The Unexpected Wife

by Caroline Warfield

  “He will not be moved from his purpose,” she said.

  “What about Elliot?” Charles asked. “Have you heard any word?”

  “Still at Whampao last I heard—or perhaps Macao.” Oliver paused and chewed the stem of his pipe before he continued. “I believe Commissioner Lin may have sent a message to him.”

  Charles rolled his eyes before shooting her a worried glance. “Rook to Queen Four. Your move, Captain Elliot.”

  Chapter 31

  “Come quickly! You have to see this.” After three days of uneasy waiting, Bradshaw’s rare appearance in the clinic received instant attention. Charles laid the sleeping child he had been rocking on her cot, followed without question, and ran up the stairs after Zambak. Thorn, torn from his concentration on paperwork Zambak had given him to complete, joined them. Elliot had come.

  They met Oliver on the roof. A pinnace, small but under sail, had been allowed inside the blockade. Though intended merely as a ferry between ship and shore, this one had been fitted with mast and pole; the Union Jack flapped above it. Even from their vantage point at a distance and high above the harbor, it spoke of Britain’s might.

  Oliver handed his spyglass to Zambak who expertly focused it. “Dear God!” she gasped and handed it to Charles.

  The figure of a man came into focus. Elliot, erect at the bow, sailed into Canton in his full dress navy uniform, decorations gleaming in the sun, his expression grim. The power of empire had arrived, and he made sure everyone knew it.

  “Well. The man has courage, I’ll give him that,” Oliver said.

  “That he does. Pray God he has wisdom as well,” Charles answered.

  “Queen takes rook, I think,” Zambak said. “I hope he has an end game planned. He’ll go to the consulate first.”

  Charles handed the telescope to Zambak. “I don’t want to miss this. I’ll meet him there.” She failed to meet his eyes. “Zambak—”

  He followed her to the stairs, ran the last few steps, and pulled her to face him. “Don’t even think about it. Lin ordered you to stay inside.” She looked ready to object, but they both knew Charles hadn’t been included in that particular demand.

  “As always, you are free, and I am not,” she said raising her chin defiantly. “Go quickly. Miss nothing.”

  At a loss how to respond, he groped for words, but she caught him off guard, covering his mouth with a kiss as passionate as it was brief. “For luck. Be careful, Charles. Come back and tell me what you learn.”

  Chapter 32

  The irritating man has been gone for over three hours. How long does it take Elliot to perform his act in this drama?

  Zambak could not resist glancing at the clock in the corner of the clinic whenever she passed through the main room. She managed—just—to keep from darting out every few moments to check. Their beds were now full, and all hands needed.

  And blast you, Commissioner Lin, for taking our Chinese helpers when we needed them most. She paused at the thought, damp rag in a hand that hovered above a patient. Perhaps, given his general attitude toward Oliver and Company, he might make an exception for the clinic?

  She made a mental note to ask Dan Oliver—whenever he and Charles returned—and went back to her work, mulling the impact of such a request on Dan’s already strained relationship with the other traders.

  Moments later she decided to check on Thorn—and the time. She had put him to work transcribing Peter’s notes and editing the doctor’s articles for The Chinese Repository, the missionary journal. His restlessness hadn’t abated, but work addressed his boredom. His pride in drafting a particularly complex report gave her hope.

  She found him outside the office, staring at a man who had been carried to the clinic by his frantic family on a stretcher. The patient had gone into convulsions just as they arrived, and one of the orderlies had taken over his care. She spoke briefly with the family, who conceded they would allow his sister, a slip of a girl fourteen or so, to help with his care. She spoke to the girl with as much confidence as she could muster, but the wide eyes looked no less frightened when she followed the orderly and the now-resting patient down the hall.

  “Did I do that?” Thorn rasped.

  “Convulse? A few times,” she murmured.

  “Wouldn’t it be better to allow him to continue using the opium?” he said.

  “Then he will cease to live long before he actually dies, but die he will even without Lin’s threats. No. It isn’t an option.” Her eyes bore into him.

  “You have no idea . . .” he began.

  “You forget—I watched. I have every idea, and some you choose to ignore, like the impact of watching a loved one throw his life away. I planned your funeral while I watched you. Twice. Did you know that?”

  He blinked at her but didn’t respond to her comment. She studied him closely, noting that his color had improved in recent days, which was not to say he looked healthy. He had put on a few pounds, though, and for that she was grateful. Watching the family scurry to the door, his ashen complexion paled further.

  One of the seamen drafted as orderlies ran up and whispered to Peters. “They’re back, my lady,” the doctor told her.

  She tossed her apron before he finished his sentence and ran for the stairs. She was half way up before she realized Thorn had followed.

  “Do you think he’ll let us go now?” he asked.

  “Now? Maybe. Maybe not.”

  She skittered into the doorway of Oliver’s office. “Well?”

  ~ ~ ~

  It took all Charles’s self control to keep from pulling her into his arms and swinging her around in front of all of them. They had won.

  “Elliot called all merchants sailing under the Union Jack and ordered them to give up their stores,” Oliver said.

  Zambak’s eyes widened. Charles saw the moment she caught the problem. “Will they do it?” she asked.

  “They’ll make a show of it. Jarratt has so much stored at Lin-tin Island and Whampao, even a quarter would impress the commissioner’s men.”

  “Of course, and if they attempt to use what they hold back, we’ll be right back where we are. I assume Elliot just wants to break the blockade and get tea flowing back to England for this year with as little fuss as possible.”

  “That and save Dean’s worthless hide,” Oliver spat. “Most of them have enough silver for this year’s trade. They will lay low with their stockpiles of opium until they need more.”

  “So, is it over?” Thorn asked.

  “Not quite.” Oliver glanced up at Charles. “Elliot refused to hand Dean over.”

  Charles breathed in for strength and explained the rest. “Lin sent back a renewed demand for Dean. Elliot refused again. He quoted ‘extraterritoriality.’”

  “He’s demanding the right to deal with our own citizens and denying they are subject to local law.” Zambak wasn’t asking a question; she understood the concept well.

  “Correct,” Charles said. “The entire company cheered. He essentially promised to shield them all from Chinese law.” He watched her face. The analytical engine that was her mind spun rapidly. “What are you thinking?”

  “Elliot has found a stable platform he can stand on. Opium bothered his conscience, but protecting Englishmen is his birthright and his duty as a naval officer. He won’t be moved on this any more than Lin will be moved on ending the opium trade.”

  Dan sighed. “I feared as much. No negotiating those two positions. Between clerks and jack tars all over the delta, there is bound to be more of this. Sooner or later, Lin will have an English lawbreaker in his court, and it will blow up in our faces.”

  “Has Lin responded again?” she asked.

  “Yes. We waited for it. That’s what took so long. He informed Elliot he had already judged two of her majesty�
��s subjects—one of them a duke—and chosen to be merciful,” Charles told her.

  “Oh dear.”

  “Indeed. Elliot was fit to be tied. When we submitted to Chinese law, we undermined his sense of rightness in the world. I’m afraid we’re persona non grata at the moment, particularly because Lin sent along safe passage documents specifically for ‘the Lady Zambak, her brother, and the Duke of Murnane.’ Elliot demanded to know what we told the commissioner.”

  She ignored that last part. “Do you have them?”

  He pulled a sheaf of paper from his coat and feared for a moment she would throw herself in his arms. The effort to control the urge appeared to push her into full duchess mode.

  “Well, Captain Oliver, it appears you will be free of your troublesome guests soon after all. How quickly can you arrange passage?” she asked, chin high.

  Oliver ignored her haughty tone of voice. “Done, my lady. You have two hours to prepare.”

  Not that we have much to pack . . .

  “We’re leaving? Thank God,” Thorn burst out. “But poor Dean.”

  “I suspect that when the opium flows into his warehouse, the commissioner will forget about Dean,” Oliver said, and Zambak agreed.

  “Lin will have a fortune stored. He’ll probably share the profits with the emperor in Peking, but still—” Thorn whistled.

  Zambak wheeled on her brother. “He’ll do no such thing! He is a man of integrity. Mark my words. He’ll destroy the lot.”

  “Not one man—present company excepted—who attended Elliot’s meeting believes that,” Charles said.

  “They judge him by their own greed and malleable ethics. They are wrong. Elliot understands that much at least. I hope,” she replied.

  “He probably does,” Charles said, “but I’m not sure it matters in the end.”

  Charles followed Zambak and her brother down the stairs closely enough to overhear Thorn say, “Zamb, I hope you are right about Lin. Opium is harming people.” Charles wondered if the boy really believed that. If he does, how long will he remember it?

  ~ ~ ~

  They left Canton on Oliver’s river packet, Swan’s Journey, under cover of darkness, endured a few tense moments while a Chinese captain scanned their safe-passage documents with ill-concealed disdain, and sailed downriver away from the blockade. They employed no river pilot, but the American crew knew the route well.

  Her brother grumbled at being kept from sleep and wandered below to seek a bed. The adventure of it zinged through Zambak’s veins; she hurried to the bow to watch their progress, Charles and the captain at her side.

  “We aren’t out of the woods yet, my lady,” the captain murmured. With Lin’s explicit mention of “the Lady Zambak,” they had dropped all pretense of her disguise as the duke’s valet. Dressed as a Manchu lady, she gripped the rail with a white-knuckled ferocity that unmasked her studied calm for the lie it was and stared forward. She felt a warm hand cover one of hers, and her grip relaxed. Charles stood next to her looking determinedly out at the river. Neither moved to face the other.

  “We still have to sail between the cannon from the Chinese forts where the river narrows, I believe. Jarratt called them ‘children’s peashooters.’ Was he right?” she asked.

  “They aren’t up to Her Majesty’s ordnance, but no. I wouldn’t call them toys. Chinese cannon can do serious damage. Normally they ignore our passage, but these aren’t normal times. You might want to go below while we pass, my lady,” the captain said.

  “Not on your life. I wouldn’t miss this.” And I damned well don’t want to be trapped below decks if we’re attacked.

  The American looked troubled.

  “I promise not to get in your way should there be trouble, Captain. I can handle myself,” she said, addressing his unspoken concerns. “And His Grace is more than able to manage both of us in a crisis,” she added as an afterthought, drawing a glower from Charles.

  “I’ll leave you then,” the man said with a casual salute before returning to the quarterdeck, leaving the two of them alone at the bow.

  She turned back to the railing, eyes fixed on the river ahead and the banks slipping slowly by. A full moon illuminated trees and cast exotic-shaped shadows on both sides; the smell of jasmine filled the air. When Charles turned back along with her, his body shifted closer so that their shoulders touched, and his warmth burned down her side.

  Moments passed in peace before his arm reached around her side and his hand covered hers where it held the railing. Moments more before her head drifted to his shoulder. When she felt his kiss on her head, she turned into his shoulder, and he pulled her closer. She breathed in sandalwood and Charles, and allowed her blood to heat.

  “You’re safe,” he murmured.

  I doubt it, Charles. Oh how I doubt it. She loved him. She knew that, if she knew little else. Her ideas about marriage left her confused, and what she knew about the wreck of his confused her more. In that moment, however, with his arm pulling her closer until she clung to him shoulder to toes she understood with perfect clarity.

  Zambak raised her head so that her lips reached his ear. “Perhaps we should go below decks,” she said against his skin.

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her meaning. He kissed her mouth, a salute as brief as it was sweet. “Not a good idea, Zambak. Not wise at all.”

  She returned his kiss open mouthed, refusing to accept his restraint. He responded with all the passion she might wish, sliding his arm lower to hold her flush against him and cupping her bottom with the other to pull her against his growing erection. He ran kisses up her cheek to repeat in her ear. “Not wise at all.”

  Charles lifted his head, looked around the deck, and led her into the shadow of a dingy anchored to the railing. When he knelt on the deck, she slid down beside him, and they tumbled to the floor, lying on their sides face to face locked in embrace, his arm cradling her head. One hand gently held her cheek, his thumb under her chin rubbing her mouth before his renewed kisses grew more possessive, and hers became more frantic. Her hands wandered, tugged his shirt loose, and moved to the waist of his trousers, eager to explore.

  An iron grip on her wrist brought her to an abrupt halt. Charles yanked his mouth from hers, withdrew a few inches, and touched her forehead with his. “We have to stop this,” he said, breathing heavily.

  Zambak couldn’t accept that. She sought his mouth again and wiggled up against him, eliciting a groan. He rolled to his knees and pulled her up then, tugging her silk jacket back into place.

  “Don’t go honorable and protective on me, Charles. I know what I want,” she sputtered, grabbing his lapels and snuggling her nose into his shoulder.

  “That fills me with more joy than I can explain, Zambak,” he said. He stood, pulling her with him, and turned her outward to face the shore while he put his arms around her waist to hold her loosely from behind. “You aren’t so naïve that you can’t tell how badly I want you,” he whispered in her ear.

  Smug and filled with triumph, she spoke without thinking. “I know. I fear I’ve tumbled entirely in love with you, Charles. It is new and precious and—” She sank her head back against him. She felt safe in his arms, yet frustrated. When she wriggled free to face him, he held her at arms length, one hand on each arm.

  “You don’t understand what you’re suggesting,” he said.

  “Perhaps not entirely, but I’m eager to find out. We can manage this thing between us. I know we can. For now—”

  “For now, nothing. Listen to me, dear one.”

  Dear one. She felt her smile fill her down to her toes. She sank back on her heels and studied his face, grave in the moonlight.

  “You’ve told me over and over again you do not wish to marry,” he reminded her.

  “Maybe I was wrong. I don’t wish marriage
as dictated by rank and land and the rest. Or maybe I don’t need marriage. There’s Julia in any case and—and I’m jumping ahead.”

  He smiled then and loosed his grip, taking a step away. “You certainly are, and I’m making a mull of it.” He reached out a hand to cup her cheek. “Lady Zambak Hayden, I find that I have also tumbled into this maelstrom. I love your brilliant mind and unbounded courage. Your lovely body drives me mad, as you will have noticed. But—”

  She growled deep in her throat. Always a “but.” She put a finger to his lips, but he shook his head, and removed his hand from her face.

  “Listen to me. You may not believe in marriage, but you deserve no less than my total commitment. I am a married man, who can’t make his addresses with any honor.”

  “I thought you and Julia had an agreement,” she reminded him.

  “We do. But Julia’s word is always questionable, making any agreement equally questionable. Divorce is tedious and difficult at best, ugly and scandal-ridden at worst. When it’s done, she will have shredded my good name.”

  “I know you. I know better. I don’t care.” She didn’t. She couldn’t believe he’d think otherwise.

  His smile held infinite sadness. “Your father will care, and your mother wants more for you than a man twelve years your senior with an ugly past.”

  “Piffle. Even if that is true—and I doubt it, because they know you. They know what you’re made of—I am of age. They will have to accept it, because I will defy whatever they might do to stop me.”

  “Yes, you would,” he replied with a sigh. “You defy them in many things, and it seems to fall to me to keep you out of trouble.”