaughtered by the invaders until the deck of the vessel was awash with their freshly-spilled blood.
Kit clenched his jaw and clawed at the blankets. He forced his conscious mind to fight the waking nightmare and worked to control his panting until he expelled heaving breaths. Violence surged through him in that instant. The vial smashed against the opposite wall. Viscous liquid ran down the wall and glistened in the lamplight.
He threw himself out of bed and grabbed his coat from where he had draped it over a chair. Sleep would be a long time coming.
Chapter Three
JUNE 1814
Sophia followed Samuel’s gaze through the window of the car
riage as it rolled smartly along the Thames street on the way to the London docks.
A plume of black smoke from the grey-brown of the river rose high above the squat red brick stores at the river’s edge. Between the gaps in the buildings, Sophia watched, as Samuel did, the new steamboats taking passengers from Gravesend into the city itself.
Professor Jonas Fenton, a distant Cappleman relation they called uncle, seemed oblivious to the activity around them. The stocky, balding man kept his head down, scratching in a journal with a stub of a pencil.
But Laura, Sophia noted, had said little other than a mumbled acknowledgement over breakfast, for which she was late. Laura never rose before eleven but the timing of the outgoing tide dictated their arrival at the docks by seven in the morning. Her cousin’s attention remained in the society pages of The Times. Laura shared interest in neither modern invention nor ancient history.
Samuel shifted to catch a better glimpse of the river steamer and his knees brushed against Sophia’s skirts. She fought a blush, content to watch him in profile. She knew him and his habits so well. She was the one to instruct the cook to prepare his favorite meal after he returned from the hunt. She was the one who arranged his diary and kept the household accounts, and she did all of these things without complaint. And still, did he notice?
She forced herself to unwrinkle her brow. Of course he noticed. He thanked her and told her he didn’t know what he would do without her and, yet, he never saw her in the way she saw him – as a mate, a love match, a spouse.
Would absence make the heart grow fonder? For a moment, the idea excited her. A little voice whispered in her ear and assured her that even while Samuel was off on his Grand Tour, he would miss her steady, practical presence. In her mind, she imagined the reunion. She would walk regally from the ship, and he would be there with his arms wide open before going on bended knee to ask her to be his wife.
“Sophia!”
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels: A Regency Historical Romance Collection Page 139
