The Captain's Lady

by Louise M. Gouge

  Mama’s eyes lit up. “The viscount has accepted our invitation to summer at the Park. He and Lady Mary are bringing the children, so we may expect some lively games every day.”

  “How grand. I shall be delighted to see my nephew and nieces.” Marianne’s oldest brother, William, and his viscountess, Mary, were a bit stuffy, but their children made up for it with merry antics that amused the entire household.

  “And you, my darling.” Mama’s eyebrows rose. “What are your plans?”

  Marianne started. “My plans? What do you mean?”

  Mama blinked. “Why, do you plan to have your usual parties for the village children? The sweetmeats for them after church each Sunday?” Again, her expression betrayed nothing.

  And again, Marianne’s laugh sounded a bit giddy in her own ears. “Oh, yes, of course. I would not wish to disappoint the children.” This will be the last summer I see them. The thought made her heart ache. “And I’m looking forward to our traditional garden party in June.”

  “Ah, yes. The highlight of our summer.”

  The carriage emerged from the forest and slowed, soon to be surrounded by a flock of fluffy, bleating sheep.

  Marianne waved her fan. “Ah, yes, the distinctive sounds and smells of Surrey.”

  Mama smiled but also tilted her head in a chiding fashion, for she felt that ladies should never complain. “But can you not also smell the rich fragrance of the earth? See how green the grass and trees are.” She waved a gloved hand toward the window, which framed a view of Surrey’s verdant hills. “Ah, how I look forward to working with my roses once again. And once Bennington comes home, summer will truly begin for me.” Her eyes shone with anticipation. Mama always presented a picture of grace, but summers in the country brought out her very best.

  Marianne forced a responding smile, but felt it waver, so she stared out of the window at the landscape. No doubt Jamie and Robert had completed their race and awaited the ladies at the top of Portsdown Hill, where they would disembark from the carriage to take in the view before making their descent. Crossing from Surrey into Hampshire was Marianne’s favorite part of the ten-hour trip from London each spring. After months away from Bennington Park, she never failed to be awestruck over the beauty of God’s creation visible in the vast panorama laid out before her. But this year, she felt only heartache. How could she leave it all behind?

  Chapter Thirteen

  If the invigorating race up Portsdown Hill wasn’t enough to make Jamie breathless, once he and Puck reached the crest at Devil’s Cleft, the spectacular scenery of the green, rolling hills of Hampshire viewed from this nearly five-hundred-foot elevation caused him to inhale in wonder. Then, with the intake of air, the familiar scent of the ocean met him, causing a painful ache in his chest. To his left lay Portsmouth, where the Royal Navy’s vast fleet lay anchored. The sight was so impressive he could not help but question how the colonies’ few ships would have any success against them.

  A few miles beyond lay Southampton, where merchant vessels docked. The sight of countless vessels in both ports made him long for the Fair Winds, made him long to sail across the wide Atlantic toward home, where he could take a more active part in the Revolution. Perhaps he would offer to have his sloop more heavily armed for use in the war, for with his present defenses the smallest British man-of-war could sink him. But those thoughts were for another time. Right now, the splendor of the setting before him served as a reminder of all the beauties in England claiming a large portion of his affection.

  “I say, old man.” Moberly, equally breathless, reached the summit and reined his Gallant beside Jamie’s Puck. “’Tis not wise to run a horse up such a hill.”

  Jumping down from his heaving, sweating mount, Jamie cringed. “Bad form on my part. I should have realized…” As captain of his own ship, he knew when to ease up on his crew. How foolish not to grasp the needs of this magnificent animal.

  Moberly dismounted and came to check Puck’s eyes and legs. “There, boy, you’re all right. Never mind, Templeton. No harm done. I’m the one at fault. Should have warned you. Old Puck likes to run full out, but he’s not always smart about hills and such. Do not give it another thought.” He nodded toward their right. “Bennington Park, over there.”

  Only a little relieved by his words, Jamie followed Moberly’s gaze toward a vast manor house in the distance, set on a lesser hill but nonetheless imposing. Once again, wonder stole his breath. So this was where Marianne grew up, where she became the genuine soul he loved so dearly. Even London’s snobbish, irreverent society could not damage the purity of her character. In this place, Jamie would be hard put not to abandon all his resolve to maintain his emotional distance from her. But of course he must.

  Rolling, grass-covered hills stretched before them to the north and east, with occasional rock and chalk outbreaks jutting to the surface. In the distance, countless sheep appeared as white dots on a carpet of green. At the sight of it all, peace swept through Jamie, and an assurance that all would be well.

  The black-red-and-gold Bennington coach lumbered up beside them and stopped, its four horses echoing Puck’s labored breathing. Wiggins, the driver, set the brake, and three footmen descended from the top.

  “Lady Bennington.” John the footman approached the coach door. “Will you walk down the hill today?”

  The lady appeared in the window. “Yes, John. Thank you.”

  The footmen assisted the ladies from the conveyance, and Jamie and Moberly joined them. His senses already heightened by the race and spectacular view, Jamie felt a mad impulse to claim the right to escort Marianne down the steep incline ahead of them. Before he could put the plan into effect, Lady Bennington smiled up at him from beneath her broad-brimmed hat.

  “Captain Templeton, may I take your arm?”

  “It will be my honor, my lady.” Indeed, it would. And he felt more relief than disappointment over not accompanying Marianne. Surely the Lord had intervened to keep him from a situation in which he might be tempted to say too much. Furthermore, in his two months as a guest in Lady Bennington’s home, he had yet to have a private conversation with this kind, elegant woman.

  Taking particular care to guide the lady to the smoothest parts of the rutted road angling down the hill, Jamie permitted himself to relax. He felt certain that manners dictated he should wait for her to address him, but words of praise for the landscape before them burned inside him.

  “What a lovely day for travel.” Lady Bennington spoke his very thoughts. “Tell me, Captain, what do you think of our Hampshire countryside?” Only a hint of pride edged her tone, and her face beamed. Without doubt, Marianne’s gentle nature and flawless grace came from her mother, as did her beauty.

  “Very fine country, indeed, madam.”

  She glanced up at him with eyes as blue as Marianne’s. “Tell me about your home. Nantucket, I mean.”

  Jamie drew her off the road while the coach rumbled past. Two of the footmen walked beside the lead horses and held their harnesses, while Wiggins kept a hand on the brake. Dust flurried about them, and Lady Bennington brought up her fan to wave it away. Once the coach had passed them, they resumed their walk.

  “Nantucket is a fine piece of land. Though it is more sand than grass, it still provides sufficient pasture for our sheep.” He nodded toward the grazing flocks in the distance, and an unexpected thread of homesickness wove through his heart. His beloved sister still resided on the island of their birth. Now that the British navy had impressed most of the Nantucket whalers into English service, Jamie feared Dinah and his childhood friends would suffer terribly despite their neutrality toward the war. But he would not mention such unpleasantness to Lady Bennington. “The Quakers who settled the island in the last century have bequeathed it a legacy of faith.”

  “Ah, yes. The Quakers.” Lady Bennington continued to wave her fan. “I have known several fine Christians who are Friends.” She glanced at his brown riding clothes, complete with brass buckles and but
tons. “May I assume you are not of that persuasion?”

  “No, ma’am.” Jamie’s heart warmed. If the discussion was to be about his faith, he would gladly tell her everything. “While I respect their interest in seeking an inner light for spiritual guidance, I endeavor to depend upon Scripture to guide me, lest my heart mislead me.” His own words reminded him that only in Scripture would he find strength for the days ahead.

  “Ah, very good.” Her smile was placid. “I noticed your enjoyment of the services at St. Paul’s. I hope you will equally enjoy Reverend Bentley’s sermons at Bennington Park.”

  Jamie stepped over a slight dip in the road. “The good reverend has been most helpful in guiding me through the complexities of the social graces.” He wanted to laugh, thinking of how his crew would mock his fancy new manners on their return voyage. “I’m certain he will prove equally proficient in his pastoral duties.”

  “You will not be disappointed.” Lady Bennington peered over her shoulder, and he followed her gaze. Several yards back, Robert escorted the other ladies, while John the footman walked at the rear, leading Gallant and Puck. John’s diligent perusal of the surrounding landscape was no doubt meant to check for any highwaymen who might be lurking nearby.

  “And now you must tell me about East Florida.” Lady Bennington’s eyebrows lifted, as though her words held more than a surface meaning.

  “’Tis quite a wilderness, madam, though not totally uninhabitable.” Jamie turned away with a grimace. These were not soothing words for her. “But you may be very proud of your son, for he is proving to be an excellent force for good in St. Johns Towne.”

  “Indeed?” A tiny catch marred her melodious voice.

  Her maternal tenderness brought a twinge to his chest, and he wondered how it would have been to grow up under his own dear mother’s care. “Indeed, my lady. Under Frederick Moberly’s watch, civilization spreads deep into the land. His father’s plantation prospers under his management, and all of the people along the St. Johns River, whether plantation owner, merchant, slave or indentured servant, find him the most just of magistrates.”

  Moisture rimmed her eyes even as she smiled. “Yes, Frederick has always been diligent in his duties and fair to those under his care.”

  Ahead, at the bottom of the hill, the coach awaited them, but Jamie felt a strong impulse to tell her more. “My lady, please permit me a kinsman’s pride over the good woman your son has married.”

  She gasped softly. “Why, yes, Bennington told me she is your cousin.” Her smile grew radiant, and her face a lovely older version of Marianne’s. “That makes us related by marriage. Dear Captain Templeton.” She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “If your cousin Rachel is anything like you—”

  “My lady,” Wiggins called from atop the coach. “Will you ride now?”

  Jamie assisted Lady Bennington back into the coach, and the rest of the party all clambered back to their earlier places to resume the journey to Bennington Park. But as Jamie remounted Puck and urged him to follow the others, he felt an odd confusion stirring within him. Was it merely wishful thinking, or had Lady Bennington been interrupted just as she was about to bestow her approval upon him?

  As they continued toward Bennington Park, Marianne could barely keep from squirming on the coach’s red velvet seat like an ill-mannered schoolgirl. Questions and speculations scurried through her mind as she wondered what Mama had said to Jamie. Of course, Marianne could never ask Mama, but their little visit must have been pleasant, for when Jamie assisted Mama into the coach, they exchanged earnest pleasantries emphasized by sincere smiles. At the first opportunity, she must try to ferret out the information from Jamie.

  Calming herself so as not to draw Mama’s scrutiny, Marianne turned her thoughts toward Bennington Park. Unlike some of her friends, she found life to be much more engaging and enjoyable in the country than in the city. In anticipation of a last summer of gaiety, she longed to stick her head out and see the manor house as they approached it. The most she could do was lean close to the window as the coach hastened along the winding, tree-lined lane as if the horses and driver were as eager as she to be home again. Familiar woodlands, gently sloping downs, the private lake, and the village beyond the manor house all beckoned to her.

  At last the coach broke from the last stand of trees and the gray stone mansion appeared in all its beauty. Marianne’s heart jolted as never before. Home, if only for a few more months. And she had much to see, much to cherish before she said goodbye to it all forever.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Bertha.” Marianne hurried into the musty-smelling attic room of the manor house. “We are home for the summer.” As she knelt by the heavy upholstered chair where her old nurse sat, her voluminous skirts puffed with air and then settled about her. There, light beams from the single window shone on airborne dust particles, sending them into a swirling tempest.

  “Lady Marianne.” The nearsighted woman dropped her knitting to her lap and reached out to take Marianne’s face in her soft, wrinkled hands. “Oh, my child, how I have missed you.” Tears slid down her lined cheeks, but her smile was radiant.

  “And I have missed you, my darling.” Marianne’s heart ached at the thought of the sorrow Bertha soon would feel. Once Marianne left England, it was doubtful they would ever see each other again this side of heaven.

  “Now, you must tell me all about your season.” Bertha picked up the woolen scarf she had been knitting and resumed her work. “Did you meet any fine young gentleman worthy of my little girl?”

  Marianne laughed. “No, dear, I did not meet anyone new.” Her nurse had asked the same question for the past four years upon the family’s return from London. But despite her gift of discernment, she had failed last year to realize Marianne’s heart had been claimed.

  “Ah, no one new.” Bertha’s eyebrows rose in thick gray arches. “But there is something you are not telling me.”

  Marianne seldom did well at keeping secrets from Bertha, who was more like a grandmother than a servant to her. But this time she must hold her own counsel.

  “What I will tell you is that the orphans at St. Ann’s were delighted with the wonderful mittens and scarves and hats you knitted for them. Many a child keeps warm because of these hands.” She reached out to envelop and still the busy fingers that had cared for her since birth.

  A glow softened the wrinkles on the old woman’s face. “God is more than generous to permit me to perform this service in my last years. One longs to be ever useful, you know.” Her gaze, while a bit unfocused, settled on Marianne’s eyes. “You have not diverted me, my little lady. But I am so pleased to see you that I shall not press you.” She reclaimed her hands and set to knitting again. “When you are ready, I will be grateful to hear it all.”

  Marianne leaned close and nudged aside the woolen scarf, laying her head on Bertha’s lap and closing her eyes. How good it would be to have a confidante in her plans. But Bertha’s loyalty extended beyond Marianne to Mama and ultimately to Papa, whose generosity provided her a home for as long as she lived. She would be bound by honor to report such a scheme as an elopement. Well, not exactly an elopement. A runaway? Marianne’s insides quivered at the thought of what she was planning.

  “Shh, my dear one.” Bertha must have set aside her knitting, for she placed both hands on Marianne’s head as she always had when praying for her. “Seek God’s wisdom, and let Him guide your path,” she whispered.

  Even through her thick coiffure, Marianne felt the tender touch of those guiding hands. Warmth spread through her like the blessing of a biblical patriarch, sweeping aside her embattled emotions and replacing them with peace.

  This is the man you will marry. Thus had her prayer been answered two long months ago, and thus she continued to believe. She had searched the Scriptures for some example of what to do, but none was to be found there. With no other recourse but to stow away aboard Jamie’s ship so that honor would require him to marry her. How else could God
’s will be accomplished?

  She permitted herself a few tears, enough to dampen Bertha’s gray muslin skirt. But she would not burden the woman with her secrets. Lifting her head and brushing away the moisture from her cheeks, she patted Bertha’s hands.

  “Take up your knitting, for I have many stories to tell you.” Marianne rose and fetched a straight-backed chair to sit beside her nurse. “Now, do not be alarmed, but Robert had quite an adventure. In the company of Papa’s guest, a Captain Templeton from America…”

  For the next half hour, Marianne recounted to Bertha the long winter’s many happenings. She took care not to mention Jamie’s name too often, but when she did, she noticed Bertha’s eyebrows wiggling. Could the old dear discern her feelings for him? If so, Marianne feared that her heart might give away her plans.

  “A common sea captain.”

  A woman’s harsh voice brought Jamie to a halt outside the open door of the manor house’s drawing room.

  “And not even in His Majesty’s navy.” The voice continued within the chamber. “A merchant and an American. Really, Bampton, could your father not choose someone of rank, or at least an Englishman for his current pet?”

  As quietly as he could, Jamie inhaled a deep, calming breath. So far Lord Bennington’s friends had viewed him as just that, a powerful aristocrat’s “pet,” whose acceptance in their society was due to his sponsor’s influence. He had an uncomfortable feeling he would not find that same acceptance from the earl’s oldest son and heir.

  “Now, now, my dear,” a languid male voice responded. “We must let the old boy have his fun. And after all, the man did save Robbie’s life.”