Captain Corcoran's Hoyden Bride

by Annie Burrows

  Mr Jago had phrased it like an invitation, but, of course, it was an order. Her new employer would want to look her over. And find out what kind of creature his man of business had hired to take care of his children.

  ‘Thank you. I shall be ready,’ she assured him.

  She wasted no time, after he had left, in slithering out of her wet clothes and slipping into the warm bath with a sigh of contentment. She could not recall the last time somebody else had drawn a bath for her! Several large, soft towels had been draped over an airer before the fire to warm. Having dried herself, she wrapped one round herself, toga style, and set about getting herself organised. The first thing she did was to drape her chemise, petticoat and stays over the frame that had been used to warm the towels. Then she went to her trunk, which somebody—the burly man, she assumed—had placed at the foot of the divan bed, which was up against the far wall. She unpacked the silver-backed hairbrush first, an item she had purchased for the express purpose of placing in a prominent position on her dressing table. She did not know much about being in service, but she did know that a governess had to establish that she was no ordinary servant from the outset, by employing such little ruses as this.

  Then she took out the gown she had bought in case she ever had to dine with the family. It looked almost new. And not too badly creased, either. She had pressed it again before packing it. She had got a laundress to carefully run a hot iron over the seams the very day she had purchased it, as she was in the habit of doing with every item of second-hand clothing she ever bought, to make sure that no lice the previous owner might have carried could survive to plague her. It was not a very flattering style, and the dove-grey silk did not suit her colouring, but apart from the fact that it was the only thing she had been able to find that struck the right balance between decorum and style, it added to the impression she wished to give, of being in mourning.

  She grimaced as she hung it from two pegs on the back of the door. The day she had bought it was the day she had decided her father was dead to her. She had fulfilled her filial duty by making sure he was free of debt before she left town. And paid for one more month’s rent on his lodgings. But that was it. She would have nothing more to do with him.

  Her stays and petticoat were still slightly damp when she put them back on later, upon rising from her nap, but she could not leave them lying about her room! The coins she had sewn into the hem of her petticoat bumped reassuringly against her calves, reminding her that the safest place for the amount of money she was carrying was on her person. And that it was where it must remain, no matter what.

  Having dressed, and brushed, braided and pinned up her hair in the style she had decided made her look the most severely governess-like, Aimée lifted her chin, straightened her back and left her room.

  The burly servant was lounging against the wall opposite, his brawny arms folded across his massive chest.

  ‘Evenin’, miss.’ He grinned at her, straightening up. ‘They call me Nelson.’ He shrugged in a way that suggested it was not his real name at all, but that he was not averse to the nickname.

  ‘I’m to take you down to the front parlour, where the Captain is waiting,’ he explained.

  ‘Are you the footman?’ she asked as he led the way along the corridor to the head of the stairs. She knew that as governess, her position would be outside the hierarchy that governed the rest of the staff, which she did not mind in the least. No, so far as she was concerned, if the only people she spoke to, from one end of the day to the next, were her charges, the safer she would feel. Nevertheless, it would be useful to ascertain the status of every person working in this household, so that she did not inadvertently tread on anyone’s toes. Mr Jago was easy enough to place. He was in a position of some authority. But Nelson was something of a puzzle. He had hefted luggage about like a menial, but then served tea with an air of doing Mr Jago a personal favour, and had come to fetch her as though he had a fairly responsible position himself.

  He turned and looked at her over his shoulder, his leathery, brown face creasing even further as he frowned.

  ‘In a manner of speaking, just now, aye, I suppose I am,’ he said. ‘Down to minimum complement of four side-boys, just now, on account of—’ He stopped short, his eyes skittering away from hers. ‘And, well, we all do whatever’s necessary,’ he finished, crossing the hallway and flinging open the door to the parlour.

  She could not help noticing his rolling gait, which, coupled with his nautical outfit, and the incomprehensible jargon he used, confirmed her belief that this man was an ex-sailor. In fact, now she came to think of it, all the men who had gathered at the front door, upon her arrival, looked more like the crew of a ship, loitering on the dockside, than formally trained household servants.

  And when he announced, ‘Miss Peters, Cap’n!’ before bowing her into the room as though she were a duchess, she wondered if Mr Jago had hoped all her years of travel had rendered her broad minded enough to deal with what was looking increasingly like a very eccentrically run household. Because, from what Nelson had just said, it sounded as though the Captain expected all his staff to adapt themselves to the circumstances, rather than rigidly stick to a narrow sphere of duty.

  Well, that did not bother her. She could cook and sew, manage household accounts and even clean out the nursery grates and light the fires if necessary. As long as her wages came in regularly, and nobody asked too many questions about her past, she would not mind taking on duties that were, strictly speaking, not generally expected of a governess.

  A tall man dressed in naval uniform was standing with his back to the room, gazing out of the rain-lashed windows. His coat was of the same dark blue as that of his staff, though cut to fit his broad shoulders and tapering down to his narrow waist. Gold epaulettes proclaimed his rank. And instead of the baggy trousers of his men, he wore knee breeches and silk stockings.

  He swung round suddenly, making her gasp in surprise. For one thing, though she could not say precisely why it should be, she had always imagined her employer would be quite old. Yet this man did not look as though he was much past the age of thirty.

  But what really shocked her was the scarring that ran from one empty eye socket to his right temple, where a substantial section of his hair was completely white.

  What a coincidence! His coachman, too, had worn an eyepatch over his right eye.

  No, wait … Her stomach sinking, she studied his face more closely.

  Earlier on, she had only glimpsed the coachman’s features fully for a few seconds, when he had pulled his muffler down, the better to berate her. And the hat had concealed that thick mane of dark blond hair.

  But there was no doubt this was the same man!

  Her stomach sinking as she recalled the way she had shouted right back at him, she sank into a curtsy, hanging her head.

  He must have had a perfectly good reason for driving the coach himself. Nelson had said the household was short of staff at present. Perhaps that accounted for it. Perhaps that accounted for him coming to fetch her so late, too. Nelson’s ambiguous comments indicated the place was in turmoil, for some reason he did not care to divulge to her, the newcomer.

  But did that excuse Captain Corcoran from not introducing himself properly? Or shouting at her, and scaring her half to death?

  Oh, if he were not her employer she would …

  But he was her employer. And he had every right to shout at her if she angered him. And since she needed this job so badly, she would just have to bite back the remarks she would so dearly love to make.

  She clenched her fists and kept her eyes fixed on the floor just in front of the Captain’s highly polished shoes, knowing that it was a bit too soon to look him in the face. Not until she had fully quenched her ire at being so completely wrong-footed could she risk that!

  She had never imagined how hard this aspect of getting a job as a governess would be. She supposed it came from not having to submit to anyone’s authority for so many
years. Not since her mother had died. Though she had never had any trouble doing exactly as she had told her.

  At least she would not have to resort to asking a few of the questions she was sure this man would think impertinent, to work some things out. For one thing, she could see perfectly why Mr Jago had said he wanted to hire a woman with backbone. This Captain Corcoran clearly had a hasty temper, as well as a completely unique way of organising his household. She had been on the receiving end of it herself already, as well as witnessing his treatment of the slovenly landlord in Beckforth. A more sensitive female would wilt under the lash of that vicious tongue, let alone the force of the blistering glare she could feel him bending upon her now!

  As she continued to stand, with her head down, the Captain emitted a noise that was just what she guessed a bear, prematurely roused from its hibernation, would make before devouring the hapless creature that had woken it.

  It surprised her into looking up. She caught him fumbling a patch into position over the empty eye socket, his lips drawn into a flat line as though he was experiencing some degree of discomfort.

  He might have known the sight of it would turn her stomach, he thought as her eyes skittered away from the ruined right side of his face. Mr Jago had said she did not seem to be the squeamish sort, but you never could tell what was going on inside a woman’s head, not unless you shocked them into revealing it.

  ‘C-Captain Corcoran?’ she stammered, wondering how on earth to get past this awkward moment.

  ‘Miss Peters,’ he said crisply, as though her mere presence in the room was causing him intense annoyance. Though she could not imagine why it should. He was not the one who had made a complete fool of himself out there in the road!

  ‘Shall we go in to dine?’ he said, holding out his arm. ‘Unless you are not hungry?’ She would not be the first woman to find his features so repellent they robbed her of her appetite.

  Just then her stomach rumbled so loudly that even the Captain must have heard it, for he looked down at it in surprise, at the exact moment her hands fluttered to her waist. Though she was appalled at such a loss of dignity, she swiftly decided that it had at least gone some way towards dissipating the tension that thrummed between them.

  ‘There is no point,’ she said with a rueful twist to her lips, ‘trying to pretend that I am not completely famished!’

  It was quite true. The nausea that had been roiling in her stomach ever since the night she had learned her father had attempted to auction off her virginity in some noisome gambling hell in a last-ditch attempt to escape his crushing debts had completely vanished the moment she had crossed the threshold of The Lady’s Bower. She had enjoyed every mouthful of that cake, and now she felt as though she could eat a horse.

  The ferocity of the Captain’s frown abated by several degrees.

  ‘Then let us go in,’ he said.

  She laid her hand upon his arm, and he led her through a door into a generously proportioned dining room. The floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over a terrace, and thence to grounds that were obscured by the driving rain.

  There was an oval table in the centre of the highly polished floor, beautifully set out, with a centrepiece of artistically arranged roses that filled the air with their perfume.

  It was only as a servant came to pull out one of the chairs for her that it struck her how odd it was that it was only set for two.

  Where was the Captain’s wife?

  She darted him one curious glance as he took his own place and signalled for service to begin.

  She toyed with her napkin in her lap, as she bit back the thousand-and-one questions she wanted to ask. It was so frustrating, having to constantly remember her place! He would only tell her whatever he thought she needed to know, in his own good time.

  He sat stiffly, eating his soup in brooding silence. But it was so delicious that before long she no longer cared that her new employer was turning out to be a bit of an autocrat. A man would not have risen to the rank of Captain, she decided, at such a relatively young age, without having a forceful personality. Nobody would put a man in charge of a fighting ship if he were not extremely capable.

  The navy was not run in the same way as the army, where a man could rise through the ranks merely by buying commissions. In the navy, a man had to earn his promotion. Even pass exams in seamanship, she seemed to recall having heard somewhere.

  And he definitely looked intelligent. It sparked from that one, steely grey eye. There had been an uncomfortable moment, just before dinner, when she had felt as though he was looking into her very soul. But then, fortunately, her stomach had rumbled. And although that hard mouth had not curved into a smile, she had seen a flash of humour lighten his expression somewhat. And if he was capable of seeing the funny side of things, perhaps he would not turn out to be a complete tyrant.

  It was a shame, she mused, about his scars. Because without them, he would be quite handsome. Though even before he had lost that eye, she did not think he would have had the sensuous kind of good looks that had some women practically swooning with desire. No, he would have had … still had, in fact, the rugged features of a man with plenty of character.

  She laid her spoon aside, astonished to find she had devoured her soup in complete silence, whilst musing over the Captain’s looks and character.

  ‘So, you spoke no less than the truth,’ the Captain remarked as the servant whisked her empty bowl away. ‘I do not think I have ever observed any female eat with such gusto.’

  Though he looked faintly amused, again, she felt rebuked by his remark. Her mother had taught her better than this! She ought to have sipped at her soup daintily, not revealed she was utterly famished.

  She folded her hands in her lap, pulling herself upright as more servants bustled about with dishes containing the next course.

  She had not forgotten her table manners entirely, thank goodness. She had not slurped her soup, or grabbed a couple of the rolls and stuffed them into her pocket for later. But she felt as though she might just as well have done.

  A lady, her mother had always insisted, should never betray the fact that she was starving. Not even when her clothes hung in rags from her skinny shoulders, and they were obliged to subsist on handouts from friends.

  ‘Adverse circumstances,’ her mother had been fond of saying, ‘are only a test of character. Never forget you are a Vickery,’ she would say, while her father had rolled his eyes in exasperation at the way she continually reminded Aimée of that side of her heritage. ‘A Vickery will always rise to the occasion.’

  Oh, Mama, she thought, a guilty flush heating her cheeks. How I have let things slide, of late! Today, especially. Losing my temper with that innkeeper, and shouting at my employer in the road! Even though he was disguised as a coachman, I had no business letting my emotions get the better of me. I will do better, she vowed. I will rise to the occasion.

  ‘You are blushing,’ the Captain startled her by observing. ‘Directness of my speech too much for you?’

  She turned her head to look directly at him. The pugnacious set of his jaw made her wonder if he was deliberately trying to unsettle her. Perhaps he was. Had she not expected her new employer to want to test her mettle for himself? When a woman was to be put in charge of a man’s children, he would want to be quite sure of her character.

  If she really wanted to retain this post, it was past time to swallow her pride and account for her earlier, inappropriate behaviour.

  She cleared her throat.

  ‘I have no objection to speaking directly. So, while we are being direct with one another, I would like to take the opportunity to clear the air between us. There is still some awkwardness, I believe, resulting from my earlier reaction to your appearance.’

  If she had thought his face had looked harsh before, it was as nothing to the expression that darkened it now. Hastily, she explained, ‘You see, the first time we met, I was under the impression you were merely a coachman. And I believe I may h
ave been somewhat impolite …’

  ‘May have been?’ For a moment, he glared at her so intensely she thought she had seriously offended him. But then he flung back his head and barked with laughter.

  ‘You gave as good as you got, and you damn well know it! Mr Jago promised me he had found me a woman of spirit, and you certainly have that, Miss Peters.’

  He took a sip of wine, then added, ‘But you are not too proud to apologise, when you know you are in the wrong, either.’

  ‘Not quite,’ she agreed with a rueful smile, reflecting how hard it had been to broach the topic of her folly.

  ‘Ah, you’ll do.’ He leaned back in his chair. And smiled back.

  It was amazing how drastically the change of expression altered his appearance. She had already thought he looked like a man used to command. But now there was such a compelling aura about him she could well believe men would follow him slavishly to their deaths.

  ‘Yes, you’ll do nicely!’ he said again. ‘You really are tough enough to take on the task I chose you for.’

  ‘Ah, yes!’ Finally, they were going to put aside any personal feelings and discuss her professional role within his household. She had been so nervous during her interview with Mr Jago. She had been too busy looking over her shoulder, at what she was escaping from, to ascertain exactly what he expected from her. She had not asked nearly enough questions. Why, she did not even know how many children she was to take charge of, nor their ages!

  ‘When will I be meeting the children?’ she asked. ‘And your wife?’

  The young man with eyes like a spaniel, who had been carving the duck, dropped the knife on to the table with a muffled clunk.

  ‘Give me that, Billy,’ Captain Corcoran snapped, getting to his feet, retrieving the knife and setting about skilfully carving the bird himself.

  Oh, dear. From the young man’s nervous start, and the Captain’s set jaw, she could tell she had somehow put her foot in it. After rapidly reviewing the events of the day to see if she could work out in what way, it occurred to her that she had seen no sign that any children lived in this house at all. Surely, if they did, the first thing that would have happened, upon her arrival, would have been a visit to the nursery. Though she had been unwell …