Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 03]

by The Storybook Hero

  "I thought you might say yes because I remember a young man who had just the sort of pluck and resourcefulness to bring off something like this."

  "That man died ten years ago," said Alex harshly.

  "Did he?" answered the earl quietly. "My memory must be getting addled in my old age—I thought only Jack died."

  Alex gulped the remaining contents of his glass and thumped it down on the mantel hard enough to set several of the silver candlesticks to wobbling.

  "It's not fair to ask—" began Thomas.

  "It's much too great a risk—" blurted out Olivia at the same time.

  Their voices were overridden by the marquess's own protest. "You must be mad, Uncle Ivor. To think that Alex... " He hesitated a fraction, his gaze raking over his youngest brother. "...could be counted on to act responsibly. The first whiff of vodka or flounce of a skirt and he'd forget all about our young cousin. Pluck and resourcefulness you say? More like and recklessness. God knows, this family is aware that he has more than enough of those qualities!"

  A muscle twitched on Alex's rigid face and he paled slightly.

  Thomas reached out a hand to restrain any further words. "That's enough, William."

  "Yes—I have never understood why you all blame Alex for—"

  "I don't need you to fight my battles, Augusta," said Alex coldly. "Neither do I need your pity."

  His sister-in-law fell into a wounded silence.

  "Naturally I'm overwhelmed by your confidence in my abilities, dear brother," continued Alex, his tone changing to one of obvious sarcasm. "Actually, you should be voicing a hearty encouragement, knowing the chances are good that I would follow Jack to the grave."

  "I... I have never said I wished such a thing," protested William.

  Alex's lips curled in a mocking smile. "No," he agreed. "You have never said it. You are much too much a gentleman to voice what you really feel."

  "For God's sake, none of us would wish for any harm to befall you, Alex. I think you know that," cut in Thomas.

  "Do I now?" Alex walked slowly to the sidetable and refilled his glass nearly to the brim. Downing it in one swallow, he make a point of filling it again before speaking again. "My thanks for such an enjoyable evening en famille, but if you will excuse me now, I have a pressing engagement. " He made an elaborate show of consulting his pocket watch. "And since I pay by the hour for the favors I receive, I should not like to be even a minute late." A thin smile toyed on his lips at the yelp of outrage from the marquess. "Don't bother getting up, William—I know the way out."

  "Think about it, Alex," counseled the earl as his nephew stalked toward the door.

  There was no answer but the thunk of the heavy oak falling shut.

  * * *

  A crackle of what sounded like gunshots pierced the frigid air, causing the solitary figure at the railing to start with alarm. It took a moment for the young lady to realize that the sounds were not made by any firearms but by the frozen canvas of the topsails as the crew aloft set the big merchant ship into motion. She pulled her shabby clock even tighter around her willowy form and watched as the heavy oak hull gathered way and the bustling dockyards began to recede. The freshening wind bit through the thick wool but rather than retreat to the cramped confines of her tiny cabin, she chose to remain on deck for awhile longer. The prospect of having to endure the mindless chatter of the Embassy secretary's plump wife for the entire voyage was enough to set her already unsettled stomach to churning.

  Besides, she thought with grim humor, she had better get used to the cold.

  The portside watch jumped into the rigging nearby where she stood and scrambled aloft to obey the series of orders bellowed by the officer on deck. Intrigued by the strange terms, as incomprehensible as Hindu to her landlocked ears, the young lady watched with great interest as the men swung out precariously on the yardarms and let out another billow of sail.

  "Excuse me, Miss, but you would be better off below, out of harm's way."

  Though the officer's voice was polite enough, the meaning was clear. For a moment she was tempted to ignore the veiled order, but thought better of setting herself at odds with those in command so soon. With a last look at the winking lights of the Isle of Dogs, with London a mere haze behind it, she made her way across the rolling deck to the main hatchway.

  Below deck, the combination of murky darkness and fetid air caused the bile to rise in her throat. With lurching steps she managed to locate her cabin and stumble to her narrow berth.

  "Don't worry dearie, you'll soon get used to it," came a shrill voice, more irritating for its grating cheerfulness. "Most everyone is dreadfully sick for the first few days, though I must confess I seem to have been blessed with a strong stomach. You'll recover—unless you are one of those unfortunate few who never find their sealegs and remain miserable for the entire journey. Why, I traveled to India with Joseph in the spring of '95, and let me assure you, that was a voyage to remember... " Mrs. Phillips launched into what promised to be an interminable account of the trials of shipboard life.

  Miserable? Ha, that was an understatement, thought Miss Octavia Hadley as her insides gave yet another heave. It was a good thing she had more than enough practice in letting wave after wave of whinings or complaints wash over her with as little effect as the salty chop was having against the thick wooden hull of their vessel.

  As Mrs. Phillips droned on, Octavia couldn't help thinking back over the last half year. It was too bad that neither her father nor herself had ever given much thought to what would become of her when he was gone. Oh, she had known he was by no means a wealthy man, but she had never comprehended the true state of his finances. Once the innumerable creditors had been paid off with the proceeds of the sale of their snug cottage, there was scarcely enough for an outside passage on the mail coach to London.

  Dear Papa, she thought, blinking back a tear. A more interesting or kindly companion she could not have asked for. She might, however, have wished for a tad more concern for real world rather than that of the ancients. Greek and Latin—along with a host of other languages—were all very well, but she would have gladly traded the lot of them for a roof of her own and a modest stipend for bread and books.

  That the only relative willing to offer her a place turned out to be an ill-tempered cousin looking to save a few pounds a year by not having to hire a nanny was bad enough. It was her husband who had proved intolerable. The memory of his groping hands in the shadows of the nursery corridor was enough to bring on a fresh wave of nausea. At least, she thought with a grim smile, she had had the satisfaction of seeing his corpulent face twist in agony as her knee had smacked into his groin.

  She must remember to thank her old childhood friend Johnnie Ferguson for that interesting bit of advice on how to deal with an aggressive male when his regiment returned from the Peninsula.

  It was not to be expected that the odious man would take rejection in stride, but even she hadn't anticipated the depths of his malice. Manipulated by his slanderous lies, her cousin had fallen into a fit of near hysteria, calling Octavia an ungrateful slut—and worse—for trying to seduce her noble husband. She had been all for tossing Octavia and her meager possessions onto the street without further ado. However her husband, a smirk of virtuous honor on his face, had argued that such a course of action would hardly be a Christian thing to do.

  He had gone on to say that while it was impossible for Octavia to remain under their roof, he had taken it upon himself to find an appropriate position for her—one that would not offer her the temptation of such scandalous transgression. He had heard word that the deputy minister at the embassy in Moscow was in desperate need of an English governess for his ward, the third such female in as many months having fled for home.

  Octavia was lucky, he added with a barely suppressed chortle. The man and his wife couldn't afford to be choosy. There was no doubt she would be acceptable, especially as she spoke a few words of the heathen language.

  Russi
a? she had blurted out.

  A nasty smile had spread over his face. Yes, Russia.

  In the end, she really had little choice. It was that or the streets. She was not so naive as to not know what that would mean.

  So here she was on a merchant ship bound for the Baltic Sea. Her friends at the Historical Society had been aghast when she had given them the news of her imminent departure. Why, it was a land of barbarians, one of them had exclaimed.

  Well, they certainly couldn't be more barbaric than her own relatives.

  Besides, she had always had a spark of adventure in her and found the idea of exotic travel intriguing. The experience should prove immensely interesting. That is, provided she survived the journey.

  "MISS Hadley!" Mrs. Phillips had raised her voice to a level where it finally cut through Octavia's reverie.

  "Sorry," she murmured. "I really am feeling a bit under the weather."

  "I said, shall we repair to the main salon for supper?"

  "I believe you had better go on without me," answered Octavia.

  "Very well. But you had best try to keep your strength up. You never know what trials may await you in such a foreign land."

  * * *

  "He did what?" demanded Thomas, nearly spilling the contents of his glass over his burgundy and grey striped waistcoat.

  "He embarked not an hour ago," replied the earl. "I just received the note he sent around with his man.... Squid."

  William frowned. "Can't believe he would actually undertake such a daunting journey, especially when the odds seem so great against any sort of success. Why, Alex hasn't made an effort to do aught but engage in one scandalous escapade after another. Deep play, indiscreet dalliances, the duel with Lord Eversham over that piece of mus..."

  His eyes strayed to where his wife and sister-in-law where seated by the fire, and he awkwardly cleared his throat. "It seems he deliberately behaves in a reckless manner, one that is designed to bring scorn on himself and his family. That he would put himself in danger for a child he has never even met—"

  Ivor fixed his eldest nephew with a withering look. "Put himself in danger? Good Lord, William, what do you think he has been doing for the past ten years? Are you so willfully blind that you fail to see that all of his actions are nothing but a tempting of Fate to deal him the same hand as Jack?"

  The marquess shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "It is regrettable that Alex is tormented by guilt. But if he hadn't been so damnably irresponsible that day, Jack would still be here," he said, a note of defensiveness creeping into his voice.

  The crystal glass came down on the polished walnut desk with a thump that set the candelabra to teetering. "Perhaps it is time to put that gross misconception to rest once and for all."

  There was utter silence, save for the crackle of flames reducing the logs to ashes. "W-what do you mean?"

  "That if guilt must fall on anyone, Jack is the one who should bear the burden of it. It was he, and not Alex, who was completely cupshot that day!"

  Wright paled. "But Father was adamant about the fact that—"

  "That Jack, as the Wright heir, could not possibly be fallible?" The earl had moderated his tone somewhat, but an edge of irony still shaded his words. "Yes, we are all aware of your father's pride in the noble lineage of the Sheffield family. Heaven forbid that the future marquess might be revealed as anything less than a paragon of perfection. And so, to keep his precious illusions alive, he convinced himself the blame lay with Alex. The real tragedy was that he succeeded in losing two sons instead of one."

  A collective gasp sounded from the ladies while Thomas turned as pale as his ecru cravat.

  "What you suggest is... a monstrous injustice."

  "Nonetheless, it is true. The accounts of the various fishermen who saw them set off all say the same thing. Jack had been drinking for hours, and it was he who persuaded Alex to take the boat out, even though he had been warned that a nasty storm was kicking up." The earl gave a mournful sigh. "Like all of you, Alex idolized his oldest brother, and the invitation to have a sail with him—just the two of them—was no doubt too special to turn down, despite the portent of bad weather. Think on it—you know Alex was a quiet, serious lad, who always preferred a book to a bottle of spirits. Does it make any sense that he would have been the one to suggest an afternoon sail. It was Jack who should have known better!" His lips compressed in a tight line. "I always felt your father was terribly unjust in his actions after the accident. Now that you are head of the family, William, I had hoped you might discover the truth for yourself and show more compassion."

  The marquess started to speak, but his uncle cut him off.

  "No, wait! I haven't finished. Have you any idea the living hell your brother has endured? When the sail blew out and the boat capsized, Alex managed to catch hold of Jack's hand. As wave after wave swept over them, it was your supposedly reckless youngest brother who clung to the hull while seeking to keep Jack from being pulled under. Alex kept begging him to hold on, but Jack finally just... let go. As he slipped beneath the waves, he called out one last time, a plea for his brother to save him." Ivor took a long draught of his brandy and stared into the fire. "Tell me, how would you like to face those dreams each night?" he asked quietly.

  William's face was now ghostlike in it pallor. "Father never told us any of this. He insisted the blame lay with Alex. You know Father—no Sheffield was allowed to make a mistake. They were not to be tolerated. Or forgiven."

  "What your father could not forgive was that his eldest son, the one he had groomed so carefully to be his successor, perished rather than the youngest."

  The marquess's hand passed over his brow. "How... how do you know what really happened?"

  "It seems I was the only one of the family who ever asked Alex what really happened. In the first few days after the accident, he needed desperately to speak of it. God knows, he blamed himself enough for Jack's death—he didn't need all of you to do so as well. But your father never understood that. When he began to treat Alex as little more than a murderer, well, something inside him did die. From then on, he refused to ever talk about it." The earl got up to refill his brandy. "Did you never question why he turned from a scholarly young man into a wild rakehell?"

  "It puzzled me," admitted William. "But I assumed he had got in with the wrong crowd at Oxford and had simply... changed."

  Thomas let out a heavy sigh as he darted a guilty look at his wife. His mouth crooked in a rueful grimace. "You have always felt that we have been too harsh on Alex. It seems you and your female intuition were right after all." He turned back to his uncle. "Why did not you tell us this sooner, so that we might have tried to make some sort of amends?"

  "While your father was alive, it was not my place to do so." Ivor's gaze shifted to the eldest Sheffield. "But you are head of the family now, William, and may set your own standards for the Sheffield family."

  There was another long silence. "If I have appeared overly harsh to you—all of you, mayhap it is because I... I did not wish to appear unworthy of the position. I never expected to take Father's place, you know."

  "Don't confuse being human with being weak, William. I have always thought you a man of good judgement and good character. Trust in your own instincts, rather than try to emulate the actions of another." The earl gave a gruff smile. "In all honesty, I think you will be a much more admirable earl than your father."

  William bowed his head. "What the devil can I do? That is, if it is not too late to reach out to Alex."

  Ivor finished his brandy and stared for some time into the empty glass. "At the moment. I am not sure there is a cursed thing any of us might do that would make a difference. We can only pray that in setting out to save young Nicholas, Alex might also be starting a new chapter in his own life. One that will lead to something more than drunkenness and despair."

  Chapter 2

  The wind was picking up. Off in the distance, one of the Royal Navy frigates accompanying the small c
onvoy of merchantmen pitched in and out of view as the leaden waves grew ever larger. There was the clatter of feet on the deck as the watch was called out to take in another reef in the sails. Overhead, the sky was nearly as dark as the icy water, an ominous sign of the approaching storm.

  Octavia clung to the railing, half hidden by the mizzen mast, hoping to go unnoticed by the grim lieutenant supervising the crew's efforts. Despite the steep roll of the deck and swirls of salt spray that threatened to soak her cloak, she was loath to go below. The rattle of the spars was infinitely more welcome than the rattle of Mrs. Phillips prosing on about her experiences in savage lands, and the buffeting gusts, though chill on her cheeks, felt invigorating after the stale air in her cabin.

  Her hopes, however, were short-lived. A sailor in the rigging above her let slip one of the clew lines, drawing the attention of the officer of the watch. After giving the man a blistering set down, his eyes fell to Octavia. "You there," he snapped. "All passengers must go below. Can't you see a storm is brewing?"

  Octavia bit off a tart reply. What a stupid question! Of course her eyes were no less keen than his. Why was it that men assumed a female's sensory capacities, as well as their mental acumen, were so inferior to theirs? She gave a sigh as she swept a windblown lock of hair away from her eyes. It should come as no surprise, she reminded herself, given that most of those of the opposite sex were so smugly sure of their own superiority in every regard—unwarranted in most cases, to be sure!

  Seeing that the man was about to bark again, she gathered her flapping cloak close around her and retreated towards the mizzen hatchway. The ship gave a sudden lurch, causing her foot to slip on the steep wooden ladder. An instant later, another twist and roll nearly sent her head first into the murky darkness below. She tightened her grip and felt for the next rung.

  It was clear the force of the bad weather was now full upon them. Octavia managed to make the rest of the descent without further mishap. Her fingers kept hold of the ladder as she steadied her footing and peered down the narrow passageway. It was almost pitch black and the violent motion of the ship made it even more difficult to make out much of anything. However, she was sure the way to her cabin lay ahead and to the right.