“That is weighty, indeed.”
“That is but half of it.” Robert’s smile twisted with bitterness. “Thomas was raised to believe the worst of his mother—of all women, really. She’s the blight on the family name, the one proof that the Wentworth luck may not be what all believe it.”
“How sad for him.”
“Aye, his father was determined that no Wentworth ever be subjected to such humiliation again. He taught Thomas to trust no one lest he, too, would be made a fool.” Robert’s blue gaze rested on her gently for a moment. “Can you understand now why he has never thought of marriage? Or, when he did, ’twas distant, far away from today.”
Fia nodded, a lump in her throat. She could almost see the bereft young boy as he lost both his mother and the love of his father in one fell swoop. “He seems to see you as his brother. Surely he trusts you.”
Robert smoothed a hand over his sleeve, though no smile touched his lips. “He tries.”
Fia wondered at the emotion in Robert’s voice.
“I accept that his trust is only conditional because I owe him more than I can ever repay.” Robert stared out at the ocean, beyond the white-capped swells. After a moment, he turned to her. “Do you know why some call me the Coward of Balmanach?”
Though she had heard tales, she shook her head.
He read the truth in her face. “Aye, you do. When I was a youth of sixteen, my parents were murdered.”
He faltered over the word and she said quickly, “Robert, you don’t need to tell me this if you don’t wish to.”
“If you want to understand Thomas, then you must know this.” Robert adjusted the fine lace on his cuffs across his elegant hands. “When I was scarcely into my adolescence, my parents were murdered while returning from my uncle’s house. My uncle himself gave me the news. He could scarcely contain his triumph, for their blood still glistened on his sword.”
“But . . . I thought the MacDonald clan ambushed them.”
“That’s what my uncle wanted everyone to think.” White lines of tension bracketed Robert’s mouth. “I was just sixteen and barely a man. My uncle told me of his deed and gave me a choice. I could either stay and fight for my right as laird, or I could run as far from Mull as my feet could carry me.”
There was a pause, then he said, “I chose to run. I had five sisters who looked to me. If I perished in the contest of wills, who would take care of them?” Robert’s lips thinned, his eyes blazing.
Fia drew back, almost not recognizing her previously merry companion.
Robert saw her concern and he immediately lifted a hand. “I’m sorry. It was a damnable situation and I still harbor anger toward my uncle.”
“I don’t blame you. It makes me angry just hearing about it.”
His lips quirked into a reluctant smile. “You’ve a good heart, my lady.”
“What did you do, since you couldn’t fight your uncle?”
“I walked away from him, though my fingers ached to feel his neck beneath them. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. In the space of an hour, I was forced to become man enough to know when I was beaten, yet I was still child enough to taste the full bitterness of defeat.”
“You did what you had to.”
“Aye. My oldest sister, Aindrea, was only eleven. The rest were babes—the youngest were the twins, and had just turned two.” His face hardened, and once again Fia caught a glimpse of the iron hidden beneath Robert’s silks and laces. “My uncle allowed us to leave into the icy night with only what we had on our backs and one horse among us. I suppose that was a sop to his conscience.”
“That—that—bastard!”
Robert chuckled, the lines about his eyes easing.
Fia’s face heated. “I’m sorry. That slipped out before I could stop it. Pray continue with your story.”
His smile faded, but her outburst seemed to soothe him in some way for he said in a calmer tone, “It was freezing cold the night we left, the snow blowing until we couldn’t see. I put the smaller ones on the horse, just strapped them on and bundled them with every loose rag Aindrea and I could spare, and then . . . we walked. And walked. And walked. It was bitterly cold, the wind harsh. Each step grew more and more difficult. We were spent, tormented by the loss of our parents, and fearful for our lives; I can’t express how horrible it was.
“Just as I thought we could go no more, Aindrea cried out. I turned and she was gone . . . but not because she’d stumbled into a drift, as I’d feared. Instead, her sharp eyes had found a cave.”
“She sounds very resourceful.”
“Aye, she is. Without that fortunate find, we wouldn’t have survived the night. We managed to scrape together enough wood for a small fire, and that saved us. The cave was damp and cold, small and rock strewn, but it was safe and for that we were thankful. As soon as it was morning, we began walking again.”
“You came to England?”
“Aye. My uncle’s reach wasn’t long enough to cross his own borders, so we headed south. It grew warmer with each step. My sisters and I made it as far as the border, begging for food and stealing what we could. We were doing well, considering all things, when once again, the winter weather returned. Only this time it was a deep cold like no other I’d ever seen before, or have seen since.”
“And that’s when you met Thomas?”
“It was by pure chance. My sisters and I were desperate for shelter and had stumbled onto Wentworth land. We crawled into the stables and huddled in the hay, thankful for the warmth. The next morning, one of the stable hands found us and raised a cry. Thomas was home alone, as usual, his father off to court. Without a care for his father’s reaction, Thomas brought us to his house and treated us as guests.”
“Eventually, though, his father returned?”
Robert nodded. “Two months after Thomas allowed us into the house. The old earl was livid to find strangers under his roof. He ranted about what a fool Thomas was, how we were taking advantage of him, how we were using him and his good fortune and how we would desert him and bring shame onto their house once again.”
“Like his mother.”
“Aye, but Thomas wouldn’t listen. I think he had always wanted someone or something to prove his father wrong, and finally, there we were. I’ve spent years proving that he didn’t make a mistake in helping the MacQuarries. Sometimes I think he believes it; other times, I’m not so certain.”
The wind blew a strand of hair over her cheek, she brushed it aside. “So . . . Thomas is caught between what he was taught and what he wants to believe.”
“Aye, but his heart is where it should be and will one day save him. I am sure of it.”
Fia considered this and for a long time, neither spoke.
Finally, Robert sighed. “Over the years, to protect himself, Thomas has developed a faraway concept of the perfect wife. She is calm, perfectly behaved, and devoid of emotion. She will never embarrass him, nor fall passionately in love with the stable master—or with Thomas, for that matter. She will represent him and his family with ease and a cool bearing. Above all other things, she will bring no shame on his family name.”
Fia curled her nose. “I would never bring shame upon his house, but I could not be cold and controlled.”
Robert chuckled. “No one could, and there he is safe from ever having to wed.”
Fia looked down at her hands, which were clenched in front of her. “Robert . . . I need your help.”
He turned his gaze to her. “Does it involve helping Thomas?”
“Aye. I think it does. Would you teach me what I need to know to win over the English court?”
“Why?”
“If Thomas wishes for an annulment, then so be it, but I will not have him putting me aside because he thinks I will embarrass him.”
“I suppose I could teach the basics, had we time, but . . . how would that help Thomas?”
“If I can conquer the English court, then I can prove to Thomas I’m not a liability aga
inst the Wentworth name. Then he will see that he is wrong in his vision of me.”
Robert looked amazed and then amused. “Fia, my love, that’s a damned good idea! If you were to charm the court, every objection Thomas could possibly have against your marriage would disappear.”
“Except that I am not passionless,” she pointed out.
“Except that one,” Robert agreed.
“Do you think I could learn what I must within the two weeks we have before we reach London?”
Robert looked as if his ruff had suddenly been drawn too tight, but after a moment, he nodded. “’Twill be difficult, but . . . very well, lass. We’ll make it work. You’ll have to promise to pay attention. There are dances to learn, titles to memorize, proprieties to master, and all manner of things.”
She nodded, her excitement growing. For the first time since Thomas had kissed her she felt the warming presence of hope. “We will work at it night and day if we must.”
His eyes gleamed with excitement. “Excellent! When I’m finished, you’ll have manners fit for a queen.”
“Thank you. I—I wish I could pay you for your assistance.”
“Do you, now?” His brows lifted in a waggish gesture. “Then pay me you shall. I know exactly what payment I would want, and ’tis not money.”
“What is it?”
“It’s . . . no, I’ll not tell you as yet. Just know that you owe it to me, and you are pledged to pay when this scene is played out.”
“Robert! I cannot agree to such a mad promise.”
“Not even if I vow that my payment will compromise neither your virtue nor your honor?”
She bit her lip and looked at him uncertainly. “Perhaps.”
He leaned close. “You will be the desire of every man at court, the most accomplished woman since Elizabeth to walk through Hampton Court Palace! Thomas will be awed by your grace and talents. How can you say nay?”
The picture he painted was almost too appealing to be true, but his confident words, combined with the absurdity of his grin, reassured her. He was as impish and naughty as a child, but there was no harm to him and she knew from the light in his eyes that he cared about Thomas, too.
“Very well,” she agreed. “I pledge, but only on the understanding that if your requested payment seems too harsh, then you will forfeit.”
“Done!” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Come, we’ve no time to waste. You must learn the most important skill of a lady in the queen’s court.”
“Curtsying? How to address the queen?”
“How to use a fan.”
She blinked. “What use would I have of a fan?”
“Oh ho, what lady of the court doesn’t use a fan? Once that’s accomplished, we’ll learn dances. The queen loves dancing like life itself and she also . . .” Robert went on and on, the list of what he needed to teach her growing until it was too much to follow.
Fia allowed herself to be swept along by Robert’s enthusiasm, her excitement building. It was a gamble, but the whole marriage had been a chancy venture since the beginning.
But now, she was realizing that there was much more at stake than mere dreams. Now there was the matter of her pride. If Thomas Wentworth thought he could set her aside, he would at least do it with a powerful sense of regret and wonder at what might have been. She deserved at least that much.
Chapter Thirteen
A week later, Thomas realized he’d made a complete and utter mistake in asking Robert to keep an eye on Fia. Everywhere Thomas looked, there they were. Either the pair was in the comfort of his own cabin, exchanging exaggerated compliments and sallies with enough wit and archness to mock the most jaded of the queen’s court, or else they were seated on deck, deep in some card game or a discussion of the merits of linen to silk, of silk to lace, of lace to brocade. And all with enough laughter and merriment to lead Thomas to believe they spoke of some scandalously naughty topic other than fashionable court gossip.
It wouldn’t have mattered except that it had dawned on Thomas that, lately, Fia no longer paid him any heed. She was focused solely on Robert, her expression intent as she hung on his every word.
Damn that bounder!
Thomas ground his teeth. Despite his best intentions, he found himself hovering nearby, straining his ears to find out what was bewitching Fia so. Robert knew it, too, and was beside himself with mischief. At least once he’d purposefully caught Fia’s hand and brought it to his lips for a much-longer-than-necessary kiss, glancing Thomas’s way with a mocking expression. Thomas could have cheerfully killed him.
The music from a lone flute drifted through the air to tickle his ears, then a barrage of rhythmic clapping told him the likely location of his entire crew. And Fia, his treacherous mind whispered. If there’s merriment, Fia can’t be far away. But . . . dancing before my crew?
He shouldn’t have been surprised, for within six short days, Fia had bewitched them all. No doubt every man on ship was now admiring her trim ankles as she whirled about on Robert’s arm, practicing all of the latest Italianate dances so favored by Queen Elizabeth.
The sooner he put a stop to this nonsense, the better. The only problem was how to do it without appearing a fool. Every time he attempted to complain to Robert of Fia’s sudden frivolity, his friend would expound on the sin of envy until Thomas was ready to explode.
He was not jealous. He was merely concerned about the spectacle Robert was making of an innocent maid. What in hell was I thinking, to ask such a bounder to keep watch over a beauty like Fia?
If she fell victim to Robert and his flowery ways, then Thomas was as much at fault as that damned Scot. She should be warned of Robert’s low purposes.
Damn it, I should have seen this coming. If Fia could lavish affection on a broken-down nag and a half-blind dog, ’twasn’t difficult to imagine her response to Robert’s wit. What if she came to actually care for Robert, or to at least think she did, which was as bad?
Thomas’s blood chilled. I will not allow my wife to embarrass the family name.
Fia’s laughter drifted above the clamor, and Thomas was as drawn to it as a moth to flame. He reached the railing and glared down to the lower deck at the dancing duo. Fia’s skirts flew higher with every turn she made on Robert’s arm, her bare feet skimming over the deck. The sight made Thomas as queasy as a cabin boy on his first voyage. God grant I live long enough to buy that Scottish hoyden a decent number of petticoats and at least one pair of slippers.
She looked up at Robert and laughed, her eyes shining. She once looked at me that way, but I discouraged her. The thought burned into his heart. Damn it all, he would make this ship fly. The less time Fia spent in Robert’s worldly presence, the better.
Thomas looked about for Simmons. The portly first mate was nowhere to be seen. In fact, Thomas was alone on the foredeck. He leaned farther over the railing.
Simmons, his stomach peeping from beneath his too-tight shirt, was now holding Fia’s hands. Under Robert’s close tutelage, Simmons pranced through the intricate steps of a French dance. His round face perspired freely, his chin to his chest as he stared at his feet. Robert stood to one side and shouted instructions as the couple passed near.
“Simmons!” Thomas bellowed.
There was a satisfying and abrupt halt to the mewl of the flute. Simmons made a quick, awkward bow to Fia and scurried to the ladder.
Thomas was about to order the men back to their tasks when the flute began again. The merriment resumed as Fia began to whirl about on Robert’s arm, her skirts flying once again. There was such joy, such happiness, in her expression that Thomas held his breath. By the saints, she is lovely.
“Ye yelled fer me, Cap’n?” The first mate’s face was red from his exertion.
“Call the crew and turn eastward. We’ll draw more sail and speed.”
“East?”
“’Tis a shorter route and will let us reach London two, perhaps three days sooner.”
“But we’ll hav
e to navigate the reef along—”
Thomas glared.
“Aye, aye! Ye know about the reef, o’ course.” Simmons squinted up at the rigging as he scratched the seat of his loose breeches. “I’ll turn her if ye wish it, though I doubt we’ll catch a swifter wind—”
Thomas raised his eyebrows.
“I mean, aye, Cap’n!” The first mate bawled the orders, and the flute once again ceased. Thomas eyed his crew as they scrambled to obey. He would have all of them scrubbing and cleaning and so tired that not a one of them would remember having seen his wife’s ankles. Now, all he had to do was find something to busy Robert, too.
“Amazing, the effect marriage has on some men.”
Thomas turned on his heel to face Robert.
The Scotsman was leaning against the railing, his rich wine-colored doublet half-open, his white shirt unlaced at the throat from the physical exertion of dancing. “Well, mon ami? Why did you call the entire crew to stations? Are we under attack?”
“Need I remind you that we are upon a ship, sailing through the sea? The crew needs always to be at attention.”
“So we are, but you didn’t need to—” Robert looked up at the sails. “We’re turning.” His brow lowered. “We’re to take the shore route?”
“Aye, ’tis faster.”
“And riskier.”
“I’ve done it many times. Besides, ’twill give the crew something to do other than leer at my wife’s ankles.” He pinned Robert with a stare.
“Oh-ho! Now we reach the crux. You’re jealous again.”
Thomas’s eyes narrowed, tension crackling through him. He was spoiling for a fight. He thought a good thumping might turn Robert’s thoughts away from Fia. If nothing else, Thomas could make sure the libertine was in no condition to dance for the rest of the voyage. “Say no more, Montley, else I’ll consider it wrongly. We’re turning now and will make London by midweek, one, perhaps two days sooner than if we continued on this route.”
Much Ado About Marriage Page 15
