Jamie reined in his thoughts and turned from Marianne’s sweet gaze to stare up at the painting above the hearth. While he could not ask for his own wish to be granted, he could pray that Robert Moberly would have the courage to ask for his.
Chapter Seventeen
Marianne gazed across the room at Jamie, her heart overflowing with love. This dear man had brought nothing but good to her family, and she longed to tell Papa how much she loved her American sea captain. How marvelous that a simple pretense for awkwardness could alter the entire atmosphere and everyone’s frame of mind. Neither she nor her brothers would ever have tried such a trick to change the mood of the room, or to rescue their nephew from scolding and disfavor. Perhaps that was their trouble. They feared Papa needlessly.
She put herself in Papa’s place, coming home to a family that seemed to dread his company, just like some of his opponents in Parliament. With all of them cowering before him, no wonder he had always been critical of his sons. Of course, she and Mama never had anything to fear, but they both always sympathized with the misery of their loved ones.
Now, in this moment of family amiability, she could envision herself asking Papa’s favor for Jamie to court her. She looked again at her beloved and saw the longing in his eyes, which he quickly shielded from her by staring up at the painting over the mantelpiece. Tears scalded away her confidence, and prudence gripped her once more. And yet perhaps, just perhaps, if Robert’s interview with Papa turned out well, she might dare to ask for her own heart’s longing.
“There now.” The earl slumped back in his chair and swiftly bucked away from that silly wild boar designed to force good posture. She winced for him, but his stoic facade gave no hint of pain. “You have wearied this old man.” He patted Georgie’s head and gave the girls another hug. “Run along now. Find your nurse. The adults must have some peace and quiet once in a while.” His jolly tone belied his words.
The nurse must have been hovering outside the door, for she hurried into the drawing room and whisked the children away.
Immediately, Marianne sensed caution falling over the room like a curtain. But Papa merely asked after everyone’s health, going from one to the next around the circle. He expressed regret over missing William and Lady Bampton in London during most of the season, but recalled their pleasant time at Christmas last. He brought news of Jamie’s ship, which had been careened, scraped and recaulked, and would soon sport a new mast of sturdy live oak, a fact that startled Marianne, for it meant her beloved must soon sail away. Jamie thanked Papa, but she thought she detected a hint of hesitation in his eyes. Was he thinking her thoughts? Once his ship was loaded with the gathered cargo from the warehouses, nothing remained to keep him here.
Papa told Marianne that Tobias Pincer missed seeing her in town. She thanked Papa, but wanted to gag at the thought of Robert’s former friend and all of his treachery.
Next, with the gentleness of a loving parent, Papa promised to enlist Grace’s commentary on Reverend Bentley’s upcoming sermons, for the minister would henceforth have the living at Bennington Park now that the old vicar had retired, something they had all expected and approved of. At last, he stood and kissed Mama’s hand.
“And the happiest news, my dear, is that my son Thomas will soon arrive in Portsmouth, perhaps even in time for your summer garden party.”
“Oh, Bennington, how delightful.” Mama reached up to kiss his cheek. “Do you suppose he has been promoted?”
Father’s countenance clouded. “I shall be greatly displeased if he has not been. With all our trouble with France and that nonsense going on in the American colonies, His Majesty’s navy will need good commanders. Of all my sons, only Thomas possesses the courage of a military man.” He pointed at the painting above the mantel, one Marianne had always loved, which showed Papa mounted on horseback in battle beside the late King George II. “When I served with His Majesty at Dettingen back in ’43, we knew what a man was. We knew how to fight.” He beat the air with his fist. “Yes, Thomas has what it takes to show those brigands who their master is.”
Marianne could see William and Robert wilt, and she sent up a heartfelt prayer that Robert would not let these comments defeat him.
“Well, now,” Papa said, “you are all dismissed except Robert.” He strode over to Jamie and shook his hand. “Good to have you here, lad. Have my sons kept you entertained?”
A soft gasp escaped Lady Bampton, and Marianne puckered away a smile. Her sister-in-law had never spoken a civil word to Jamie, yet he saved Georgie—and all of them—from Papa’s sour mood. No doubt the viscountess felt some degree of indignation over Papa’s favor toward Jamie. Well, the disagreeable woman would simply have to endure it.
Yet another thought struck Marianne. One day William would ascend to the title and Lady Bampton would become Lady Bennington. How would she treat Mama, who would become the dowager countess? Marianne reminded herself that it would not do to make her an enemy. But if Marianne followed Jamie to East Florida, she would have no say in how anyone treated her mother back home in England.
As the company disbursed, Jamie escorted Miss Kendall from the drawing room, and they joined Marianne beside the wide staircase in the entry hall. Miss Kendall bowed her head, and Marianne chewed her thumbnail, a habit she had taken up of late. Jamie longed to grasp her hands to reassure her, but his own feelings were loose from their moorings.
He’d had good friends all his life, but his friendship with Robert Moberly had been perhaps the most rewarding, a fact for which he could take little credit. God truly had touched Moberly, changing him from a drunken prodigal to a man who desired to serve Him. Jamie had no doubt that with further studies and Reverend Bentley’s mentoring, he would make an excellent minister of the Gospel. But everything hinged on Bennington’s approval, and Jamie’s nerves skittered about his stomach in anticipation of the outcome of this interview.
The earl’s deep, hearty laughter rang from behind the drawing room’s closed door. A good sign? Jamie and the ladies traded looks, mirroring each other with eyebrows raised in expectation. The drawing room was silent for several moments. Now the door opened and slammed against the entry wall. Moberly stalked out, his eyes wide and wild, and swiped the back of his hand across his lips, a gesture Jamie had not seen since the man quit drinking.
He stopped to stare at them briefly, yet no recognition lit his eyes. Then he strode down the hallway, cutting through the house toward the back. Marianne huffed out a cross breath, while Miss Kendall’s sigh held a note of heartbreak. Anger roared up inside of Jamie, and he turned toward the drawing room, his jaw and fists clenched. He would tell that fool of a father what a mistake he’d just made.
“Jamie.”
“Captain Templeton.”
Marianne and Miss Kendall grasped his arms.
“You must not.” Marianne’s eyes swam with tears. “I will speak to Papa.”
Jamie chewed his lip. “You’re right. I’d only make matters worse.”
At the slam of a door, Miss Kendall’s gaze turned in the direction Moberly had taken. She turned to Jamie. “Please, will you…?” Her voice sounding clogged with emotion, but the plea in her eyes was clear.
He squeezed her forearm. “I’ll look after him.” With a nod to Marianne, he hurried down the hallway. He’d managed to figure out the maze of halls, rooms and staircases comprising the manor house. Guessing that Moberly had headed for the stable, he descended a small flight of stairs and exited through a back door. Across the wide backyard, where geese and chickens pecked the ground for bugs and a servant sat at a grinding wheel sharpening knives, Moberly entered the low-roofed stable. Jamie quickly closed the distance between them, entering the darkened building just as his friend slung a saddle onto Gallant’s back.
“Mr. Moberly, sir.” A slender, mop-haired young groom reached out to help him. “I’d be honored to saddle ’im for you.”
“I can do it myself.” Robert’s bitter tone cut the air, and he waved the
boy off with a sharp gesture that did not make contact, but nevertheless sent him reeling backward. “I am capable of a few things.”
“Very well, sir.” The groom watched with widened eyes.
Jamie clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Would you saddle Puck for me, lad?”
The groom gave him a quivering smile. “Aye, sir, be glad to.”
“I do not require a nursemaid, Templeton.” Moberly jerked the girth around Gallant’s belly, and the massive horse snorted and danced on his heavy back hooves. “Hold still.” His words came out through gritted teeth, but at least he’d not cursed, as had been his former habit.
“Of course you don’t.” Jamie stepped forward and rubbed Gallant’s forehead, something Moberly had taught him to settle a horse down. “But I, too, would like an outing this fine afternoon.” In truth, sullen gray clouds had begun to roll over the sky as if following the sun as it wended its way westward—a promise of rain if Jamie had ever seen one. His new jacket and shoes, neither made for rain or riding, might be ruined. But it was a small price to pay for his friend’s well-being.
Moberly finished with the saddle. “You will not want to go where I’m going.” Again he brushed the back of his hand across his lips. Jamie had seen many a drunkard do the same thing in his desperation for a drink.
He followed as Moberly led Gallant out of the stable, then watched him leap into the saddle, dig in his heels and gallop away. The groom seemed to take a long time to bring Puck, and Jamie paced about the yard, his nerves tightening as the minutes passed. The boy still looked stricken as he handed over the reins. “Here you go, sir.”
“Thank you, my lad.” Jamie lifted his foot to place it in the left stirrup, but Puck pranced around in a circle. He had the urge to swat the mischievous animal’s flanks, but realized that would only make matters worse.
“Here, sir. Let me ’elp.” The groom grabbed the bridle and secured it to a post, then gave Jamie a leg up into the saddle.
“Thank you, lad.” His pride was a bit bruised by his needing help to mount this rascal. But pride was unimportant now, for Jamie had a far more important concern. He dug his heels into Puck’s flanks and reined him toward the road to Portsmouth, where the dust from Gallant’s hooves still stirred in the air.
“We must not stay here.” Marianne could hear the sound of Papa’s footsteps crossing the drawing room floor. She grasped Grace’s hand, and the two of them scurried up the wide front staircase like frightened mice. Once they reached Marianne’s bedchamber, they fell into each other’s arms and wept. Marianne had never seen Grace so discomposed, but her own anguish was so severe she had no words to comfort her friend.
“My lady.” Emma appeared from her little room wringing her hands. “Whatever is the matter? How can I help you?” She brought forth two fresh linen handkerchiefs and fetched glasses of water from the crystal pitcher on a side table.
“Thank…you…Em…ma.” Struggling for control, Marianne sniffed and dabbed at her tears. In love herself, surely Emma had long ago noticed the other romances blooming in the shadows of the household. While Marianne had not yet confided her plans to her little lady’s maid, she had not denied the girl’s veiled remarks regarding her affections for a certain American nor her open remarks about Grace and Robert.
Grace breathed out a long shuddering sigh. “Forgive me,” she whispered.
Marianne started to say there was nothing to forgive, but realized her friend was praying. Still, she could not think God would mind these heartfelt tears on Robert’s behalf. Infused with a sudden fervor, she grasped Grace’s and Emma’s hands and led them to the chairs in front of her hearth. “We will pray together. Has the Lord not said that wherever two or three are gathered in His name, He will be with us?”
Grace gave her a trembling smile, and Emma’s eyes grew round, as if she was startled by this unsettling elevation from lady’s maid to lady’s confidante.
“It is all right,” Marianne said. “We are all equal before our Heavenly Father.”
“Yes, my lady.” Emma’s eyes sparkled, and her smile held a bit of mischief. Marianne could not guess why.
With her head bowed, Marianne prayed first for Robert’s and Jamie’s safety, then for Papa to have a change of heart regarding Robert’s future. The others lifted the same petitions in their own words. Emma added her request that, while the Lord was in the business of speaking to Lord Bennington regarding matters of the heart, He might also grant Aaron Quince favor in the earl’s eyes. Then she gasped. Marianne and Grace raised their heads to look at her.
“I did not mean to be impertinent, my lady.” Emma’s round cheeks were pinched with worry.
Marianne shook her head. “Be at ease, Emma. I did not think you were at all impertinent.”
However, the answering gleam in her maid’s eyes threw up a caution in Marianne’s mind. Mama had always taught her that God loved every person the same, whether rich or poor, mistress or servant, but each had her place in His plan. Servants who were granted too much liberty might one day misuse it, even a grateful orphan like Emma. Marianne must walk a delicate path while keeping Emma in her proper place, for one day soon her own happiness, her own future, would depend on Emma’s good feelings for her.
Chapter Eighteen
Jamie bent low on Puck’s back and urged him to a full gallop, taking care not to plow into people walking or driving carts on their way home from a long summer day’s work. At least he did not have to stop to ask directions. In his early morning rides with Moberly and Bampton, he had seen Portsmouth in the distance, some five or six miles over numerous hills from Bennington Park. Late at night, from his bedchamber window, he could see the flickering lights of the growing naval town and Southampton to the west, where he must make arrangements at one of the public wharves for the Fair Winds to dock. Now that Bennington had informed him the ship was ready to sail, he would have to follow through on those plans, and the sooner, the better. Yet this evening, God had clearly shown him his work in England had not yet been completed.
Mindful of the danger he’d put Puck in a few weeks earlier, Jamie slowed the horse when the road rose over the hills, then gave him his head when they descended. As always, Puck seemed to enjoy their outing. Jamie wished he could say the same for himself this time.
Portsmouth had all the clutter of a town growing so fast it kept popping its seams. Some semblance of planning appeared in the residential area Jamie passed through. Fine brick homes and straight, tree-lined streets graced these outer edges. But that quickly gave way the closer Jamie got to the narrow, winding streets along the waterfront, where he hoped to find Robert.
Jamie prayed good sense would prevail, yet he had a foreboding that he’d find his friend already “three sheets in the wind,” as they said in Nantucket, especially since Jamie had no idea where to find him, giving Moberly more time to drink to excess.
A typical navy town, Portsmouth boasted in what should be its shame—countless taverns large and small, and countless immodestly dressed women calling to sailors or any passing man in decent clothing to come into their lairs. Again, Jamie had cause to pray, for Robert had confessed an occasional visit to such places before he’d placed his trust in Christ. If Jamie found him returning to his old haunts, he’d beg Moberly on Miss Kendall’s behalf not to return to such a vile custom.
In his many years among seafaring men, whether whaler, sailor or merchant, Jamie had learned that self-righteous preaching never accomplished anything. In the first few taverns he visited, he ordered a drink, then asked the serving wench about Moberly. Everyone in Portsmouth knew Bennington’s second son, but he’d not been that way. Jamie paid his coin and left the rum on a table. In each place, he noticed how quickly someone grabbed his abandoned tankard. Finally, a clear-eyed wench who seemed entirely too young for her occupation said Moberly had been there, but had moved on to the Stowaway, unless he’d changed his mind.
Jamie hooked a finger under the girl’s chin and stared into her pale b
lue eyes. “God loves you, child. I will pray He will show you a more worthy profession.” He pressed a silver coin into her hand and enjoyed the shock and, perhaps, conviction covering her sweet face.
Outside, he took Puck’s reins from the boy he’d engaged to tend him, paid the lad a coin, and continued down the street. This evening was becoming very expensive for a sober man who generally held on to his money. How much might it cost a drunkard whose pockets were filled with his father’s guineas?
The Stowaway stood two blocks in the distance. As Jamie jostled his way through the masses, he saw a young man struggling to free himself from several sailors with clubs. Press gang. Jamie’s heart hitched thinking of the terror he’d felt as a lad when the warning came that the British navy had sent out ruffians to gather crew members for their ships. Torn away from friends and family without warning, given no chance to say their goodbyes, the hapless victims seemingly disappeared, some never to return. Jamie looked closely to see if the young man was from Bennington’s village. If so, he would intervene, warning the sailors of the earl’s displeasure and reprisal. But the lad was not familiar, and although Jamie pitied him, he felt the Lord’s prompting to continue on his mission.
Rain began to splatter the dust at his feet. The shoes would be ruined, all right. He’d never be able to talk Quince into cleaning them up, and it would be dangerous to ask the earl’s valet how to do it. Greyson already eyed Quince as if he were an inferior servant. No need to give him reason to learn Quince employed servants of his own back home.
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