by Sara Cardon
Lady Anslowe laughed, her voice skipping on the breeze. “Surely you have guessed as much.”
Lucy’s smile wavered. “I hope I am worthy of his affection.”
Lady Anslowe’s forehead creased.
Before she could inquire into Lucy’s dilemma, Lucy looped their arms like a daisy chain. “I am parched. Let us seek out a glass of lemonade.”
As Lucy walked beside Captain Sharpe through the back gardens, her parasol clipped him in the head.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” she said. She closed the parasol and drew close, raising a hand to his brow. A thrill shot through her middle. She was touching his face. She wished she could remove her thin cotton gloves.
“It is nothing.” His voice seemed to deepen
She couldn’t help but move her hand over his brow and trace the line down his temple to the scar beside his mouth.
His eyes tightened.
She froze. “Did I hurt you?”
The gray around his pupils set off the brighter blue flecks. His eyes changed to a darker shade of blue-gray. “The opposite, I assure you.”
Embarrassed, she pulled her hand away, but his larger one caught hers. He brought it to his lips and placed a kiss on her fingers. Lucy’s breath caught, her heart beating faster.
Their footfalls echoed over a wooden bridge crossing a stream. A pond surrounded by rocks and a waterfall greeted them. A monument pointed to the sky, made of sleek stone.
“This is a beautiful spot,” Lucy said.
“I hoped you would like it.” He wrapped her hand in his as they climbed the stone steps to the obelisk, and he didn’t let go once they reached the landing. A pillared archway in the bottom of the monument allowed them to walk through.
“I’ve seen these monuments around the world, but I confess I don’t understand their purpose,” he said.
Lucy laughed. “I’m not the one to enlighten you on all the facets of obelisks. The Egyptian’s used them in front of their pyramids. Even Solomon’s Temple had them at the front gate. They symbolize the two sides of human nature—the good and the evil, the light and the darkness.” Much like her own conflicted heart. How could she hold two opposite desires? On the one hand, wishing to discover what the path with Captain Sharpe held, and on the other, hoping for his wealth to save her own.
He tugged her hand, bringing her focus back to him. “I’d say you are an expert.”
She shook her head.
Something over her shoulder caught his attention and he smiled. “I have a surprise for you.”
“Oh?”
“Close your eyes.”
She did but peeked. He laughed and turned her around, covering her eyes with his hands. “Ready?” He walked her forward, and her back pressed into his broad chest.
She threw her hands out in front of her and couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.
A yip echoed from inside the monument.
He released her, and Lucy squinted then sucked in a breath. Furry brown puppies with large eyes wriggled inside an open crate. Eli Duffy crouched next to it, a grin splitting his sunburned face.
She threw back her head and laughed. “So, this is Merryboy’s family. Eli, they are adorable!” She bent down to scoop up a puppy with a spot over his right eye. He licked her cheek, tickling her. She giggled.
She stood, cradling the puppy to her cheek and enjoying his warmth. “Thank you,” she said to Captain Sharpe. “This is a wonderful surprise. I’m touched by this sweet gesture.” She blinked back happy tears.
Captain Sharpe filled the archway, the sunlight at his back casting a white haze on his silhouette. The expression on his face was unreadable.
How could she ruin the moment by speaking of money? She would take offense if their situations were reversed. If he asked her for her money—wanted her for her money. How many gentlemen had she refused when they showed too keen an interest in her inheritance?
No, she would find another way to save her bank. She could not use him. She wouldn’t mention her problem to him.
A fluttering in the breeze expanded her soul. Even if she hadn’t yet solved the quandary of saving her bank, she would.
But how?
She brushed off the worries and focused on the present. “Eli, would you run to the house and ask a footman to get Mrs. Hardy and her son? I’m certain they would take delight in holding these puppies.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Eli took off at a run, brushing past a figure who was walking towards the monument.
Lucy recognized the man’s gait. Captain Sharpe turned to follow her gaze. The man neared and swept off his bowler hat, revealing curly hair.
“Mr. Nicolson?” Lucy exclaimed, grinning wide.
“Miss Brook,” Mr. Nicolson said, pushing up his glasses. “I was told I could find you here.”
Captain Sharpe didn’t move, blocking the entrance. Tension hung in the air. The captain looked Mr. Nicolson up and down and widened his stance.
Lucy set the puppy back down with its brothers and sisters and stepped beside him. “Captain Sharpe, may I introduce you to my”—she hesitated on the words bank partner and chose some words equally true—“dear friend, Mr. Robert Nicolson. Mr. Nicolson, this is Captain Jack Sharpe.”
The two men leveled each other a look, a silent communication which Lucy couldn’t comprehend.
Captain Sharpe turned to face her. “I have an appointment I must prepare for. Good day, Miss Brook.”
He strode away, leaving Lucy frowning after him.
“He doesn’t seem happy to see me. But you are, right?” Mr. Nicolson asked with a self-deprecating grin.
Lucy turned her frown on Mr. Nicolson. “Why are you arrived? Is everything at Tilney’s in order?” She clutched her hands to her stomach.
“In truth, I received a distressing letter from Mr. Hardy that you are backing off. I came to lend a hand. It seems you are losing your touch with our fine captain—or perhaps that is the wrong choice of words.” He quirked his eyebrows and cocked his head.
She fisted her hands on her hips. “I do not appreciate the insinuation.”
He shook his head and stared after the captain. “Forgive me. I only know what Mr. Hardy wrote. But I should like to hear it from you. How can I be of service?”
Lucy sighed and shared the most pertinent facts. They sat beside the crate of puppies, Mr. Nicolson stretching his legs out in front of him. He had always invited her confidence by refraining from commenting, only nodding his head or asking a clarifying question now and then.
By the time Charlotte arrived with little Thomas on her hip, Lucy had said her piece and was ready to hear what Mr. Nicolson was thinking. He stood, brushing his hands together, and helped her to her feet.
“I shall ponder how to help Tilney’s succeed without involving the captain further, as you would like. I think you are correct in your assessment of losing some clients as long as we gain new ones.”
“If only we had more time.” She sighed. “But this is the ideal place for new beginnings.”
He plowed his fingers through his hair. “I believe you are right.” He waved his hat towards the manor.
“You are tired. Go get settled.” She pushed him in the right direction.
He walked backwards and scanned her face with a lopsided grin. “I will obey you—but only because it is what I wish to do. Besides, I’m not the only one here who is tired.”
Lucy shooed him away, already impatient to hold Thomas. As Thomas neared, he squealed and kicked his legs, pointing at the puppies.
In spite of everything, her heart felt lighter, both from the little boy’s joy and from sharing her burden with a trusted friend.
Chapter 16
A knock sounded on Lucy’s chamber door, followed by her servant. Mary’s eyes were as round as coins. “I’d wager it’s time to get dressed for dinner, Miss Brook,” she said with animation.
Lucy glanced at the clock above the mantle. “It is indeed,” she said with a yawn.
“I ca
n hardly contain m’ excitement. The Prince Regent himself is attending dinner tonight.” Her hands flew out to the sides. “Can you imagine it, now?”
Lucy stood, her heart beating fast. She had never, in all her life, expected to dine in the same house as Prince George.
Mary rushed to the armoire and pulled out two dresses. Lucy looked between the new amethyst dress with pearls and the blue with lace trim.
“The amethyst,” Lucy said, already entertained with the hope Mr. Nicolson would find it too similar to the lavender he disliked in her recently cast-off mourning dresses.
Mary nodded. “You wouldna believe the commotion belowstairs.”
“Oh?” Lucy always found Mary’s stories of the goings on with the servants diverting.
“Mrs. Garvey is in a fine temper, and that’s saying something. The servants are turned around, not knowing who to listen to, the mister or the missus.” Mary removed the promenade dress and then shimmied the evening gown over Lucy’s head.
“I canna believe it. Mr. Garvey taking over Mrs. Garvey’s household? He’s issuing his own orders. And all the while Mrs. Garvey stands with her arms crossed, looking down her nose at any servant who obeys like she’s ready to give him the what for. It’s downright terrifying.”
Her fingers made quick work of tying Lucy into the new dress. She smoothed out the folds. “Then Mr. Garvey said, ‘Prinny is not dining on watery soup.’ ” She shook her head and grinned. “ ‘Twas quite the quarrel.”
“Oh my.” Lucy sank into the chair in front of the mirror.
“Are you not amused, Miss Brook?” Mary began plucking out pins from Lucy’s hair then pulled a brush through, causing Lucy’s scalp to tingle. She was efficient, if none too gentle.
“It is rather diverting.” Lucy pursed her lips. She knew enough of people’s finances—whether a blessing or a curse of being in the banking industry—to know that the Garveys’ wealth was in no danger of running out, despite an extravagant evening.
Did Mrs. Garvey truly value saving money over her relationship with her husband? Did she value savings over every relationship? She had not wished to plan a dinner with more than “watery soup,” let alone impart more than a single candle per guest, or even a simple bar of soap.
“I never want to become like Mrs. Garvey,” Lucy said aloud.
Mary stopped brushing and blew out a puff from her cheeks. “I’d wager you’re in no danger of that, miss.”
Lucy winced, unconvinced. What if Captain Sharpe was her only hope of saving her inheritance? What if she allowed his business to slip out of reach because of a mistaken sense of integrity?
She had enjoyed the walk with Captain Sharpe as well as his sweet gesture. But as much as she enjoyed his company, fear held her captive.
“Sorry, miss. Did I hurt you?” Mary bit her lip.
“No. I’m well.”
“Well then, cheer up. You’ll be having a fine evening.”
Lucy could borrow some optimism. Her usual cheerfulness was lagging.
While everyone’s attention was on the His Royal Highness, Jack watched Miss Brook enter the dining room on Mr. Nicolson’s arm. It was as if a knife twisted in his gut. She looked stunning in a light purple dress that flowed gracefully from above her waist to the floor. How had he ever disliked that color before? It was becoming on her. The candlelight shone on her dark hair and creamy skin. Yet she was on another man’s arm. He didn’t understand the nature of their relationship—besides that it was long-standing and comfortable. Jack tore his attention away and ran a finger under his cravat.
The festivity in the air was overwhelming though Miss Brook’s smile was absent. He shouldn’t have fled so quickly when her “dear friend” had showed up, but Jack couldn’t curb his instinct to protect himself. When had a woman ever chosen him over another?
Havencrest’s table was laden with dishes—broiled salmon, scrag of veal smothered in a fine sauce, and pease pudding. Miss Brook ate little of the offerings and Jack wanted to find out why. Was she unhappy with Mr. Nicolson? He grunted with the wish then mentally kicked himself for wishing ill on her. He brooded as he watched the two interact, puzzling over the nature of their relationship.
Beside him, Ludlow leaned in. “Do not let the megrims cast you low. I’ve never seen so many titles in one gathering in my life. You should set about finding someone else with power to plead your cause. Everyone is in a fine mood tonight.”
Everyone except him. “I am entreating the captains who will assemble for the court-martial myself.”
Ludlow scoffed but then set his fork down. “You are serious.”
“I am. I have written to Captain Tramontin and Captain Fitzroy. I know them both to be stern but fair.” They would read his missive and take its contents into account.
“What about the three or more other men on the court?” Ludlow asked.
Jack frowned, wishing for the business to be done with. “I am still deliberating.” He knew the men but had no connection with them.
“Your determination will pay off.” Ludlow clamped him on the back. “And what of your efforts with the charming Miss Brook?” A smirk ticked up one side of Ludlow’s mouth, which he attempted to wipe away with his napkin.
Jack looked at the lady in question to see her gaze up at Mr. Nicolson and laugh, the merriment back in her eyes.
As if yanked by a riptide, his heart plunged.
He tore his gaze away, spearing a slice of mutton with such force that his silverware screeched against the china.
“I know better than to pursue her when so much is at stake,” he lied, filling his mouth so he could avoid speaking.
As soon as he let his guard down to care for a woman, she chose someone or something over him. Miss Brook was remarkable, but how could he believe she was any different?
He was fairly wallowing by the time dinner was over and the evening’s entertainment swelled. It appeared having the Prince Regent in attendance had brought a crush of ridiculous people all vying for his attention.
“Captain Sharpe,” a pleasant gentleman said, extending his hand.
Jack shook his hand, searching his memory for the man’s name. “Lord Anslowe.” He hoped he’d remembered correctly.
“Might I have a private word with you? I believe we can help one another.” Lord Anslowe indicated the exit.
Eager to escape the confines of the room and curious what Lord Anslowe wished to speak to him about, Jack agreed.
Once inside a study with a fireplace, tidy bookcases, and an overly large desk, Lord Anslowe turned up the lamp and took a seat in one of the armchairs opposite Jack.
“My wife has become acquainted with Miss Brook. She appears to be a fine woman.”
Jack dipped his head, attempting to hide the longing that swept through him as desperate as homesickness. “She is indeed.”
“Miss Brook expressed concern over a matter she believed important to you. She asked my wife for my assistance, and since I would do anything for my lovely wife, I agreed.”
Jack’s attention sharpened, energy pumping into his blood. Miss Brook had shown concern for him? His heart warmed as if standing close to a fire.
“I serve on the Naval Appropriations Committee, so I am invested in seeing His Majesty’s Navy succeed. Your efforts to defend men from your former crew rather than Captain McCrea disposes me to trust you.”
“I thank you.” Jack had balanced on foot ropes while swaying 80 feet above the sea, yet the hope he now held to unnerved him.
“So, tell me of this court-martial and I will see if I can offer any assistance.”
Lord Anslowe’s manner invited confidence. He seemed like a man who would withhold judgment. Jack told him of how, against his misgivings, he had recommended his brother-in-law Duncan McCrea to become a commander out of a mistaken sense of duty to his sister. He shared how the mutiny had shaken him down to his bones. How he wrote letters and made visits to glean details from the sailors and officers, which he divulged to Lord An
slowe.
“And what have you tried, thus far?”
Lord Anslowe listened intently, nodding and blinking as Jack went fore and aft in explaining what he had tried.
“So you have written to two of the captains, both of whom you believe to be stern but honest. That is well enough.” Lord Anslowe leaned forward. “Do you have an association with Captain Pritchard?”
“No.”
“Lud, neither do I.”
Jack pursed his lips. “But I know the boatswain for Captain Pritchard,” he supplied. “He happened to have served under McCrea before his new post with Pritchard. He has strong opinions about McCrea’s abilities. He said that during his time with McCrea the crew had not been properly trained. The sailors’ battle readiness was poor, their discipline harsh, and their morale low. The boatswain would surely inform Captain Pritchard.”
“Very well then.” Lord Anslowe rubbed his chin. “That leaves two men. Have you any ties to Captain Hawke or Captain Lloyd?”
Jack shifted, acutely aware of his lower standing among the gentleman class of officers. “None, my lord. Besides sharing an occasional drink and playing cards.”
Lord Anslowe grew still and aimed a hard look at Jack. “I have an idea. But first, what are you willing to do for the sailors on trial, Captain?”
Jack narrowed his eyes and firmed his jaw. He cared fiercely for the outcome. “These men will receive a trial, but I do not believe it will be fair. Mutiny is unforgivable, but they had no recourse for the abuse they suffered under the hands of a tyrant. I will do anything in my power to help them.”
Lord Anslowe nodded curtly. “Very well. I have a few strategies for you to leverage. If you can overcome resistance enough to share McCrea’s abuse and mismanagement, it will be worth it.” Lord Anslowe held his gaze, his own serious.
“I would be obliged to you for your counsel.” And if necessary, Jack would accept criticism of his bungling efforts.
“Captain Lloyd doesn’t care for the common man, but he does care for his own skin. If he refuses to listen to what you shared with me, then it would be a shame if the Naval Appropriations Committee, or his wife in England, were to take legal action over his indiscretions.” He lifted his chin.
