Engagement of Convenience

by Georgie Lee

  The door clicked open and Captain Covington stepped into the room.

  ‘If you mean to bait me further, please refrain. I’m in no mood for arguments,’ she snapped, tense at the idea of facing him so soon after their disagreement.

  ‘I have no intention of baiting you. I thought I might read. George said you have an excellent book on crop rotation.’

  ‘Crop rotation?’ She eyed him suspiciously, doubting his interest in the subject.

  ‘Yes.’ He fingered a small wooden figurine on the table near the door.

  ‘It’s there, on top.’ She pointed to a stack of books on the table next to a large leather chair, then sat back down. Opening the ledger, she expected the captain to thank her and leave, but instead he lingered.

  ‘Do you mind if I browse your other books?’

  Julia waved her hand at the bookshelves without looking up from the ledger. ‘You’re more than welcome to anything in my collection.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He walked along the row of bookshelves, examining the spines, his tension evident by the way he kept tapping the crop book against his hand. Julia tried to ignore him, shaking her head at a miscalculated line of figures. He stopped at the large, coloured atlas on the bookstand, flipping through the pages before marching to stand in front of the desk.

  ‘Do you really think a man is a coward for retiring after being wounded?’ He stood before her the way a superior officer stands in front of a line of sailors.

  She fixed him with a hard stare, refusing to be cowed. ‘I told you I won’t be baited.’

  ‘Surely you don’t believe it applies to all men?’ He walked back and forth across the carpet as though on the deck of a ship, hands behind his back, every inch the Navy officer. ‘What if your brother was wounded and forced to resign his commission. Would you call him a coward?’

  Julia opened her mouth to answer, but the captain raised his hand, stopping her. Irritation flared, but she forced it back. Shouting at a guest, no matter how rude he might be, was definitely a breach of etiquette.

  ‘What if the man’s father died a few years ago and the investments he left to support his wife and daughter failed, leaving his son responsible for his sister’s dowry and his widowed mother’s affairs?’

  The strange conviction in his eyes warned her off meeting the challenge. ‘I respectfully decline to answer. We obviously have a difference of opinion so I see no reason to continue the debate.’

  ‘Then you’d insist he return?’

  Julia stayed silent, the lingering sadness in his piercing eyes hinting at the truth. Had he been wounded? Is that why he’d resigned? No, it wasn’t possible. Running her eyes up the length of him, admiring his trim waist, flat stomach and wide chest, he was too strong to be injured. Surely if he were, Uncle George would have said something. Perhaps he’d lost friends or maybe his father had died in debt? Whatever drove him, it emanated from somewhere deep inside and she knew to tread carefully.

  ‘Each man must decide what is best for him,’ she answered in an even voice. ‘It’s not up to me to make such decisions.’

  The tightness in the captain’s jaw eased while the feverish hunger to debate faded from his eyes. ‘This is quite a room for a young lady,’ he remarked, his voice softer, but no less strained than before.

  ‘A great many people have said so,’ she agreed, relieved at the fading tension. ‘It was my father’s. He did his business here. I saw no reason to change it.’

  ‘Do you think your father would approve of you hiding yourself away from the world in here?’

  The anger rushed back and she jumped to her feet. ‘And where do you hide, Captain?’

  ‘I don’t hide.’

  ‘Then why are you here in the country?’

  He turned to the window, staring past the garden with a sense of loss she could feel. ‘London wearies me.’

  ‘Ghosts have a way of haunting a person to exhaustion,’ she observed, more to herself than to Captain Covington. Why else was she so desperate to stay at Knollwood if not to hide? Who outside its walls had ever accepted her or her talents? If she lost Knollwood, she lost her life’s meaning for she could see no other. Unless she secured Cable Grange.

  ‘You think I’m haunted?’

  ‘I can’t pretend to know the full measure of your mind. I only know everyone has fears.’

  ‘We must face our fears to overcome them.’

  ‘Then neither of us is hiding, are we?’ No longer interested in his company or conversation, she made for the door. There was work to do outside, the prospect of which suddenly tired her.

  * * *

  James watched her leave, stunned, the full impact of her accusation striking him. He walked to the large atlas near the window and turned the coloured pages until he came upon the familiar maps of the Atlantic and the Caribbean. With his finger he traced the shipping routes, the miles of ocean once so familiar to him. England to Africa, Africa to Jamaica, Jamaica to America, America to the coast of Spain.

  He slammed the book shut. He’d faced pirates, angry colonists, hostile natives and the French. He did not hide from his problems.

  * * *

  ‘There’s one.’ James pointed at a duck flying up out of the tall grass along the edge of the lake.

  George took aim and fired, but the bird continued its ascent and flew off. ‘Missed another one. I think I’d do better with a cannon and grapeshot today.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ James concurred, finding little humour in the joke. He’d joined George in the hopes the fine afternoon would take his mind off his shoulder and his irritation. After more than an hour of walking through tall grass or watching the sun reflect off the lake, he still felt tense and plagued by pain.

  George handed the empty gun to a waiting footman and took a new one. ‘Are you sure you won’t shoot?’

  ‘Not after this morning’s exertion.’ He rolled his shoulder, trying to ease the ache, but it didn’t help. No doubt he’d strained it by showing off this morning and it nagged at him as much as Miss Howard’s comments in the study.

  They picked through the mud and damp of the marshy bank before George aimed at another bird rising from the reeds and fired. The duck crumpled in midair, falling with a splash into the lake. A dog bounded past them, flinging itself into the water and swimming excitedly towards the carcass.

  ‘Excellent shot,’ James muttered, unable to rouse much enthusiasm.

  ‘What’s got you so glum?’

  ‘Nothing.’ James stomped off, his boots sinking in the soft dirt, George close on his heels.

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Did you tell Julia about my injuries?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s not my place to choose who to tell. That’s your decision.’

  So she didn’t know. It explained her strong opinion, but not her remark about him hiding. ‘Would you say I hide from problems?’

  ‘I’ve never known you to back down from a challenge.’

  ‘But do I hide from them?’

  George thought for a moment. ‘Other people’s or your own?’

  ‘My own, of course.’ He didn’t like the sound of this last question. ‘Miss Howard is under the impression I hide from problems.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Of course not.’ George’s inability to directly answer led him to believe Miss Howard might be right. ‘Though I suppose it depends on the problem.’

  George laid his gun over his shoulder and stared at the ground, thinking while he walked. ‘Jim, a man goes to sea for a number of reasons. I was a second son, I had to make my way and the Navy appealed to me. You joined to avoid a career in law.’

  ‘You know I had no interest in it.’

  ‘But your mother d
id.’

  ‘She thought I’d make an excellent barrister. There was quite a row the night I informed her I’d purchased a commission. Mother is very formidable once she sets her mind to something.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ George chuckled.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘From everything you’ve told me, of course,’ George stammered, tugging on the sleeves of his coat. ‘So you escaped the law.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘And you accepted my invitation to the country to escape London.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say “escape”.’ James ran his hand over the back of his neck, seeing George’s point all too clearly. ‘But two instances hardly make me a coward.’

  ‘You’re no coward. I’ve seen you in enough battles to know. But what man doesn’t sidestep a problem now and then? I’ve been known to turn tail a few times myself. Why do you think I never married? But seriously, there’s a lot of unpleasant business in life. We deal with it as we can. You and I have seen enough of it in all corners of the world. Julia, she’s seen her share here and in London. A brave man faces what he can, but no one has the strength to face it all. You’re no coward, but, like all men, you have your weaknesses.’

  James flexed his hand, admiring the peaceful green hills of Knollwood rising in the distance. ‘Is my weakness so obvious?’

  ‘I wouldn’t call it a weakness and I’m amazed Julia mentioned it, though of all people she’d be the first to recognise it.’ A suggestive twinkle replaced the pondering thoughtfulness in George’s eyes. ‘Why do you care what my niece thinks? I thought you had no interest in her?’

  The urge to escape suddenly gripped James. ‘I don’t. I only wondered at what she said, nothing more.’

  ‘Then it’s settled. You’re no coward and you have no interest in my niece. Now, let’s head back. I have business to take care of before dinner.’

  James followed George through the high grass to where the horses stood tethered to an old post, his mind far from clear. Why did he care so much about Miss Howard’s opinion if he wasn’t interested in her? He couldn’t lie to himself. She intrigued him with her disregard for convention and her bold, adventurous spirit. However, her interest in Mr Taylor, combined with her disdain for wounded naval officers, infuriated him.

  Would she change her opinion if she knew about his shoulder? He flexed his left hand. It was useless to ponder. She had no interest in him and there was no point pursuing such a woman. Besides, Miss Taylor now expected his attention and, despite her annoying simpering, he couldn’t be rude.

  He mounted Hector, the stallion he’d chosen to ride, and gritted his teeth with the effort of pulling himself into the saddle. Once astride the brown horse, he settled into the seat, his grip light on the reins. The animal was so well trained, it took little but a tap of his foot or pressure from his legs to control it. With such an easy horse beneath him, he couldn’t resist the solitude and freedom of wide open fields.

  ‘You go back to the house. I’m going for a ride.’

  ‘I think a storm is coming in.’ George pointed at the dark clouds hovering on the horizon.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ James dug his heels into the stallion’s sides and the animal tore off over the grassy field.

  * * *

  Julia hurried across the paddock, the wind playing with the bottom of her habit and scattering leaves across the path. She’d made absolutely no progress with Simon. The minute she’d returned to the garden, he’d pleaded a headache and went to his room to lie down. Emily then cornered her with an impromptu drawing lesson from Annette. It resulted in nothing but a mangled green blob meant to resemble a tree and the urge to dump the paints in her sister-in-law’s lap.

  Thankfully, baby Thomas’s nurse appeared with the crying infant, freeing Julia from Emily’s attempts at female education. Pleading the same headache as Simon, Julia fled to the quiet of her room to read. However, with the weather holding and the daylight fading, she knew this would be her only chance for a ride before dinner.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Howard,’ John greeted, brushing down one of the horses.

  ‘Saddle Manfred,’ Julia called out, hurrying past him down the line of stalls. ‘Use the standard one.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Howard.’

  While John went to work, Julia slipped into the small closet at the back of the stable. Pushing the lid off the large chest on the floor, she pulled out the horse blankets to reveal an oilcloth-wrapped bundle. Untying it, she lifted out the special riding habit crafted of dark-blue wool. Removing her regular habit, she donned the other garment. When walking it hung like a skirt, but the excess fabric hid the trouser-like design sewn into the dress. Julia had paid John’s wife to sew it and for a tidy profit she also kept it laundered and mended.

  Once dressed, she grabbed The Monk from the regular habit’s pocket and hurried to where John stood holding Manfred.

  ‘Watch the clouds,’ John advised, helping her up into the saddle. ‘You don’t want to be caught out in a storm.’

  ‘I’ll be careful.’ Julia kicked Manfred into a steady gallop, directing him east.

  They followed the valley down to a small brook and across a crude wooden bridge constructed to herd sheep back from pasture. The land on the other side flattened out, leading to another higher hill visible in the distance. Julia pointed Manfred at it and horse and rider moved seamlessly past a large lake, another small forest, and through a herd of sheep scurrying to make way for them.

  During afternoon rides, Julia and Manfred usually ambled so she could take in the condition of the sheep, the walls, the fences, the height of the river, all the things so important to running the estate. Today she had no interest in business, only the desire to be alone.

  They approached the next hill and she slowed Manfred to a walk, guiding him up the rocky path to the stone keep commanding the top. It was a Norman relic, abandoned ages ago by men who no longer mattered. She loved coming here for its lichen-covered stone walls offered a solitude she sometimes failed to find at Knollwood. Guiding Manfred alongside a large stone wedged into the ground, she slid off his back, her boots gripping the coarse surface. Pulling The Monk from her pocket, she tossed the reins up over his back, leaving him free to graze on the sweet grass covering the ancient site. He never wandered far and she was safe to steal an hour alone among the ruins.

  Inside the old tower, she picked her way up the narrow stone staircase, her left hand clutching the book, her right hand tracing the wall as it rose up towards the battlements. At the top, she stepped out on to the last of the rampart, taking in the view of Knollwood and some of Creedon Abbey. Thick, menacing clouds covered the horizon while birds criss-crossed her view, arching and rolling as they chased each other.

  A small alcove in the stones sheltered her from the wind and she settled in with her book, tucking the length of the riding habit about her legs for warmth. She opened The Monk and began to read, the sound of Manfred’s whinny mingling with the warble of birds and the whistles of the wind through the grass. She devoured the descriptions of far-off places she’d probably never see, and frustration plagued her, subtly at first, but growing stronger with each new line. She snapped the book shut and tilted her head back to look at the sky, breathing in the heavy smell of rain and noting the dark clouds floating overhead. Today, her future seemed dim and bleak, the chances of obtaining her inheritance in time to purchase Cable Grange an impossible feat. What future could she hope for without her own estate? Perhaps she could live with Paul and keep house for him? Even then she wouldn’t be free, but tethered to the whims and demands of Navy life and open to the gossip of vicious people who would wonder why she wasn’t married.

  Why is everyone so concerned with what I do? she thought, picking a piece of moss off the wall. She’d never crossed the lines of propriety and in public she always acted like a pro
per young lady, even if she did occasionally wear her riding habit to town. Yes, she preferred riding to the pianoforte, but Father had always encouraged the exercise and besides, every unconventional thing she did was always done among family who understood her. Or did they? Obviously Charles and Emily didn’t. No, in their minds she was a veritable Jezebel for riding without a groom or preferring the business of an estate to the latest fashions. They were more concerned with the opinion of the few local families who laughed at Julia’s strange habits, but dismissed them as nothing more than eccentricities. After all, her father and mother were, in their own ways, eccentric. Why should Julia be any different?

  A hawk screeched and she watched the bird float on the up draught, searching the field for prey. If only she could be more conventional and refined like the other young ladies in the county. How many times had she tried and failed? After all, she couldn’t spend days painting screens when the entire fortune of an estate rested on her shoulders.

  The hoofbeats of an approaching horse echoed through the keep.

  Am I never to have a moment’s peace? she fumed, peering over the battlement and spying Captain Covington approaching. Ducking down behind the stone, she cursed her luck. Of all the people to happen upon her, did it have to be him?

  ‘Manfred? Where’s Miss Howard?’ he asked in an anxious voice.

  She thought of staying hidden, but she didn’t want him to worry. Gripping the rough wall, she pulled herself into view. ‘I’m here.’

  He looked up at her, his dark hair falling back off of his forehead. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him atop the chestnut stallion. Dressed in the same hunting clothes he’d worn in the forest, their brown tones warmed his face and softened the line of his jaw. For a brief moment she wished she could draw so she could capture the way the greying light caressed his features.

  ‘What a relief. When I saw him alone, I thought something had happened.’ He rose up in the saddle to dismount.

  ‘Stop there,’ Julia demanded. ‘If you’re as contentious as you were at nuncheon, then leave now. I’ve had enough of irritable people for one day.’