by Georgie Lee
‘You don’t know the half of it.’
‘Why not put a stop to it, or speak to your brother about ending it?’
‘If Simon wants to ruin himself, so be it.’
‘What about Miss Taylor? Shame to let him drag her down.’
‘She has a small inheritance from her mother and will probably catch some poor fool with a sizeable income.’
‘I hardly call myself a fool.’ James puffed up with mock indignation.
‘You aren’t for her.’ George scowled.
They rode for some time, George relaying London gossip as they crossed meadows, streams and fields. James listened to George’s tales with half an ear, enjoying the crisp air and the steady gait of the horse. A few wispy clouds hung in the sky, which shone a rich shade of blue like many he’d seen during still days at sea. The chill of autumn filled the air, but it wasn’t sharp or biting, and James hoped the winter cold would come late this year. After spending so much time in the dirty air of London, he craved more days like this.
* * *
‘We’re on Cable Grange land now,’ George announced after they’d ridden a good distance.
James took in the sudden change in the landscape. The topography was the same, but the meadows showed the lack of the prosperity so evident at Knollwood. Thin, ragged sheep grazed in the meadows while the fields, many of which should have been well ploughed, stood fallow and full of weeds.
They moved from the small path to a wide country lane. The road split, one branch winding down the hill, the other sloping up to the iron gates of Cable Grange. Stopping at the fork afforded them a view of the rutted and muddy drive leading up to the main house. Even from this distance the neglect was evident in the dingy grey capstones, dirty windows and ivy-choked walls.
‘Quite a difference,’ James remarked.
‘No revenge you could have exacted would have done what they’ve done to themselves.’
James didn’t answer. He’d expected to find satisfaction in seeing Melinda’s ruined estate. Instead he felt a certain pity for her, the emotion taking him by surprise. Maybe George was right. Perhaps the past didn’t matter now.
‘Let’s go before someone sees us.’ George turned Percy around and James followed. They had started down the road when a curricle came over the hill, slowing as it approached. James’s stomach tightened at the sight of the driver and his female companion.
‘Well, well, well, now of all times James Covington gets on his high horse to pay me a visit,’ Wilkins sneered from his seat, taking in James and Manfred. Rowan still possessed the greasy features of a scoundrel and his dark hair, cut short, failed to enhance his thin face or hide the hard lines under his red eyes. As with his wife, London living had taken its toll. ‘Here to kick me while I’m down?’
‘You brought this on yourself, Wilkins.’
‘Still the moralist. You’d think killing all those foreign soldiers might have taken it out of you. But I suppose you didn’t come to see me.’
‘No, he’s not so hard-hearted, Rowan, though he’s not above bragging,’ Melinda answered with a sweet smile that turned James’s stomach. ‘He’s come to flash his blunt at the auction, show me what I missed out on all those years ago.’
‘Shut up, you. We’re not going anywhere,’ Rowan spat.
‘Of course we aren’t.’ Melinda laughed, then blew James a kiss. ‘Have a lovely ride.’
Rowan flicked the reins, setting the curricle into motion. It tore down the drive, pitching when the wheel caught a rut before righting itself.
‘Now you’ve seen it, do you still want it?’ George asked.
‘Yes.’ Memories of a summer in Portsmouth twelve years ago when he’d loved a woman and she’d thrown him over for lack of a fortune taunted him. He’d been a fool to lose his heart to someone like her. Studying the crumbling stone walls and overgrown fields, he knew her decaying life should vindicate him, but he wasn’t cruel enough to delight in her misery, only his own.
‘It won’t suit you,’ George said.
‘What won’t?’
‘The peace of the country. It’ll do for a time, but eventually you’ll need more adventure than just what crops to plant and when.’
‘I’m done with adventure.’
‘Says the man riding Manfred.’ George laughed, turning Percy around.
The desire to return to sea hit him with the force of a hurricane. He craved the peace of the ocean, the gentle roll and pitch of the ship, his only concerns their position and the strength of the wind. Feeling under his jacket for the scar, bitter bile rose up in his throat, choking out everything except the throbbing in his shoulder before he forced it down. He would not let anger and longing torment him. No, he would command his feelings like he’d commanded his crew, setting a course and not allowing the fickle winds of emotion to drive him about. The sea was no longer his life and there was no use pining for it.
* * *
The small china clock on the mantel chimed the noon hour. Julia sat at her dressing table, knowing there was no way to avoid nuncheon today. Mary stood behind her, arranging her hair into a simple style. Out of the bedroom window, Julia watched Uncle George and Captain Covington ride across the meadow towards the stables.
‘Are you all right, miss?’ Mary asked, hearing Julia sigh.
‘Yes, thank you.’ I’m having my hair done while the captain is riding Manfred. This would be her permanent lot if Charles and Emily had their way.
Mary hummed a soft tune while she worked and Julia’s mind drifted back to the stables and Captain Covington. She hated to admit it, but he was dashing atop Manfred. She’d almost taken John’s wager that the captain would be thrown, but the captain’s tenacious eyes matched with the steady, fluid way he pulled himself into the saddle made her hold on to her coin. His daring reminded her of Paul, but he possessed a seriousness and maturity her brother lacked. Unlike Charles’s self-imposed austerity, the captain’s seemed more contemplative, as if something weighed on him. It only appeared in small flashes when he thought no one was looking, but she’d seen it more than once. Whatever it was, it failed to dampen his deep humour. She enjoyed his wit, even if she was jealous of his ability to act and display his talents without fear of rebuke. How often was she able to display hers?
‘What do you think, miss?’ Mary asked.
Julia examined herself in the mirror. The hairstyle was simple, but not fashionable, and the white muslin dress with the pink check obscured all hint of her figure. Even with the promise of money, dressing like a frump would not help Simon imagine her decorating his arm at a London ball. She might not want to marry him, but she had to make him believe her suitable for society or he’d never make an offer.
‘Mary, please bring down my London dresses from the attic,’ Julia instructed. The gowns were no longer the height of fashion, but they’d suit her better than her current attire.
Mary’s stunned eyes met Julia’s in the mirror before the older servant caught herself and dipped a quick curtsy. ‘Yes, Miss Howard.’
* * *
James watched Miss Howard enter the dining room, Miss Taylor’s idle chatter fading away into the background. She glowed like a white sand beach on a sunny island, the sight of her as welcome as land after a long voyage. She took in the room, briefly meeting his eyes. Her face lit up, making the breath catch in his chest. He leaned forwards in his chair, ready to rise, cross the room and feel her hand on his arm while he led her to her seat. He didn’t care who saw them or what they said. Let George rib him; it would be worth the teasing to enjoy the sound of her light voice.
The image shattered when her eager eyes went to Mr Taylor and she took her place next to him. James picked up his ale glass and took a long sip to cover his near move, all the while watching Miss Howard over the rim.
‘Simon, did you enjoy
your morning ride?’ she asked.
‘It was far from pleasant.’ He picked at the food on his plate, his lips turned up in exaggerated disgust.
Her smile faltered before she bolstered it, but her irritated eyes betrayed her true feelings. James wondered what she was about and why she worked so hard to appeal to the dandy. Perhaps Mrs Howard desired their better acquaintance, though from everything he’d witnessed Miss Howard rarely complied with her sister-in-law’s requests.
‘Captain Covington,’ Miss Taylor interrupted his thoughts. ‘I would be happy to paint your portrait.’
‘Thank you.’ He continued to watch Miss Howard, feeling Miss Taylor’s irritation. He tossed her a charming smile, exhausted by the constant effort involved in foiling George’s matchmaking plans.
Miss Taylor started to say something and James put down his glass, leaning towards Miss Howard. ‘Thank you for allowing me to ride Manfred.’
Miss Howard paused in a comment to Mr Taylor. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘I’d like to ride him again if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course,’ she replied off-handedly, turning back to the fop.
‘Tomorrow, perhaps?’
Her perturbed eyes snapped to his. ‘Any time you wish.’ She returned to Mr Taylor, but James refused to let her go.
‘Tell me, how did you come by such a beast?’
‘Ah, now there’s a story.’ George laughed from the end of the table.
Miss Howard forgot her irritation, flashing what James sensed was her first genuine smile of the meal, Mr Taylor forgotten. ‘It’s Uncle George’s fault. He bought Manfred in London.’
‘I had a mind to breed warhorses when I first left the Navy,’ George added between bits of meat. ‘He’s a Friesland and who knows what else, but steady as a rock around gunshot.’
‘Certainly explains his colour and height,’ James remarked. ‘But how did you end up with him, Miss Howard?’
‘Manfred may be steady as a rock, but he has a temper.’
‘Horse dealer failed to mention it,’ George admitted.
‘The price alone should have made you wary,’ she chided.
‘Horse dealer did seem awfully eager to be rid of him, but it’s my own fault. What do I know about horses? I’m a Navy man.’
‘And not one to think through any scheme.’ James laughed.
‘Perhaps there’s some truth to it.’ George clapped his hands together. ‘Well, none of my men could control him, and after a fortnight I had a mind to put him out to pasture.’
‘But this time, he asked my opinion first. I observed Manfred with the grooms and something about him just called to me. Uncle George’s men were trying to make him behave, but they were going about it all wrong. Manfred needed a patient hand and a gentle but strong voice.’
‘And you possessed both,’ James complimented.
‘I suppose I did, but I prefer to think it was because I believed in him when no one else did and he thanked me for it.’
‘You may be right.’
Miss Howard smiled and he delighted in the dimples at the corner of her lips. For a moment, there was only the two of them in the room. Her amber eyes met his and he felt their heat deep in his body, but the moment was short lived.
‘How wonderful you’re such an amazing horsewoman,’ Miss Taylor interrupted. ‘Are you also a skilled painter?’
‘I’m adept at no art except running an estate,’ Miss Howard admitted with confidence and James silently cheered her for standing up to the ridiculous criticism.
‘Yes, I forgot. I plan to draw in the garden this afternoon. I’ve asked the captain to accompany me. He even volunteered to carry my easel for it can be such a cumbersome thing.’ She smiled at James, who shifted in his seat, having forgotten about his offer and wondering how he could extricate himself from it without being rude.
‘I think some time outside would do us all a world of good,’ Emily announced, trapping James in this bland game.
* * *
Half an hour later found everyone in the garden enjoying the unusually warm autumn weather. Even Mr Taylor deigned to drag himself outside, much to Miss Howard’s visible delight.
James listened in disbelief when she complimented Mr Taylor on his excellent description of his last evening at White’s.
What is she after? he wondered. Was she playing him for his money? Surely she knew he had nothing more than the ready extended by his London creditors. James shifted restlessly, hating the way she nodded, enraptured by the pretentious pink’s description of a card game. He refused to admit his anger was jealousy, but there it sat, gnawing at him.
Swallowing it back, he watched Miss Taylor arrange Emily and George into a formal pose on the opposite side of the fish pond. Was this really his life now? Garden parties and flattering London chits? He kept glancing at Miss Howard. Here was a woman who would keep life interesting—if only he could tear her away from the damned coxcomb.
‘Should I pull my arm in my sleeve?’ George joked once Miss Taylor returned to her canvas. ‘I may not be as handsome or slender, but I think I might make a good Nelson.’
Everyone laughed except Miss Taylor, who sketched with her charcoal, and Mr Taylor, who took a pinch of snuff from his silver snuffbox with an affected flourish.
‘Rather shameful, the Admiral continuing in such a ruined state,’ Mr Taylor lisped. ‘Hardly speaks well of Britain to have such a specimen leading our Navy.’
James almost leaned over and punched the idiot in his pursed mouth. If they’d been at White’s he’d have called him out, but for the ladies’ sake he allowed the comment to drop.
Miss Howard, despite her newfound infatuation, refused to let it stand. ‘I think it very fitting he continue. It shows weakness in a man not to carry on after an injury, if he can.’
The remark hit James like a cudgel to the chest. ‘Do you extend that opinion to all Navy men, or just Admiral Nelson?’
‘All Navy men. If every sailor with a cut or scrape retired we’d have no hope of winning any war.’ There was no malice in the statement, just a simple declaration. He wondered if George had told her about his wound.
‘What of duty to one’s family? Is an only son to die at sea for no other reason than to prove he’s not a coward, leaving the future of his family to the cruel whims of fate?’
‘A man who chooses the Navy knows the dangers. If his family truly faces ruin then perhaps he should apprentice himself and enter a safe trade, such as tailor.’
‘What if he comes home wounded to find responsibility for his mother and sister upon his shoulders?’ James flexed his left hand, the memory increasing the pain in his shoulder.
‘I cannot speak for every man’s situation, but if Admiral Nelson soldiers on then so can other brave men.’
‘I think you speak a great deal about something you know nothing about,’ he chastised, but she refused to back down. He had to admire the girl’s courage, despite her infuriating views.
‘And I think you, like most men, dislike opinionated women.’ She didn’t wait for his response, but turned on her heel and strode off.
‘Julia, where are you going?’ George said, but she didn’t stop.
‘I have some urgent business to attend to,’ she answered over her shoulder, then disappeared inside.
Mr Taylor coughed as he took another pinch of snuff. ‘As I said before, bluestockings always get in a man’s business.’
James turned a hard eye on the dandy, who wilted under the harsh gaze. He had a mind to thrash the man, but even with his weak arm it wouldn’t be a fair fight. Instead, he decided to enjoy the fine afternoon and have his portrait done as a Christmas present for his sister. He leaned over Miss Taylor’s shoulder to admire her sketch, but, unable to keep still, he began pacing, chewing over Miss
Howard’s remark.
Had she just called him a coward? Did she even know about his injury? Maybe George hadn’t told her. Despite George’s love of gossip, he had an annoying habit of conveying worthless stories while forgetting to relay critical information, such as Melinda living next door or just how close Miss Howard was to Paul. It was a wonder George had thought to tell him about Cable Grange before the actual sale took place.
‘What do you think, Captain?’ Miss Taylor asked.
He paused long enough to watch her apply the first colour to the sketch. ‘Excellent portrait.’
Why did he care so much about Miss Howard’s opinion? It was only the assumption of an ignorant country girl with no real understanding of the world. Let her think him a coward. Once he returned to London, he’d never be troubled with her again.
‘Jim, what’s wrong? You’re acting like a nervous hen,’ George called and James finally noticed everyone’s curious eyes.
‘I just remembered a matter I must attend to.’
‘But your portrait,’ Miss Taylor protested.
‘Another time, perhaps. Please, excuse me.’ He bowed, then headed into the house.
* * *
Julia scratched out the last line of figures, marring the ledger page with yet another mistake. Outside, Uncle George laughed and her temper flared. Throwing down her pencil, she leaned back in the chair, watching the others laugh and pose for Annette and noticing Captain Covington wasn’t with them. After this morning, she’d thought him a different type of man. Just now, he’d proven himself exactly like all other men, dismissing her opinion, then getting angry when she refused to defer to his better judgement. Of all people, he should have supported the logic of the argument, not defended a London fool.
Outside, Simon sat on the garden bench swatting at a fly.
To think my future lies in the hands of such a pathetic specimen. Reluctantly, she closed the ledger and rose. She’d allowed Captain Covington to interfere with capturing the dandy’s affection. If she wanted Cable Grange, she had to continue her pursuit and secure a proposal before the auction.
