A Captain of Consequence (Westham Chronicles, #2)

by Osborne, Rachel

  “Well, I have brought you something.” Amelia smiled mysteriously, reaching into her reticule and coming out with a small, square object. Grace’s curiosity was piqued for half a moment before she recognised it for what it was, and her smile fell a tiny bit.

  “A book! You are very kind, Miss Sudbury.”

  “Oh!” Amelia cried. “Don’t you like it?” She cracked the spine, passing it over to Grace beneath Emily’s watchful eye. “It is an account of a naturalist, you see, and I thought you might find his descriptions of flora and fauna interesting...” She sighed. “I suppose that means Arthur was right, although you mustn’t tell him as much or none of us shall ever hear the end of it.”

  “Captain Sudbury?” Grace’s expression lifted and she struggled to wrestle it into normalcy, fearing that she might betray the truth of her feelings for Amelia’s brother when she was not even entirely sure of them herself. “He - he spoke of me?”

  “At length,” Amelia said, taking the book out of Grace’s hands, and setting it down wistfully on a small table. “I shall leave this for you, lest you change your mind. But yes, Arthur told me I was foolish in thinking you craved to read as I did.” She laughed. “I think if I was treated to a sprained ankle and forced to lie around for hours at a time I should be only too delighted! Just think of all the long, uninterrupted hours of reading one might attend to - and never be forced to feel even one instance of guilt!”

  “Dear Captain Sudbury,” Emily purred, seeing mention of a gentleman and finding, in this, her opportunity to re-join the conversation. “How grateful we are to him for his heroism the other day. Do you know, Amelia, he walked all the way home with poor Grace in his arms. It was incredibly gallant of him!”

  “He could hardly leave me in a ditch, Emily,” Grace protested, although she had nursed the memory of this very close to her chest, replaying it in her mind whenever the pain became too great to bear without distraction.

  “And there was an opportunity at heroics. It is hardly surprising my brother leapt into action,” Amelia remarked, her eyes lit with amusement. “And the chance to call again at Grafton Hall. He is here more often than he is at home, it seems!”

  “That is surely on account of your wedding, Amelia,” Emily continued, her voice warming at this second of favourite topics. She adored weddings only slightly less than gossip, and then only because the discussion of other people’s weddings, whilst delightful, served as an uncomfortable reminder that she, herself, was as yet unwed. “You can hardly blame any gentleman for taking only a passing interest in the details of the ceremony, unless, of course, he is to be a part of it.” Her eyes widened. “I dare say Sir Benjamin is quite consumed by your plans.”

  Grace bit her lip. Emily had adopted the same breathy reverent way of saying Sir Benjamin as her parents, and it sounded even more ridiculous on her lips than on Mr Hardcastle’s.

  “Sir Benjamin is quite as indifferent to the particulars of our wedding as is my brother,” Amelia remarked, unconsciously or consciously mimicking Emily’s tone as she referred to her affianced. “I fear he merely wishes the service done so that we might go on with the rest of our lives. I confess I am no admirer of this strange period of waiting in between one life and the other.” She sighed. “But I confess I shall miss my home.”

  “Why, is Roland Park not to be home for you?” Emily leant forward in her chair, all the sooner to detect the truth of this delicious rumour.

  “Yes,” Amelia conceded. “I am quite sure it will be home. And I ought not to regret it, for as well as Ben - Sir Benjamin - it is home to Joanna. Might I advise the wisdom, when one weds, of marrying the brother of a dear friend.” She winked at Grace, her teasing tone utterly overlooked by Emily.

  “Oh, indeed!” Emily breathed, folding her hands carefully in her lap. “Now, Amelia, perhaps you can be of assistance to poor Grace and me, for we have been struggling to come to the truth of dear Miss Devereaux’s future. Will she stay at Roland Park with you, or is she eager to reunite with her Mama? It was such a sudden departure for Lady Devereaux. I do hope there was no problem...”

  Amelia smiled stiffly at Emily and Grace sensed the change in the atmosphere of the room as she responded, effectively bringing Emily’s line of not-so-subtle questioning to a stop with a few short words.

  “No, Miss Hardcastle. No problem. Did you say you intended to order tea?”

  Chapter Four

  Arthur Sudbury had quite missed the quaint, quietly busy centre of Westham. As a younger man, he had despaired of its lack of amenities, of the habit one had of forever running into somebody one knew and being forced to spend a few minutes discussing the weather, or agreeing with one’s elders and betters on whatever topic of conversation they chose to raise. Having spent many years away, though, he could not help but acknowledge the charms of the small place. Yes, he had missed Westham, although he would not be quick to admit as much to his sister or father, both of whom who would use his reflections as proof that he ought never to leave it again.

  He strolled on, feeling momentarily struck with a pang of loneliness. How much pleasanter this circuit would be had he a young lady on his arm. His mind strayed again to his sister, who would happily have accompanied him had she not had so many preparations to attend to for the wedding. Even Devereaux could not be persuaded to make the short journey with him, for he had a few matters of business calling upon his limited time. Arthur let out a sigh, kicking his boot against the ground in restless irritation. He ought not to mind being alone. Heaven knew he had longed for just a moment of solitude in the many months and years he had spent packed into ships or barracks and always surrounded by other people. Now that he was granted his wish, however, he could not help but find he did not like it quite so much as he had fancied he would.

  His lounging walk had dislodged a piece of gravel and he watched as it bounced and rolled a few feet in front of him. Something about it caught his eye and he stopped, crouching down to retrieve it. He turned it over and over in his palm, marvelling at the peculiar ridges it bore. It was a fossil of some kind, or it had been carved into by some ancient long-dead person. He smiled, straightening, and tossed the small stone over in his palm wishing he had somebody else who would appreciate his find.

  Grace Hardcastle! Hers was just the curious intellect who would find such a piece interesting. She would pore over it, examining it this way and that, and committing it to paper in a detailed sketch. His grin widened, and he deposited the stone carefully in his pocket. He would perhaps call at Grafton Hall on his way home and show her it then.

  An idea began to form in his mind and he scanned the ground for more treasures. A feather. A particularly interesting knotty twig. Locating his handkerchief, he made a sort of bag of it, stuffing his found treasures inside and imagining how amused his friend would be to add these to her collection of curiosities. Amelia was right, the poor girl was probably suffering for entertainment and if he, an able-bodied gentleman, found momentary solitude dull, how much more would lively, clever Grace?

  At least she might be permitted to read! he thought, recalling his sister’s assertion. Or to draw. He remembered her reason for taking refuge in a precarious tree branch, to begin with. I wished to draw a bird! Well, he was not about to trap a robin for her to ponder and pet, but young ladies sometimes kept songbirds, did not they?

  He tied the corners of his handkerchief together, so that none of his treasures might slip free, and tucked it into the sleeve of his coat. It made on arm bulge quite bizarrely but was not too noticeable, and far better than trying to carry the strange little bundle.

  Purpose gave him energy and he walked all the quicker across the bustling town square, stopping only when a figure some distance ahead of him caught his eye.

  “Oh, Mr Crampton!” Emily Hardcastle’s voice sounded abnormally loud against the low rumble of shopkeepers and passer-by, or perhaps it was just that Arthur was particularly attuned to hear it. He had managed to conjure her voice and her visage ev
en miles away at sea, after all, when she was but a memory. Now not a memory but a true, live young lady, Emily Hardcastle strolled ahead of him arm in arm - or they may as well have been! - with a gentleman Arthur did not recognise. The smile slipped from his lips and all the despondency he had felt at being free and alone in Westham vanished. Now, isolation would be preferable. He remained rooted to the spot, undecided whether he ought to approach his neighbour or whether he should retreat without acknowledging them. His indecision cost him, though, for before he had decided what course of action was the best to take, she spotted him, and turned her too-loud voice towards him in greeting.

  “Captain Sudbury!” Hurriedly she took a slight step towards him, putting a little more distance between herself and her companion.

  “Miss Hardcastle.” Arthur’s feet might have remained pinned in place, but he had not forgotten his manners. He dropped in a deep bow, feeling his parcel dislodge itself from its hiding place and slip free. He reached up at the last minute to secure it, and the movement caught Emily’s eye.

  “Have you been making purchases?” Her eyes danced. “And what, pray, have you need of?”

  “These are not for me,” Arthur said, dumbly. “They are for your sister.”

  Emily’s eyes widened, and Arthur hurried to explain himself, to address the unspoken impropriety of him taking it upon himself to purchase gifts for the younger Miss Hardcastle.

  “They are also not purchases.” He smiled, stiffly. “I found a few interesting little objects that I thought Miss Grace would appreciate seeing,” he explained. “A pretty feather, a strangely marked stone, a twig that curved beautifully.” His eyes darted to Emily’s companion, who was viewing him decidedly askance. “You know how she cares for oddities.”

  “Yes.” Emily laughed and the sound made both gentlemen flinch. “My sister does have peculiar interests!”

  The three stood in silence a moment before Emily’s companion spoke. He held his hand out to Arthur with an almost imperious nod.

  “I am Mr Edward Crampton, sir. I do not believe we have yet had the privilege of an introduction.”

  “No, indeed.” Arthur shook his hand warmly, a little surprised at the weakness of the fellow’s grip, and prompted by it to release his hold far more quickly than he otherwise might. “Captain Arthur Sudbury.”

  “Aha!” Mr Crampton’s eyes widened, and he darted a sly glance at Emily. “The famous Captain Sudbury. Why, you are very nearly Westham royalty, sir. I say, Miss Hardcastle, if you are not in any hurry to return home, shall we not press the young captain into joining us for some refreshments?”

  “YOU’VE TRAVELLED THEN, Sudbury?”

  Crampton’s voice rang with a vague sneer, but his face betrayed genuine interest. Arthur did not entirely know what to make of him. He ought not to have liked the fellow, for he evidently thought of himself as something more important than anybody who had found his fortune in the navy, yet his eyes shone with such admiration that Arthur found himself softening towards him.

  “A little,” he murmured, stifling a laugh but reaching for his teacup. “But for now it seems my travelling days are behind me.”

  “Oh?”

  “I imagine you are just pleased to be home again, now that that horrid little war is over,” Emily Hardcastle remarked, with another grating laugh. Arthur was not sure whether she might be feeling a little unwell that afternoon, for she seemed quite unlike herself. Her voice was too loud, her laugh not the happy, musical sound of his memory but a grating giggle that attacked his nerves. Her eyes, however, were quite as beautiful as he remembered and when she fixed them on him, wide and bright, it took him a moment to summon an answer.

  “Well, we are pleased to have the victory,” Arthur conceded. “Although I am not quite convinced all is entirely settled yet.”

  He set his teacup down, surprised, and yet not surprised, to find both of his companions looking at him with undisguised interest.

  “Napolean is exiled, but I cannot be the only person who doubts his willingness to remain on Elba forever.” He shook his head. “But it is nothing we need to speak of at present. Tell me, Crampton, when did you come to Westham? It must have been sometime within the last five years, but I dare say you have been here long enough now to call it well and truly home.”

  “Indeed, indeed.” Crampton’s booming voice rose, dominating the small table, and attracting Emily’s pretty eyes away from Arthur to himself. “It was four years...or, wait, was it five? Miss Hardcastle, perhaps you remember...”

  Emily shook her head.

  “I was in London then,” she said, in a whisper. She stirred her tea enthusiastically and Arthur wondered if there was some significance in this. Before he could consider her behaviour further, Crampton spoke again.

  “Four years.” He grinned. “I came into an inheritance, you see, Sudbury, and I was tired of London.”

  “And yet I thought it said that when a man is tired of London he is tired of life!” Arthur remarked, with a smirk. Nobody answered, and Crampton actually looked a little irritated with this interruption.

  “Samuel Johnson,” Arthur muttered. “Forgive me, you evidently did not grow up with a bookworm for a sister.”

  Crampton blinked, his expression settling into amiability once more.

  “Anyway. London is all well and good for a young man or one with a reputation for living well.” He smiled, grimly and Arthur felt his own irritation rising. This was surely a veiled reference to Devereaux, who had returned to Westham from London with a cloud of rumours swirling about him. Even he, Arthur, had believed some of the worst of them to be true. It had taken him but a short time to realise that a man ought not to be judged by what is said about him. The two were firm friends now and Arthur could not help but rejoice at Devereaux’s and his sister’s engagement. He did not like the thought that not everybody in Westham had so easily surrendered their prejudices.

  “Miss Hardcastle.” Arthur turned towards Emily. “I wonder if you would permit me to call at your house this afternoon. I should like to see for myself how Grace is doing, and do not doubt that my sister will wish to hear my report at dinner this evening.” He smiled and was rewarded by a returning gesture from Emily, who nodded.

  “We planned to return that way, did not we, Mr Crampton?” Her smile grew. “We are just waiting for Mama to finish her errands.”

  Arthur’s smile did not dim, but internally he felt his heart sink a little. He could already envision how their slow walk back to Grafton Hall would be, with Crampton escorting Emily and leaving him to Mrs Hardcastle. He took a long, fortifying sip of his tea, reminded that it was Mr Hardcastle, and not his wife, who had been so utterly opposed to his suit all those years ago. Indeed, Mrs Hardcastle had seemed at least a little interested in him upon his return to Westham. Another thought nestled its way into his mind, and he visibly cheered. Who better to persuade Mr Hardcastle of Arthur’s value now than his wife? He rested his eyes momentarily on the pair who shared his table, trying to deduce Emily Hardcastle’s own sentiments. She might like Mr Crampton, indeed she did not dislike him, Arthur thought, but they were hardly a pair in love. Her eyes met Arthur’s and she brightened, looking once more like her old self. He recalled the first time those eyes had met his, across the crowded floor of the assembly rooms. He had been so smitten, so certain of the happy future they might have had together, once he had secured his fortune. Well, now he had amassed both rank and wealth enough to satisfy even the most reluctant Papa. Mr Hardcastle might need a little time to let go of his memory of Arthur, allowing the new, reformed Captain Sudbury to take his place. But he had softened towards Sir Benjamin Devereaux, even when others in his circle had not. Surely it would only be a matter of time before Arthur, too, won his good opinion.

  “I hope Mrs Hardcastle is not shopping alone,” he remarked, draining his teacup and setting it back on its saucer. “Perhaps I ought to offer my assistance in carrying her parcels. I do not like to think of her struggling.”r />
  “Oh, you are kind, Captain Sudbury,” Emily cooed, standing as he did, and glancing over her shoulder almost as an afterthought to encourage Mr Crampton to accompany them. “Yes, we must go and see if she needs our help. Come along, Mr Crampton, for I am sure she will be almost finished by now, and we might all continue home. Thank you, Captain Sudbury.”

  She allowed him to escort her to the door and not Mr Crampton, who was still hurriedly finishing his tea and gathering himself to leave. Arthur swallowed his smile, feeling an uncanny moment of encouragement that all was not yet lost. Had Emily entirely lost her heart to Mr Crampton, she would not so easily abandon him. Arthur inclined his head towards her, listening as she gave a detailed description of her Mama’s shopping list and where they might be most likely to find her.

  “For you recall, I am sure, Captain Sudbury, how fond Mama is of gingerbread...”

  “I do!” Arthur beamed, pleased to be able to agree upon a shared memory. Another tugged at his mind, and he shared it. “In fact, I recall one occasion when Grace helped your cook to make a fresh batch only to discover, too late, that she had mistaken salt for sugar and left the entire tray unpalatable.”

  “Unpalatable for most of us,” Emily corrected, looking at him with unshakeable warmth and admiration rendering her as she had been five years previously. “I recall you heroically swallowing yours without complaint, and I am quite sure that was the very evening that you won both Grace’s and Mama’s heart completely. How pleased she will be that we have bumped into you!”