“What?” Papa’s voice reverberated throughout the room.
Marianne jumped once more.
Mama scowled. “Now, Bennington, please do not shout.”
Marianne noticed that Jamie had moved across the room and was staring at a painting. Once again, his flawless manners manifested themselves through this tactful removal from the unfolding drama.
“I will shout in my own home.” Papa’s trembling increased, and he raised one hand, a finger pointed toward the ceiling. “I will shout in the streets. From the halls of Parliament I will proclaim it. For all the world can clearly see that I have spawned nothing but fools for sons.” He slammed his fist on the desk. Documents bounced. A bisque figurine of an elegant lady fell to the floor and shattered. “The daughter of a merchant. Not even an Englishman. An American. The next thing he will be telling me is that he approves of that infernal colonial rebellion.”
Mama quickly perused the letter. “No, dear. He speaks only of his little wife—”
Papa snatched the letter from her. “I was not in earnest. Should that day come, I would sail to East Florida and execute him myself.”
“Oh, look, Mama.” Marianne’s voice came out in a much higher pitch than she intended. “Frederick wrote to you and me, too.” She picked up the letter bearing her name. “You do not mind, do you, Papa? I shall tell you if he has written anything you must hear.”
Papa’s shoulders slumped, and his reddened eyes focused on her. “You see, Maria,” he said to Mama. “The Almighty saved the best for last.” He set a quivering hand on Marianne’s shoulder and bent to kiss her forehead. “Our wise, beautiful daughter gives us only joy.” He pulled her closer in a gentle embrace. “Would that I could leave all to you, Marianne, for never once in your life have you grieved me.”
Marianne’s eyes stung mightily. At that moment, she was very near to vowing to God that she would surrender Jamie forever, that she would never hurt her parents as Frederick and Robert and Thomas and William had done. But she gulped back the promise. To vow and to break it would be a sin. To vow and to keep it would mean a lifetime of bitter loneliness.
She stared across the room toward the man she loved, willing him to turn her way, to give her some direction, some wisdom to bear this situation.
But when he did turn, Jamie’s wounded frown seemed to shout across the distance that separated them. You see? I was right. We have no future together.
Jamie struggled to secure his turbulent emotions to their proper moorings. As captain of his ship, he often managed numerous life-threatening situations concurrently and with haste and acuity. But never had his heart and wits been so at odds in the midst of a tempest. Never had so many threats loomed over all he held dear.
Lord Bennington’s rage over Frederick’s marriage might extend to Jamie, especially when he discovered the bride was Jamie’s beloved cousin, Rachel. Even if the earl did not cast blame on him, Jamie still felt a bitter ache at not being able to comfort Lady Marianne in her distress. Or to declare his love for her. Or to seize her hand and dash from the room, the house, the country, and to make a future with her in the far reaches of America.
Parallel to these agonizing thoughts streamed the keen awareness that this very room might hold documents outlining Lord Bennington’s involvement in British defenses of East Florida. Yet this little meeting could scuttle the mission for which Jamie had been sent to England.
He inhaled a calming breath, relaxed his stance and unclenched his hands. Then, just as Lord Bennington looked his way, he directed a sympathetic frown across the room to the earl. If the man had caught him staring at Lady Marianne—
“Templeton, I will see you in private.” The glower Lord Bennington directed toward Jamie softened as he gave his countess a slight bow. “My dear, you will excuse us.” He turned to Lady Marianne with the same gentleness. “And you, my child.”
“But, Papa—”
“Come along, Merry.” Lady Bennington used the fond address Jamie had heard Lady Marianne’s parents and brother using. Indeed, her sky-blue eyes and merry disposition—subdued now in her unhappiness—warranted such a nickname. Jamie dismissed a fleeting wish that he had the right to address her with such affection. That right would never be his.
As mother and daughter walked toward the door, Lady Marianne cast a quick glance at him. He forced all emotion from his face and gave them a formal bow, then turned to the earl as if the two ladies had never been there.
“What do you know of this?” Lord Bennington lifted Frederick’s letter from the desk.
This was trouble Jamie could manage. Man to man. The earl had commended him for his forthrightness, and now he would receive a goodly portion of it. Jamie crossed the room and held the man’s gaze.
“They make a handsome couple, milord. Mrs. Moberly is a lady of spotless reputation, pleasant disposition and considerable courage.”
Lord Bennington inhaled as if to speak, so Jamie hastened to continue. “You may have heard the account of how she rescued Lady Brigham from being dragged from a flatboat by an alligator.”
The earl’s wiry white eyebrows arched. “Indeed?” Puzzlement rolled across his face. “When Lady Brigham speaks of her near demise in the jaws of a dragon, she says her husband saved her. She makes no mention of another woman being involved.” He studied the letter as if it would set the story straight.
“An oversight, I’m sure, milord. Frederick recounted the incident to me himself.” Jamie pushed on with the more important issue. “Mrs. Moberly is the perfect wife for a man who is carving a settlement out of the East Florida wilderness.” His own words struck him. Would Lady Marianne be able to survive in that same wilderness after her life of ease? Not likely. Breaking with her was best for her, if not for him, for far too many reasons to count.
“You seem to have some affection for this young woman.” Suspicion emanated from the earl’s narrowed eyes.
Jamie gave him a measured grin. “I have great affection for her.” The earl’s eyes widened with shock, so Jamie kept talking. “She is my cousin, reared with me like a sister.”
Lord Bennington’s face reddened. He placed his fists on the desk and leaned across it toward Jamie. “Are you responsible for this ill-advised union?”
Jamie still stared into his eyes. “No, milord. I was here in England when they formed their attachment. However, I will confess that when Frederick asked for my help, I complied. They were married aboard my ship by an English clergyman.”
Lord Bennington straightened, but his eyes remained narrowed. “You could have omitted that information, and I never would have known it.”
“That is true. But our shared business interests will prosper only if we are honest with one another, do you not think?” Honor and duty clashed in a heated battle within Jamie’s chest, as they always did when he considered his plans to spy on this man. He quickly doused the conflict. “As I told you earlier, your youngest son is performing his duties admirably as magistrate in St. Johns Towne. Bennington Plantation is prospering prodigiously, as you can see from the oranges we were served at supper tonight. Your warehouse is bursting with the indigo, cotton and rice harvests from East Florida, all grown under Frederick’s oversight.” Jamie paused to let his words reach the earl’s business sense.
Lord Bennington’s brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. Again he stared at Frederick’s letter, but said nothing.
Jamie decided to press on. “Milord, he has found in Rachel the perfect helpmate for who he is and what he is doing for you.” Again, Jamie permitted a cautious grin to grace his lips. “Their mutual devotion proves the truth of the proverb, ‘Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtained favor of the Lord.’” He wondered if it would be going too far to mention the similar devotion he had noticed between the earl and his countess. But Lord Bennington stiffened, and his white eyebrows bent into an accusing frown.
“And you, Templeton, where will you find your wife?”
“Ha!” Surprise and shoc
k forced a too-loud laugh to burst forth, and heat rushed to Jamie’s face. He grasped his wayward emotions once again. “I am a seaman, milord. ’Twould be cruel to marry, only to leave my wife alone during my voyages. And of course the sea is no place for a woman.” Speaking that truth solidified his decision. He would pry from his heart every fond feeling for Lady Marianne, and marry Lady Liberty and her Glorious Cause.
Lord Bennington studied him with a hardened stare. But gradually, the old man seemed to wilt before Jamie’s eyes, and soon he slumped down into his chair as if defeated. “I’ll not doubt you again, my boy. Your honesty has proved your worthiness.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “You may go. And if you decide to accompany my reprobate son on his nightly jaunts, do remember that Robert is not Frederick.”
Several responses formed in Jamie’s mind, not the least of which was that the earl’s comment seemed to imply a measure of approval of Frederick and perhaps even Rachel. But the man appeared spent from his emotional evening, so Jamie withheld his remarks. “Very good, milord. Good evening.”
As he climbed the stairs to his third-floor suite, a grim sense of satisfaction filled him. He had gained Lord Bennington’s trust and could begin his search for information regarding Britain’s planned defenses of East Florida. And memories of his tender but short romance with Lady Marianne had been safely tucked away in a remote corner of his mind, to be fondly recalled when he was an old man.
Yet a dull ache thumped against his heart with each ascending step.
Chapter Four
“Your hair is so easy to work with, Lady Marianne.” Emma’s sweet, round face beamed as she set the silver-handled comb on the dressing table.
“My, Emma.” Marianne drew over her shoulder the long braid her maid had just plaited. As always, the work was flawless. “What makes you so happy this evening? Could it be Captain Templeton’s handsome young valet, whom I saw you talking with earlier?”
Even in the candlelight, she could see Emma’s cheeks turning pink. “Why, no, my lady. I mean—” Her smile vanished, and she chewed her lip. “We spoke for only a few moments. No more than a half hour.”
Marianne gave her a reassuring smile. “Do not fear. Mr. Quince seems a pleasant fellow. And being in the good captain’s employ, he is no doubt a man of character.” A tendril of inspiration grew in her thoughts. “You have my permission to chat with Quince as long as you both have your work completed and you meet only in the appropriate common areas of the house where anyone passing can see you. I will tell Mama you have my permission.”
Happiness once again glowed on Emma’s face. “Oh, thank you, my lady.” She curtsied and then hastened to turn down the covers on Marianne’s four-poster bed and move the coal-filled bed warmer back and forth between the sheets. Once finished, she returned the brass implement to the hearthside. “Your bed is ready, my lady. Will that be all?” She started to douse the candles beside Marianne’s reading chair.
“Leave them.” Marianne retrieved her brother’s letter from her desk drawer. “I wish to sit and read awhile.”
Emma seemed to blink away disappointment. “Shall I wait, my lady?”
“No. You may go.” Marianne pulled her woolen dressing gown around her, shivering a little against the cold night air. “I can warm the bed again if I need to. Thank you, Emma.”
Her little maid fairly danced from the room with a happiness Marianne envied. How wonderful to find a suitable man to love, one of equal rank, whom Papa and Mama would approve of without reservation. But the heart was an unruly, untamable thing, as evidenced by Frederick’s marriage and her own love for Jamie Templeton.
After she and Mama left Papa and Jamie, it had been all she could do to keep from pleading for her mother’s support for that love, especially since Mama seemed reconciled to Frederick’s marriage. But Mama had excused herself to attend to household matters, leaving Marianne to languish outside Papa’s study in hopes of seeing Jamie again. That is, until her brother’s missive began to burn in her hand. Here was her ally in the family. Frederick would support her love for Jamie, of that she was certain.
Seated now in her bedchamber in her favorite place to read, Marianne broke the seal on Frederick’s letter and unfolded the vellum page. A small, folded piece fell out, so she quickly perused the first one, which repeated the information he’d written to Papa. The details about his dear wife assured Marianne that she would love Rachel and call her “sister” the moment they met.
Wishing that meeting might happen soon, she opened the smaller page—and gasped at the first words. “You must not think to do as I have done, dear sister. For reasons I cannot now explain, other than to say it is for your own happiness and written because I am devoted to you, you must release our mutual friend from the premature vows you traded with him on his last visit to London. To continue this ill-advised alliance will bring only heartache to you both. While he is a man of blameless character, he will not make a suitable husband for the daughter of a peer of the realm. I cannot say more except that you must, you must heed my advice, my beloved sister.”
Scalding tears raced down Marianne’s cheeks. Never had she expected such a betrayal from Frederick. Had they not been the closest of friends all their lives? Had she not frequently stood beside him against their three older brothers, the sons of Papa’s first wife, when they sought to bully him? Why did he not wish for her the same happiness he had claimed for himself?
Trembling with anger and disappointment, she resisted the urge to crumple the entire letter. Frederick had signed the first page as if it were the only one, no doubt knowing she would share its contents with Mama. But she reread the second one just to be certain she had not mistaken his cruel intentions. No, she had not. So Marianne ripped the page to shreds and fed the pieces to the hearth flames, then watched as the fire’s ravenous tongues eagerly devoured them.
Childhood memories of Frederick’s devotion sprang to mind. His comfort when she fell and scraped her chin. Their forays into Papa’s chambers to spy on guests. His gentle teasing, edged with pride, when she emerged from the schoolroom and entered society. Why would he abandon her now? She knelt beside her cold bed and offered up a tearful prayer that she might understand why God would let her fall in love with Jamie and then deny them their happiness.
The response came as surely as if the Lord had spoken to her aloud. Be at peace. This is the man you will marry.
“Lord, if this is Your voice, then guide my every step.”
Joy flooded her heart—and kept her awake into the early morning hours, planning how she would bring God’s will to pass.
Following an afternoon visit to an elderly pensioner who had served the Moberly family for many years, Marianne sat at supper wondering at the different opinions people held about Papa. The old servant had extolled Papa’s generosity and kindness, calling him a saint. Yet across the table from Marianne, Robert practically reclined in his chair, his usual protest against Papa’s nightly berating. Beside him sat Jamie, in the place where the ranking son should sit, his admiration of Papa obvious in his genial nods and agreeable words to everything Papa said. Doubtless Jamie had no idea that Robert should be sitting to Papa’s left. Of course Mama, as always, gazed down the length of the table at Papa with the purest devotion, a sentiment Marianne felt as deeply as a daughter could while still seeing his flaws.
Tonight the topic was the Americans and their foolish rebellion against His Majesty. Some anonymous colonist had written a pamphlet entitled “Common Sense,” which was causing considerable stir in London, and Papa seemed unable to contain his outrage.
“Common nonsense,” he huffed as he stabbed a forkful of fish and devoured it. “What do these colonists understand about the responsibilities of government?”
While he fussed between bites about His Majesty’s God-given duties to rule, and the Americans as recalcitrant children, Marianne glanced directly across the table at Jamie, whose thoughtful frown conveyed his sympathies for Papa’s remarks.
Eager to turn the conversation to more pleasant topics, Marianne patted her father’s arm.
“But, dearest, if these colonies are so much trouble, why does His Majesty not simply break with them?”
From the corner of her eye, Marianne could see Jamie’s own eyes widen for an instant, but she turned her full attention to Papa. He returned a touch to her arm, along with a paternal smile.
“Ah, my dear, such innocence. You had best leave governing to the Crown and Parliament.”
Any other time, this response might have soothed Marianne. But for some odd reason, irritation scratched at her mind. She was not a child who should have no opinions, nor should she fail to seek information to enlighten her judgments. She knew of some ladies who expressed their political opinions without censure, including Mama’s acquaintance, the duchess of Devonshire.
“I agree with Marianne.” Robert’s voice lacked its usual indolence, a sign that he had not yet succumbed to his wine. “Let the colonies fend for themselves for a while without the Crown’s protection. Then when they’re attacked and plundered by every greedy country on the Continent, they’ll come crawling back under His Majesty’s rule.”
Marianne sensed the bitterness in his wily wording. His break with Papa had lasted less than three weeks before he came “crawling back.”
Papa regarded Robert for an instant, then dismissed his words with a snort and a wave of his hand. “Templeton, what do you think of this rebellion?”
While her heart ached for her brother, Marianne could now study Jamie’s well-formed face without fear of who might notice her staring at him. A sun-kissed curl had escaped from his queue and draped near his high, well-tanned left cheekbone. His straight nose bore a pale, jagged scar down one side that added character rather than disfigurement. She wondered what adventure had marked him thus, and would ask him at the first opportunity.
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