by Sara Cardon
Lady Anslowe also agreed to the game.
“Count me in as well, Mr. Garvey.”
Lucy recognized the masculine voice. She took a fortifying breath then faced Captain Sharpe. For as rugged as he appeared in his black tailcoat and crisp white shirt against his tanned skin, he was every inch the gentleman. Unlike Lucy’s pale, sheltered skin, the muscles in his weathered face were a testament to the conflicts and elements he’d endured.
He caught her staring and his eyes crinkled in amusement. Despite being hyperaware of him, Lucy feigned being unaffected. She could play a simple game of whist with him—and beat him soundly as well.
Chapter 11
Before the game even began, Jack felt like he had already won. He and Miss Brook drew the lowest cards, so they were on the same team and he sat directly across the table from her. He admired her dark hair, the color of shiny pebbles after the tide washed in, woven into an elegant knot with soft curls coming loose. She drew him in like a song playing softly, pulling him like a siren. Only she tugged him towards the safety of shore, and earth, and home.
Mr. Garvey shuffled the French deck, and Jack dealt each player thirteen cards facedown. The final card was placed faceup, showing hearts to be the trump suit for the first round. His mind was divided between his next strategy for the court-martial, the game’s rules, and the lovely Miss Brook. She picked up her cards, her attention on rearranging them.
“Do you enjoy whist, Miss Brook?” he asked. “I imagine it plays to your strengths.”
Strands of her hair dangled across her cheeks like falling autumn leaves around her delicate face. One ringlet curled against the side of her neck. Her elegant neck.
“I do relish a game of whist. I had hoped to play against you.” Her eyes, as blue as the ocean, held a teasing glint. “But with you on my team, the two of us should prevail.”
Jack held her gaze, his heart lifting just by being in her company. Her use of the word us warmed him more than it should.
Mr. Garvey looked between them as if they were the entertainment rather than the card game. “Lady Anslowe, we’re playing cards against a Captain Sharp. Ha.” He slapped the table.
Lady Anslowe flinched then lowered her brows in confusion.
“Don’t worry. I believe our Captain Sharpe is no cheater at cards,” Miss Brook said, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
Mr. Garvey began the round, which he and Lady Anslowe won.
When Jack and Miss Brook won the next three tricks, Mr. Garvey tucked his smirk away. Jack realized Miss Brook was counting the cards played from the deck and holding her high cards for the right moments. He admired her quick mind and grasp of strategy.
“You two make a fine team,” Lady Anslowe said after they won the final round.
Mr. Garvey rubbed his hands together. “Well, they have beaten us soundly, Lady Anslowe. I always say that is the cue for our exit.”
“Captain Sharpe, Miss Brook, I’m afraid we must concede your superior abilities in whist.” Lady Anslowe smiled sweetly.
Mr. Garvey sprang to his feet and offered Lady Anslowe a hand. Jack stood as well.
As soon as Lady Anslowe regained her footing, Mr. Garvey bounded away. The three of them looked at each other in astonishment and laughed.
“What I wouldn’t give for my sailors to be half as energetic.” Jack chuckled.
“Thank you for joining us,” Miss Brook said to Lady Anslowe.
“I hope to see you tomorrow. We can at least hope the weather will give us some respite,” Lady Anslowe said. As she left, she shot Miss Brook a broad smile, as if encouraging her.
Jack’s brows rose.
At the pianoforte near the window, Mr. Garvey produced a flurry of sheets for a woman before she had a chance to sit.
Miss Brook stacked the cards into a tidy pile. “Were you able to deliver the message to Mrs. Caddy this afternoon?”
“Yes. She was pleased. I thank you for your assistance.” Jack rubbed a hand over his jaw. His mind jumped to the conversation with Admiral Cartwright, gloom pushing on his heart at the admiral’s lack of interest.
“What’s troubling you?” Miss Brook asked, eyeing him.
Piano music drifted over the gathering. He rubbed a hand through his hair, once, twice. “I’d hoped to solicit help from a man in power today but failed. Though in all earnestness, I’m not surprised.”
“Why would he not assist you?” Her expression was mutinous—on his behalf. It took him by surprise.
“He is not closely related to matters such as this, and is far too busy to take an interest when his view is over a broad range of naval affairs.”
“Well, he is not the man to help you then.” She nodded officiously, as if she was an authority. “You will find the right man to help. It is a worthy cause.”
He expelled a breath. He had shed his defenses, but instead of being left exposed, he felt lighter. Her eyes held an ocean’s worth of confidence in him, and warmth filled him. How did she do that? Fill the empty spaces in his heart like packing oakum in a ship’s seams.
The song ended and another began, catching Miss Brook’s interest. “They have rolled up the rugs to dance. How charming.”
Jack watched her profile in the lantern light. He wished he knew how to dance well enough to ask her. Drat his inexperience on land.
While he silently bemoaned his lack of experience, a gentleman bowed to Miss Brook and asked her to dance. She glanced briefly at Jack, and he nodded, hiding a grimace. Her skirts swished, leaving the scent of lilacs in her absence.
He watched the man touch Miss Brook’s waist and pull her close. Jack stood and stalked to a shadowy corner of the room. He may as well have swallowed castor oil. Her dress swept around her feet as the gentleman led her in a boxed step, his moves elegant. He was the type of man Miss Brook belonged with. A gentleman.
Why should he care who she danced with? He ran a hand over his face, and his feet stayed planted. He studied the movement of their feet, cataloguing their steps as he would footwork for fencing.
The next song began and the cad pressed Miss Brook for another dance. Jack’s muscles tightened. When did the room become stifling and hot? He only knew he needed to move, and not away from Miss Brook.
Jack advanced to where Miss Brook was attempting to beg off, and tapped the man’s shoulder none too gently. Jack drew himself up when the man’s eyes rounded. “Miss Brook promised me a dance,” he lied.
Jack took advantage of the man’s hesitation, stepping in as the music started. He pressed his hand to the small of her back and took her slender hand in his large one. Bumbling or not, he would claim this dance with her. He led her in the simple step he had observed, feeling triumphant.
“Why Captain Sharpe, I thought you did not cheat.”
“Not at cards. But slights and stratagems to reach the desired end are acceptable in love and war.” Jack loosely repeated the words Ludlow had quoted from a book, though Jack had never read it.
“Love and war? I understand how you would know about war. What has been your experience in love?” she asked.
Jack couldn’t answer. He had loved before, but he had never been loved in return. Miss Alston had chosen his money but not him. Holding Miss Brook in his arms, he felt like a man starved. He craved her admiring looks, her witty remarks meant only for him. As she waited for his reply, the seconds pulsed between them.
He swallowed and managed to rumble, “I wonder now that I ever believed myself disinterested in matrimony.”
Her blue eyes widened and then dropped to his chest. He yearned to pull her closer, but he wasn’t certain she was attracted to him as he was to her. Would she welcome his advances? All he would need to do is apply the barest pressure to her waist. His hand splayed against her back as he resisted the impulse.
The music ended and he made himself step away. Cold air rushed in to take her place, and it seemed to slap his cheeks with reality. He wasn’t here to court a woman, he was here to sa
ve the lives of his former hands. But with his remaining time, his need to pursue Miss Brook was as forceful as a riptide.
Chapter 12
Jack pulled up the collar of his tarpaulin coat, grateful for the waterproof material. The rain came down in sheets as they waited for the mail coach near the King’s Crown. Miss Brook stood a pace away, beneath the heavy oilskin umbrella held by one of the Garveys’ footmen.
“This should see you through your journey, Mrs. Caddy. Are you clear on the directions to your friends?” She pressed an envelope into Mrs. Caddy’s hand.
“Aye. An’ the Merricks are fine people. They’ll see ter my needs while I’m there. I can’ thank you enough for helpin’ me ter see my boy.” Mrs. Caddy’s nose was pink, probably from the wet, cool weather. She turned her brimming eyes on him. “I’m grateful to yeh too, Captain Sharpe. My John always spoke well of yeh. Said yeh were a fair captain an’ a fine leader. That yeh were the hardest worker on board. Thank you for everythin’ yeh’ve done for me an’ my John.”
Jack nodded, though he didn’t deserve her praise. Not when he’d inadvertently caused her son’s likely death. The rain soaking his outerwear weighed his shoulders down.
“Your John is one of the best maintop captains I’ve known, and he’s a fine man. It’s my pleasure to aid you, Mrs. Caddy, in some small way.” His voice petered out, losing its power to speak over the beating of the rain. The lump in his throat was impossible to swallow.
He couldn’t seem to affect the current course of events. His efforts to find someone who could persuade the gentleman captains and admirals had been unsuccessful. None of his connections in the gentry or politics had shown the least interest. His hope to use Ludlow’s connections with the people at the Garvey’s house party, including Mr. Garvey and Admiral Cartwright, had failed. He’d failed. Jack pulled his hat low, water rushing in rivulets down its brim.
“Godspeed, Mrs. Caddy. We will be praying for you and your son.” Miss Brook and the footman walked Mrs. Caddy to the mail coach and saw her deposited inside. Miss Brook waved as the carriage splashed down Ditching Road and then brought her gloved hand to her mouth before it was enveloped in the haze.
Miss Brook pivoted to walk back, the footman keeping her covered. Her eyes sought his, and his heart squeezed at the sight of her pink cheeks and nose.
The footman brought her under the eaves of the King’s Crown. “I’ll go let the carriage driver know you are ready to return to Havencrest, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” she replied. She beckoned Jack closer. “Watch out for the runoff from the roof and that waterspout. There is room enough for the both of us, Captain Sharpe.”
Jack stepped beside her, his shoulder brushing her pelisse.
“Mrs. Caddy thinks the world of you,” she said, turning her wide eyes up to his. Her bonnet’s ribbon was slightly askew under her chin.
He looked away, guilt gnawing a hole in his stomach. “I don’t deserve it. Her son’s life is in jeopardy because of me.”
“Nonsense. You’ve been trying to stop these events.”
“I’m the one who recommended a harsh captain. I had no idea at the time, but I should have.” He removed his gloves and ran a hand over his face. “He married my sister when he was a lieutenant. I thought I’d do him a favor to promote his career—something I’d wished for as I made my career. But I knew he wasn’t ready. Nepotism may run rampant in the navy, but it’s no excuse for putting him forward before he’d earned it.”
Miss Brook did not look shocked. Her steady gaze invited his confidence.
“I’d been given a promotion. A backhanded promotion.” He grunted. “My frigate, the Fleetwood, was all I ever wanted to command. The Alp was in disorder and filthy. I was allowed to bring but twenty of my men, even though that was not standard procedure. I soon discovered the former captain, Captain Hall, had been too lax with the crew, and many of the officers were unskilled leaders. Some of the sailors had taken to getting their way, and they resisted my new command. After being threatened by a mob of troublemakers, I sent the ringleaders’ names to be court-martialed.”
Jack looked down at his boots, covered in grime. His heart twisted at the memory of the outcome. Out of the twelve who leveled demands laced with threats, all but two of the conspirators were hanged, including the man forced against his will to write a letter of complaint because he was one of the few literate.
His throat clenched from the effort of holding back his emotions. “I vowed to settle whatever punishment on board my ship that I could. The consequences dealt out in a court-martial are severe for a regular sailor. The rest of the crew was eventually deemed uncooperative as a group and divided among other ships.” He attempted to clear his throat.
Now Miss Brook would know he didn’t deserve Mrs. Caddy’s praise or the growing admiration he saw in her eyes.
Miss Brook’s brows pulled down, her expression thoughtful. “You couldn’t have known, Captain. Whether or not Captain McCrea was worthy of his post, you are not responsible for his actions.”
He wanted to believe her. If only to assuage his guilt.
As if reading his thoughts, she pressed a gloved hand to his arm and stepped closer. “And your efforts to help the men to be tried is not in vain. Have you ever considered . . .” She caught her breath and stopped, biting the inside of her cheek.
He leaned closer.
Her eyes shone with resolve. “You have been searching for someone with more political power in the British Navy than you to save those men,” she said, her voice growing softer but still resolute. “But what if you are the man for the job?”
Jack stared at her, blinking rapidly as his mind reeled with her question. He stared down at his hands, searching for the answer but seeing only his empty palms.
“I have nothing to offer,” he argued. “I am nobody in the hierarchy of the navy.”
“No one else cares about those men as you do. No one could come to their defense with as much heart as you.”
“I’m the wrong man for the task.” Jack stared at the rain-soaked earth at his feet, his eyes unfocused. He could continue to seek for help, but he had exhausted all his resources. What connections he had among the gentry and within the navy had not proven helpful. And time was running out. The trial was to be held on Monday, and, as it was Thursday, it left him a mere three days. Precious little time. Doubt flooded his mind, but looking at his muddled reflection at his feet, he considered Miss Brook’s words. Who else cared whether those men lived or died? None of the officers from the gentleman class had.
“Now is not the time to retreat, Captain,” Miss Brook said above the din of rain.
Jack looked at her. She hadn’t left, even when she understood the strait he had caused and his powerlessness to fix it. Her eyes shone with a trust and determination he was quickly learning he could rely upon. He took her small gloved hand in his and kissed the back of it.
“What will you do, Captain?” she asked solemnly.
Jack swallowed the emotions overpowering him. “I will speak up with my own voice.” He would do what he could. Perhaps she was right and he was the man for this assignment. “I will start some letters as soon as we arrive back at Havencrest. And I will arrive at Portsmouth before the court-martial to be held on Monday.”
Miss Brook’s answering smile was full of warmth. She threw herself at him, and he caught her in an embrace. The rain drenched the world, turning it into a muddy mess around them, but Jack had never stood on more solid ground. Holding Miss Brook in his arms felt more right than anything had in a long time.
She pulled away to smile up at him again, and Jack’s breath caught. Before he left, he would do everything in his power to leave no doubt in Miss Brook’s mind about his intentions. He intended to pursue her until she agreed to marry him.
Chapter 13
A day could only stretch so long, but Lucy wished today would last a lifetime. After the wet adventure to see Mrs. Caddy off, she and Captain Sharpe returned t
o Havencrest, laughing at their soaked shoes and outerwear, and sitting entirely too close in the closed carriage, despite the servant accompanying them.
Once dry and changed, she met Captain Sharpe again in the Great Hall. The room had been altered by the servants for a fencing tournament. Metal clanged against metal as men clashed in a bout. Captain Sharpe was watching the match with rapt attention. It was obvious that the tournament was a special treat for him. He reminded her of her nieces and nephews choosing a baked good from Gunter’s Sweet Shop. Jack held one finger over his mouth as he devoured the bout with eager anticipation.
“Will you be participating?” she asked him.
Captain Sharpe looked at her, the creases beside his eyes crinkling in amusement. “I’ve never participated in a fencing tournament. I practice, to be sure, but only as a matter of course. Nothing like these gentlemen.”
She moved close to speak with privacy, his scent distracting her thoughts. “Your skill with a sword is saved for matters of life and death, then?”
His shoulder brushed hers as he leaned closer, his voice low and rumbly. “I admit, I don’t follow the rules for a gentleman. Besides, I would rather spend my time with a certain pretty lady today.”
As cold as she had been in the rain, warmth now stole through her entire frame, causing her fingers to tingle.
“Do you want to watch?” he asked.
Lucy tore her gaze from his, trying to see what value he saw in the fencing match. She only saw men who were sweating and red-faced. “Yes. For a time.”
“This is Lord Grayson. From the way he handles himself, I would think he was a fencing master.”
They watched Lord Grayson parry a strike as his spry opponent charged him in a flurry of movement. But the spry man pressed too closely, missed his mark, and sank to his knees. He returned to the charge but fell again.
“He is holding back,” Captain Sharpe informed her.
