by Cheryl Holt
“If you’d help me with Gaylord’s father, I could marry the rich dolt. It would get me out of your hair in a quick minute.”
“Gaylord—whose father sent him to Jamaica to yank him from your dastardly clutches? I’m betting I wouldn’t have much influence with him.”
“I guess I don’t need to pine away over Gaylord. Since I’ve been in Gibraltar, I’ve recalled that there are plenty of other fish in the sea.”
“Your remark alarms me. Are you scamming gullible soldiers out of their wages?”
“They’re all too poor, so they’re not worth the bother.”
She grinned an impish grin, and he was taken aback by it. It was his father Charlie’s grin, the one he’d flashed when he was preparing to engage in reckless, insane conduct. It was a sign that he recognized it to be reckless and insane, but he would proceed anyway.
James always conveniently forgot that he and Brinley shared Charlie as a parent. Of course she’d look just like him. Of course she’d exhibit his personality quirks. Of course she’d embrace his worst tendencies. Why wouldn’t she?
“Tell me about Laura’s life with you,” he said.
“There’s not much to tell.”
“I beg to differ. Does she go to school?”
“If we’re in a neighborhood where there’s a spot for her.”
“Does she ever attend church?”
She scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. For her to attend church, I would have to get up on a Sunday morning to deliver her.”
“Does she eat regular? Does she sleep regular? Does she have clothes to wear and a roof over her head?”
“Most of the time.”
“Why doesn’t she talk?”
“Why don’t you ask her?” she impudently said.
“When did she stop? What occurred to bring it on? Was she injured? Was she frightened by a dreadful event? What?”
“She’s always been quiet, but her silence settled in after one of Robert’s friends absconded with her.”
James’s blood turned to ice in his veins. “For lewd purposes?”
Her expression was incredibly blasé. “Who can predict what he intended? Not me. We were constantly surrounded by Robert’s gambling chums, with different fellows traipsing in and out of the apartment. They were a corrupt, immoral lot.”
“What happened to him?”
“What would you think? Robert caught him and pounded him into the ground. Then he brought her home—before any real damage was inflicted—but it scared her. She was so nervous after that.”
“Where were you when all this was transpiring?”
She pondered for a bit. “I believe I was in Bath. Some acquaintances invited me.”
“You left her alone?”
“She was with Robert. Usually.”
His dissolute, degenerate brother had been an arrogant, self-centered prig. Being with Robert was the same as being with no one at all.
“When you were off with friends,” he asked, “and she wasn’t with Robert, who watched her then?”
“She watched herself.”
“You’re not very concerned about her.”
She threw down her fork, her irritation clear. “Look, James. She and I have been on our own for years, and I’ve managed the best I could. Don’t lecture me, and don’t try to make me feel guilty. You can’t.”
“What will become of her?”
“I have no idea.”
“What will become of you?”
“I’ll be grand, but I’d be perfect if you could arrange my marriage to Gaylord.”
“I thought you were over Gaylord.”
“There are tons of rich men who’d be thrilled to glom onto a pretty girl like me. It doesn’t have to be Gaylord. I’m not choosey.”
“You’re not?” At the ludicrous comment, he laughed aloud.
“I’ll find someone eventually, but it would be easier if you’d play your part.”
“Even if I went to Denby, it’s bankrupt. I’d be in a worse condition than I am now. Once I resigned from the army, I wouldn’t have my wages anymore. Where would I be then?”
She tsked with exasperation. “You don’t understand how the world works, do you? Didn’t Charlie teach you anything?”
“I only listened to him when he talked about horses. The rest of the time, he was full of blather and nonsense.”
“Well, James, you don’t seem to grasp this notion, so allow me to explain: Aristocrats don’t have to pay their bills, and no one can force them to pay. You could open up Denby Manor and live like a king, and there’s not a person who could prevent you.”
“I’m certain this will be news to you, but it’s wrong to cheat people and stiff them on debts you genuinely owe.”
“According to who?” She shook her head with disgust. “We’re both Charlie’s children, but you’re such a righteous, ethical fellow. I’m not ethical in the slightest. I wonder which of us inherited more useful traits.”
“It was you, I’m sure.”
“I’m sure too.” She poured another cup of tea and swallowed it down. “What day is it?”
“Saturday.”
“What are you doing tonight?”
“Probably nothing. Why?”
That wasn’t precisely true. He planned to show up at Amelia’s cottage at eight o’clock and make her feed him supper. Then, later, he’d climb in her window again. It was a habit he didn’t care to break.
“If you’re not busy,” Brinley said, “why don’t you escort me to my party?”
“What party?”
“A friend of mine is hosting a ball.”
“What friend?”
“You don’t know him,” she blithely stated. “Miss Boyle is coming too. You like her, don’t you?”
“Yes, I like her, but how on earth did you convince her to accompany you? You’re not exactly her favorite.”
“Who wouldn’t love to attend a ball? Besides, she always scolds me for traipsing off alone. I gave her a chance to rectify the situation—so I didn’t have to go by myself—and she jumped at it.”
“I’m stunned.”
“You should come with us. The Hastings siblings will take Gibraltar by storm. Imagine how striking we’d look, walking in together as if we own the place.”
Normally, he’d have cut off his arm rather than attend a fancy gala, but he was so fond of Amelia that he couldn’t resist the opportunity to spend the evening with her. They could dance and drink champagne and carry on like two ordinary adults who were courting, who were proceeding toward a good end.
He’d never enjoyed a night like that. Or if he had, it was so far in the past that he couldn’t remember it.
“I’d like to join you,” he said before he could persuade himself not to.
“Perfect. Wear your dress uniform. I want you to be splendid.”
“I will.”
“We’re picking her up at eight. I’ve already hired a carriage.”
She rose and swept out of the room, and he realized he hadn’t delved to the heart of any issue that mattered with regard to her. She had such a knack for keeping him off balance, for never telling him what he was anxious to know.
He hadn’t learned how she’d been supporting herself in London, how she would support herself once she was there again. He hadn’t pressed for a firm commitment about her treatment of Laura.
Suddenly, he was besieged by questions he couldn’t answer: Should he start supplying Brinley with money so her future was more stable? Should he make her his responsibility? What about Laura? Should he have himself appointed her guardian? Or should he ask Amelia to care for her instead? Would that be better? Should he offer to pay her? Would she be insulted by the suggestion?
The difficult queries roiled him, but he couldn’t focus on any of them. He could only think about Amelia, how fast the hours were passing, and how quickly he’d be with her again.
* * * *
Evan Boyle leapt onto the deck of the ship they’d just boarded. They’d been following it for days, finally getting close enough to decide it was abandoned and adrift.
He had a kerchief across his nose and mouth, concerned there might be a plague or other contagion that had killed the crew. There was no flag flying, no colors to indicate the owner or country of origin. It was incredibly suspicious, and they were proceeding carefully.
Several men had climbed below, but there had been no shouts of alarm. It seemed to be a merchant vessel. There were crates stacked everywhere, and he was curious about the cargo. They constantly chased African pirates who were particularly greedy and brutal.
They found all sorts of things: gold, silver, household items, fabric, muskets, provisions, animals, salt, liquor, and of course, human beings.
He gestured to a boy who had a crowbar to pry the lid off a box. As the last nail snapped loose, they grabbed it together and yanked it away.
Disaster struck in an instant.
A bandit had been hiding inside the box, and Evan didn’t have a second to wonder how long he’d been there or why he’d been nailed in. He was holding a dagger in one hand and a curved saber in the other. He lashed out with both before Evan could move a muscle.
Evan was heavily armed himself, but there was no chance to reach for any of his weapons. The villain’s blades caught him on the wrist and the thigh, and he bellowed a warning, then collapsed to the deck.
Chaos erupted. The ship hadn’t been abandoned, hadn’t been adrift. Pirates swarmed from behind the crates, and mayhem ensued. The sounds of battle and frantic men, of clashing steel and firing pistols, washed over him, but it barely registered.
His life’s blood was draining out, and he stared at the sky, desperate to always remember how blue it had been.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
As Amelia approached the carriage Brinley had hired to convey them to the ball, she stopped in her tracks, her jaw dropping in astonishment.
James was standing next to it, and he was wearing his uniform. He was cleanly shaven, his hair tidy and tied with a strip of black ribbon, his boots polished to a shine. He had a ceremonial saber strapped to his waist. He was handsome, dashing, and wonderful.
“Hello, Miss Boyle.”
He grinned his devil’s grin, and it was so delicious that she actually felt weak in the knees.
“Captain Hastings! This is a surprise. Are you coming with us?”
“Yes.”
“I’m flabbergasted to hear it. How were you convinced to join us?”
“My sister nagged until I relented just to silence her.”
From inside the vehicle, Brinley complained, “I didn’t nag at him, Miss Boyle. I simply asked if he’d like to accompany us, and he said yes. I thought we’d make much more of a splash if we had an army officer escorting us around the ballroom.”
“Women love to see a man in uniform,” he cockily added.
“Can you dance, Captain Hastings?” Amelia inquired. “Will I be able to put you on my dance card?”
“Can I dance?” He feigned offense. “I’m a captain in the King’s army, Miss Boyle. I can do anything.”
Amelia laughed with delight and glanced to the cottage. Victoria and Laura were hovering in the doorway. Amelia had tried to persuade Victoria to come too, but she’d been living in Gibraltar for years, and she’d had her fill of local amusements.
Plus, she was irked at the senior officers who’d been working to send her to England, and she hadn’t wanted to bump into any of them. And with Laura so recently moved in, she deemed it important to stay home with her.
Amelia couldn’t argue the point.
“You look very grand, Captain Hastings,” Victoria called to him.
“Thank you, Mrs. Bennett.”
Victoria peered down at Laura and said, “What do you think, Laura? He’s quite splendid, isn’t he?”
She nodded, which Amelia took as a good sign.
“You look quite splendid yourself,” he said to Amelia.
“Flatterer,” Amelia teased as he extended his hand.
She clasped hold and climbed in to sit by Brinley.
She knew she looked very fine. When she’d packed for Gibraltar, she’d had no idea what to expect with regard to socializing, so she’d brought one gown suitable for a fancy party. It was a beautiful shade of blue that highlighted the blue of her eyes. The fabric was a shimmery, flowing material so she seemed slender but shapely, a nymph to turn heads.
Her hair was pulled into an elegant chignon, with a few wayward curls dangling over her ears, and Victoria had weaved flowers into it. Victoria had loaned her a pretty sapphire necklace too that enhanced the color of her dress. It, along with her matching shawl, slippers, and fan, made her appear rich, chic, and entitled.
She wasn’t any of those, but for the evening, it would be thrilling to pretend.
Brinley had gone to an enormous amount of trouble too. Her hair was intricately styled with curls and braids, the arrangement so complex she must have hired a special maid to help her get ready.
Her gown was a lush emerald green that set off the green of her eyes, the auburn of her hair. She’d applied some cosmetics that accentuated her striking features. She looked rich too, but voluptuous and tempting. The bodice of her gown was cut very low, her corset laced very tight, to reveal a stunning bosom that would keep male attention focused on her and no one else.
Her sole adornment was her pearl necklace and earrings that reminded Amelia so much of the ones her mother used to have. The sight lent a melancholy air to the festivities that she shoved away.
She wouldn’t mourn the past. Not when she was about to enjoy her first gala in her new town.
James climbed in too and seated himself across from them. They rolled away, Victoria shouting her good wishes and all of them merrily waving. The sun had vanished in the west, and the sky was a vibrant lavender and orange that intensified during the short ride up the hill to the villa.
For once, Brinley acted like the young lady she was. She hurled no sarcastic comments. She didn’t display her usual impertinence. She didn’t aggravate her brother. The three of them simply chatted like normal people.
As they approached the villa, carriages were lined up, so it took many minutes to arrive under the portico. It was a decorated fairyland, with glowing lamps, bubbling fountains, and liveried servants handing out champagne as they exited their vehicle.
Below them, the town twinkled, candles being lit, and ships bobbing in the harbor, their lanterns swinging with the breeze. The Mediterranean stretched to the horizon, a deep indigo that she would try to always remember.
“Oh, my,” she breathed, and she told Brinley, “This is lovely. I’m so glad you encouraged me to come. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Wait until you see the inside,” Brinley said. “It’s even more spectacular.”
They followed a group of guests across the driveway, through a tiled courtyard, and down a flight of stairs. They were pitched out into a rear garden, and it was clear they would dance and dine under the stars.
It was all so enchanting, so glamorous, and Amelia felt as if she was dreaming.
James was between them, and Amelia peeked up at him. He winked at her, a quiet message that he viewed all of it to be incredibly absurd, but what did men know about anything?
She was in such a festive mood that she could have twirled in happy circles. The prior year had been one of trial and misery, and she thought perhaps she’d turned a page and had moved on.
They reached more stairs, the final ones that would lead them down to the garden and—as if they were in a London ballroom—there was a butler announcing the names of the guests. Amelia braced, worried that Brinley might ruin the fun by insisting James be referred to as Lord Denby, but she didn’t. She was still on her best behavior.
She gave their card to the butler, and he called, “Captain James Hastings, Miss
Brinley Hastings, and Miss Amelia Boyle.”
They paused as people peered up and assessed them. They were a handsome trio, and it had to be pleasurable to study them. James was particularly dynamic, and Amelia noticed how all the ladies cast longing glances at him. Then they descended to the receiving line to be introduced to Conte Corpetto.
Brinley was acquainted with Corpetto so she went first. Amelia barely paid attention to them. She was examining the flowers, the fountains, the stars overhead. It was all so amazing.
The Conte was murmuring to Brinley in Italian, and she was grinning flirtatiously, ecstatic at being singled out by him. She continued on, then it was Amelia’s turn. Corpetto spun toward her, and on seeing his face, she was so shocked that she gasped and hastily stepped away.
It was Holden Cartwright! Wasn’t it? It was the man she’d met in London who’d proposed a speedy, ill-conceived marriage, but who hadn’t shown up to whisk her off to Scotland. Or maybe it was an older brother or cousin? Could there be two men in the world who looked so much alike without being related?
She was frozen in place, needing to greet him, but she couldn’t. The crowd behind her was growing restive, her delay holding things up, but she just couldn’t process what she was witnessing.
James saved her. He had very fine manners—when he felt like exhibiting them. He engaged in the obligatory banter with the Conte, then he walked on, dragging Amelia with him. Being stunned to speechlessness, she couldn’t have remarked if James had demanded it of her.
She couldn’t stop gaping though, and she strained her neck, staring back at Corpetto.
Holden had been handsome and dapper, always exquisitely groomed, his clothes sewn by premier tailors, from the most expensive fabrics. He’d been gregarious and charming, interesting and sociable. The Conte was gregarious and sociable too, and she watched his hands and posture. From his graceful gestures, he was so…Italian.
Other than his facial features, there was little about him that resembled Holden. His hair was a much whiter blond, and he had a neatly-trimmed beard whereas Holden had been clean shaven. He was heavier around the middle, weighing twenty pounds more than Holden.
