His Secret Heroine

by Delle Jacobs

He gave an odd smile that seemed to have no meaning. "But of course, you are not accustomed to Town. It must seem so to you." The man paused, choosing his words. "Miss Englefield, might I hope to drive out with you this afternoon?"

  Chloe gritted her teeth. She could not turn him down, then accept Lord Reginald if he came to call. She opened her mouth, searching for a saving reply.

  "Oh, but my dear," said Aunt Daphne. "Don't you recall—" Aunt Daphne let her words trail off.

  Whatever did her aunt expect her to say?

  Fingers to her lips, Chloe stumbled about for an escape. "Dear me, what have I done? Have I forgotten my promises again, Aunt Daphne? Oh, what you must think, Lord Vilheurs!"

  His black brows furrowed as he cocked his head. Ah. That was it. Say anything. As long as her words said nothing at all. "Oh, do forgive me, Lord Vilheurs," she rattled, glancing at Aunt Daphne. "I cannot think where my mind has gone. Perhaps you are right. All that fresh air. Can it be that it affects the mind?"

  "Oh, no, Miss Englefield," Vilheurs replied, his brow furrowed with confusion, "I am sure nothing is wrong with your mind."

  "Then it must simply be that I am overtaxed. The Season, you know. As you say, I am not at all accustomed to such bustle. Do say you forgive me."

  "Of course, my dear, but—"

  "I am so very grateful." She took his arm, leading him back out the salon to the corridor. "How vexing it must be for a man to deal with female failings! Do say you will come again. And how very kind of you to bring the flowers."

  "Of course. Not vexing at all. Yes. You do understand the language of flowers, do you not, my dear?"

  Chloe hoped her smile did not look as weak as it felt. "Of course, Lord Vilheurs. White for kindness. Red for— what is it, Aunt Daphne? Red for blood, is it not? Oh, yes, courage." She drew the man to the door, where Cargill waited with his tall hat.

  "No, Miss Englefield, it is white for purity, and first love."

  "Oh, yes," Chloe said, all but pushing him out the door. "And too young for love. How right you are, Lord Vilheurs. I shall be glad I listened to you. So very kind of you to come. I fear I must hurry now. Do call again."

  Lord Vilheurs stuttered all the way out until the door shut behind him. Chloe rolled her eyes and let out a heavy sigh.

  Aunt Daphne put her hand to her lips to hide her mischievous smile. "I do believe I have never seen anything quite like that," she said. "However did you think of such a thing?"

  "I thought I was merely following your lead, Aunt. Was that not what you had in mind?"

  "I should say not, as I have no notion what it was you did. But I should not try it on the man again, my dear."

  Chloe supposed not even he would fall for such blather a second time. But perhaps she presumed too much, to think Lord Reginald would call on her today.

  * * *

  Reggie sprang down from his curricle just as Lord Vilheurs strode out the door of Miss Englefield's town house. A glower hung on the man's face as heavy as his black eyebrows.

  "Good morning, Villy," Reggie said, handing over the reins to the groom. "Up a bit early, aren't you?"

  Vilheurs glared back. "Early bird catches the worm, Beauhampton."

  "Well, then, I shall hope that for you." Reggie skipped up the steps. Vilheurs swiveled around as Reggie raced past him.

  Reggie entered as sedately as he could manage, but the moment his gaze landed on Miss Englefield, the sudden urge to wrap her in an enthusiastic hug hit him. He flexed his hands nervously. "I pray you will forgive my early call, although I see I am not the first. I beg you, Miss Hawarth, tell me you and your niece have not already accepted an invitation for the day."

  The two women glanced at each other, and something like a smirk wiggled on each of their mouths.

  "We have no commitments for the day," said Miss Englefield.

  "Then, might you drive out with me this afternoon?"

  Again, the two pairs of light green eyes exchanged glances.

  Miss Englefield drew in a slow breath. "Perhaps you might take us out again on your Xanthe. Perhaps a bit farther than yesterday?"

  His heart ran away with itself. He had not even dared hope for as much. "I could have no greater pleasure, Miss Englefield, and the weather is perfect, but we have several hours to the coast from the berth in Tilbury, too far if we are to return before nightfall. But we can sail for awhile if we hurry. I shall return for you in half an hour."

  Reggie rode home like a madman and threw on wool trousers and coat. Precisely half an hour later, he brought up a coach to the Englefield house and took up the two ladies, and by noon, the coach reached the dock.

  As they cast off, the stiff breeze snapped the sails. The Xanthe caught the current and sped downstream. Miss Englefield stood beside him on the quarterdeck, her eyes bright with anticipation. The wind in her face tugged golden curls, whipping them about like pennants, giving her the bold look of his Circe. On an impulse, she lifted her golden Kashmir shawl to catch the wind and billow like a sail above her head. His imagination ran wild.

  "Man the yardarm, Scovill!"

  "Aye, Sir!"

  Reggie escorted the ladies across the deck, naming and explaining functions from boom to hatch, while MacDevie tacked to starboard for a clear route in the crowded river.

  Then MacDevie offered the wheel to Miss Englefield.

  A glimmer of excitement played behind Miss Englefield's solemnity. "If it would not be a bother."

  MacDevie stepped aside as if he relinquished the wheel to young ladies every day.

  "She'll not go down, sir! Not while she's in my hands!"

  He could see her lashing herself to the helm in a raging storm to save her ship. His Circe would never let her ship founder on the rocks, nor capsize in a trough.

  The foresail played out, then the mainsail , the staysail and the jibs, and the Xanthe glided with wind, current and tide, while Reggie studied the horizon for any signs of weather, feeling a tightness in the air. Something, he thought-something was out there, but he saw no sign of it. Seagulls rose, circled, soared and dove with the wind in their eternal search for food.

  "We are going much faster today," Miss Englefield remarked.

  He nodded. "Close to six knots," he guessed. "Yesterday the air was light, and I ran all the sails, yet we made little progress. But the Xanthe's rigging and sails are an entirely new idea in boat-building. A fellow I know sketched off the rigging of an American schooner, Lynx, that was used as a privateer until she was captured. Sometimes Xanthe's speed is frightening to those who are not accustomed to it."

  "But if the Lynx was so fast, how was she captured?"

  "I heard she was becalmed. And being out-gunned, she was forced to surrender." He glanced back to check the horizon. Nothing had changed.

  "I think something worries you."

  He'd hoped she hadn't noticed. But surely nothing would go wrong. He saw nothing. Reggie stowed his unease. "A stiff wind carries the ship far," he replied. "But it can also portend a coming storm. A good seaman should always be watchful."

  "Is there a storm coming then, Lord Reginald?"

  Concern mingled with trust played out in her light green eyes. He prayed it was not misplaced. "Watch the birds, Miss Englefield. They will tell us more than we can see for ourselves."

  "How?"

  "When they head for shore, we should do the same. If it worries you, we can go back now."

  "No. I am sure you will manage things."

  Reggie watched the skies for more than just the gulls. The bright day was full of great summer puffs idling high in the heavens. No dark roll clouds on the horizon. The worst storms came from seaward, and as long as the wind didn't shift, anything out there would not come in their direction. But there was a sense of the air, like an aroma. Something was out there.

  Reggie leaned against the gunwale, the sea breeze against his face. The hours passed as he spun sea tales, of smuggling runs and buried kegs on a sandy beach, of battles, boardings, and daring e
scapes into cloudbanks.

  The river widened, with the flat fens spread out on both sides. On the far shore, Reggie pointed out the docks of Gravesend. "Do you want to go ashore, or shall we return?"

  Wildness sparkled in her eyes as she shook her head, and she pointed out to the choppy salt water of the Channel. "I've never been to sea, Lord Reginald. Might we just take a short excursion? The Xanthe can go to sea, can she not?"

  "She's seaworthy." Still, he thought the waves a bit grey. The tall billows of clouds gathered heavier, raising their tops higher. He wet a finger to test the wind, noting a slight shift to the southwest.

  Reggie signaled MacDevie to take the craft farther out toward the Channel. A trace of a frown crossed MacDevie's face as the Xanthe tacked to starboard, cutting across the choppy waves. But if MacDevie had any fears, he would have said something.

  Miss Hawarth lurched with the roll of the craft, and her game smile stretched thin as she clutched the shrouds. Reggie cursed himself silently for not thinking of her sensibilities.

  "Perhaps we should return," he suggested.

  "No, please," said Miss Hawarth. "I have not been to sea either, Lord Reginald."

  Reggie swallowed down his concern for her and let the ketch continue.. "The worst is over. I don't think we shall go much farther, though. We could probably fight the wind and take the entire day to reach the Channel, and the bar is likely to be very choppy today."

  As her topsail unfurled, the Xanthe dashed across the brilliantly sparkling water in the wide mouth of the Thames. Standing at the bow, Miss Englefield's curls danced in the wind like gypsies. Yes. She really was Circe, in her heart. He would marry her, and they would sail the Seven Seas together.

  He glanced back at Miss Hawarth. Merriment glittered in her eyes as if she read his thoughts and dreamed of just that very thing for her niece. Perhaps a duke's younger son was acceptable if he had an adequate competence from a doting grandfather. But what would she think if she learned the duke might play his son false if he married against his parent's wishes? He would eventually gain what was rightfully his, but he dared not let either of the ladies know the true nature of things yet.

  Although they were still within the mouth of the great river, he could see a haze hanging in the distance, marking the landmass of the Continent. "There," he said, "on a clear day, sometimes you can see the coast of France."

  The ladies frowned as if they didn't quite believe it.

  "Is this not a clear day? Does it always look like this?" Miss Englefield asked.

  "Sometimes it is much clearer. To starboard, Miss Englefield, there's a frigate, probably carrying messages up and down the line."

  "Could the Xanthe catch her?"

  "Most likely not, especially since we come at her at an angle, and the wind favors the frigate. But Xanthe can outsail a ship of the line."

  Her green eyes danced with anticipation.

  He chuckled. "No, Miss Englefield, one does not challenge a ship going about the duties of war."

  "No, of course not," she said, and her pleasant smile faded slightly. "It is nice to know, though."

  The urge to wrap an arm about her rippled through him, and he gripped the gunwale until it passed. "Perhaps another day we shall enjoy a race," he said. "But for now, let us just enjoy the sea."

  "But the birds are coming ashore, Lord Reginald." Miss Englefield pointed to the seaward horizon.

  Not only birds. On the horizon, almost hidden by the closer bright, tall cumulus clouds, lay a thin black roll cloud.

  "Squall, sir," said MacDevie.

  "Let's take her back, MacDevie."

  "Aye, sir."

  As they came to larboard, the wind whipped around, shearing across his right cheek instead of his left. They'd run with the wind, but they wouldn't miss the storm. The crew scurried up the ratlines. Squealing yardarms and creaking shrouds vied with rising wind as the Xanthe came about to larboard and picked up speed, lurching over suddenly choppy seas. He could make out Sheerness. Perhaps they could make port there.

  "Sir," said MacDevie, pointing to stern.

  The storm was moving in fast. Deep troughs were forming in the river's mouth ahead of them.

  "Bring her about, steady, Mr. MacDevie."

  "Aye, sir."

  With masterful precision, MacDevie eased the Xanthe across the chop of tall caps, neither too fast nor too slow. His calm voice boomed out above the growing wail of wind, calling for topsails furled, mainsail and foresail shortened.

  Seaward, the sky was black. Shoreward, still hazy blue. In the distance against dark clouds, the lights of Sheerness came on, and twinkled like dim stars, too far to make before the storm hit full force.

  The ladies hugged their pelisses in the chill wind.

  "You'll be more comfortable belowdeck, ladies."

  Miss Hawarth nodded, looking to her companion, who shook her head. Hand over hand, the elder lady followed the gunwale to the ladder way, steadying herself between the Xanthe's pitching, and descended to the cabin.

  The first drops of rain hit like rocks, and in seconds became a deluge, whipped by vicious wind. Choppy waves pitched the Xanthe bow to stern as it drove up and over, dropped down, rose again. Miss Englefield dove for the ratlines.

  It was going to get worse. Very soon. "You should follow your aunt belowdeck now, Miss Englefield."

  Her brave smile soured as she gripped the ratlines. "I'm sure I can manage."

  "Belowdeck, Miss Englefield! Now!"

  She jerked back. "Yes, sir." Sidling a wild glance at the menacing sea, Miss Englefield clung to the gunwale with the tenacity of a squid, then lunged toward the ladder way. The deck pitched. She smashed against the cabin wall and bounced to the deck as a wall of water swept over the gunwale and slammed green water all the way to the cabin. As she slid, Reggie dove after her, one hand snatching her flying hair and the other snagging a lifeline. Her mouth opened in a scream drowned out by the howling wind, and both legs dangled beyond the gunwale, over the starboard side.

  Chapter Four

  With an arm hooked over the lifeline, Reggie grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward him as he braced himself flat against the gunwale. Green water washed over them in stinging cold fury. Gripping her wrists so fiercely he feared breaking them, he waited out the power of the wave until Russell could dash in. Russell grabbed a handful of the lady's pelisse, then before Reggie could see how he did it, lashed a line about her. Again a wave swamped the deck, tossing Russell's feet as he grappled his line, and the receding, foaming tongue pulled them toward the gunwale. The deck slid beneath Reggie's feet, and he clung to the lines until the water seeped away. Miss Englefield hung at the brink, half suspended above the licking sea. They hauled her back aboard.

  Gasping for breath and sanity, Reggie stood the lady on her feet, swept her up into his arms and rushed to the cabin before another wave could sweep over the deck. The fourth wave hit just as he reached the cabin, and he latched onto the ladder, pressing the lady's body against the ladder with his own until the wave passed. Then he helped her belowdeck, threw open the cabin door and dashed inside.

  By the light of swinging lanterns, the elder lady gasped, but Reggie paid no heed as he yanked off Miss Englefield's sodden pelisse. She swayed a little and coughed. Any restraint Reggie had against his wayward impulses failed him as he sat on his bunk, wrapped his arms around her shivering body and folded her onto his lap, his heart still thrumming from the terror of the moments past.

  Be damned whether the aunt liked it or not.

  Miss Englefield burrowed her head into his shoulder and the chilled hand that slipped around to his back felt like fire through his sodden coat. He wanted to just hold her in his arms, cradling her, comforting her.

  "Oh, my dear, are you all right?" said Miss Hawarth as she fought the lurching of the boat to cross the cabin and sit beside them.

  "Yes, Aunt, quite," said Miss Englefield in a quavering voice. But she made no attempt to move.

  Yes,
she would be all right, and practicality had to intervene. He smoothed a gentling hand over her wet hair. "Miss Hawarth, I must entrust your niece to your care. Strip her down and wrap her in blankets. You'll find toiletries and sundries about, and some clothing, although I fear it is all rather large. But I must leave you to manage without the lantern for awhile. Danger of fire when the seas are too high."

  "Certainly, Lord Reginald," said Miss Hawarth. "It is quite nasty out there, then?"

  "Quite nasty. But have no fear, it will soon pass. Just a bit of a squall. But I am needed on deck." Reluctantly, he sighed and rose, to set Miss Englefield down onto the bunk alone.

  "Very well, Lord Reginald," Miss Hawarth replied as he shut the door behind him.

  His heart still beat like a frenetic drum roll. Dear God, he'd almost lost her! He'd never come so close to losing someone. He'd rather have died himself.

  Russell hung about the ladder way, waiting.

  "Thank you, Russell," he said to the sailor. Russell's reply, if there was one, was lost in the storm as he turned back to his tasks.

  Aloft, the crew still fought the fierce wind to furl the mainsail and foresail, and Reggie climbed to help. The pull of the waves tugged the little craft alongside the trough as the fierce wind buffeted the yard, and MacDevie called for the top sails set aback and hove to, balanced against the rudder. MacDevie fought the wheel to keep her astride the crests, while the crew adjusted the remaining sails. With her deep keel and well-balanced hull, the Xanthe was unlikely to capsize, but she bobbed up and down so high, yet she felt like she might flip bow over stern in spite of their efforts. At the least, he could expect the women in his cabin to be violently ill.

  But like most squalls, it soon passed, winds dropping to a scream. Rain fell, instead of lashing at a sharp angle, and the heavy seas diminished to tall waves, finally behind a dull drizzle, until even that faded and dried. The Xanthe rocked and tossed more gently in the darkness. It had been an unusual storm, from a completely unexpected direction. Still, he should have followed his instincts. If only he had not been so keen to show off himself and his ketch to the ladies. What a fool he had been!