by Sara Cardon
Jack stood and coughed, his mouth as dry as if he had swallowed sand. He paced to the cold fireplace. Captain Lloyd secreted a wife and family in Jamaica and India, both under British law. Many people knew this, and yet . . . “Forgive me for saying so, my lord, but I have always viewed blackmail as the coward’s way.”
Lord Anslowe stood as well, folding his arms and bowing his head. “I agree with you, Captain.” His voice was steady. “And yet, in this instance the end can justify the means.”
And without blackmail the end was likely ten men swinging from the gallows.
“Keep in mind, politics are not black and white. There is ample gray area to navigate. If you deliver a reminder, it may ensure Captain Lloyd listens. It is entirely your decision.”
Jack stopped his pacing. “Would you deliver the reminder yourself?”
“No.”
Jack scoffed.
“I have other political matters that require my attention. You are perfectly suited to the task.”
“He’ll pound me to a pulp.”
Lord Anslowe cracked a smile. “You’d survive it better than I would.”
Jack eyed the earl, his thin, tall frame and open expression. Jack closed his eyes and laughed, his shoulders relaxing. “In all seriousness, my lord, an overt threat could ruin my career. Captain Lloyd is known for ferocious feuds and villainizing his enemies.” His hands grew clammy and his heartbeat lurched at the risk.
Lord Anslowe pierced him with a hard stare. “If you have any integrity, then this is the right course. If you are not willing to risk your own career for the good of your men, then you don’t have any business serving as captain.”
Jack squeezed his eyes shut, wading through the juxtaposition of leveraging dishonesty for integrity. He was adrift in murky waters. He thought of the ten men to face trail. Of taking Mrs. Caddy’s hand to assist her into her carriage. Of her son John swinging from the foreyard arm if a majority of the captains or admirals settled on the sentence without pity for the plight of the sailors—a plight the gentleman class of officers did not understand. But Jack did. He ran his hands through his hair. He lived and breathed the navy, but the entire system was at fault. No regulations were in place to protect the sailors.
“I don’t like seeing seamen abused unjustly, Captain Sharpe. Or suffering harsh consequences for another’s crimes,” Lord Anslowe stated softly.
“Neither do I.” Jack squared his shoulders and looked Lord Anslowe in the eyes, knowing what he had to do.
“It appears I will be a Captain Sharp after all. If I have to cheat to get Captain Lloyd’s attention, then so be it.” Strange enough, he felt no remorse of conscience.
“I am glad to hear it. I believe you can save these unfortunate sailors’ lives.” He placed his hands on his hips. “Now onto our next man on the court. Are you familiar with Captain Hawke’s smuggling?”
“No.”
Lord Anslowe smiled and pointed at him. “I suggest you find out more. Talk to his lieutenant, James Sedgewick. Otherwise you may need to bluff when you speak to Captain Hawke.”
Jack shook his head and grinned. For the first time in almost two weeks, after his broken prayers and shattered hopes, a way had been opened. Gratitude spilled through him.
“I happen to know Captain Hawke is currently in Brighton. He was at the Red Lion by the Styne on North Street. He’s a creature of habit and orders the same meat pie and a glass of ale at six o’clock.”
“My lord, I can’t thank you enough.” Or Miss Brook. How his outlook had changed. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her.
Jack exchanged a hearty handshake with Lord Anslowe.
“It is my pleasure.” A sly expression crossed Lord Anslowe’s face. “Before you save the world, I hope you will take care of your own interests. I believe a certain lady would appreciate your company this evening. She did hold you in high enough regard to enlist my wife’s assistance, after all.”
Jack chuckled. “That is one area I do not need counsel to act.”
Chapter 17
Lucy looked for Captain Sharpe among the crush of tailcoats and silk gowns. She had lost track of him.
“Miss Brook, I have someone I would like to introduce you to,” Mr. Garvey said. “Follow me to the drawing room.”
Mr. Garvey squeezed through the rout with Lucy on his heels. He cut a path down a hallway and a half-flight of stairs into the full room. He led her to one of the Chippendale sofas with a pergola, where a woman with a hawkish nose, arched eyebrows, and a coy smile seemed to be paying court to her many admirers.
Mr. Garvey bowed and took one of the woman’s hands. “Dear Lady, I should like to introduce you to Miss Brook. Miss Brook, may I present Lady Jersey.”
Lucy glanced at Mr. Garvey, grateful for his thoughtfulness. Heart racing, she curtsied deeply to Lady Jersey. “I am so pleased to make your acquaintance, your ladyship.” If anyone could grasp her situation, it was the Countess of Jersey. She had inherited Child’s bank.
“My lady, Miss Brook has recently inherited Tilney’s from her late grandfather,” Mr. Garvey said.
Lady Jersey’s focus landed on Lucy like the freshly cut shaft of a quill. “Did you indeed? My, but we have much to discuss.” She tossed the fur dangling from her red turban over her shoulder then glanced at the man seated beside her. “Lord Palmerston, I should like a tête-à-tête with Miss Brook.”
A corner of the man’s mouth ticked up and he nodded. “It’s a private conversation you’ll be wanting, now is it?” He stood and raised his brow at the crowded space. “I’m not sure it’s private you’ll be getting.”
Lady Jersey’s laugh trilled. “How right you are. Nevertheless, thank you for offering your seat.”
“I am off to do your bidding, madam.” He bowed, stepped a pace away, and struck up a conversation with Mr. Garvey.
Lady Jersey patted the vacated spot beside her. “Come join me, Miss Brook. I am eager to hear how you are handling your role at Tilney’s.”
Lucy sank into the warm cushion and the cloud of Lady Jersey’s sweet perfume. The pergola above the sofa offered a small sense of privacy. Awe bubbled like champagne. She wasn’t sure where to begin.
“I have taken a keen interest in the bank’s operation. The ledgers are enjoyable, and I prefer having a say in who receives an increase in salary.” Lucy folded her hands in her lap to hide the trembling. How could she share her shortcomings? The bank could collapse under numerous withdrawn funds all because she—a woman—had inherited. Lady Jersey had not suffered such problems. Child’s bank was successful.
Lady Jersey tilted her head as if she’d read Lucy’s thoughts. “I am glad to hear it. Have you suffered a loss in accounts due to the transition in ownership?”
A painful knot formed in her throat. She swallowed. “I have.” Too many.
Lady Jersey studied her. “That is a shame.”
Was her sympathy sincere?
Lucy cleared her throat and nodded firmly. “But we will gain new clients,” she said, knowing full well they had little hope of finding enough new accounts before the bank dissolved. Pressure built up in Lucy’s chest like burning coals. She didn’t have connections similar to Lady Jersey’s.
“There is no need to fear, Miss Brook. You will get the way of it.”
Shame stung like a door slammed in her face. There was every reason to fear. “I confess, my situation may be insurmountable.”
Lady Jersey reached out and grasped Lucy’s hand as tenderly as a mother.
Hot tears pricked Lucy’s eyes and her chin trembled. The kindness of the gesture overwhelmed her, and her emotions rose like a flood, spilling over. “The bank will collapse within a week unless I secure a hefty account.” Like Captain Sharpe’s.
“Oh, my dear, dear girl. I am sad to hear your bank is in such dire straits. Let us think on this together, shall we?” She patted Lucy’s hand.
Lucy nodded.
“I daresay there is someone connected with y
our family who would invest with your bank.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have your connections, your ladyship,” Lucy whispered.
Lady Jersey pursed her lips and made a humming noise. “I am not so certain, Miss Brook. You are in fine company.”
“I am not well enough acquainted with Mr. Garvey’s friends to seek new patrons.”
“Where do you hale from, Miss Brook? London?”
“Of late, yes. I grew up in Hampshire, near Beaulieu. I own a lovely estate there that my grandfather bequeathed. Beyond the hedgerow there is a breathtaking view of the Beaulieu River.” Lucy could almost smell the garden full of roses, and picture the hills dotted with miniature daisies beyond the park. She cherished the memories of her childhood home. “These past six years, since my mother departed, I have lived with my grandfather and sister in London.”
Lady Jersey tilted her chin. “Are you in contact with anyone there?”
Lucy frowned. “It has been years, but I am acquainted with Lord and Lady Strathford.” They were the leading family in Beaulieu.
“Ah, now that is a family with a scandal.”
“I am not aware of any scandal.” Lucy squinted, picturing the two brothers. At the country parish, the elder brother watched the vicar with a severe expression while the younger brother flirted with the girls after services.
Lady Jersey drew nearer. “The earls’ heir, Lord Beauchamp, married the daughter of the stable master.” She paused then laughed.
How had that union come about? Lucy shook her head. What did the Beauchamps have to do with solving her problem? She opened her mouth to ask then stopped. She blinked. “Are you suggesting I ask the Beauchamp family to use Tilney’s Bank?”
“Precisely. I would be delighted to send a letter on your behalf as well.”
All Lucy could manage was a nod. Gratitude swept over her like a sunrise, warming her with an inner hope. “I would be most grateful to you.” A smile spread across her face. That could work.
A sly expression colored Lady Jersey’s face. “Of course, some would say the simplest means to an end is to marry someone wealthy.”
The breath left Lucy’s lungs. If Captain Sharpe felt half the connection she did, then he might court her eventually. But she couldn’t seek him for his money to solve her current problems. It would stunt the growth of their newly forming relationship. And her conscience would not allow her to use him.
Finally she managed, “I couldn’t. Besides, if our circumstances were reversed, I would despise him for choosing my money and not me.”
Lady Jersey’s eyebrows arched high. “That was an insightful answer.” Her laughter rang like church bells, drawing attention. “Well spoken, Miss Brook. I like your spirit.”
Cheeks heating, Lucy shook her head. “No one would have me, regardless. As a woman in business, I am not ladylike enough,” she quoted the oft-expressed sentiment. She forced a smile and attempted to keep her voice cheery. “Besides, how could I expect to be a wife and mother if I mean to keep Tilney’s afloat?”
Lady Jersey shifted to the edge of her seat. “You underestimate yourself.” She stood, her earrings tinkling.
Lucy stood as well. “Thank you for your generous help, my lady. Your conversation has meant a great deal to me.” It was a balm to her troubled spirit.
“It was my pleasure, Miss Brook. Oh, and by the bye, not only am I a senior partner at Child’s bank, but I am married and have seven children. Four sons and three daughters.” Her look of pride was unmistakable.
Lucy kept her mouth from coming unhinged, but just barely. The revelation stunned her more than staring at the midday sun.
Jack looked over the heads in each room until he found Miss Brook. She was absorbed in a conversation, so he just drank her in. Her countenance had lightened since he last glimpsed her. She was magnificent with her bright eyes, glowing cheeks, and shiny dark hair escaping in loose curls against her neck. Her blue eyes met his, and, for a moment, they opened like windows. He glimpsed a vulnerable hope and longing that took his breath away. He would do anything for her.
They wove through the crowd towards each other. A smile tipped her lips, and the pleasure that shot through him made him want to haul her into a hug, spin her around, and . . . He reigned his imagination in. He couldn’t steal a kiss in the shadows.
As she neared, her slender hand touched his sleeve. Heat built up, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to leave the stifling room—with Miss Brook. “Will you get some air with me?”
She nodded and followed close as he navigated a path out onto the terrace. Cool, salty air brushed his face. His eyes adjusted to the darkness. Braziers burned past the iron railing, the lighthouse glowed with an iridescent beam, and stars flung over the heavens shone bright. Men and women stood in clusters, their voices subdued compared to the music and laughter spilling from the house. A couple held hands in a dim corner.
“Is everything all right, Captain?” Her eyes were so vast, he could get lost in them.
“I believe it’s time you call me Jack.”
Her eyes danced. “Very well, Jack. But only if you call me Lucy. And answer my question, please.”
He smiled. “Yes. For the first time in a long while, I am well.” Peace settled over him in the cozy darkness. “Thank you for requesting Lord Anslowe’s help, Lucy. We counseled together and his fresh perspective has given me a lead to follow.”
“I am glad for it, and you are most welcome.” She leaned on the railing next to him, her shoulder brushing his jacket. “I wish I could escape all my responsibilities,” she said with a sigh.
“Are you suggesting desertion?”
“You could come along. If you provide the ship, I’d set the course.” There was a smile in her voice.
“Where would you suggest traveling?”
Lucy tilted her head to look at him, her eyes roving his face. “With you? Anywhere in the world, Jack.”
His pulse caught the breeze and charged forward, but he kept himself in check. He covered her hand with his, marveling at how small and delicate it was and wanting to cling to her like lichen to stone. She had slipped into his life and found a place in his heart like she was made to belong there. And he intended to keep her.
A voice cut through the stillness. “They say wolves separate a lamb from the fold before devouring it.”
A few guffaws sounded, but Jack ignored them. When Lucy withdrew her hand and stiffened, his stomach clenched in a knot.
Jack turned to face Mr. Nicolson. “I’m no landsman, so I wouldn’t know.”
Mr. Nicolson ignored Jack, his focus solely on Lucy. “It’s just business, Miss Brook.”
Jack frowned. How could that message be meant for her? But her mutinous expression told him Mr. Nicolson’s comment had hit its mark. Lucy stepped away from both men without a word, her head held high. “Please excuse me.”
Mr. Nicolson smiled regretfully. “Forgive me, Miss Brook.”
She ignored him and left. Jack fisted his hands. He could pummel Mr. Nicolson for hurting her. He wanted to separate Lucy from the man for good, but the blackguard was doing a fine job of it on his own.
“I don’t trust you,” Mr. Nicolson stated, point blank. “And I don’t believe you are a fitting match for Miss Brook. She is above the likes of you.”
Jack smiled as if unaffected.
Chapter 18
The glorious weather invited Lucy and Charlotte outdoors for a walk to the beach. The glistening water, salt air, and conversation were refreshing. They returned to Havencrest along the worn flagstones.
Reuben met them in the entryway, a newspaper tucked under one arm. Lucy handed her bonnet to the butler, and Reuben held out the newspaper.
“It’s another blasted article.”
She took his copy of the Brighton Herald, searching his face.
“It mentions Captain Sharpe as well. Page seven, just below the crease.”
Her eyes widened and she froze. Charlotte took her elbow.
“I prefer to read this in privacy,” she said stiffly. She did not wish for an audience.
“Of course, dearest.” Charlotte released her.
Out of sight, Lucy threw herself onto an iron bench under an oak tree in the garden. With trembling fingers, she unfolded the paper and located the article then read frantically.
Miss Brook, the heiress of Tilney’s bank, displays a shocking lack of integrity, a concern for one trusted to run a business . . . She reportedly visits her bank to examine the books, but in actuality reads novels . . . Miss Brook is in attendance at Mr. and Mrs. Josiah Garvey’s house party in Brighton for the express purpose of pursuing the prize money of Captain Jack Sharpe, lately of the HMS Fleetwood and HMS Alp.
She inhaled sharply and skimmed to the end.
Miss Brook’s express purpose is to obtain Captain Sharpe’s fortune or a marriage proposal. No one witnessing her could doubt her ability to seize both prizes.
“No.” Tears burned her eyes like salt water. She dropped her head into her hands. What if Jack saw this? The fine print spelled out her faults in ink fresh enough to smear itself on his hands.
She had to show the article to him before he heard of it from anyone else.
Lucy stood, and the blood rushed from her head, making her dizzy. Gathering the newspaper and her courage, she left in search of Jack.
Jack allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim interior and the sting of smoke inside the Red Lion. A woman hollered at a man lifting his empty mug, and fishermen raised their voices in a friendly dispute. At one of the heavy wooden tables, Captain Hawke sat alone, bent over his ale and meat pie. Jack exhaled a breath and strode up to him, taking in his pristine civilian clothing.
“Captain Hawke,” he began, straightening his spine.
The captain glanced at him and gave a curt nod. “Captain Sharpe.”
Jack took the sturdy wooden chair; it scraped against the floor. “I wish to discuss the court-martial you will attend on Monday at Portsmouth.”
