Promise of a Family

by Jo Ann Brown

  Family in Training?

  After rescuing six children abandoned in a boat, Captain Drake Nesbitt is determined to ensure their safety and locate their unknown parents. But first, he needs someone to nurture the babies. He’s grateful for the support of kindhearted Lady Susanna Trelawney.

  Although Susanna has given up all hope of marriage and happiness after her fiancé’s betrayal, the adorable children evoke all her maternal instincts. Soon she’s falling for her tiny charges—and their handsome rescuer. Can Susanna convince committed bachelor Drake that he’s more than just a onetime hero, but a man who has room in his heart for a family after all?

  Matchmaking Babies: Seeking forever families and speeding up the course of true love.

  “One day the children will appreciate that your family has provided for them. Not every abandoned child is so blessed.”

  “What happened to you, Drake?”

  “The neighbors took me in with their brood, which was large enough that they never seemed to notice one more.”

  “So they became your family?”

  “No. They were never cruel to me, but I was always an outsider. I was never allowed to call them mother and father.”

  “Oh, how horrible! You must have been so alone and so lonely, even in such a crowded house.”

  “No one else has ever said that.” He quickly looked away.

  “If I have pried too much…”

  “No, it feels good to have someone understand.” He shook his head with a grin.

  Before she could ask another question, the twins called to her. As he stood, she went to swing the girls out of the sleeping hammocks. He could sense that Susanna was just as anxious to leave the solitude belowdecks. As for himself, he would be glad to return to where they would not be able to talk about the past and what he planned to do in the future.

  A future when the rolling waves of the sea would come between him and Susanna.

  No, he definitely did not want to think of that. Not until he had to.

  Jo Ann Brown has always loved stories with happy-ever-after endings. A former military officer, she is thrilled to have the chance to write stories about people falling in love. She is also a photographer, and travels with her husband of more than thirty years to places where she can snap pictures. They live in Nevada with three children and a spoiled cat. Drop her a note at joannbrownbooks.com.

  Books by Jo Ann Brown

  Love Inspired Historical

  Matchmaking Babies

  Promise of a Family

  Sanctuary Bay

  The Dutiful Daughter

  A Hero for Christmas

  A Bride for the Baron

  JO ANN BROWN

  Promise of a Family

  And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them, and said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.

  —Matthew 18:2–3

  For Jo Piraneo

  Who has an amazing gift for making my jumbled comments into something beautiful

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Excerpt from Second Chance Love by Shannon Farrington

  Chapter One

  Porthlowen, Cornwall

  1812

  “There! It is leaking right there!”

  At the shout, Drake Nesbitt looked down into his ship where his first mate and crew were struggling to fix the damage The Kestrel had suffered after crossing the path of a French privateer. Sunlight sparkled on water in the depths of the ship. Hurrying to join his crew, he muttered under his breath as he pulled off his new boots. He had thought the last of the holes in The Kestrel had been plugged yesterday.

  He set the boots where the water would not reach them, then joined his crew. They stepped aside to let him examine where water washed into the ship with the rising tide. He pushed away a lantern. Even though it would have helped him see the damage to the hull, he did not want his crew to view his frustration. They must have enough of their own.

  For a fortnight The Kestrel had been moored in Porthlowen, a cove beneath the hills rising like broken steps to the Cornish moorland. The mouth of the cove narrowed to a curved strait between high cliffs, providing a sheltered mooring for his ship and a fast current on the tides that would take them back to open water once his ship was seaworthy again.

  His ship. He enjoyed saying those words. He had worked hard for years to be able to invest in the ship and finally buy her outright. Now he worked even harder to save enough to purchase another, with his eye on building a fleet of trading ships along the southern coast of England.

  He had known it would take time to make repairs, but he ached to be back upon the sea, to know the freedom of moving with the waves, to escape the memories that still gnawed on him whenever he set foot on land. When he steered his ship from one port to another, he could avoid risking his heart as he did once. Then, he had ended up looking like a fool.

  Never again.

  That pledge had echoed through his head every day and every night, anytime when he was alone and his thoughts caught up to him. He had believed Ruby was as precious as the gem whose name she shared, so he’d offered her his heart, despite the difference in their social standing. He had dared to believe that the daughter of a baronet and the captain of a trading ship could ignore the canons of Society and marry and live happily for the rest of their lives.

  It had not been Society that destroyed his hopes. Ruby had betrayed him when, within hours of his setting sail after they had pledged their unending love to each other, she was seen in the arms of another man.

  Never again.

  Standing up as much as he could in the cramped space, he said, “Close it up, lads.”

  Drake climbed to the main deck, knowing that the crew would work better without the captain watching over their shoulders. He sat on the stairs to the quarterdeck and tugged his boots back on. The soft leather was as comfortable as he had hoped when he saw it hanging in the cobbler’s shop. The boots were stylish, too, but he did not care what was de rigueur in Society. Treating himself to a new pair of boots had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, the kind he made with skill. The proof of that was the profit from The Kestrel’s recent voyages where he had followed his instincts with cargoes and routes.

  However, he had bought his new boots in Penzance days before The Kestrel was ambushed by French privateers and half their cargo of barley and wheat was ruined during the battle. The other half had been unloaded in Porthlowen. He had sold it for far less than it was worth because the damp grain would have gone bad before he reached the merchants waiting for it in Dublin. Now he had to reimburse the English traders who hired him to deliver their goods. In addition, he had bills to pay for the supplies needed to repair the ship.

  Gazing at the masts where the sails were tightly furled, he sigh
ed. Two wasted weeks. How much longer before they could leave Porthlowen and be on their way again? He had never expected it would take longer to handle the repairs than to make arrangements to hand over their French prisoners to the local authorities.

  A fierce smile pulled at his lips. The Kestrel had been damaged, but the French ship now sat on the bottom of the sea and the French privateers who had survived were in cells more than fifty miles away in Dartmoor Prison. There, they would stay until the English defeated the French. He had no pity for them in spite of tales of how appalling the conditions were in prison. He was glad there were fewer privateers to hound honest men trying to earn a living in the waters around Britain.

  For now, fixing The Kestrel, which had been riddled with shot, forced Drake and his ship to remain in the harbor. He glanced toward the village that followed the crescent cove. Living in a small cottage and staring at the same scenery day after day would be a slow death for a man like him, especially when the siren song of the waves lapped upon the rocks and the sand. He raised his gaze toward the fine house situated where the moor met the cliffs that hid the cove’s entrance. He had been told an earl resided there, but even such a luxurious life offered no appeal to him.

  There were times when he imagined coming home to a woman and children who awaited his return eagerly. Sparkling eyes, warm lips, and arms that welcomed him—and only him—into them.

  Never again.

  Familiar footsteps behind him, echoing hollowly on the deck, broke into Drake’s thoughts. Grateful to escape the memories of his greatest humiliation, he turned. “Benton, what happened below?”

  His first mate, a gangly young man who never seemed to gain an ounce, raked his hand back through his sweaty hair, leaving red spikes across his head. “We missed one, Captain.”

  “We?”

  “I meant I missed one.” Benton shook his head, a glum expression lengthening his usually cheerful face. “I thought I checked every inch of her, but I didn’t see that small hole. We will start at the bow and go back to the stern on both sides all over again.”

  “Good.” He allowed himself a smile as his first mate met his eyes. He trusted Benton with both his ship and his life. The crew called them Lightning and Thunder because they had learned that when there was trouble, Drake would be there in a flash, with Benton following quickly behind him.

  “It should not take long to fix that one small hole, Captain, or to examine the complete hull.”

  “Take the time you need, because I don’t want to get under way and find the ship is taking on water again.”

  “Aye.”

  Drake paused as he was about to answer. A strange sound, like a faint cry or mew, wafted over the water.

  “What was that?” he asked, tilting his head to try to capture the noise.

  Benton shrugged. “A gull probably.”

  The thin sound came again. Louder this time.

  “That doesn’t sound like a gull.” Curiosity urged Drake forward. He reached the starboard railing in a pair of steps. Gripping it, he shadowed his eyes with his other hand. “Look.”

  It was a jolly boat, a small boat used to transport men and cargo from a ship to the shore. It was close to the rocks. Dangerously close. Even as he watched, the bow bumped hard against the wall of stone.

  Something moved inside it. Was that what had made the whimpering sound? Had someone been so cruel as to toss kittens into a boat and push them out to sea? If he got his hands on—

  The rest of the thought vanished as tiny fingers rose over the side of the boat and waved in his direction.

  Benton gasped. “A child?”

  Drake did not answer. He ran toward the plank down to the wide stone pier where The Kestrel was moored. He reached the quay in a pair of long steps and raced along the shore toward where the jolly boat slammed against the rocks over and over. It would not survive long, for the wood was already dried with salt stains and pocked with holes.

  He sped past seaweed that had dried in thick clumps on the rocks. Clambering up one of the giant boulders, he jumped into the water on the other side. The water was cool, but he paid it no mind as he flung himself forward, wading toward the boat. Hearing shouts, he looked back to see several of his crew on the pier. They motioned wildly with their hands. He glanced forward and groaned. A small child was trying to stand up in the boat. If he did, he was sure to tip the boat over and end up in the water.

  Drake reached the boat and grasped its bow to steady it. Only then did he look inside. His eyes widened as he counted six children, the youngest not much more than a newborn. It was swaddled, a piece of blanket covering its eyes so the sun did not burn into them. In addition, there were three older boys, possibly as old as three or four, and two girls who must be twins, because they were almost identical. One of the older boys, the one who had been struggling to stand, said something. It was baby gibberish, and he guessed that boy was closer to two years old.

  “Sit down,” Drake said, forcing a smile.

  The boy hesitated, a stubborn scowl furrowing his brow beneath his wispy, brown hair.

  “Sit down, and we’ll go for a ride up onto the sand. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” He needed the children’s cooperation or they could set the small boat awash before he got them around the rocks and to safety. He doubted any of them could swim, and he did not want to have to choose which one to save.

  The children began to giggle as he splashed through the water, keeping himself between the boat and the rocks. He grimaced when the waves lifted the boat and struck him so hard that he stumbled against stone. He fought to regain his footing. The sand slipped away beneath his boots.

  He snarled wordless frustration under his breath. His new boots! Why hadn’t he paused the short second it would have taken to yank them off?

  His self-recrimination was interrupted by a sharp cry. An older boy sobbed loudly as a blond boy pinched his arm again.

  “Stop that!” Drake snapped.

  That set the blond boy to crying, too.

  Benton waded through the waves and seized the other side of the jolly boat. “What is wrong with them?”

  The younger boy began weeping, as well.

  Drake motioned for his first mate to help him steer the small boat to shore. With two of them to balance the boat that wanted to skip and dance on each wave, they made short work of climbing out of the water and dragging the boat onto the sand.

  All the children, including the baby, were howling now. Drake fired orders to his crew. Food and something to drink for the older children. The baby must be fed, too. Telling Benton to see to the children’s needs, he turned on his heel.

  “Captain?” called his first mate.

  “What?” He did not keep his barely restrained rage out of his voice.

  “Where are you going?”

  Fury whipped through his words. “To find the rotters who put these children in a boat and left them to die.”

  “But how will you know who did this?”

  “There is always one person in any village who can be counted on to know everyone in that village. He would know who is capable of putting these children in a boat and setting them adrift. In addition, he will be willing to help.”

  “Who is that?”

  “The parson.” He scowled as water squeezed between his toes in his ruined boots. “And when, with his help, I find those curs who were so cruel, I will make sure they are sorry they ever set eyes on these children. I promise you that.” He strode toward the village.

  * * *

  Closing the book, Susanna Trelawney leaned back in her chair. The household accounts had balanced. At last. She needed to speak to both Mrs. Hitchens, the housekeeper, and Baricoat, the butler, about checking their reports more closely, because she had found too many mistakes. She was thankful for Mrs. Ford. As always, the cook’
s records were exact to the last ha’penny.

  Just as Susanna liked. With a sense of order in the great house, chaos could be kept at bay. Her family could go about their lives without having to worry about something unanticipated upsetting them.

  As it had that horrific week when grief had held the house and her family in its serrated claws, shredding their hearts. Her own heart had not had a chance to heal from being broken by the one man she had ever loved. Franklin Chenowith had run off to marry another woman on the very day that the banns were first read for Susanna’s wedding to him. Susanna had considered that woman, Norah Yelland, her bosom bow. She had surrendered her sense of control when she fell in love, and she had paid the cost, losing both of her best friends in one instant.

  The cost had been too high, and instead of vowing to love Franklin till death did them part, she had tried to forgive them. She had struggled with it, and she promised herself that she would never allow herself to be so foolish again. She would remain in control of her emotions and her life.

  No matter what.

  No! It did no one any good to dwell on the past. Instead, she should work to keep everything in proper order so serenity could reign in the house.

  Susanna patted the accounts book and sighed. She loved working in this quiet room with its burgundy walls and coffered ceiling, even though the hearth was too narrow to heat the room much above freezing on the coldest winter days. She gazed out the window toward the moor. The undulating ground offered perfect grazing for both cattle and sheep. Like most of the windows in the great house Cothaire, it offered no view of the sea. A beautiful vista would be lovely, but cold winds blasted the seaside of the house, pitting any window glass and chilling rooms. Any room in Cothaire that faced the sea had thick exterior shutters that could be closed and locked from the outside in advance of a strong storm.

  The sea was an integral part of their lives. Many of the villagers provided for their families by fishing and trading upon its waters. Her sister Caroline’s husband had been one of them until he was killed far out at sea less than a week after Mama’s sudden death. It had been a terrible time, and if she could have spared her sister—or her two brothers and her father—a moment of that sorrow, she gladly would have.