Her Proper Scoundrel

by A. M. Westerling

  “Mind you sit still and don’t bother Lady Josceline,” Christopher ordered. “If you don’t, you shan’t have pudding for lunch.”

  “We’ll be good, we promise.” Philip took command. “Tom, you must not sit too close to Lady Josceline or she shall break.”

  “Good heavens, I shan’t break that easily.” And she gathered the two of them close to her, wrapping her yellow shawl about them like a mother goose shepherding her goslings.

  Christopher could scarce fathom the unfamiliar swell of love threatening to overcome him at the sight. His eyes prickled with emotion and he had to blink several times before leaning back to regard the trio.

  They regarded him back with equal intensity.

  “Is aught amiss?” Josceline’s brow wrinkled with concern.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.” He leaned across to smooth away the furrows between her eyebrows then dropped his finger to trace the outline of her lips. She kissed the tip of it lightly before he pulled it away. He lifted that finger to his own mouth to kiss and blew it back at her.

  “Ooooh.” Philip grimaced. “Don’t kiss. It’s disgusting.”

  “Disgusting,” echoed Tom.

  “Not to worry, we’ll behave,” replied Christopher, ruffling a hand through Philip’s hair. “Now let’s play a game, shall we? Let us count all the horses we see between here and Bristol.”

  With the boy’s attention diverted outside, he winked at Josceline. She responded with a mock frown then burst into laughter, blushing prettily at his steady regard.

  He had every intention, he decided, of gazing at her the entire trip. That would make the journey to the harbor pass very pleasantly.

  * * *

  The “Bessie” floated tranquilly at her berth in the harbor. The tide was in; the gang plank lowered, ready for their visit.

  “Mind you do not run on the gang plank,” cautioned Christopher with a stern look to Philip and Tom. “We don’t want you ending up in the river and floating out to sea. And mind, too, not to run on the deck. It could be slippery.”

  He waited a moment until the boys reached the ship proper before guiding Josceline ahead of him with a light hand on the small of her back.

  “She’s beautiful. Or as beautiful as I imagine a ship could be,” breathed Josceline from her vantage point on deck between the first and second masts. She rotated slowly, blatantly taking in every detail.

  Christopher could have swept her in his arms then and there for the interest she showed. Instead, he too, swept a prideful gaze over the vessel.

  Three square rigged masts pierced the clouds skittering overhead; the furled sails looked like so many white sausages linked up on the cross bars. Wings of rigging fell from the mast tips and a waist high, solid planked railing enclosed the deck. Brass fittings glinted in the sun; coils of ropes lay neatly piled and two longboats flanked the main mast. The bowsprit pointed regally forward, held up by the carved figure of a woman, her smile forever frozen in wood.

  “Bessie?” Josceline asked, pointing to the carved head just visible above the railing.

  “Aye.” Christopher nodded. The deck of fresh wood, not grey for it was not yet weathered, stood firm beneath his boots.

  Pride swelled his chest and he looked to the stern. The ship’s wheel stood alone in majestic splendor on the poop deck; his palms itched to grasp the oiled spokes, itched to feel the drag of the water as he pulled, itched to feel her respond. He was about to tug Josceline over to the wheel and show her how it worked but a sardonic voice stopped him.

  He stiffened as if his spine had become a mast itself.

  A cloud shifted and hid the sun; a sudden gust of wind ripped across the deck, mussing even further the already mussed hair of Philip and Tom.

  Slowly, he turned his head.

  To spy the foppish figure of Oliver Candel on the quay at the base of the gang plank.

  “What are you about, Sharrington?” drawled Candel. “Come to inspect my property? And once you’re finished,” he added, bottom lip curled, “I should ask you to remove yourselves.”

  Christopher took one step forward. “I should ask the same of you. Remove yourself,” he replied, face devoid of emotion. Inside, anger churned, turning his guts into a sour mass. He had thought Oliver vanquished. Had Thaddeus not told Oliver he had given the deed to Christopher?

  Without invitation, Oliver minced his way up the plank and stalked to where Christopher and Josceline stood together. He raised a pomander, a clove-studded orange, to his nose in obvious insult. On tiptoe, he peered over Christopher’s shoulder onto the poop deck. “Where’s Captain Smythe?”

  “I am the captain here now.” Christopher spit out the words with contempt and fought the urge to knock the orange from Oliver’s hand. Fought, too, the urge to unsheathe his knife from where it rested in its familiar spot inside his boot. “The “Bessie” belongs to me. If you don’t believe me, here are the required papers.” He unrolled them and pointed out his name. “I assume you can read?” he taunted. The roaring in his ears subsided somewhat when he saw Oliver blanch.

  Oliver yanked the deed from Christopher’s hand and scanned it then tossed the papers to Christopher’s feet. “A forgery, I am certain. Don’t think you shall get away with this, Sharrington,” he hissed. “A word or two to my father and he’ll reclaim this for the Candel Company. And toss you back in jail where you will soon hang for the thief you are.”

  “Your threats mean nothing to me, Oliver. The ship is rightfully mine as it always was. Your father saw to it that it would be so.”

  “What!” sputtered Oliver, “my father? You lie. My father knows nothing of this.”

  It was time to remove the smug expression on Oliver’s face. How Christopher had waited, hoped, plotted for this moment.

  “My father too,” he said quietly, a steely edge to his words. “We share the same father. You cheated your own brother. You had your own brother clapped in irons. It was my father, our father who put things to rights.”

  Oliver reeled back, nostrils flared. “You’re no brother to me,” he sneered. “I renounce you as my brother.” His voice rose. “I want nothing to do with you.”

  Christopher shrugged. “That suits me. You are a coward and a wastrel and I wish no kinship with you either.”

  “I’m not finished with you, Sharrington. No one gets the better of Oliver Candel.”

  “It appears I have,” Christopher replied coolly. “Now.” He stabbed Oliver’s chest with one stiff finger. “Get.” Stab. “Off.” Stab. “My.” Stab. “Ship.”

  Oliver blinked, disbelief filling his eyes. “Your ship,” he repeated. Disdain flashed across his face. “You are welcome to it. The “Bessie” is shoddy workmanship at its best. The Candel Company is well rid of her.”

  Beside him, Josceline gasped. “We are well rid of you, Lord Candel,” she said, voice taut. “Get off our ship.”

  “Hiding behind skirts again, are we, Sharrington?” Candel shook his head mockingly.

  “Think what you will. We are finished here.” Christopher felt Josceline move forward; he placed a warning hand on her arm. Together they held their ground.

  “Indeed we are.” Candel’s face hardened. “Oh, such a dreary waste of time this has been.” He turned on his heel and sauntered away. Attack me, his receding form seemed to say. Attack me and we shall see who comes out the better.

  Christopher watched him leave, mouth quirked in annoyance. Lud, with any luck, he wouldn’t cross paths with the man again. He chose not to think of him as his brother – they may share blood but it ended there. He wanted naught else from Lord Oliver Candel.

  “I should like nothing better than to throw that odious man into the river,” Josceline said indignantly.

  Christopher chuckled at the vehemence in Josceline’s voice. He pulled her in front of him so her back faced him and wrapped his arms around her midriff to rest his chin on the top of her head. “We’re well rid of him. Nothing else matters.”

  “Hmmph.
” Her chest heaved with every breath.

  “Nothing else matters,” he repeated softly, rubbing his chin against her hair. “Only you and I and Sharrington Shipping.”

  “What did you call it?”

  “Sharrington Shipping. Do you like it?”

  “Of course.” Josceline pulled away and whirled about to face him. “But I should like better a proper kiss from a proper scoundrel,” she declared, mischief dancing in her eyes.

  Christopher grinned, eye brow quirked in just that way she adored.

  “Just a quick one to keep you happy,” he suggested, face full of unspoken emotion. “We know how Philip and Tom detest kisses.”

  His eyes were warm and sweet, the color of hot chocolate. Josceline’s heart lurched as he leaned towards her. Her head spun as his lips brushed against hers.

  He nibbled on her lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. She felt him moan, a low rumble only she could sense. Her breasts tingled and she leaned into him, relishing the feel of his mouth on hers.

  Regretfully, she pulled away. “Careful, the boys shall see us.”

  “If I recall, the kiss was your idea.” He cocked his head to one side. “But I daresay you’re in luck. The last I saw, they were climbing on the ship’s wheel. They’re doubtless too busy to give us a second thought.”

  “You’re very patient with them.” She loved him all the more for it. Her mother once told her the true value of a man was shown in how he treated children. And he treated the two boys very well even though no one would have thought ill of him for sending them back to St. Peter’s once their usefulness to him was over.

  He shrugged but didn’t loosen his grip on her. “Because I know what it feels like to be alone.”

  His head lowered once more and once more she tasted him on her lips. She delighted in the flavor, licking with her tongue to taste even more.

  Another thought intruded and Josceline pulled away again to cup her hands about his jaw. “What shall happen to them now?”

  He sank his chin in her cupped hands. “I thought to give them the chance to sail with Sharrington Shipping. In a few years they are old enough to be cabin boys. They could work their way up much as I did.”

  “I can’t bear them to leave. They were our little heroes.”

  He grasped her hands in his and stepped back to gaze at her fully. “They can stay on at Midland House as well,” he replied quickly as if he didn’t want her to have even a second of disappointment.

  “Yes, we could engage a school master so they could finish their education,” she mused. “That should lead them to law or the clergy or teaching.”

  “I cannot deny you anything, my love. If that is your wish, then it shall be so.”

  “Am I really?” she whispered, leaning her face into his chest. “Am I really your love?”

  He tilted up her chin and stared in her eyes, his gaze so piercing that she literally felt it in her heart.

  “You are my love,” he whispered huskily. “Forever my love. My partner. My wife.”

  “And you are mine, Christopher,” she answered joyfully. “Forever my love. My partner. My husband.”

  Thus they stood, gaze entwined with gaze, until footsteps scampered across the deck. Josceline stepped back to find two sets of blue eyes fastened on them; she giggled at their grave regard. “May I ask what is of such concern to you both?”

  “We’re hungry, may we go look in Mrs. Belton’s basket? She told us she was going to send cake.” Philip’s voice was shrill with excitement.

  “Cake,” echoed Tom. “I should like some cake.”

  “Off you go then,” laughed Christopher, holding out one hand to Josceline.

  She tucked her hand securely into the warmth of his and hands clasped, they followed the two excited little boys into a future filled with promise for them all.

  Epilogue

  One year later

  Christopher knew he would find Josceline in the garden. He rounded the gnarled plum and spotted her immediately, sitting on her favorite bench, eyes closed and face lifted to the sun, cloak pooled around her hips.

  He stopped for a few moments to watch her sleep. The sun slipped in and out of the clouds like a round card being pulled in and out of an envelope, turning her hair from burnished copper to dull russet and back to burnished copper.

  “I heard you,” she said at length, sitting up. She wrinkled her nose at him. “You weren’t quiet in the slightest.” Then she giggled. “Rather, I would say you were very noisy.”

  He sauntered over and sank to his knees in front of her. “Not as noisy as Philip and Tom, I wager.”

  She giggled again. “I didn’t know how noisy boys could be. They’re in the stable. And as much as it pains me to admit it, yes, you’re not nearly as noisy as those two.”

  Placing her hands beside her, she shifted her growing bulk, pushing away her cloak in the process.

  “You’re not cold?” He patted her very round belly.

  “Cold,” she hooted, green eyes sparkling. “I’m not cold. I have my own brazier. Ooof.” She leaned back on one arm and straightened out a leg. “He’s busy today.”

  “He? And why not a she?” He grinned and shoved back the lock of hair draped over his forehead.

  “Because he never sleeps.” Her expression turned serious. “How did you fare today in Bristol?”

  Quiet excitement pulsed through him, matching the steady beat of his heart. How to tell her without disturbing her or the child she carried? He sat back on his heels and plucked a blade of new grass, jamming it into his mouth. He chewed on it for a minute or two, watching the hawks circling high overhead before he answered.

  “She’s almost home, Josceline. The “Bessie” is almost home.”

  Josceline sat up straighter. “When?” Anticipation colored her words; her lip twitched.

  “She’s been spotted by one of the other merchant ships. She made good time across the Atlantic and barring a storm, she’ll be home safe and sound in three weeks.”

  A smile curved her lips and she reached forward to take his hand. “Wonderful. Two successful voyages in one year.”

  “Aye. It means our initial investors can be repaid. We shall be free of debt. We shall be able to buy our own cargo and go it alone from here on.”

  “And the Merchant Venturers?”

  “The abolitionists grow stronger and I predict the slave trade is soon to be a thing of the past. Because of that, the Venturers are losing their importance. Now that Sharrington Shipping has demonstrated success, they’re willing to include me even though I refuse to carry slaves.” He rubbed his jaw. “To tell the truth, Josceline, we’ve made it so far without them. And once the floating harbor is built, there will be more room for ships and shipping traffic.”

  “So we follow our own path.”

  “Aye.” His eyes crinkled. “A path of our own making.”

  Her gaze raked his face. “Are you sad you’re not the “Bessie’s” captain?”

  “Never for a moment. I wouldn’t miss this.” He laid his hands reverently on her stomach and smiled up at her. “Besides, I have grown accustomed to the life of a married gentleman.”

  Josceline returned his smile.

  “I’ve been busy today.” She held out a little cloth bundle tied up with a narrow blue velvet ribbon. “For you.”

  “For me?” His brow wrinkled as he took it; he held it between thumb and forefinger and looked at it with suspicion. “I vow, this looks like no gift I have ever received.”

  “No, I don’t think it is.”

  Josceline held her breath while he pulled on the velvet bow. Would he pleased? Or would he be insulted?

  The ribbon dropped off and the cloth bundle fell open leaving a bemused Christopher holding onto the corner of a handkerchief.

  Why in blazes had she given him a handkerchief? Fitzsimmons the haberdasher had given him more than enough to last him for years.

  He inspected it more closely to find the handkerchief freshly l
aundered and pressed. Then he unfolded it to see his name embroidered on it.

  Realization cascaded through him.

  It was the handkerchief he had given to a young woman in a carriage on a cold, dark winter night long ago. And she had returned it with all evidence of their initial encounter washed away.

  Any lingering doubts he had harbored over their marriage and of his worthiness to her disappeared like spindrift flung from a bow.

  He tipped back his head and laughed for sheer joy then held the handkerchief up to his nose to inhale her scent, the scent of violets and sandalwood.

  “Do you like it?” she whispered, eyes tender upon him. “I forgot all about it but found it when the maids were cleaning the room for Elizabeth’s visit.”

  His eyes grew moist. “It’s the best gift ever. It’s love and trust and loyalty all bundled up into one,” he said huskily. “Just like you, kitten. Just like you.”

  The End

  Author’s Note

  All characters are fictional although I do mention Mary Wollstonecroft, a proponent for women’s education, and the English artist Thomas Girton.

  St. Peter’s Hospital, the Greyhound Inn, Broadmead, Redcliff, Clifton, Broad Street, Back Bridge Street are all actual places. Bath Road, where Christopher and Josceline first meet, was notorious for highwaymen so Josceline’s accusations would have been correct.

  I have a personal connection to Bristol – my brother’s wife and my critique partner are both Bristolians. It seemed like a good setting for a book, particularly in light of Christopher’s nautical background.

  Bristol has always been a thriving port and because of its location on the west coast, its importance increased with the growth of the colonies in the West Indies and North America. However, its position inland on the Avon River meant the harbor was severely affected by tides. As a result, the river could be too crowded with ships trying to reach or leave Bristol. Regularly, tides were not high enough (neap tides) and ships could be stranded for weeks in the harbor itself or at the mouth of the Avon River. Also, at low tide all the ships in the harbor went aground and fire was a very real risk. To that end, a floating harbor was proposed to alleviate these concerns. It was completed in 1809.