The Substitute Countess

by Lyn Stone

  Instead of pursuing his thoughts on that, he watched her eat. She tucked into the meal like a sailor on shore leave after a long voyage. “Didn’t Orencio feed you?” he asked before thinking how it sounded, that she might think he was criticizing her manners.

  She pulled a wry face. “I had little time to eat in peace while I was there. The lads I tended were prone to food fights.”

  “A handful, eh? Tell me about them.” Women loved to talk about themselves, he knew, so he deliberately provided the opportunity. Calculating, the way he had been doing since they met, seemed unnatural to him, but also necessary.

  She talked between bites, alternately grimacing and laughing softly, pointing for emphasis with her fork. He was glad she felt more at ease in his company, but wondered at it. Perhaps it was only an act, he reasoned, a defense to cover her inner fears.

  When they had finished eating, he escorted her upstairs to the chamber adjacent to his own. “Sleep well, little cousin,” he said and raised her hand to kiss the back of it. “I will call you early come morning.”

  “I probably won’t sleep a wink,” she said, withdrawing her hand and staring down at it as if it were a strange object. Her next words were a near whisper. “No matter what we choose to do next, I am glad you came for me. Thank you, Jack. You are truly a godsend.”

  Well, he had never been called that before. He answered with a brief nod and bade her good-night. He wondered if he would sleep. Her calm and trusting nature was making it far too effortless for him to take advantage of her, and guilt was nudging him. Not strongly enough to make him cry off the proposal, though. As he saw it, neither of them had another viable choice. Perhaps she simply recognized that, as well.

  The next morning, Jack noted that her mood had not changed overnight. She smiled up at him as if he were the Second Coming. Her quiet acceptance of the impending voyage made him wonder again if she were pretending away any trepidation.

  At any rate, he was glad to see color in her cheeks and a barely subdued sparkle in those pretty brown eyes. Her features were not that remarkable, rather commonplace when taken individually. Her hair was the color of pale honey, her eyebrows and lashes several shades darker. She had an oval face, pert little nose, bright brown heavily lashed eyes and a sweetly curved and quite mobile mouth. All nice-enough attributes, but it was their combination and her ever-changing expression that lent her beauty.

  Though there was nothing static about those expressions, they generally ranged from sweetly accepting to thoughtfully questioning. She obviously avoided excitement, outright anger or anything approaching hysteria. Why that bothered him, he could not say, except that he had seen the fire in her once and wondered how she kept it banked. He should ask her for lessons.

  He had, of course, noted her lithe figure, too. What man would not do that if in the company of a woman he might marry.

  She was small of stature, a head shorter than he, and not greatly endowed at the top, though her tiny waist made her seem so at first glance.

  He could not seem to dismiss his wonder at her composure. It had to be a natural acquisition from the contemplative sisters who had raised her. Yet underneath that calm, he knew there lurked a more passionate streak in her nature. Hadn’t he glimpsed that at Orencio’s? Righteous anger, that had been, and not what Jack wished to stoke. It was the passion in her that he was looking for, of course.

  Pretense or not, she treated him like her liberator now, so perhaps he really was. It gave him a sense of satisfaction to think so. And it almost justified in his mind what he definitely meant to do.

  Chapter Three

  The next afternoon, they stood at the rail of the Minotaur, a trade vessel on which he had purchased their passage to England, and watched the port of La Coruña grow distant.

  Jack appreciated the way Laurel adapted to sea travel, as if it were some great undertaking to be quietly savored. He only hoped mal de mer didn’t claim her if the seas grew rough. At the moment she genuinely seemed to be embracing all that was new to her with an equanimity that amazed him.

  “You love the sea,” she guessed, staring out at the waves.

  “Grew up next to it and then on it,” he said truthfully. “As a child I dreamed of traveling to distant shores, having adventures, sailing my own ship.”

  “Did you?” she asked. “And have you seen the world already?”

  He inclined his head as he slapped his hands lightly against the rail. “Aye, I’ve seen most of it.”

  “Then you must tell me about your travels. Have you had adventures enough?” she asked with a knowing smile. “Ready to settle now?”

  “Ready as I will ever be,” he answered ruefully, unwilling to delve too deeply into what life might be like as a land-bound lord stuck with tallying rents and arguing with stuffy peers. Restricting himself to one woman.

  His father had never done that, he recalled with shame. While his mother remained in Plymouth producing candles to sell and essentially supporting them with the profits from the family business she had inherited, his father sailed off constantly. He enjoyed adventures and, as Jack had learned when he went to sea with him, cavorted with other women whenever they docked in foreign ports.

  Jack was no saint and had taken to bedsport as soon as he was of an age to do so, but he resented his father’s excuse for infidelity. It was an excuse, he had realized early on, not a valid reason to stray, if there existed such a reason. Marriage required fidelity.

  Could he remain faithful? Well, he would have to if he was to keep his honor, Jack decided. Though he might have lied a little to attain what he must in this case, he would never cheat. A man had to draw the line somewhere.

  He quickly dismissed the thought and changed the topic. “Were they kind to you at the convent?”

  “Of course. Our Lady of Cambre is not only a convent, but a convent school and it afforded me an enviable education. Not all of the pupils there came as infants, nor did most of the nuns. While they probably wished for all of us to enter the order, they were aware that most would leave, return to their homes and marry.”

  “But you did not expect to do so.”

  She shook her head. “Never. But my point is that the sisters took us as individuals, respected and enhanced whatever natural gifts they saw in each and prepared us accordingly. I was given to understand that females are not supposed to have intellect enough to master many of the studies offered there.” She glanced up at him with a grin. “Not to boast, but I excelled at Maths. Numbers fascinate me.”

  Jack pressed the heels of his hands against the rail and resisted the urge to push away and pace. He needed to curb his impatience with all of this conversation. A man of action, he would much rather live in the moment than delve into the past as they were doing. “Maths, eh? Well, I suppose you will need that knowledge when counting linens and silver.”

  “Not only that. I can help you with accounts as I did Sister Josephina,” she offered with a decisive nod.

  Jack felt a stab of foreboding. It would not do for her to examine their finances and discover that he had assumed her fortune. “I’m sure I can manage that on my own.”

  He quickly turned from the subject of accounts. “I’ll wager your Spanish is also enviable. You have the barest trace of an accent, did you know? It’s quite charming.”

  She smiled sweetly at the compliment. “How nice of you to say so. English was always prevalent, though the nuns and students were a good mix of nationalities. Languages were spoken interchangeably at times, so we received a working knowledge, if not fluency, in several tongues,” she explained. “My French is atrocious, I’m told, and my Italian, little better. What of you?”

  “I know enough to get by. Trading required that.” He looked out across the sea, arms folded on the rail, the tense muscles of his legs working against the motion of the waves. How could she simply stand there, unmoving, untrammeled, perfectly tranquil in the face of such an uncertain future? Was that ability inborn or learned, he wondered again
. No doubt it came with schoolroom discipline.

  Her formal education certainly surpassed his. “I never went to school,” he admitted. “Mother taught me until I was seven, reading, writing, numbers and so forth. Then my father took me to sea with him as soon as he left the navy and sailed with a sea merchant.”

  “Well, you had the basics everyone needs,” she said.

  “Just so, and my father tutored me on board as did others with learning who had nothing better to do. I had a practical education rather than classic.”

  She smoothed back a strand of hair that had come loose in the wind. The gesture was practiced, not out of any coyness, but because those errant golden curls constantly escaped the severe chignon she wore. Jack thought there might be other rebellious attributes in Laurel waiting to slip their carefully schooled containment.

  She sighed as she looked out over the seas. “Practicality is a good thing, isn’t it? I never became proficient at those useful things one needs to know. For instance, I loathe sewing. We embroidered innumerable altar cloths and my stitches were always uneven. My fingers are only now recovering.”

  Jack turned and lifted both of her hands to examine her fingertips. They were red from the cold so he enclosed them within his to warm them. “You need never sew another stitch. What of music? Can you play and do you dance?”

  She wore a faraway expression. “No. Are those accomplishments necessary for a lady? I’ve always thought I should like to dance if I could be taught.”

  “Of course you can. We will arrange for lessons,” Jack promised.

  “After we are married?” she asked.

  “So you are still of a mind to marry me, Laurel?” he asked, determined to keep his tone light and conversational.

  She turned and cocked her head to one side. “I think so, yes. We get on well enough, don’t you think?”

  He nodded. “Do you worry that your soul’s mate is out there somewhere waiting to meet you? Most women hold that hope, so I’m led to believe.”

  “I told you that is only the stuff of girlish dreams,” she replied with a soft little laugh. “I will be content with a good match.”

  Content and also rich and at my mercy, Jack’s conscience reminded him. Would to God, she never found out his real reason for this marriage. He did not want her feeling betrayed. She might even demand a separation if she ever learned of it. That would free him to pursue his own desires and live as he wished, of course, but at what great cost to her feelings and his honor?

  “Shall we marry immediately when we arrive in England before anyone knows we’re there?” she asked.

  He dared not wait that long. “The wedding itself could pose a problem,” he informed her in case she had not thought of it. He had. “You are Catholic and I am not.”

  “Oh.” She looked crestfallen. Then she brightened. “Perhaps the captain could marry us before we get there. I read of that in a novel once. Is it true captains of ships can perform weddings?”

  “Well, that would be a romantic tale to tell, wouldn’t it? But considering our stations, our marriage must be recognized by the Church of England and duly recorded in other than a ship’s log. What I meant to ask is if you will mind if there’s no priest, no Catholic service?”

  She shot him a wry look. “Did I not suggest a ship’s captain? So if not the captain and not a priest, what shall we do?”

  “There is a vicar on board.” He had seen to that, as well as to obtaining a special license and a ring, before leaving England, in the event things progressed this far. It paid to plan ahead for every contingency.

  “Very well, shall we apply to the vicar?” she asked.

  Jack looked out across the waves again to avoid her gaze. It could not be this uncomplicated. He was so used to fighting hard, struggling for everything he got, it was hard to accept.

  Despite what looked to be trouble-free success, he kept thinking how this would impact his own life. There would be no more nights of delight in foreign ports, no further risk-taking adventures and no indulging in wild investment schemes to increase his fortune. He would be a married man, honor bound to exclusivity, tied to one woman and an estate for which he would be solely responsible. Sobering thoughts indeed, but he had already decided that’s what must be. There were others to think of now besides himself.

  Though he often wished to, he could not bring himself to ignore the needs of others as his father had always done. Though Jack had loved the man, he recognized the shortcomings at a very early age.

  Now the welfare of many rested with Jack, just as it had aboard his own ship. Delegating that task for the last venture had proved disastrous. Responsibility was a weighty thing, but something he had to embrace. However, embracing Laurel would be no sacrifice at all. Perhaps it would prove to be the reward for his diligence.

  Still, he should give her one last opportunity to assert herself or question the sanity of the plan. “I would like you to be certain, Laurel. As you said at first, you hardly know me.”

  She shrugged. “Better than I know anyone else. So do you really want to?”

  “Yes, of course,” he replied and did not elaborate any further for fear he would talk her out of the notion. And whyever should he do that? Their marriage would solve everyone’s needs. Hobson would be satisfied with the fairness of it, and Laurel would have the family she wanted. His mother would be delighted he was to give up the sea. As for himself, he would...well, he would live a changed life, one of wealth and privilege.

  “If you will excuse me, I’ll go and speak with the vicar and to the captain for his permission to use the deck. We might as well have done with it as soon as may be.”

  She frowned up at him and he immediately realized how dreadful that had sounded. He forced a hearty laugh. “You know how grooms cavil at wedding formalities.” When she shook her head slightly, he added, “No, I don’t suppose you do. I’m quaking in my boots, wondering if I’ll be able to live up to your trust in me. That’s all. Sheer nerves.”

  She nodded, smiling as she smoothed the lapel of his coat and gave it a pat. “Then we must keep the ceremony simple with no fuss and bother.”

  “Aye, that’s best,” he said, raising her hand to his lips and pressing a long kiss on her cold fingertips. “Until later, then.”

  He strode quickly away, every fiber of his being screaming for release of tension. If only he could shed his boots and climb the rigging, haul rope or shift barrels. Any activity to dispel the feeling of confinement in his own body. He was on an edge that a bridegroom’s nerves did not explain. He suffered it almost constantly and never found an explanation.

  * * *

  The very next morning Laurel shook out her white muslin and spread it over the bunk in her cabin. She had only two gowns, the gray she wore every day and this one she and Sister Mary Anne had sewn for her confirmation years ago and recently altered for any dressier occasions that might occur at the Orencio household. Not that there had been any of those occasions.

  There were ribbons, too, that she had already threaded through the braids that crowned her head. She might not be the most fashionably dressed of brides, but at least she wouldn’t look like the gray mouse her groom would be expecting.

  Doubts about her decision had kept her awake most of the night. None she would admit to Jack, however. The way he had explained things, this truly did seem her only chance at a normal life.

  He was very considerate, gallant, handsome, even titled. What more could she hope for in a husband? The very thought of having to meet numerous candidates and choose another terrified her.

  According to him, any chance for such a choice would not be possible anyway, because everyone in England would believe her compromised after their trip together.

  Even if she and Jack turned out to be mismatched in future, she would somehow make things work between them. He was a good man to do this for her.

  She donned the crinkled muslin and smoothed it out as best she could. Her white slippers were a bit tight,
having been constructed when she was but thirteen. Still, her feet had not grown much since that age. Laurel took a deep breath, pinched her cheeks, raked her teeth over her lips to induce a little color and went out to join Jack on the deck.

  She smiled at his reaction. He looked rather shocked for a moment to see her wearing something different from the gray. And then pleased. His appreciative smile warmed her heart.

  He looked wonderful in a coat of dark blue with gray breeches, black boots that reached his knees and incredibly white linen at his neck and wrists. Well dressed and well formed was this cousin and soon-to-be husband. The wind tossed his light brown hair about his brow, affording him a boyish charm that delighted her.

  How tall and imposing he looked despite that small disarray, every inch a nobleman, every ounce a strong, capable man of the world. When she stood next to him, he made her feel small, yet in no way insignificant. Her wishes and opinions seemed to matter to him. He had been nothing but forthright, kind and considerate.

  Laurel hoped this would prove to be the best decision for both of them. Jack was giving up his bachelor status, which he must surely have enjoyed enormously, to save her reputation.

  Marriage would not become a total sacrifice on his part, she would see to that. She was good at organizing and very economical, both attributes that would be handy for managing a large household. After all, the convent was no more than that, and she had become adept at helping the sisters in almost every area. She would know precisely what to do.

  Even more important was the fact that as a new earl, Jack would be thinking of setting up his nursery. The novels she had read indicated that every man of rank needed to wed and produce an heir. She promised herself she would, in every way possible, make this marriage as good for him as it would be for her. She would make it perfect.

  The captain and the minister stood before them at the bow, flanked by a number of the crew and the half dozen other passengers. Strangers all, for there had been no time yet to form friendships or even to acquire acquaintances.