Willing Love

by Mary Jean Adams

  “I don’t know why he should care. Only that he does. In fact, right now, he looks like he’s considering how best to kill me.”

  Prudence glanced over her shoulder to find Mr. Evan glaring at them.

  “He’s not the dueling type is he?” Richard asked, a note of worry edging through the attempt at a jest.

  “Of course not.” Prudence laughed off his comment.

  At least she didn’t think he was. But perhaps he really was a brawler. He had gotten his nose broken somehow. She couldn’t imagine what she would do if Mr. Evan should challenge dear, sweet cousin Richard.

  “Don’t worry, Richard. I will protect you.”

  Richard raised an eyebrow, but Prudence gave him a look intended to convince him of the seriousness of her vow. She would allow no harm to come to her dearest friend, even if she had to defy her fiancé.

  The music drew to a close, but both Prudence and Richard remained on the dance floor.

  “I don’t know that I am comfortable sending you back to him alone. Perhaps you had best introduce me and get this over with.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Prudence said with a slight waver in her voice. “I’ll be fine. You can meet Mr. Evan some other day when he’s not in such a foul humor.”

  This time, it was Richard’s turn to give her a look that suggested he wasn’t joking.

  “Oh, all right.” Prudence gave an exasperated sigh. “I guess we can’t put it off forever.”

  Mr. Evan didn’t take his eyes off Richard as they approached.

  “Mr. Evan, I should like to introduce you to my cousin, Richard Bainbridge. Richard, this is my fiancé, Mr. Evan.”

  “Your servant, sir,” Richard said, executing the lowest of bows.

  Mr. Evan did not bow in return. Prudence told herself it was due to the two glasses of punch he still held in his hands. Given the scowl he wore, she doubted they were the sole reason.

  “Do you have a first name to go with the last?” Richard asked.

  “I find Mister suits me well.” Mr. Evan’s voice was as hard as his face. “Still, I am more interested in your name. Prudence, I believe you called him cousin, did you not?”

  “I did.”

  Where could Mr. Evan be going with such an odd line of questioning?

  “As I recall, your mother was an only child, and your father’s siblings all died before they had offspring. How is it that Richard is a cousin?”

  “I am the son of her father’s steward,” Richard broke in before Prudence could explain.

  “So, not a cousin then?” Mr. Evan directed the pointed question at Prudence.

  “No, he’s not actually a cousin, but I think of Richard as family.” Prudence kept her voice cool, but inside she seethed. “What right do you have to question his relationship to me anyway?”

  Did he think Richard unworthy of her friendship simply because he was the son of the steward?

  “You seem to know a lot about my family. Certainly, more than I told you.” She didn’t even try to soften the underlying accusation.

  “I need to know who I am marrying,” Mr. Evan said.

  “That goes both ways.” Prudence could feel the precarious hold on her temper slipping. “Perhaps I should have paid a little more heed before I selected the man with whom I am to spend the rest of my life. For heaven’s sake, I don’t even know your first name.”

  “I believe it is time to go.” Mr. Evan ignored her outburst. “Say goodbye to your cousin, then meet me by the carriages.”

  Prudence stared after him in stunned silence. They had been at the Governor’s Ball for little more than an hour, and he was ready to leave? They might as well. She would never be able to enjoy herself with him scowling at her the entire time.

  “Well, that could have gone better,” Richard said. “As your friend and the closest thing you have to a male relative, even though not actually a relative as your dear fiancé has pointed out, I’m not sure I should let you leave with that man.”

  Prudence considered defying Mr. Evan. After all, he really had no right to order her around. Not now. Not ever. Still, it might be better to get her fiancé and her best friend as far from each other as possible. At least until she could explain the true nature of her relationship with Richard to Mr. Evan.

  Prudence patted Richard’s arm. “Don’t worry, he can’t kill me tonight. We’re not married yet, so he wouldn’t get a penny of the estate.”

  Prudence signaled for a footman to fetch her pelisse.

  “That’s not funny, Pru,” Richard said. “It might be true, but it’s not funny.”

  Richard followed her out to the carriages pulling up in front of the mansion. Mr. Evan stood a few feet away in the midst of a cluster of elderly matrons, all vying for his attention like a flock of debutants.

  “Listen, Prudence, perhaps you should let me draw up some sort of contract for you,” Richard whispered for her ears only.

  “Contract?”

  The suggestion caught her off guard. She had spent days wondering how she could convince Richard to draw up a contract, and here he was, suggesting it himself.

  “Yes, an agreement that puts you in charge of your family’s assets and protects them in case your fiancé should turn out to be a swindler,” Richard said, as though she hadn’t understood what he meant.

  “You don’t trust him?”

  Why was she hesitating? The idea had been hers to begin with. There was just something about Richard suggesting it that rankled a bit. And although her marriage might be no more than a business arrangement, a contract would be inescapable proof of it.

  “It’s not so much that as I have this sense that he’s hiding something,” Richard said. “I can’t seem to shake it, and that worries me.”

  Prudence eyed Mr. Evan. “I don’t know, Richard. It seems an awful way to begin a marriage. Let me think about it.”

  Mercifully, the Ashcroft carriage made it to the front of the line before Richard could press his case. He and Prudence joined Mr. Evan at the curb. The footman opened the door and lowered the stairs, and both men reached out a hand to help Prudence alight. Not wanting to slight either of them, she grasped both of their hands and found herself propelled into the carriage as each man vied to give more assistance than the other.

  Just outside the carriage door, Mr. Evan and Richard stood toe to toe, glowering at one another. Next to Mr. Evan’s dark features and stolid build, Richard appeared pale and thin—and nervous.

  “Since you are not married yet, perhaps I should accompany the two of you.”

  The steadiness in Richard’s voice filled Prudence with admiration for her friend.

  “You think Prudence won’t be able to resist me once we’re alone?” Mr. Evan asked.

  Prudence gasped. Of all the insufferable things to say.

  Richard’s spine stiffened. “No, I am saying that until Prudence is married she is under my protection.”

  “How is she your responsibility?”

  Mr. Evan stepped a little closer, but Richard did not back down.

  “Although, as you pointed out, she is not my cousin, my family has served hers for generations. Her happiness and her safety are my primary concerns. Promise me you will not harm her, and I will consider letting her go.”

  Storm clouds gathered in Mr. Evan’s eyes, and Prudence balled her fists in her lap.

  “I would never hurt a woman.” Mr. Evan’s voice was low and quiet. “However, I have no such compunction against taking you out, so I’d suggest you stand off.”

  Mr. Evan climbed into the carriage. Prudence shot Richard a look of gratitude mixed with reassurance just before her fiancé slammed the carriage door in the face of her dearest friend.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Ashcroft business offices were in a bustling part of Newport, just a short walk from the wharf that accounted for so much of the family fortune. A bell chimed, announcing Evan as he opened the front door and stepped into the small, square room that served as the receptio
n area.

  A large, weathered oak desk consumed practically all of the usable space in the room. To its side sat two aged, but comfortable-looking leather chairs presumably reserved for guests. Other than the furniture, the room stood empty.

  Instead of calling out, Evan decided to take his measure of the face Ashcroft & Sons chose to display to the casual visitor. Although a highly prosperous venture, the Ashcroft offices were plain compared to the offices of other shipping magnates. The carpet, woven in shades of crimson and royal blue, was faded and frayed from a multitude of boots. Instead of crystal chandeliers, sconces lined the walls. The white plaster had faded to yellow, helped along, no doubt, by decades of inexpensive tallow candles burning in their holders.

  Evan nodded his approval, although no one was there to see it. These days, it was wise to avoid looking too prosperous. It kept the revenue collectors off one’s back.

  A solid young man of about eighteen or nineteen materialized from the gloom of a back hallway. He had a nose bent worse than Evan’s and looked more bodyguard than bookish. Like a troll assigned to guard the castle gate, Evan thought with uncharacteristic harshness. Then again, he had had far worse looking serve in his ranks, and in his experience, appearance bore no correlation to ability.

  The boy eyed Evan, his face turned slightly askew. Evan knew the look well. Sailors whose eyes had grown clouded with age often had the same tilt to their head.

  “Can I help you?” Despite his lack of years, the boy’s voice reminded Evan of gravel being churned by a shovel.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Bainbridge.”

  The boy squinted. “You have an appointment?”

  “No, but tell him Captain Foster is here to see him. I believe he will wish to speak with me.”

  The boy looked doubtful but disappeared down the hallway. He opened a door at the back, and a soft ray of light lit the dark passage. Evan heard the boy grind out his request for a meeting.

  “Send him in,” Richard said in tones that were almost melodic compared to his secretary’s.

  Instead of showing him down the hallway, the boy left the door to Bainbridge’s office ajar then lumbered through a side door like a troll escaping the light of day.

  Evan stepped into Richard’s office and stood in the center of a royal blue carpet only slightly less faded than the one in the lobby. Richard scratched notes in a book, seemingly oblivious to his presence. Evan coughed.

  “I’m sorr—” Richard’s voice caught in his throat.

  Apprehension flashed over his features only to be replaced by understanding then a wry grin. He stood and came around the front of his desk.

  “Captain Evan Foster, I presume.”

  Evan had to hand it to Richard Bainbridge. He was quick witted.

  Richard crossed his arms. “At least she won’t have to put up with you much if I can keep you busy hauling cargo.”

  Evan grabbed Richard by the collar and pushed him back against his own desk. A stack of logbooks clattered to the floor, and Evan considered briefly that he might have alerted the troll. While he clearly had the weight advantage on Richard, his secretary looked like he knew how to handle himself in a fight.

  “Don’t think you can have her all to yourself by keeping me at sea. If you lay a hand on my wife, I won’t give you the courtesy of a duel. You’ll be dead by morning.”

  Perhaps Prudence’s lack of patience had worn off on him. Perhaps, even though their pending marriage was little more than a business arrangement, he didn’t like the idea of another man being the recipient of Prudence’s affections. Whatever it was, he found himself more often than not teetering on an emotional brink as of late.

  “So that’s how it is?” Despite being pinned to his own desk, his feet barely resting against the faded carpet, Richard sounded unperturbed. “Calm yourself man. I was only trying to lighten the mood. It might have been a poor jest, but that’s all it was.”

  Evan loosened his grip on Richard’s collar and let the man’s weight slide to rest on his own two feet.

  “In addition to warning me off Prudence, I presume you’re also here to review plans for the Cythraul.” Richard tugged his coat back into place.

  Evan’s anger ebbed, letting the more logical, and normally in-control, side of his brain take over. Perhaps the man was innocent. In his experience, the guilty were the most likely to fight back. If Bainbridge intended Prudence to become his lover, in all likelihood, the man would have already challenged him to a duel.

  Richard strode to a table in the middle of the room and opened a drawer. He pulled out a roll of parchment, shoved a stack of ledgers aside, and then spread it across the ample space on top of the table. He pinned the edges of the parchment with an assortment of paperweights, including one that looked like the skull of a cat, and then stood back to survey the drawing.

  He whistled in appreciation. “She’s a beauty all right. I understand you gave the designer the specifications. For a captain, you know a fair amount about ship building.”

  Evan joined Richard at the table and looked down at his dream taken form on the crisp paper. The Cythraul. The name meant something akin to devil in Welsh. It had been what the sisters had called him for as long as he could remember. For reasons he wasn’t even sure he understood, he found it gratifying to give that name to the ship that had become the symbol of his success.

  “Did you manage to locate a source of copper?” He ran a finger along the keel.

  “Yes, just as you instructed in your letter, we went straight to that mine in Wales…Myr…Myrd…Myrn… or something that started with an M anyway.”

  “Mynydd Parys,” Evan said. “It means ‘mountain,’ but it’s the name of the mine, too.”

  “Yes, well, the man I sent was able to locate it and convince the poor fellows who work in that remote, rather desolate corner of the world that the Americans weren’t such a bad lot after all.” Richard snorted. “It was a close-run thing, though. Your name didn’t do us a damned bit of good either.”

  Evan hadn’t thought it would. He hadn’t been to Wales for many years. “How about the bolts? Did you make sure they were the exact alloy I specified?”

  “Yes,” Richard said. “But why so precise? And what on earth made you think of copper in the first place?”

  “Because, if you use iron bolts, they rust and defeat the purpose of the copper sheathing, and it wasn’t my idea,” Evan said, answering both questions with the same breath. “The Royal Navy’s been considering the use of copper sheathing for decades. Mostly to protect against shipworm.”

  “Nasty things.” Richard shuddered. “So why haven’t they put their plan into action?”

  Evan went back to his study of the drawings. “I suppose because it’s expensive, and the war with the French hasn’t left much in the government’s coffers.”

  “When are you planning on breaking the news to Prudence?” Richard asked, not bothering to soften the change in subject.

  Evan didn’t need to ask what he meant. He had been expecting the question, or at least one like it from the moment Richard looked up from his books. He counted among his blessings that Richard was more rational-minded than his “cousin.” There could be no predicting how Prudence would react when he did tell her.

  “After the wedding.” Evan picked up the compass and made a few quick measurements, ensuring his specifications had been followed.

  “She thinks you’re the stable master.”

  “I know.” He set the compass down and ran his fingers over the lines of his future command. “But that’s her problem. I never told her I was.”

  “Don’t you think she should know who she is marrying?”

  Evan snorted. “Why? So she can go off and find a real stable boy to marry? No, I think I’ll let her leap into this one with both feet and her eyes shut. Maybe it will teach her not to be so rash.”

  “Do you love her?” Richard asked.

  Love? Evan found the question as odd as it was unexpected. He might h
ave anticipated it from a brother, if Prudence had one, but Richard was merely a friend of the family and her man of business. Was he testing the waters, trying to determine whether Prudence would still be available after the wedding?

  Let him keep wondering.

  “I’m a businessman. I made a deal with her grandmother that stands to earn me a lot of money and the ship of my dreams.”

  “And you’ll be marrying into the Ashcroft fortune,” Richard reminded him.

  Evan shrugged. “That matters little. If she runs the business the way she runs the rest of her life, she’ll be a pauper in ten years.”

  “That’s hardly being fair,” Richard said.

  Evan straightened and looked him in the eye. “Tell me, do you always know what Prudence is thinking?”

  “Generally, yes.”

  “So does everybody else. She wears every emotion on her sleeve and says practically everything that’s in her head. The first time she comes face-to-face with a dishonest revenue collector, she’ll lose everything. If she comes face-to-face with an honest one, she’ll be run out of Rhode Island or spend the next fifteen years in jail.”

  To Evan’s surprise, Richard’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “You know, I’m actually relieved she chose you. I did not relish becoming her superior and attempting to tell her what to do. I, for one, am happy with our relationship just the way it is.”

  You’d better be, because your current relationship with my wife is all it will ever be. Evan gritted his teeth to keep the thought from escaping.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon discussing the building of the Cythraul. Evan made a few changes to the plans, some based on his own knowledge of sailing and others based on suggestions from Bainbridge. For a man of business, Richard understood a fair amount about ships. He was no captain, and clearly not a sailor, but he understood the need for speed and was quick to pick up on the purpose of the changes Evan suggested.

  More surprising was Richard’s good nature. For a man about to have his would-be lover stolen from him, he seemed to harbor very little animosity. Nor did he seem particularly concerned that Prudence’s fiancé wasn’t who he claimed to be. Was he always this carefree or did she matter that little to him?