The Captain’s Lady: Regency House Party: Havencrest

by Cardon, Sara

  The Captain’s Lady

  Regency House Party: Havencrest

  Sara Cardon

  To my son, Jonathan.

  Your compassion, confidence, courage,

  and perseverance inspire me.

  You’re one of my heroes.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peak at The Marriage Bargain by Heidi Kimball

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Lucy Brook was breathless as she fairly flew towards the bank. Between the yeasty smell from Offley’s tavern and the oppressive summer heat, she needed a drink of water and a fan.

  “How long ago did Captain Sharpe arrive?” she asked her accountant.

  Mr. Nicolson easily kept pace beside her, his long-legged stride eating up the distance. “A quarter of an hour, perhaps. I left to find you the moment he stepped foot inside.”

  “Did he state his business?”

  “No. But he has a new secretary.”

  Her stomach constricted around the kippers she had eaten for her morning meal. Lucy hoped she wasn’t too late for the meeting with the captain. She didn’t know what to expect of the man—Captain Sharpe had always corresponded by letter, never in person. But she feared the damage the latest gossip articles could do. Carriage wheels clacked over the narrow cobblestones of Henrietta Street. The shops presented a solid front—no break in the ranks, no alley or crack, not even to let in a breeze. London in July was stifling.

  Breathing heavily, Lucy arrived at № 27, Tilney’s Bank. Mr. Nicolson opened the heavy door for her. This bank was like home, with its comforting scents of paper and ink.

  “Everything will work out,” she told herself. She lifted her chin and stiffened her spine, scanning for the captain. Though they had never been introduced, she had seen him on a rainy day when she was riding in Hyde Park. He had been on foot, and even if she had not almost run him over, it would have been hard not to gawk at him. His wet uniform pulled against broad shoulders, and when he lifted his somber eyes and smiled tentatively, revealing white teeth against his sun-bronzed skin, words had fled her. She would recognize him the moment she saw him.

  She stood on her tiptoes to scan the bank’s entry for Captain Sharpe. Everyone turned in her direction—from the tellers, loan officers, and customers, to the actress sitting on one of the cushioned chairs. A gentleman stared openly at her over the folded edge of his newspaper.

  Lucy’s already-warm face blazed. She clasped her hands together and dropped her head, unable to meet anyone’s gaze.

  “Did The Times print something new about my inheritance?” she whispered to Mr. Nicolson.

  Her accountant shrugged.

  Lucy squared her shoulders and walked through the lobby on a straight course to the bank manager’s office. Captain Sharpe should still be there. Surely Mr. Hardy would have delayed him until she arrived.

  The office door was closed, but raised voices carried through the hand-carved mahogany. Her breath hitched and she glanced at Mr. Nicolson. The meeting was underway, and it didn’t seem to be going well. Lucy smoothed the wisps of hair escaping her chignon. When she crossed the threshold, she would sink into her favorite chair, push the peculiar tension from her, and face with confidence whatever came. Her late Grandfather Tilney had bequeathed Tilney’s Bank to her, and she would prove herself capable.

  Mr. Nicolson pushed his spectacles up on his nose. “Are you ready?”

  No. “Yes.”

  Mr. Nicolson cracked open the door. There was no waiting on ceremony today.

  Her brother-in-law, Reuben Hardy, pushed his large frame up out of his chair and waved them in. “Miss Brook. Mr. Nicolson.” His booming bass voice welcomed them.

  Besides Reuben, there was only one other man present, and he was not the captain. Lucy frowned. Was she too late? Had Captain Sharpe left already? She had half a mind to go chase the man down.

  Reuben cleared his throat and gestured with a beefy hand. “Miss Brook, may I introduce Mr. Keats, the secretary for one of our most important clients, Captain Jack Sharpe.”

  She curtseyed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Keats.”

  Mr. Keats gave the barest of bows. He kept his chin unusually high, despite having almost none. He looked her over, one pale, thin eyebrow rising into his limp hair, and a look of consternation on his face, as if puzzling the Window and Glass Tax for Tilney’s.

  Lucy wound the strap of her reticule around her hand. He is only a solicitor, she reminded herself. He may think he’s in charge, but he holds no more power than an animal at the royal menagerie.

  Mr. Nicolson held out a velvet chair for Lucy, and she perched on the end of it, swallowing her discomfort. She removed her gloves to grasp the armrests of her grandfather’s chair, and the tangible connection to him brought a lump to her throat.

  “Would you give me a brief summary of your meeting with Mr. Keats so far?” she asked, discreetly wiping at the beads of sweat on her forehead.

  “Of course,” Reuben said. “First, can I offer you a drink?”

  “Yes” Lucy said in the same moment Mr. Keats answered, “No.”

  She and Mr. Keats eyed one another a second time.

  “My business here is concluding, and I do not wish to restate it,” Mr. Keats said.

  “Since it concerns Miss Brook, we will take our time to restate our business thus far.” Reuben’s tone held censure.

  Mr. Keats murmured, “I never discuss business with a lady.”

  His comment pushed on a bruise, but Lucy kept her face serene. She accepted a glass of water from Reuben and tried to sip slowly even though she was parched. Reuben might have hair sticking up in the back and a permanently rumpled cravat around his thick neck, but he also had the warm, brown eyes of a beloved dog. And a loyal streak Lucy admired. She was proud to call him her brother-in-law, though they kept their relationship formal at the bank.

  The men settled back in their seats, Reuben and Mr. Nicolson flanking her, with the pale, pinched Mr. Keats directly across. Even with the support, Lucy could not be lulled into believing she was safe.

  “Let me fill you in,” Reuben began. “Captain Sharpe arrived and introduced his new secretary, Mr. Keats, who will be conducting his business.” He paused, and his brows knit. “The captain wishes to withdraw the entirety of his assets and transfer them to another bank.”

  Lucy’s mouth opened, her throat going dry. Her mind whirled as she calculated the numbers, the probabilities, and difficulties involved in shoring up liquidity with such a substantial transfer.

  “All of his assets?” she clarified. “This seems sudden. If we can understand Captain Sharpe’s needs, what his concerns are, I’m confident we—”

  “I advised my client to proceed at once,” Mr. Keats interrupted.

  “You told him to?” Her body locked in place.

  “Yes.” Mr. Keats’ small chin tipped in the semblance of a smile.

  Reuben placed an elbow on the desk, leaning into Lucy’s line of fire. “Captain Sharp
e has been a loyal customer at Tilney’s Bank since he first became an officer. We have always taken care of his interests.”

  Mr. Keats spared him a glance. “I have stated Captain Sharpe’s desires clearly.”

  Had he? She couldn’t let this account go. Other patrons might follow his example. The captain was a prominent figure, even if he wasn’t in society much. She could only begin to guess how the loss of the captain’s finances would affect the bank’s assets and stability. Most patrons with a fortune as large as his used multiple banks, but the captain used only one. Hers.

  “You have mentioned no complaints,” Lucy began. “Is another bank offering a higher rate of return? Has Tilney’s failed Captain Sharpe in providing service? If you share the plain and practical reasons, we may be able to resolve the matter without you needing to go to such great lengths.”

  Mr. Keats’ gaze locked on hers, and his pale eyes flashed with something dark. “Miss Brook, you are precisely the reason. You may have inherited this bank, but you should not attempt to meddle in matters so complex.”

  The blast of contention hit her with palpable force, knocking her stomach inside out. She leaned against the back of her grandfather’s chair.

  Mr. Keats’ bony index finger jabbed the table as he spoke. “Banking is no place for a woman. It is unbecoming for a lady.”

  “That is enough,” Reuben warned.

  Heat exploded in her face and radiated through her body as if Mr. Keats had slapped her. Even her fingers tingled. “That’s absurd.” She was a lady and longed for everything a woman of her age wished for—a husband and children. But personal aches could not sidetrack her now. The bank’s success mattered most.

  “You may have inherited your grandfather’s bank, but a woman should leave the running of it to the manager and the board of trustees,” he said, his voice patronizing. “It weakens my . . . my client’s confidence in Tilney's as a sound financial institution. So, as advised, Captain Sharpe shall withdraw the entirety of his funds.”

  She had owned the bank for a mere year and was already losing Tilney’s foremost customer.

  All voices seemed to erupt at once. All except for hers.

  Mr. Nicolson’s narrow shoulders bunched. “Look at our financial reports. We rival the Bank of England for organization and guaranteed payments. How is that for confidence?”

  “You expect us to hand over his assets in one afternoon? It takes time!” Reuben boomed.

  Mr. Keats stood. “Gentlemen.” Splotchy red crept up his face and into his thinning hair. “Gentlemen,” he said again, as if Lucy was invisible. Perhaps to him she was. “I give you a fortnight’s notice. Captain Sharpe is on holiday in Brighton until the fourteenth. You have until then to make the arrangements. I will send you the particulars on when we will meet again.” He snapped his leather case closed with finality. “I bid you good day.” He swung the door shut with a resounding bang.

  Lucy covered her face with her hands. What would cause Captain Sharpe to lose confidence in Tilney’s Bank? Was she really so inept?

  In the stillness, Reuben shuffled his feet by the closed door. “We have the funds. We can remain solvent even with this blow.”

  She glanced up at the two men she trusted. “Captain Sharpe is an influential man. What if another customer follows suit? And then another? It could spell disaster.” Sweat trickled down her spine.

  “Fiend seize it. This is because of the rubbish The Times printed this morning,” Mr. Nicolson said.

  Lucy snatched the discarded newspaper on the table.

  “Page three,” Reuben said, taking the chair across from her.

  She smoothed a finger over the wrinkled column. It was titled “Bank Heiress Going Bankrupt.” As she read, her heart sank like a paperweight.

  “This article makes me out to be a light-headed peagoose.” She tried to swallow past the sting of unshed tears. Why must people assume she was incapable of intelligent thought? "No wonder Mr. Keats lost confidence in Tilney’s. Who else will leave based on this?”

  “Captain Sharpe is only one customer,” Reuben said.

  “One wealthy and influential customer.” No one else had invested such a large amount of money at Tilney’s. She pressed a hand to the twinge in her chest.

  “So you wear a dress. I don’t understand what all the hum is about.” Mr. Nicolson adjusted his spectacles. “Two other women own thriving banks in London.”

  “Yes, but Mrs. Coutts has the Prince Regent as a customer.” Reuben drummed his fingers on the table. “And Lady Jersey is . . . well, Lady Jersey, a patroness of Almack’s. Perceptions are hard to change.”

  Lucy swallowed. “Which is why we need Captain Sharpe to remain a customer at Tilney’s. I have no clout in society. The Times made my faults abundantly clear.”

  She wondered, for the hundredth time, why her grandfather had entrusted his life’s work to her rather than a male relative. Surely he had anticipated the obstacles?

  “Some underestimate you, but don’t believe them,” Reuben soothed. “The Times misrepresented the facts. Everyone at Tilney’s saw your commitment as your grandfather’s health declined. Besides, you are a senior partner.” His raised his eyebrows. “Lucy, he choose his heir carefully. He praised you for your quick mind and forceful nature.”

  Lucy nodded, her chin trembling. Only her grandfather would praise her for a forceful nature. She had not been forceful during Mr. Keats’ tirade.

  “Miss Brook, only a fool would think you could single-handedly destroy Tilney’s,” Mr. Nicolson said with a warm smile.

  Lucy smiled and clasped her trembling hands. “You are right. We can work together to figure this out.” She blew out a breath and centered her thoughts. “Mr. Keats has strong opinions. This is my question now: is Captain Sharpe in full agreement, or is his secretary leading this?”

  Reuben tilted his head. “There is one way to find out. Mr. Keats shared the details of Captain Sharpe’s trip to Brighton—and the lofty connections at a house party at the Garvey’s.”

  Lucy lifted her head, her heart lifting. “That’s it. I will go to Brighton and speak with Captain Sharpe.” Hope rose inside her.

  Mr. Nicolson glanced from Reuben to Lucy, then held up his hand. “Just a moment. What is this about the Garveys? And how do you propose to meet Captain Sharpe if he is invited and you are not?”

  “I happen to know Mr. Josiah Garvey,” Reuben said with a grin. “He’s a bit of a dandy, even at his age, but a clever old chap. He spends time with the Prince Regent. Not my usual company. Each summer he hosts a large house party at Havencrest, his estate in Brighton.”

  “Can you obtain an invitation?” Lucy held her breath.

  Reuben rubbed his jaw and nodded. “I believe so. Mr. Garvey is generous and enjoys company. I’ll send a letter immediately, and since Brighton is only a short distance, we should receive word before nightfall.”

  Lucy stood. “We need Captain Sharpe’s holdings and his show of confidence.” The captain's prize money was a hefty sum. Likely two hundred times his annual salary as a naval captain. “If you procure an invitation, then I am willing to do anything to win him over.”

  “Win him over? What do you intend to do?” Mr. Nicolson eyed her in a way that made her stomach turn. “The other two women bankers are married. Getting married would add credibility to your role.”

  Her face heated. “I have no foolish romantic notions. Do you think I have marriage proposals to choose from?”

  The idea was ludicrous. Fortune hunters and dandies abounded, but unaffected gentlemen did not. Besides, even if her heart sometimes longed for more, her mind knew better. She alone directed her life, and she enjoyed that control. A husband would just limit her.

  “You’re in mourning. No gentleman would seek to court you while in mourning,” Reuben said.

  “Well, Brighton will be strictly for business,” she stated firmly.

  “It is none of my concern. Forgive me for being a dunderhead.” Mr. Nicolson g
rimaced.

  Lucy relaxed her posture. He was like a brother to her, and she couldn’t help teasing him to prod him out of his guilt. “No one who can balance investment books and greet every client by name after only one meeting is a dunderhead. You dolt.”

  Mr. Nicolson smiled, and Lucy laughed.

  “Suitors or not, you do need a proper chaperone, Lucy. You know your sister would love to escort you.” Reuben smiled kindly.

  “Even with little Thomas?” Lucy didn’t mean to intrude, but he was only a year and a half old, and her sister had not fully regained her energy.

  “Perhaps I should attend as well,” Reuben hedged, his brows drawn.

  “That is a fine idea. And I would be grateful to you both,” she encouraged. Reuben worked long hours at the bank. He might enjoy a holiday. She couldn’t recall a time when he wasn’t buried in paperwork. “Such short notice will be disruptive. If Charlotte cannot be separated from Thomas, then please encourage her to bring him. You know I adore him.” Perhaps the trip would jolly Charlotte out of her melancholy.

  “I can manage things here, Miss Brook,” Mr. Nicolson volunteered. “And I am on call for a quick ride to Brighton if needed.”

  “How do you plan on approaching this issue with Captain Sharpe?” Reuben asked.

  Lucy rubbed her hands together and cast her eyes over the ledgers and books. “Surely he will change his mind once he sees our bank’s holdings and securities.”

  “That is your plan?” Mr. Nicolson’s eyes rounded.

  Lucy frowned. “What more is there?”

  Reuben drummed his fingers on the mahogany desk. “I have some advice for you, Lucy. And please take this in the spirit it is meant.” He cleared his throat. “After listening to Mr. Keats’ concerns, I suggest you treat a meeting with Captain Sharpe as a social call. Make his acquaintance. Meet him on agreeable terms as a friend among his friends. I am sure he will see your levelheadedness and form his own opinion about you, which we can then build on.”