The night before they left for her home, they had a moment alone when everyone else had gone up after a game of whist.
“With everything that has happened,” she said, “I have never thanked you for the exceedingly thoughtful gift. The Italy memoirs. The book is a treasure. However did you find it?”
“I was just browsing at Hatchards when I came across it. It looked like something you might enjoy. I bought a copy for myself as well.”
She doubted very much that that was the full story. Since when had the captain taken to browsing bookstores?
“I have read only the preface so far, but I intend to spend long hours over it when I get home. The man’s words seemed precisely tuned to my inner voice,” she said.
“I am more glad than I can say that you will now have the opportunity to visit that country and write your own memoirs. If all this is over, I mean.”
“What is your opinion? Do you think it is?”
“The next big race is the Derby on the thirtieth of May. But if your kidnapping was tied to the drugging, I don’t think the chap will try that again.”
“What else could it be tied to?”
“I can’t think,” the captain said, looking into his after-dinner brandy. “I dare to hope that you will be safe now.”
She was going to be all alone with the servants and Gweet at Poplars until June when Warrie came home from Eton for the holidays. And how much protection could a twelve-year-old boy provide? Marianne shivered. What if it was not over? What if she were stalked in her own home?
“Are you frightened?” he asked, his cobalt eyes burning into her own. “Are you certain it is the right thing for you to be going into deepest Bucks?”
But now it was not really the villain she was trying to escape from, as much as it was the captain. Her heart was full of him.
“It is time for me to do so,” was all she said. “Good night, Captain.”
She wanted to add “I will never forget you,” but she forbore doing so. Instead she climbed the stairs to bed and tried to imagine what life was going to be like without this man who had succeeded in making her feel that her life would be incomplete without him.
Chapter Twenty
Five months. Five more months until he could go back to sea. Ernest sat looking into the depths of his brandy. The intensity of his feelings for Marianne was uncomfortable. She was a lady unlike any other. When he left her in Bucks, he would be leaving a part of his heart there as well.
As they had ridden back from her shed/prison to Harlow, he had felt her closeness against him burning him like a brand. Sea battles had never frightened him but rather exhilarated him. But a kidnapped and missing Marianne had frightened him to the soles of his boots. And there had been nothing in his life that could approach the relief and joy he had felt at her discovery.
Far from happy now, he climbed the stairs to his waiting bed.
* * *
The two-day journey into Bucks was regrettably short. He rode beside the hired carriage for protection. Lady Deveridge, Gweet, and their servant Foster rode inside.
When they stopped for the night at Bedford, he was glad to get out of the saddle and gladder still that nothing untoward had happened. Circles under her eyes indicated that Lady Deveridge was tired, but Gweet was as animated as ever. Their inn, The Ducks and Drakes, was comfortable, and they enjoyed a hearty meal of mutton, potatoes, and spring peas, with a good cheddar to follow.
Gweet suggested a game of Happy Families, but Lady Deveridge declined taking part, saying she was ready for her bed.
“Does your head still ache?” Ernest asked her.
She had avoided his eyes during dinner, but now she looked up at him, her heart in her glance. There in front of Gweet he could say nothing, but he guessed she was blue deviled. Could it be that she dreaded their parting as much as he did?
They stood looking at each other in silence for a full minute before she broke away and climbed the stairs to her room.
Gweet said, “Mama has not been herself today. I fear the kidnapping took something out of her she may never get back.”
Ernest kept his reflections to himself. “Happy Families is no good with only two people. Have you ever learned piquet?”
“No. But I should like to! Fancy how surprised Warrie will be when he gets home! I cannot wait. It is only five weeks now. And Mama promised we could go to the masquerade and Arabella’s come-out ball, so we will be back in London in three weeks. I love Poplars, but it will seem very dull after spending every day with Arabella and Sammy. Not to mention Miss Braithwaite and Henry Five. Oh! I wish we lived in London!”
Ernest silently echoed her wish. But he hadn’t known they would be returning for the balls. He was heartened.
But in the end what good would it serve? He would be back at sea four months later.
He brought his thoughts back to the present moment and piquet with Gweet.
* * *
The site of the Deveridge family estate, Poplars, was very pleasant. The graveled drive up to the large Palladian house was lined with the trees for which the place was named. The house itself was the honey-colored stone so prolific in this part of England, with white trim. Beautifully tended rose beds lined the circular drive to the porticoed front door.
As he helped Lady Deveridge down from the carriage, he complimented her, “What a perfect property this is. Your son is a lucky fellow.”
She smiled, though it looked forced and she tired. “I think so. I’m glad you agree. We are just in time for dinner. I wrote from Harlow.”
As they entered, they were greeted by the butler, whom she addressed by name as Orcutt.
“I wrote that Captain Saunders is to have the blue bedroom. If you could just show him up, please.”
Turning to him, she said, “You will have time for a wash and brushup, Captain. Dinner is at eight. We will meet in the drawing room for sherry at seven thirty.”
With that she appeared to be headed to the kitchen, and he followed Orcutt up two flights of stairs to a lovely sky-blue bedroom with white cornices and large windows overlooking the back of the property. After thanking the butler, he strode over to the window to have a look.
Below him stretched a flower garden and vast lawn, surrounded by oaks. His room felt spacious, and in the late light of day it welcomed him with a white, quilted counterpane on the bed, white upholstered chairs, a cherry wood Queen Anne desk and chair, and a mounted cheval mirror. An Adam fireplace graced the wall across from the bed, and a dressing room opened through the door next to it.
It was as different from his captain’s quarters aboard ship as it could possibly be, but it appealed to him strongly nonetheless. Orcutt had sent one of the footmen to act as valet. The man had brought his valise.
Ernest was ready for dinner before seven o’clock and decided to tour the back garden. As he walked there between the plots of perfect roses, it occurred to him that if he hadn’t been as persistently aggressive at finding Marianne when she had been kidnapped, she never would have seen this beautiful home again. She would have died in that filthy shed.
The thought filled him with anger. Who had carried her off or paid someone to do so? He was more determined than ever to find the culprit. If only they had been able to attend the King’s Plate races, he was certain the affair would be at an end. Marianne apparently possessed the key to the villain’s identity.
When he met her for sherry a half hour later, she was looking a bit recovered. Her hair was softly arranged, and she wore a becoming gown of apricot material trimmed in some kind of lace. He was no expert on ladies’ fashions, but he thought she looked very fine.
“Your home is first rate,” he said. “It suits you.”
“Thank you, but it actually belongs to my son. I am but the dowager viscountess.”
Gweet came in at that moment, gowned in blue and white, carrying a pocket-sized terrier under her arm.
“Frankie, you must say hello to the captain.”
The little dog yipped and scrambled to get down. Marianne handed her daughter an orangeade as Frankie explored the captain’s boots.
Dinner was vegetable broth, turbot, roast lamb, and potatoes, with an apple crumble to follow. The conversation centered on the house, which had been constructed during Ian Deveridge’s father’s day.
Gweet scrunched her face up. “It’s not old enough to have anything like secret passages or a priest’s hole. Do you have a house for me to live in when we’re married?”
“I’m afraid not, though I think I shall buy one someday,” he said. “I should like it to be an exact replica of this one, however. This place suits me down to the ground.”
“I shall work to change your mind, then,” Gweet informed him. “I should like nothing better than a Tudor mansion like my Uncle Bertie’s. Preferably not too far from Warrie.”
“It is not a good idea to marry with the intention of changing your husband,” her mother informed her. “That way lies disappointment, and I know as well as anyone how you hate to be disappointed.”
Wise woman. Unfortunately.
After dinner, Gweet and Marianne withdrew to the drawing room while he sat over his solitary port. What would it be like to be a gentleman of leisure? It would be grand for a couple of days, perhaps. But he should die of boredom!
Even if he were to marry the lovely Marianne? Yes, unfortunately. He would not make her a good husband. Were he to give up the sea, he would be fractious and impatient.
The only other occupation for second sons was the church, and he should make an irreverent clergyman. Besides, they had a pittance for income. Right now, he had enough prize money to build a grand house like this one.
But Marianne had been unhappy in this fine house without her husband, and he really couldn’t blame her. How interesting would the career of a sea captain be in peacetime, however? He admitted to himself that this was not the first time the question had occurred to him.
The devil! He was tired of being civilized and logical! He wanted to kiss Marianne senseless. That was the truth of the matter. And he was going to do it. Tonight.
* * *
When he went into the drawing room, it was to find Gweet playing with Frankie on the hearthrug and Marianne busy sewing something.
“Miss Marguerite, surely you must play the piano!” he said.
“I know a Beethoven sonata!” she said. “Would you like me to play?”
“I would. Very much.”
Marianne looked at him in surprise.
“What? You do not think a mere sea captain can appreciate Beethoven?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
“I never said so,” she said with a laugh. He was glad to see her laugh.
Gweet sat at the piano and began the piece that had come to be called the Moonlight Sonata. The girl was a bit exuberant for such a moody piece, but as far as he could tell, she did not miss a note. Frankie ran around the room in circles.
Taking a seat on the sofa next to Marianne, he clapped when Gweet was finished. “Well done!”
“I’m afraid I’m not very good at other womanly accomplishments,” the girl said. “Mama despairs of my sewing and embroidery.”
“Well, as it happens I am not in need of any sewing or embroidery at the moment. I would like to hear some more music, however.”
“I shall play some Mozart for you, then,” said Gweet.
“That sounds just the thing!”
While Gweet was playing, Ernest took the embroidery contraption away from Marianne and tossed it in her sewing basket. He then took her right hand in his and hid it among her skirts between the two of them.
She raised a brow at him.
He whispered, “Mozart makes me amorous.”
She smiled a saucy little smile. His heart jumped as he squeezed her hand. Desire grew inside him, and he could scarcely wait until they were alone. Using his thumb, he made little circles on the back of her hand.
Unfortunately, the Mozart did not go on forever. When she was finished, Gweet turned on the seat and said, “Now can we play Happy Families?”
Ernest sighed. Marianne said, “Of course, if you like.”
They played the silly card game until the tea tray made its appearance at ten o’clock. Ernest was on pins and needles waiting for Gweet to depart. However, once tea was finished, Marianne said, “We have all had a long day. I think Gweet and I shall say our good nights, Captain. If you wish to stay up longer, there are brandy and whiskey on the drinks table.”
His heart plummeted as she stood and offered her hand. He did not bow over it but kissed her knuckles instead.
Did she not share the desire that was flooding through him? Or did she not allow herself to feel anything because he was a sea captain?
“Thank you again, Captain, for making it possible for me to return home alive,” she said, her face solemn as she looked up into his eyes. She took her hand away from his. “I will be up to see you off in the morning. Good night.”
His eyes followed her as she left the room trailed by Gweet and Frankie. Though he was tired, he did not sleep well that night.
* * *
Marianne was at the breakfast table reading the newspaper when he came down the next morning. He helped himself to a boiled egg and a rasher of bacon.
“Was not Captain Abernathy a friend of yours? Joseph Abernathy? Have I not met him? The short, wiry man?”
“Yes. Is there something about him in the paper?”
“This is a day old, but here.” She handed him the newspaper. “You had better read it for yourself.”
It was the Morning Post. Headlines on the first page said: Decorated Former Sea Captain Murdered.
Shock jolted through him. In his rooms at Epsom Downs, Abernathy had been found by servants with his throat slit.
Was this related to the jockey’s death and the King’s Plate race? Had his friend been involved in whatever scheme was afoot? Had the person who killed his friend kidnapped Marianne?
“I think you are extraordinarily lucky,” he said, putting down the paper. “I must go and see to this.”
He stood, pulled Marianne to her feet, and kissed her fiercely on the lips.
“I pray to God that you will be safe,” he said.
With those words, he left for London.
Chapter Twenty-One
Marianne stood with her fingers barely touching her lips, head whirling, and watched the captain leave the breakfast room. Her knees grew shaky. She sat.
A promise. A warning. A charge not to forget him.
The kiss was all those things, and it had bowled her over. When Gweet came down moments later, she was still sitting with her fingers to her lips.
“Mama?” she said. “Did I miss Captain Saunders?”
Marianne came down from her cloud. “He just left. His friend . . . his friend was murdered in Epsom Downs.”
“Oh my heavens! How dreadful. Does it have anything to do with your kidnapping and the King’s Plate?”“I imagine it does. I believe his friend was one of the captain’s suspects.”
“What are we to do? What if you are still in danger?”
Marianne put a hand to her forehead and tried to think. “We are like sitting ducks here. I think we must go to Bertie’s.”
“But there’s no one there except the servants.”
“Exactly. No one will expect us to be there.”
“I think that’s a good idea. And I’m taking Frankie this time. He’s been left long enough. And he gets along well with Uncle Bertie’s goldens.”
“Foster will not be happy she has to repack, but so be it.”
* * *
Marianne decided they would depart after luncheon. The drive was not long, as Bertie lived over the border into Oxfordshire. They could be there by evening. She sent a note ahead to warn Bertie’s butler, Ramsey.
As they were just finishing up their cheese course, Orcutt walked into the dining room.
“I beg your pardon, your ladyship, but you have a caller.�
��
Her heart slammed against her ribs as her mouth went dry with fear.
“Who is it, Orcutt?”
“It is a Lord Webbingford, my lady. He says to tell you he is passing through on his way to Bath.”
The captain suspected Webbingford. This would be on his way to Bath from Newmarket, but not from London or Epsom Downs. Is he telling the truth, or is he trying to mislead me?
“Is the carriage packed and ready to go to my brother’s?”
“It is, my lady.”
“Have you told Lord Webbingford I am at home?”
“I have said I would inquire.”
“Orcutt, Miss Marguerite and I may be in danger from this man. Please take him to the drawing room to wait for us. Then get our pelisses and bonnets from the vestibule, and we will leave through the kitchen door to walk to the stables. We will depart from there. As soon as we are safely away, return to Lord Webbingford and tell him that we were called out on an emergency with one of our tenants but will be returning. We ask his pardon and beg that he will stay for dinner. Make him comfortable with a fire and a drink.”
“Do you expect him to stay?”
“I do not really know. But it would be good if he did. Less chance of running into him on the road. Then when teatime comes, bring in the tea tray and tell him that you just had word that the tenant we are visiting is more ill than we expected, and we are obliged to spend the night. We beg his pardon, etc., etc. I am certain you can carry it all off splendidly. As you know, we are going to Sir Bertie’s. I am not yet certain how long we will be gone. On no account tell anyone, not even the other servants, where we have gone.”
“I will endeavor to be persuasive, my lady. You can put your trust in me.”
“I always do. Thank you, Orcutt.”
* * *
When Marianne and her daughter were safely on the highway to Oxfordshire, she allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. They had been on the road for half an hour and had not seen anything of Lord Webbingford.
“Do you really suspect the man, Mama?”
“I do not know. What I do know is that Captain Saunders does. And I promised him that we would be careful.”
Love Unexpected: A Regency Romance (The Saunders Family Saga Book 1) Page 14
