by Sara Cardon
The image of Captain Sharpe came to mind, his piercing eyes, a presence larger than life. Lucy narrowed her eyes as she tried to picture herself relating to him without the structure of her position at the bank. A longing for companionship stirred in her like dust best left undisturbed.
“A social call. I agree.” Mr. Nicolson tilted his head and gestured to her hair. “You should try arranging your hair differently. One of the new styles.”
She refused the desire to smooth her hair.
“Ringlets, and maybe a few ornaments, too.” He turned towards Reuben for confirmation.
“If you know so much, then you should attend as my lady’s maid,” Lucy quipped.
“I am holding down the castle here, remember?”
Reuben rubbed his chin. “Yes, you’ve been in half-mourning long enough.” He warmed to the topic. “How about one of those dresses the young ladies wear with the . . . the flounces.” His thick fingers traced a path on his beefy upper arm.
Lucy raised an eyebrow and laughed at these men giving her advice on her appearance. “I suppose I have stayed in mourning longer than needed.” She had been especially close to her grandfather. The grief of losing him still shrouded her in a fog some days, but it was time to move on to sunnier places.
“Purple makes your complexion look a little sickly,” Mr. Nicolson said.
“I do not wear purple. I wear lavender,” she huffed. True, lavender was not her best color. She preferred lilac with its pink undertone for her complexion. Still, she understood his clumsy attempt. “I will see what I can do to freshen my look.”
“Your only worry is to make a favorable impression,” Reuben said.
Lucy placed a hand to her forehead. “There is so much to do.” She needed to tell her maid to air out her gowns from last season. And she must help Charlotte prepare as well.
Reuben opened a bottle of ink. “I will figure out a way to broach the subject of the captain’s financial concerns. Go pack. I’ll leave as soon as I send a note.”
Gratitude formed a lump in her throat. “Let us hope this works.” It was a broken prayer and a desperate hope.
Chapter 2
In the study, Jack tipped his glass of Madeira, wishing for some rum. He shared a glance with his friend Ludlow as their host, Mr. Garvey, clapped his hands together and smiled too widely.
“Captain Sharpe, eh?” Mr. Garvey tilted his head. “Like a card sharp. Do you live up to your name?”
“Sir?”
“You look shrewd enough to gamble and cheat, at more than just cards,” Mr. Garvey chuckled at his own joke.
Jack smiled. Mr. Garvey was an amusing fellow if one could get past his exuberance.
“Nice to be in Brighton near the sea. Eh, Captain?” Mr. Garvey asked, turning to the impressive floor-to-ceiling windows and their expansive view of the ocean. The study at Havencrest had an impressive view of the Brighton’s white cliffs jutting into the ocean.
“Indeed. You have a beautiful view from here.” Jack’s conventional response was all his host needed to launch into the merits of Brighton and the fresh sea air. His friend Ludlow wore a bemused expression, but that was not unusual since he had become smitten with a lady.
“One thing I quite agree with my wife on is the medicinal benefits of taking the waters. As well as the benefits of sea air to one’s health. I'm sure you can attest to its merits, being so often at sea,” Mr. Garvey enthused. At Jack’s lack of response, Mr. Garvey said, “You do agree, do you not?”
The sea air, healthy? Ludlow quirked a brow at Jack, both in warning and amusement.
“I quite agree.” Jack refrained from mentioning he agreed with the health benefits of sea air on land, but that on a ship the dampness bred disease and brought on premature rheumatism in otherwise healthy men. Building rapport with Mr. Garvey would require him to dust off his polite manners. His host had powerful friends, including the ear of the Prince Regent. Though Mr. Garvey seemed only interested in social events, the men he brushed shoulders with held sway on all political matters. And Jack needed one of them to champion his current cause, an urgent matter of life and death.
“What do you plan to do while in Brighton?” Mr. Garvey asked, pulling Jack back into the thread of conversation.
Ludlow covered the lull, answering smoothly, “I shall enjoy an overdue holiday and your glittering guests, especially a certain lady.” Ludlow blended in among this set of educated, titled, and witty elites. He could keep up with their interest in races and clubs, as well as interact among rakes and dandies.
Mr. Garvey laughed and refilled their cups from the decanter. “Lady Jane is a diamond, Captain Ludlow.”
Ludlow beamed. “She is a lovely creature. She is a Cleopatra among women, an Andromeda, a Helen of Troy.”
All beautiful women . . . of a conquered people. Jack turned his glass between his thumb and forefinger, fighting a twinge of envy for Ludlow’s charm. He stuffed down his sense of being disconnected and raised his glass in a salute. “May you win the heart of your lady love, you lucky devil.”
Ludlow laughed and raised his glass. “And may you, my good fellow, find the love of your life.”
“Here, here,” Mr. Garvey chimed in.
Jack smiled. “I’ll not find a country miss here among this set of fine people.” He glanced at Mr. Garvey, hoping he didn’t offend. “I open my mouth and you can hear my rustic roots.” He was proud of his heritage among the hard-working seagoing clans of Cornwall, though he knew his host wouldn’t understand.
Mr. Garvey rocked on his heels. “A country miss? Why settle for that? Any debutante in London would fawn over you.”
Ludlow shot Mr. Garvey a knowing look. “I could tell you stories of the women who have pursued Jack.”
The back of Jack’s neck warmed, but he didn’t respond to the teasing.
Mr. Garvey whooped with glee. “Do tell.”
“In London, a Miss Alston went to great lengths to capture Captain Sharpe’s attention.” Ludlow shared the details of Miss Alston’s attempts, but his version painted a different picture than the one Jack had endured.
Jack quelled a shudder. The French couldn’t have been more tenacious than Miss Alston with her ploys to trap him in a compromising situation, all in the hopes of forcing a union. Miss Alston with her violet eyes and violet dresses, turning up at every event he attended in London, pressing into him each time he turned, invading his space with suggestive smiles.
He despised her kind, with her pert nose, painted lips, and the endless compliments—all superficial artifice to snare a rich husband. She hadn’t wanted him, she had wanted his money.
He would be the pursuer, not the pursued. Besides, he was interested in more than the mere trappings of beauty, wealth, and connections that society praised. If he ever married, it would be to a woman of sense. A woman who could build a stable family even if he was away on assignments. He had always imagined a woman like the honest country lasses he grew up with. A woman of their social standing would match his commoner roots before he worked his way up from the lower deck and gained fortune and fame.
He wanted a woman who would value him despite his lack of refinement and dismal education to anything outside of the navy. He had nothing to recommend himself to ladies from the society Mr. Garvey and Captain Ludlow were accustomed to. But it did not matter, because in his experience such a woman did not exist.
“Come now, you may not be able to wear your uniform when not in active service, but even in gentleman’s clothes you cut a striking figure. Share an escapade about your part in the Bombardment of Algiers and freeing the slaves from the Barbary pirates.” Mr. Garvey grinned wide. “But don’t tell it around my wife. I don’t want to lose her heart.” He laughed too loudly, likely in jest.
Jack seized the turn of topic. “The Prince Regent’s support of the endeavor made all the difference.” It was a clumsy attempt to build rapport, and he knew it. Everyone in England was outraged by the Barbary slave raids among th
eir allies. The prince had raised his voice against it, calling on the force of the Royal Navy.
Ludlow added, “Prince George is an astounding man, full of wit and with a most generous heart.”
Jack kept from quirking a brow. He admired Ludlow's ability to maintain an earnest expression, as he knew his friend thought the prince was a degenerate. Full of wit? Yes. But also buffoonery.
“Prinny took pride in His Majesty’s Navy at Algiers. It was a proud moment for England.” Mr. Garvey nodded.
Jack’s shoulders relaxed. He glanced at Ludlow, conveying his thanks. Ludlow’s chin dipped in acknowledgement.
Mr. Garvey sighed. “It is a bad business with Captain McCrea.”
Jack nodded once, wincing. A heavy weight settled in his chest, freezing his lungs. “It is indeed a sad tale.”
“And do you stand by the captain or with your former crew?” Mr. Garvey asked.
Jack closed his eyes at the image he feared, men from his Cornish clan swinging from the gallows. He looked Mr. Garvey square in the face. “I do not stand by McCrea. His actions grieve me. It is unfit for a captain in King George’s Navy. I am only pleading for the lives of those hands.”
“You are not standing by Captain McCrea.” The seconds ticked by on the mantle clock as Mr. Garvey studied him.
Jack had used his influence to recommend McCrea for promotion to commander, had pushed his career along the way Jack had always longed someone had done for him. Favoritism may run rampant in the navy, but it had been the biggest mistake of his career.
“It was a bad business.” Regret seeped into Jack’s soul, weighing him down as if waterlogged. He could defend his part in McCrea’s appointment, or he could take the consequences like a man. He would give no excuses.
Mr. Garvey shrugged, easily dismissing the matter. “Well, while you’re here in Brighton, we will stick to your finer points. I’m not certain how many guests I invited to this house party, but I can guarantee every man jack of them will be seeking to make a smart match.”
Jack smiled at Mr. Garvey’s wit in poking fun at his name.
“I shall keep an eye out for you, Captain Sharpe.” He slapped Jack on the shoulder.
Jack tensed, bristling at the matchmaking offer. He did not need insipid women thrown his way.
“I’ll drink to that,” Ludlow agreed.
Jack forced a grin and took a sip of red wine, but a bitter taste remained in his mouth. His host had a passing interest in the navy and none in the common man. Mr. Garvey only wanted entertainment, and Jack’s love life was what interested him in the moment. It wasn’t likely he would use his influence to aid Jack’s cause.
Chapter 3
The hour was growing late. Lucy and her maid had attempted to air out last season’s dresses, and they lay about the room, sagging like the deflated hot air balloons occasionally sighted in Hyde Park. At present, Lucy’s sitting chamber and bedchamber were both wildly out of order. Lucy claimed a large suite at her sister’s Mayfair townhouse since an unmarried young lady could not live alone, heiress or not.
“Hopefully Charlotte is faring better in her packing than we are,” Lucy said to her maid, Mary.
“I cannae wait to get out of this house, miss. Nothing ever happens around here, nothing interesting that is,” Mary said with a cheeky grin.
The click of the door shutting turned Lucy’s attention. Her twelve-year-old niece Sophia slipped inside the room, a pretty pout on her face.
“Dearest Sophia, what has you so glum?” Lucy asked as she plucked a poke bonnet from a chair and set it in its hatbox.
“Am I allowed in here? Mama is too busy to have me underfoot,” she said, swiping a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
“You are always welcome here, Sophia. My chambers didn’t get christened the Rumpus Room by your mama without cause.” Lucy put her hands on her hips and smiled at the merry times her nieces and nephews had in her rooms, toasting cheese and sharing stories. “We don’t stand on ceremony here.”
Sophia smiled and walked from one gown to the next, trailing her hands over them. “I wish I could go to the house party and wear beautiful clothes,” she said with a sigh. She glanced with longing, as if the dresses were not woefully out of fashion.
“One day you will be old enough to attend. But until then, how about I bring you home something special from Brighton?”
Sophia’s face lit with a smile. “You promise?”
“Of course. Anything for my favorite twelve-year-old niece.”
By the time Charlotte sent word that she was ready, the sun had set and the children were abed. Reuben called for the carriage, and when it arrived, he hefted her trunk into place and the driver secured it with the others. A footman assisted Lucy into the carriage. After squeezing himself inside the carriage, Reuben tapped the roof, and they set off for Brighton in short order.
Thomas squirmed on Charlotte's lap and attempted to throw off his blanket. He rubbed his eyes and let out a cry.
“May I hold him?” Lucy asked.
Charlotte handed him over. Lucy gathered his warm weight against her chest, snuggling him close and patting his back. He was a year and a half, and not happy with having his sleep interrupted.
“Thank you. You are so gentle with him,” Charlotte said, leaning into her husband.
“I am happy to help.”
It was no wonder Charlotte was a little peaked. She had believed her family complete with three children. Thomas had been a surprise, born ten years after Sophia. Lucy felt connected to Thomas since she too was much younger than her sister, born fifteen years later, when their father remarried after Charlotte’s mother had passed away. With both parents departed, Charlotte and Lucy were devoted to each other.
“Tell me, Lucy, how did you convince my husband to finagle an invitation to this party?” Charlotte's strawberry-and-cream complexion and luminescent eyes shone in the dim interior. Even worn thin, Charlotte was a handsome woman. Lucy would trade her brown hair for her sister’s in an instant. “Don’t misunderstand. I’m beyond delighted to attend.”
Lucy glanced across at Reuben, but he merely raised his eyebrows as if to say, You knew to expect this line of questioning.
Lucy wished the spark of interest in Charlotte's eyes was not focused on her. She would need to keep some information to herself. “It is just as I said. We need to make connections for the bank.” Thomas twisted in his sleep, and Lucy rubbed circles on his back until he relaxed.
“The bank, of course.” Charlotte sighed. “I had secretly hoped you were chasing a man.”
Lucy smiled to herself at how close she’d come to the truth. “Not in the way you think.” She would need to make a favorable first impression in order to convince Captain Sharpe to stay with her bank. Then she would observe him to discern how best Reuben could go about persuading him. At the thought of meeting the captain, her stomach did a funny flip.
“Still, we will make the most of this. I shall keep an eye out for eligible bachelors,” Charlotte said.
Lucy's heart lifted to see her sister’s mood rally. She smiled in gratitude. “Thank you, Charlotte.”
She would attempt to behave as a regular debutante since it would both delight her sister and aid her attempt to meet the captain as “a friend among friends” as Reuben had said.
Charlotte leaned her head onto her husband’s shoulder. Lucy savored the feel of Thomas nestled beneath her chin. The road twisted and turned in the darkness on the drive to Brighton. Lucy’s eyelids grew heavy, her long day catching up to her.
Tilney’s Bank was more than brick and mortar. It represented her grandfather’s faith in her. His beloved legacy was in her hands. It meant safety if managed well, and backsliding into poverty and dependency if not. It was also a way she could help others obtain a measure of security for their families. It represented the countless dreams her customers held for their futures. She must succeed.
“We are almost arrived,” Reuben said in the darkness.
/> Bleary eyed, Lucy adjusted her hold on the baby and parted the curtain when the carriage came to a stop. There was a stately stone gatehouse with scalloped edges along the top, and the wooden doors opened with a creak. As if they’d arrived after a pilgrimage, the carriage proceeded through the archway and past a church dressed with gargoyles and a churchyard tucked to one side. Havencrest’s manor home slowly emerged from the darkness. No glowing lanterns illuminated the entrance, only the wane moonlight.
Reuben exited the carriage and reached back in to take Thomas. Lucy’s muscles felt weightless and tired. She could not wait to get settled into her chamber and fall asleep.
Reuben passed Thomas off to the waiting nursemaid, then clasped Lucy's hand to assist her. Boots crunched over the gravel and horses nickered. Ocean waves lulled in the black spell of night, swallowing the noise of the footmen as they unloaded trunks. Lucy pulled her shawl close against the cool salt breeze. She glanced at the darkened windows on the upper floors of the elegant country manor. Had Captain Sharpe arrived already?
The butler ushered them into a silent entryway that was surprisingly homey in its choice of rugs and plain furniture.
“Come in, come in.” A woman wearing a white robe over her night dress welcomed them with a beaming smile. “I’m Mrs. Daw, the housekeeper. Welcome to Havencrest.”
“We apologize for our late arrival,” Reuben said.
“My mistress has retired for the evening,” she whispered. “But I shall see you settled in your rooms.”
Mrs. Daw set off through a stone passageway, and they followed before the darkness enveloped her. In an alcove, Mrs. Daw set her candlestick down on a table and stepped inside a closet. She emerged with a bundle of linens.
