by Delle Jacobs
She clutched her tiny ivory fan so tightly, he worried she might snap the sticks. "I suppose you are also knowledgeable as to what will happen if we should disappoint them."
"Smile, please," he reminded her. "We are in this together, whether we like it or not. As you suspect, they will be most unhappy. But of course, they will all, to a lady, announce they knew all along we would not suit, despite what all their friends said."
She made an attempt at a smile.
"Sorry," he said.
"It is not your fault."
Lady Nuttley rang her silver bell and paired off her guests in the new fashion, precisely according to their ranking in Debrett's Peerage. And no one was surprised when it came Reggie's turn to offer his escort to Chloe. He could feel a little tremble in her hand as she rested it on his arm.
"Nor is it yours," he whispered. "Chin up, my sweet. We shall find our way out of this. But we'd best trust each other if we are not to make the trip to the parson together."
He gave her hand a squeeze and she inclined her head almost imperceptibly in his direction. He felt his heart trip, for he understood instantly the meaning of the gesture. If they had been alone, she would have rested her face against his shoulder. No, it was not Castlebury she wanted. She wanted Reginald Beauhampton, second son of the Duke of Marmount, impoverished or not.
Then why not? For money? For title? It made no sense. Everything he knew about her screamed the falsehood of her declared intent.
"I did not realize you were acquainted with Lady Nuttley," she said.
Else, she would not have come, he guessed. "My mother's dearest friend. I presume you have met the duchess."
"Just the moment before you arrived, and I realized the connection."
"You could not have anticipated it, as the duchess has not come to town in a good many years. Her appearance was not unexpected."
Seated at the long table with the other fourteen guests, Chloe seemed to pay particular attention to the gold rim of her soup bowl. She picked at her food. Very little made it to the spoon or fork, and almost nothing to her mouth. He couldn't endure the torture any longer.
"Why?" he asked in very quiet tones.
"Why?"
"Why?" he repeated. He knew she understood the question. Why was it so important to her to marry a man with title and money, when her feelings were so obviously contrary?
She cleared her throat and tried to brighten her face, making it an odd mix of pain and lightness. "Did I tell you, Lord Reginald, that I have two sisters?"
So it must have something to do with them, and she was trying to explain. "No, I do not believe you did."
"Oh, yes," she replied brightly, as if she merely meant to make light conversation. "They are twins, all of eleven years."
"Indeed. I should imagine they are quite lovely, if they resemble you."
Her laugh sounded slightly strangled. "They are, for children of their age, but they resemble their father, the fourth Viscount Cottingham, who unfortunately passed away, some four years ago."
"You share mothers, then. But did not your mother pass away recently, too?"
"Over a year ago. They remain in the care of their guardian, the present Lord Cottingham. I have not seen them for some time."
Reggie assembled the clues. He knew vaguely of the present Lord Cottingham. The man was an obnoxious drunk with a vicious streak, about as unsuitable a guardian as one could imagine. The girls obviously were important to her, and she was worried about them. Were they being abused by the man?
"I know of him," he said. His voice echoed like a growl that tried to stick in his throat. "My condolences."
And what could a young woman, especially one who had found herself all but destitute, do about it?
Nothing. Even under the best of circumstances, she could not hope to take their wardship from such a powerful man. Perhaps her husband might, based on her relationship to the girls, but no court was likely to ever grant it to a single woman when a male relative was available. She might achieve a sort of custody, at the man's permission, but only if he chose to grant it.
More to the point, what could anyone do about it? The man was legally their guardian, and no one short of a man like the Duke of Marmount could hope to have enough influence to intervene.
Ah. Precisely. A man of power, such as the duke, might find a way to persuade an unsuitable guardian to relinquish.
So then, Chloe Englefield had set out to find herself a powerful husband who would take on Cottingham for the custody of her sisters. She made her own gowns and polished up a rattle-down town house to make herself appear acceptable, all the while knowing she didn't have a feather to fly with because her own guardian had been an inveterate gambler.
The delicate fingers of Chloe's hands intertwined tightly in her lap. Reggie sneaked his hand beneath the cover of the tablecloth to gently touch hers. She flinched, and glanced up at him. He answered with a tender pat, hoping she read his comprehension of her problem.
He read hopelessness in her eyes for a response.
But Lord Reginald Beauhampton, second son of the Duke of Marmount, was the inheritor of the mule-headed stubborn streak from both sides of his family.
He was going to find a way.
Chapter Nine
The Duchess of Marmount tightened her lips, forcing them not to smile. Covertly, she watched her son, across and down the table where he sat beside the lovely young daughter of the seventh Baron Englefield.
From the girl's stricken look when they had been introduced, she had known something was wrong, and the tension between her and Reggie confirmed it. They were so perfectly polite and proper to each other, so exactingly fulfilling their roles, but the little things she saw in their faces told her how deeply the pain cut for both of them.
Whatever was wrong, they were not angry with each other. But they were in love. And all the propriety they could muster could not mask that from the prying eyes of le Beau Monde.
Muriel was right. They were the Perfect Couple. It was no wonder everyone was so determined to pair them off.
Lydia, Duchess of Marmount, made her decision. Instead of returning to the seclusion of her beloved little estate on the Avon, she was going to rejoin the ranks of society and become a matchmaker. And the devil with what the duke said. The rest of the world might cringe from him, but she knew him better than anyone. He would not say anything, anyway, for if he meant to order her back to her place of retirement, he would have to actually speak to her to do it. And in sixteen years, he had not managed to make himself face her to utter a single word. He would not now.
* * *
"Do you wish to explain this?" asked Castlebury, turning away from Reggie as he spoke. His mouth moved so little, Reggie had to look again to be sure his friend had spoken.
"Explain what?" he responded in an equally quiet voice as they walked toward the drawing room where the ladies awaited the return of the men.
"Stubble it, Beauhampton. I am not a blind man. You grabbed the lady's hand beneath the tablecloth, unless I am mistaken and you pinched something even more inappropriate. And I believe I know you better than that."
"She is a bit blue-deviled. Merely a matter of reassurance."
"Certainly. And Prinny is dropping by for nuncheon tomorrow. Only last week, I was anticipating an announcement from you, and now I find the lady batting unwilling eyes at me. I believe I deserve more explanation than that."
Reggie ran an assessing gaze over his friend. They had been to Oxford together, and Castlebury had sailed out with him more times than anyone else. Castlebury was just about the closest friend Reggie had ever had, and certainly one who was completely trustworthy. As a choice for husband for Chloe, Castlebury was creditable, but the man was only casually casting about for a wife. If Chloe made eyes at Castlebury, it should not be surprising, but it would not be profitable for her.
Vilheurs, on the other hand, was casting in Chloe's direction in earnest, and he was not in the least acceptable.
H
e couldn't tell his friend about Chloe's problem, but on the other hand, the man was clearly offering assistance. Perhaps if Reggie gave it enough thought, he'd find a way to use Castlebury's help.
"Perhaps we might discuss it later," he said. "Drop by the dock tomorrow. I mean to try out my new jib for trim."
Castlebury gave a little nod and wandered off as they reached the drawing room, engaging the duchess in conversation.
Reggie had to think of something. He'd already resolved, and he was determined. And the irony was, he could see the whole of society watching him, depending on him to find a way to carry out the dreams they all seemed to secretly cherish.
So then, he would find a way. But what?
Early the next day, Reggie went with Puckett to meet Ludwick, the man who was about to change his life. Even in his wildest dreams, Reggie had not imagined the man would gush so profusely over his book, nor had he anticipated the man would stop his presses for the specific purpose of getting The Adventuress in print. Ludwick might be new to the printing trade, but he knew what he was doing. Yet even Reggie wasn't so sure the book would become the wild success Ludwick anticipated.
He signed the contract, and then, with spirits lifted, he headed for the dock in Tilbury to see how MacDevie was progressing with the sail.
It was the same sort of day that had bloomed so brightly when he had taken Chloe and her aunt out for a sail, but today showed not the slightest hint of inclement weather, and the breeze was almost too light to stir a sail.
Shortly after noon, Castlebury hailed the Xanthe and came aboard. Tall and long-limbed, Reggie's friend possessed the natural elegance of his ancestors, the Earls of Castlebury, whose oversize portraits hung in long rows all over the ancestral dwellings, their brown hair and brown eyes varying shades from amber to chocolate.
"Rumor has it you've been seen climbing the rigging again, Reggie," Castlebury said, squinting high up to the ribbon-like pennant above the fore royal sail. "Damned high, isn't it?"
"Ratlines," Reggie corrected. "A hand climbs the ratlines. Yes, it's high. Want to give it a go?"
"I'd sooner scrub the stone floor of the dairy barn," Castlebury said. "Come now, Reggie, tell me about the lovely Miss Englefield. Less than a week ago, the two of you were all but living in each other's pockets."
"We have decided we will not suit."
"Give over. You still can't keep your eyes off her. Or your hands."
Reggie still hadn't decided what to tell his friend, but he had to start somewhere. "This must go no further, you understand."
Castlebury nodded.
"My father will not release my inheritance from my grandfather."
Castlebury's brows shot upward. "The devil you say! Can he do that?"
"He is doing it. I've tried. I can't shake it loose without the deuce of a fight in court. He means to use it to force me to marry my cousin Portia Nightengale."
Castlebury shuddered. "You surely don't mean to! He'd have you marry that sourpussed Long Meg when you could have the delicious Miss Englefield? I always did think the man was daft."
"You know how he is. Portia bows and scrapes to him like a scullery maid, and he means to use her to keep control over me. When he makes up his mind to something, he never lets go."
"Then just elope with Miss Englefield."
Reggie shook his head. "She has her own family matter. Two sisters with their guardian, Cottingham."
Castlebury's nostrils flared. "That old sot. That can't bode well. But what's it got to do with you?"
"I suspect she needs a husband who can somehow wrest her sisters from Cottingham's grasp. And the devil of it is, I don't have either the power or the blunt to do it."
"She doesn't? The word is she's got twelve. You mean she doesn't, then?"
"Let's skip that part of the discussion, shall we? The duke obviously won't be of any help since it's contrary to his wishes. Fortunately he doesn't know about her yet. And I have another expectation."
The pair of brown brows rose high, waiting. Castlebury folded his arms over his chest.
"Let's just say I have committed myself to an occupation some would consider less than gentlemanly, but which has the potential of providing me with independence from my parent."
"The devil, you say. And what might that be? Would it have anything to do with your mysterious and lengthy disappearances, and possibly those smudges you never quite get off your hands?"
The harder Reggie tied to keep the heat from invading his face, the hotter he got. "All right, but you must not tell anyone. I wrote a book and sold it. Signed the contract this morning."
"Devil a bit, Reggie! Something terribly risque, I hope!"
"Seafaring story. I've got to get it into print before my father discovers it. Then it will be too late for him to stop it. And if I am fortunate, I shall eventually have a modest income my father cannot touch."
"And can marry whom you please."
Reggie nodded. "Do not mistake me, Castlebury. I am resolved I shall not marry Portia under any circumstances. If I never see a farthing of my inheritance, and if it causes a complete break from my father, I will not. But it remains to be seen if I can persuade Miss Englefield to marry me. She will not sacrifice the well-being of her sisters for me. Nor would I wish it. And if she does not, then I have grave concerns that Vilheurs will win her hand. I cannot allow her to make such a mistake."
"Surely not. Is she so desperate?"
"I suspect she is. You know Cottingham. Would you want any child left in his care? Let alone twins barely above childhood?"
"So what do you want me to do? I am not at all set to spring the parson's mousetrap, and would find it particularly odious to marry a lady so enamored with my close friend."
"Don't marry her. Just keep her occupied. Too busy for Vilheurs to get his hooks into her. He is too determined."
"He cannot know of her lack of fortune, then, else he would lose interest entirely."
"Nor can we let it be known. It would humiliate her and ruin any chance she might have to make an amiable marriage."
"Then you mean to give her up so easily?"
"Not at all. Of course, if she should find someone she desires to marry, I would not stand in her way. But I shall not stand aside for anything less."
"What will you do, then?"
"I will find a way. I have promised it to myself."
Castlebury's eyes roamed over the marshy shoreline on the far side of the Thames as if he found them of immense fascination. "A dicey proposition. A man could find himself leg-shackled from a single false move."
"You're up to the challenge. You have been successfully side-stepping maidenly swoons for some time."
"Beauhampton, you are asking a great deal."
Reggie nodded. But at least if anything went awry, Chloe would be in good hands.
"When is the race?"
"Thursday. Tilbury to Sheerness."
"I believe I shall organize a party to drive down to Sheerness. I'll wager we arrive before you. Bibury's uncle has a property down that way, I believe. Perhaps a picnic at seaside, and a side trip to the estate."
"We shall be at the dock waiting for you. Mind you, no racing, with the ladies along."
Castlebury's lips twitched as if tempted to make a smile. But that would have been beneath his dignity.
Chapter Ten
"She's dragging her arse, sir," said Russell.
Reggie knew that, and he also knew he didn't have twenty quid to lose. But from the moment the tugs had pulled them into the Thames' main channel to Tilbury, he had felt something wrong, and he couldn't puzzle out what it was.
The Xanthe lay about, poised, sails ready to drop at the signal. The wind was strong and gusty, favoring the more skilled sailor. But luck could play a part, depending upon who caught the right wind.
"She acts like her hull is covered with barnacles," Reggie replied, frowning. He searched the larboard side, but everything there looked sound. He crossed the deck and checked o
ut the starboard side, not even knowing what he ought to find, but saw nothing.
He checked his watch. "Almost time. To your posts, lads."
"Aye, sir," said Russell with a worried frown.
Reggie climbed the ladder to the poopdeck to take his position by MacDevie.
From ashore at Tilbury, the crack of a pistol split the air. The Xanthe's crew hoisted the triangular sails, and they billowed in the stiff wind. Reggie had picked this very spot to catch the wind he wanted.
The Xanthe hardly moved. The canvas strained, but she was almost dead in the water. Dismayed crew watched as the Argonaut lurched ahead. It was almost like something had them tied to the riverbed.
"Devil a bit!" Reggie shouted, dashing to stern. "Where the devil is it?"
"Sir?" called MacDevie, still at the wheel.
"We've been spiked! Where the devil is it?"
"Get me a cutlass and a line." It had to be below the waterline. He squinted down at the dark water and saw an odd linear shadow. "There!"
Russell dashed up and secured a line barely before Reggie swung himself over the stern and shinnied down the thick hemp, balancing his feet against the wooden sides. Not until he was almost upon it could he see a spike driven into the planks just below waterline. Beneath it trailed a taut rope. Whatever it was they were dragging, it was big and heavy.
He planted both feet against the planks of the stern, leaned out, and swung the razor-sharp cutlass, hacking at the water and the rope beneath it, cursing to himself at the resistance of the water that weakened his strokes. The third blow cut it loose. The Xanthe pitched forward so suddenly, Reggie lost his footing and dangled from the line, swinging and thumping against the planks. The cutlass dropped into the river. As the boat steadied to its newly found speed, Reggie climbed like a rat in the rigging, and pulled himself back aboard.
Now she was moving. But the Argonaut had a good lead. She'd be hard to catch before Gravesend.
MacDevie's low, calm voice called out orders as if nothing untoward had occurred. The crew dropped the square topsail, then raised stun sails on either side of the topsail. The yards shifted and they ran before the wind. A full sail day-the best of all possible worlds. The Xanthe still had a chance, for she had more sail power and could outmaneuver the competition.
