Captain of Her Heart: Captain of Her HeartA Father's Sins

by Lily George

  He sighed, rolling his eyes. “No, Aunt. Give me some time. I must navigate this on my own. I must find the right way to confront Harriet, and I cannot allow you to fight my battles for me. I am a seasoned soldier, after all.” His mouth quirked with a rueful grin, but there was no joy in his heart.

  She sat back in her chair and folded her hands. “Very well. I shall give you more time. But I won’t allow you to lose Harriet simply because of one thing her silly chit of a sister wrote. Depend upon it, Nephew—we will revisit this subject again.”

  He shrugged his shoulders in exasperation. “I’ve no doubt of that, Aunt Katherine.”

  Harriet leaned her head against the cushions of the Crossley berlin. Travel was incredibly fatiguing when one didn’t have someone to talk to or even a decent book to read. She looked across the carriage at her traveling companion, an elderly maid named Hannah. She had slept most of the trip and when she wasn’t asleep, her conversation was brief and boring. And of course, she had no books. Aunt Katherine offered her the run of their library before she departed, but Harriet refused. Her debts ran so deep already that even borrowing a single novel was an imposition. With no conversation and nothing to read, she could only turn inward, mulling over the same worries and troubles which plagued her during her long journey.

  The thought of Brookes Park turned Harriet’s attention to another well-traveled road: her departure from Bath. Everything had been accomplished in a blur. The moment she left Aunt Katherine’s room, she packed her trunk. A light supper, and the next morning, she departed before dawn. The luxurious post chaise was ready and waiting for her. When Harriet climbed inside, Hannah was already tucked in a corner. They stopped at two of the same inns she remembered from the journey to Bath, so her excursion was comfortable and familiar as could be. There was no reason to regret her trip—except she hadn’t said farewell to John.

  Stoames had come down to the supper room, announcing that the captain was unwell and would have to stay abed. A brief word exchanged between the batman and Aunt Katherine floated to Harriet’s consciousness. “Drunk.” John was too intoxicated to come downstairs.

  Sophie’s letter affected him profoundly. That was the only explanation which made sense. That’s the reason he drank too much and couldn’t dine with the family. If he took Sophie’s rejection that hard, then it meant he really cared for her. Tears crowded Harriet’s eyes, and she flicked a nervous glance at Hannah, snoring blissfully against the cushions.

  She wept because John was hurt. She loved him and never wanted him to feel pain. His life had already been marked by so much loss that Harriet wanted to protect him from ever experiencing unhappiness again. And, if she were going to be honest, she shed tears for herself. It was all right to let go in the relative privacy of this carriage. Hannah slept, and no one else could witness her selfishness.

  Though she hated to admit it, she wept, too, because her little sister meant so much to Brookes, and she did not. There it was. She said it to herself here and now, but she must never think of it again. Allowing herself to give in to maudlin despair over John’s lack of affection would bring nothing but unhappiness. She could only thank God she had the friendship and support of such a remarkable man, and leave it at that.

  Hannah snorted and shifted in her sleep. Harriet furtively wiped the tears away with her gloved hands, hoping her eyes hadn’t turned a telltale shade of red. She would be home soon and would have to assume the reins of leadership when she alit from the carriage. Striding into the little cottage with bloodshot eyes and a tear-streaked face when she was supposed to be the voice of calm authority would never do.

  She folded her hands in her lap. Closing her eyes, she prayed to God for strength and wisdom in the coming weeks. She prayed for what she knew He would provide. One couldn’t pray to God for material possessions. Rose taught her long ago to do so was folly.

  She remembered, as a child, when Rose listened to her evening prayers. Once she had asked God to give her an extra piece of cake for tea the next day. Rose laughed and held her close. “The Lord isn’t a kind of celestial good fairy, bringing us treats, dearie,” she had admonished in her kindly way. “He can only give us the strength and support we need to cope with life—you had better pray for the strength to do without that extra cake.” She grew up with this knowledge deep in her soul, and it comforted Harriet to know He was not responsible for granting material goods in this world.

  In all the tales of Greek gods and goddesses Harriet devoured in Papa’s library, she grew frustrated at how little mortals had control of their own destinies. They were mere pawns in the hands of the gods. How comforting to know she was no pawn and she could only pray for the intangibles—peace, love, strength, wisdom, serenity—the values which would help guide and shape her, no matter what life threw her way.

  And yet, there were times when one wished for a cosmic fairy godmother, someone who could wave a magic wand and set everything back to rights.

  The carriage jolted and swayed on the road. Harriet caught herself. These rocky roads meant home—they were drawing closer to Tansley. There was no sense in praying for material goods, and yet Harriet held on to a thread of hope. Even if Captain Brookes never loved her, she could still adore him from afar, caring for him secretly for the rest of her days. Her tenderness was in every page of the book she had written, in J. H. Twigg’s story as he negotiated life’s path from downfall to triumph. Call to Arms: A Soldier’s Memoir of Waterloo was Harriet’s declaration of love for Captain John Brookes.

  Oh, please God, she breathed. Give me the grace to accept what comes.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The berlin pulled to a jerky stop before the mounting block at Tansley Cottage. How very small her home looked after weeks of viewing the classical facades of all the grand buildings in Bath. The little house impressed her more than ever with its sense of secrecy—it had much to hide.

  Hannah awoke with a startled jump as the rolling motion of the carriage wheels stopped. She peered out the window. “Is this your home, Miss?”

  “It is.” Harriet gathered her reticule and pulled her shawl more closely about her shoulders. “Would you like to come in for tea, Hannah?”

  “Thank you, but no. We are expected at Brookes Hall. The other servants will probably be holding dinner for us.”

  Harriet nodded. “Thank you for being my companion on this trip. I appreciate your help.” The door to the cottage opened, and lamplight spilled out into the front garden, forming a perfect rectangle on the grass in the deepening dusk.

  “No trouble, Miss.” Hannah smiled for the first time during the trip, revealing a row of gapped teeth. “I hope your mother fares better.”

  The carriage door opened and the footman extended his hand. Harriet alit only to be smothered by Sophie’s embrace, the force of which almost knocked her over.

  “Hattie! You are home,” she wailed, burying her face in Harriet’s shoulder. “Oh, I am so glad. Please, come in. We have missed you so much.”

  Harriet patted Sophie’s shoulder and glanced up at the footman, who was regarding Sophie with a bemused gaze. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your kindness on this journey.”

  “Of course, Miss.” He gave a brief salute and stepped back into place. With a jolt, the carriage took off, tracing a C in the mud as it moved on.

  Harriet and Sophie walked into the cottage together, leaning on each other for support. When they crossed the threshold, Rose ran into the entry hall, her arms extended. She squeezed Harriet warmly and Harriet breathed deeply, inhaling Rose’s familiar scent of fresh bread. How she missed them both.

  “Bless you, dearie. We have missed you so. Come into the kitchen and have a nice cup of tea.”

  They gathered in the coziness of the kitchen. Rose put the kettle on and sliced a loaf of bread into squares. Sophie bustled about, obtaining the
sugar and butter from the larder, impressing Harriet with her initiative. So often in the past, Sophie would simply wait, expecting others—namely Harriet—to serve her. Perhaps her trip to Bath had forced Sophie to grow up a bit.

  The kettle’s whistle rent the air with a piercing scream. Rose poured the scalding water into the teapot, carefully ducking her head to avoid the steam as it rose. She and Sophie set the small repast down on the smooth wooden surface of the table.

  “Before we tuck in, a little prayer,” Rose reminded the girls gently. As they had since childhood, they bowed their heads with obedience.

  Sophie poured the tea. She certainly was taking the initiative this evening. Harriet peered at her sister closely. Noticing Harriet’s puzzlement, Rose smiled.

  “Sophie has been most helpful to me while you were gone, Harriet.” She nodded in Sophie’s direction. “Such a fine help in the kitchen and good with your mother, too.”

  “Rose taught me how to make scones.” Sophie offered Harriet the little ceramic pot which held the sugar. “Mine aren’t as light as hers, but it was great fun to learn.”

  Harriet spooned the sugar into her cup and stirred it. “You’ve always had a hand for needlework. Now you’ve mastered the kitchen arts, so you shall make some lucky man an excellent wife.”

  Sophie blushed under the gentle ribbing, but smiled. “I enjoyed learning something new. Rose is going to teach me how to bake bread next. Perhaps Mama would like some fresh bread with supper tomorrow night.”

  “Tell me about Mama.” Harriet set her cup down in its saucer and steeled herself for the news. She could delay the inevitable no longer. Better to know now than continue in dreadful worry.

  Sophie’s eyes filled with tears, and Rose patted her hand. “It’s my fault,” she whispered. “When I said I would not marry Captain Brookes, Mama was most distressed. She said I was throwing away our one chance at money and comfort. That I was denying her the life she deserved for some silly notion, like love.”

  “But surely there was never a greater love match than between our parents,” Harriet interjected. “After all, actresses don’t marry nobility every day. In fact, they hardly ever wed at all. So if Mama enjoyed a love match, why can’t you?” As soon as she said it, Harriet regretted the words. Her voice held a harsh and unforgiving tone. She tried to soften the blow. “I know Mama’s health would improve with a return to our previous style of living, but don’t despair. Captain Brookes is negotiating with a publisher on my behalf. If my book is published, we will have enough money to live modestly and comfortably.”

  “That’s a fine idea, dearie.” Love lit Rose’s kind brown eyes. “I always knew you would become an authoress. Ever since you were a little girl, scribbling notes on the back of my housekeeping lists. I am proud of both of my girls. You are both growing and maturing into fine young women.” She beamed at Harriet and Sophie in turn, but the proud expression faded when she spoke again. “Dr. Wallace has put your mother on a diet of milk and honey, Harriet. This change, as well as the laudanum, is supposed to help. I fear that neither treatment is very helpful.”

  Harriet’s stomach dropped like a stone. “Tell me what the doctor says.”

  Rose sighed. “Well, he says her ladyship’s condition has worsened, and now she is suffering from melancholia in addition to the nervous hysteria. She refuses to leave her room. She won’t speak to us very much anymore. All she does is lay abed and sleep, or stare at the walls. Dr. Wallace thinks the milk and honey will strengthen her and that plenty of rest is good for her nerves. He left a new bottle of laudanum yesterday and will return late tomorrow evening.”

  Harriet stood up, shaking the dust from her skirts. “I would like to see Mama. I need to judge her condition for myself.”

  “Please don’t be angry with me when you see Mama,” Sophie cried, and grabbed Harriet’s arm. “Truly, Hattie, I will marry Brookes if I must.”

  Harriet placed her hand on Sophie’s, giving her sibling her best “elder sister in charge” expression to calm Sophie’s outburst. “None of this is your fault. And marrying the captain should not be a requirement if you don’t love him.” She quit the kitchen and walked up the stairs, her feet heavy as lead.

  Mama’s breathing was labored and rough, but her eyes were open and staring at the ceiling. A raw, primitive grief engulfed Harriet when she regarded her mother’s emaciated and sallow body. She was so small, so powerless. As aggravating as Mama could be at times, Harriet still loved her mother with all her heart. Harriet grasped one of Mama’s hands and kissed it, trying to will life and hope back into her mother’s form.

  Mama tilted her head toward Harriet. Her eyes reflected no spark of recognition, and her gaze remained glassy and flat.

  “Mama, I have returned from Bath. I came quickly as I heard you were worse.” Harriet could not tell if Mama could understand her, so she kept talking. “I made the journey in four days’ time, a record I am sure.”

  Mama blinked. Another deliberate movement—a good sign. Harriet smiled to encourage her mother.

  “Mama, I have good news. I finished my book while I was in Bath. Captain Brookes is negotiating with a publisher on my behalf. If my book sells, I can provide a comfortable living for us all. Isn’t that nice?” She adopted a bright and cheery voice, entirely unlike her own. Her tone leant an air of forced gaiety to the somber little bedchamber.

  Mama ran her tongue over her dried lips. She mumbled something, but Harriet couldn’t understand her words.

  “Say it again, Mama, I couldn’t hear you.” Harriet leaned closer.

  “Book won’t sell.” The words were repeated with tremendous effort.

  Tears sprang to Harriet’s eyes. “It will be all right, Mama, truly it will. Captain Brookes said the book was good enough to sell. He doesn’t lavish praise on everyone, so I believe it to be true.”

  Mama simply closed her eyes in response.

  “Mama, where there is life, there is hope. We have a roof over our head and clothes on our backs. Many people cannot boast even that much.”

  Harriet rose from her mother’s bedside and grasped the Handley family Bible, which rested on her dressing table since they moved to the cottage. The book never seemed more than a mere decorative piece of art, but Harriet seized it. That book held all the answers she could not put into her own imperfect words. She turned to the book of Matthew and began reading aloud, finding comfort and peace in the words.

  She looked up from the worn leather Bible and regarded her mother’s countenance. Was she even listening? Harriet could not tell. Her eyes were closed and her facial muscles were relaxed, so Harriet began reading the passage where she left off.

  After a few verses, she paused again. Mama’s eyes opened and she looked straight at her eldest daughter. “Water.”

  Harriet poured a glass of water from the pitcher next to her bed. Mama sipped it, the movement sapping most of her energy.

  “I am a frivolous woman.” Her words were heavy and slow, as though they were traveling across the fields of time. “I can’t change. You comprehend me?”

  Harriet nodded, but she didn’t really understand. What was Mama trying to say?

  “If Sophie won’t wed Brookes—I cannot recover. I am too ashamed.”

  “But why, Mama? Isn’t it enough we are together, and love each other?”

  “I am too ashamed—of what I was.” She put the glass down on the bedside table as if it weighed a few stone. “I worked to support my family. As an actress.”

  Harriet nodded, waiting for her to continue.

  “Married your father even though I was an actress. His family blames me for our ruin.”

  Harriet laid the Bible on the bed and took her mother’s hands in her own. “It wasn’t your fault, Mama. Don’t blame yourself, and don’t accept theirs. We all spent the
money. Don’t forget Papa’s library.”

  Mama shook her head. “I spent on everything. Blackmailers, too.”

  Harriet’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Blackmailers? Why?”

  “Because—we kept my acting secret—only his family knew for sure. Stage name.” She paused for a moment, gathering the strength to continue. “Blackmailers threatened to tell the ton my true identity.”

  Harriet sat back, a shockwave of disbelief coursing through her body, like floodwaters breaking over a dam. Her family had been blackmailed, systematically, for years. And that was a large part of why they were living in poverty now. She looked down at the faded counterpane, catching her breath. The past no longer mattered. She had to focus on the present and plan for the future.

  “Without a powerful man protecting us,” her mother continued slowly, each word an effort, “Blackmailers will return. Brookes was my last hope.”

  Harriet smiled wanly and patted her mother’s hand. “There’s nothing left to take, Mama. And my book will provide us with the modest living we need. Please. Please listen to what I am saying.”

  Her mother turned away, staring at the wall. “Young ladies shouldn’t work for money. My daughters are the daughters of Sir Hugh Handley. No matter…what I was.”

  Harriet suppressed a sob, her heart welling with love and tenderness for her mother. She had never understood Mama’s driving need for money and status. Indeed, she had counted both as great flaws in her character. But now her mother’s broken words confirmed Harriet’s intuition. Her mother was simply trying to muddle through life, hounded by fear and self-loathing.

  Talking so much had worn Mama out. She closed her eyes and fell silent. Harriet lay down beside her mother on the bed and patted her hair silky, greying hair until Mama fell asleep.

  When her mother’s breathing became soft and measured, Harriet rose stiffly from the bed, trying not to shake it and risk waking her up. She pressed a kiss to Mama’s forehead. I love you, Mama, she thought, not daring to say the words aloud.