Jamie bowed.
“I am at your service, my lady.”

Lady Marianne clasped her hands at her waist and laughed softly, but without mirth. “Such a cold tone to match a cold day. Where is the warmth that once graced your every word to me?”

For several moments Jamie stared at the ground, his lips set in a grim line. He seemed to compose himself, for at last he lifted his gaze to meet hers.

“My lady, I beg your forgiveness for my inappropriate conversations with you last summer.”

“But—”

He raised his hand in a silencing gesture. “I will not betray the trust of Lord Bennington by arrogantly presuming an equality that would permit us…permit me…to pursue a lady so far above me.” For an instant a sweet vulnerability crossed his eyes, but then all light disappeared from his face. “You must not ask me to do that which would dishonor you, your family and my faith….”

LOUISE M. GOUGE

has been married to her husband, David, for more than forty years. They have four children and six grandchildren. Louise always had an active imagination, thinking up stories for her friends, classmates and family, but seldom writing them down. At a friend’s insistence, in 1984 she finally began to type up her latest idea. Before trying to find a publisher, Louise returned to college, earning a BA in English/creative writing and a master’s degree in liberal studies. She reworked the novel based on what she had learned and sold it to a major Christian publisher. Louise then worked in television marketing for a short time before becoming a college English/humanities instructor. She has had seven novels published, five of which have earned multiple awards, including the 2006 Inspirational Reader’s Choice Award. Please visit her Web site at www.louisemgouge.com.

The Captain’s Lady
Louise M. Gouge

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.

—The Song of Solomon 6:3

To my beloved husband, David, who encouraged

me to keep writing these books even as he was

enduring radiation and chemotherapy treatments.

May our God grant us another forty-five years

together.

And to my insightful editor

Melissa Endlich…thanks!

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

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

March 1776

London, England

Lady Marianne peered down through the peephole into the drawing room while her heart raced. Against her back, the heavy woolen tapestry extolling one of her ancestors’ mighty deeds pushed her into the wall of her father’s bedchamber, nearly choking her with its ancient dust. Yet she would endure anything to observe the entrance of Papa’s guest.

Often in her childhood she and her closest brother had evaded the notice of Greyson, Papa’s valet, and crept in here to spy on their parents’ guests, even catching a glimpse of the prime minister once when he called upon Papa, his trusted friend, the earl of Bennington. But no exalted politician captured Marianne’s interest this day.

Her breath caught. Captain James Templeton—Jamie—entered the room with Papa, and warmth filled her heart and flushed her cheeks.

The two men spoke with the enthusiasm of friends reunited after many months of separation and eager to share their news. Unable to hear their words, Marianne forced herself to breathe. Jamie, the Loyalist American captain of a merchant ship. How handsome he was, taller than Papa by several inches. His bronzed complexion and light brown hair—now sun-kissed with golden streaks and pulled back in a queue—gave evidence of long exposure to the sun on his voyages across the Atlantic Ocean. In contrast to Papa’s blue silk jacket and white satin breeches, Jamie wore a plain brown jacket and black breeches. Yet to Marianne, he appeared as elegant and noble as Papa.

Hidden high above the drawing room, she could not clearly see the blue eyes whose intense gaze had pierced her soul and claimed her heart less than a year ago. Jamie, always honest, always forthright. No wonder Papa took an interest in him, even to the extent of calling him his protégé, despite his utter lack of social position and being an American.

Marianne suspected part of Papa’s interest stemmed from wanting to secure the captain’s loyalty now that thirteen of England’s American colonies had rebelled against the Crown. But last year she had seen that the old dear truly liked Jamie, perhaps even more than his own four sons, a fact that stung both her and Mama’s hearts. Yet, despite that affection, the earl’s patronage might not extend to accepting a merchant for a son-in-law.

How she and Jamie would overcome this prejudice, Marianne did not know. At this moment, all she knew was that her own affection for him was unchanged. Last summer, against the better judgment of both of them, their friendship had intensified through shared interests, from reading Shakespeare and Aristotle to spending hours sailing on the Thames. On a short excursion with Papa aboard Jamie’s large sloop, the Fair Winds, Marianne and Jamie had whispered their confessions of undying love. Then he had placed the sweetest, purest kiss on her lips, sealing her heart to his forever. Now her pulse pounded at the sight of him, and her heart felt a settled assurance that no other man could ever win her love.

Wriggling out of her hiding place between tapestry and wall, Marianne brushed dust from her pink day dress and hastened to the door. She escaped the bedchamber undetected and hurried down the hallway to her own quarters.

“Lady Marianne.” Emma emerged from her closet, her hands clasped at her waist. “Why, my lady, your dress.” She took hold of Marianne’s skirt and shook dust from it, then glanced up. “Oh, my, your hair.” Her youthful, cherubic face creased with concern.

“Yes, Emma, I am a fright.” With a giddy laugh, Marianne brushed past her lady’s maid to sit at her dressing table. “Make haste and mend the damage. Oh, dear, look at this.” She removed a silvery cobweb from her hair, pulling several long black strands from the upswept coiffure Emma had created earlier. “Please redo this. And I shall need another of my pink gowns.” More than one dandy had told her pink brought a pretty blush to her cheeks, so she wore the color often.

Her appearance repaired and Emma’s approving smile received, Marianne clutched her prayer book and hurried from her room. With a deep breath to compose herself, she held her head high and glided down the steps to the front entry hall. A quick glance revealed Jamie and Papa seated before the blazing hearth, deep in genial conversation.

Marianne opened the book and mouthed the words of the morning prayer as she entered the room, not looking their way. Last year, Jamie’s parting words had encouraged her to greater faith, and she must let him know she had followed his advice.

The rustle of movement caught her attention. She cast a sidelong glance toward the men, who now stood to greet her.

“Why, Papa, I didn’t realize—” She stopped before completing the lie, while heat rushed to her cheeks. “Forgive me. I see you have a guest. Will you excuse me?” She could not look at Jamie for fear that her face would reveal her heart.

“Come, daughter, permit me to present my guest.” Papa beckoned her with a gentle wave of his bony, wrinkled hand. “You may recall him from last summer. Lady Marianne, Captain James Templeton of the East Florida Colony.” His presentation was accompanied by a shallow cough, and he held a lacy linen handkerchief to his lips.

Gripping her emotions, Marianne permitted herself to look at Jamie. His furrowed brow and the firm clenching of his square jaw sent a pang of worry through her. Was he not pleased to see her? Worse still, his gaze did not meet hers. Rather, he seemed to stare just over her head. Surely this was a ploy to divert any suspicion from the mutual affection they had spoken of only in whispers during his last visit.

“Good morning, Lady Marianne.” His rigid bow bespoke his lower status, but his rich, deep voice sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. “I hope you are well.”

Offering no smile, Marianne lifted her chin. “Quite well, thank you.” She closed her book and turned to Papa, her face a mask. “Will you be busy all day, sir?”

The fond gaze he returned brought forth a wave of guilt. “I fear that I must go to Whitehall for most of the afternoon. Is there something you require, my dear? You have but to ask.” His blue eyes, though pale from age, twinkled with his usual eagerness to please her.

Marianne’s feigned hauteur melted into warm affection. Truly, Papa did spoil her. Yet she lived in dread that he would never give her the one thing she desired above all else: the tall should-be knight who stood beside him. “No, dear. I am content.” She sent a quick look toward Jamie, who continued to stare beyond her. “I will leave you to your business affairs.”

Before she could turn, Papa coughed again, and she stepped closer, frowning with concern. He waved her off. “Never mind. I am well. But I have need of your assistance.” He clapped a pale hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Captain Templeton has just arrived, and I have offered him lodging. Your mother is occupied with one of her charities, and your worthless brother has not put in an appearance for several days. Would you be so kind as to make certain the good captain is taken care of?”

A laugh of delight almost escaped Marianne, but she managed to release a sigh intended to convey boredom. “Very well, Papa. I shall see that he has accommodations.” She graced Jamie with a glance. “Do you have a manservant, or shall we procure one for you?”

A hint of a smile softened his expression. “My man awaits out front in our hired carriage, Lady Marianne.”

“Very well, then. I shall instruct our butler, Blevins, to receive him.” She reached up to kiss Papa’s wrinkled cheek, breathing in the pleasant citrus fragrance of his shaving balm. “Do not let His Majesty weary you, darling.”

“Humph.” Papa straightened his shoulders and pushed out his chest. “I am not yet in my dotage, despite what you and your mother think.” Another cough accompanied his chuckle. “You have to watch these women, Templeton. They like to coddle a man.”

“Yes, sir.” Jamie’s tone held no emotion.

Marianne resisted the urge to offer a playful argument back to Papa. The sooner he left, the sooner she would have Jamie to herself. Yet how could she accomplish that and maintain propriety? She lifted the silver bell from the nearby table and rang it. A footman stepped into the room. “Tell Blevins we have need of him.”

“Yes, Lady Marianne.” The footman bowed and left the room.

“Blevins will attend you, Captain Templeton.” Marianne kissed Papa’s cheek again. “Enjoy your afternoon, Papa.” She shot a meaningful look at Jamie. “I am going to the garden to read.”

Gliding from the room with a well-practiced grace, she met Blevins in the entry hall and gave him instructions regarding Captain Templeton. “I believe the bedchamber at the end of the third floor is best. Do you agree?” With the room’s clear view of the garden, Jamie would have no trouble knowing when she was there.

“Yes, Lady Marianne. I shall see to it.” Blevins, of medium height but seeming taller due to his exceptionally straight posture, marched on sticklike legs toward the drawing room, his gait metered like a black-clad soldier who heard an invisible drummer.

Seated on the marble bench beneath one of the barren chestnut trees, Marianne drew her woolen shawl about her shoulders and tried to concentrate on the words in her prayer book. But at the end of each Scripture verse, she found herself beseeching the Lord to send Jamie to her. As a guest in their home, he could visit her here in the garden without impropriety. Anyone looking out any of the town house’s back windows could see their actions were blameless.

After a half hour passed, Marianne shivered in the early spring breeze, closed her book and stared up at Jamie’s window, willing him to look out so that she might beckon him down. Perhaps he did not know they could meet here without censure. Yet had Papa not requested her assistance in making him feel welcomed? Tapping her foot on the flagstone paving in front of the bench, she huffed out an impatient sigh. She had told him she would be in the garden. Why did he not come?

A rear door opened, and Marianne’s heart leaped. But it was John, one of the family’s red-and-gold-liveried footmen, who emerged and approached her with a silver tray bearing a tea service and biscuits. “Begging your pardon, Lady Marianne, but Blevins thought you might like some refreshment.” John set the tray on the marble table beside her. “May I serve you, Lady Marianne?”

“Thank you, John. I can pour.” Perfect. An answer to prayer. “I should like for you to inform my father’s guest that he has missed his appointment with me. Please send Captain Templeton down straightaway.”

“Yes, Lady Marianne.” The ideal footman, John bowed away, his face revealing no emotion.

In a short time, Jamie emerged from the house. But instead of striding toward her with all eagerness, he walked as if facing the gallows, looking beyond her toward the stables, the hothouse, the treetops, anywhere but at her. By the time he came near, Marianne had almost succumbed to tears. Instead, she stood and reached out both hands to greet him.

“Jamie.” His name rushed out on a breath squeezed by joy and misery.

“You summoned me, Lady Marianne?” He stopped far beyond her reach and bowed. “I am at your service.”

She clasped her hands at her waist and laughed softly, but without mirth. “Such a cold tone to match a cold day. Where is the warmth that once graced your every word to me?”

For several moments, he stared at the ground, his lips set in a grim line and his jaw working. He seemed to compose himself, for at last he lifted his gaze to meet hers.

“My lady, I beg your forgiveness for my inappropriate conversations with you last summer.”

“But—”

“Please.” He raised his hand in a silencing gesture. “I will not betray the trust of Lord Bennington by arrogantly presuming an equality that would permit us…permit me…to pursue a lady so far above me.” For an instant, a sweet vulnerability crossed his eyes, but then all light disappeared from his face, replaced by the same blank expression John or any of the household servants might employ, a facade that bespoke their understanding of status and position. “You must not ask me to do that which would dishonor you, your family and my faith.” He gave her a stiff bow. “Now, if you will excuse me, my lady.” Jamie spun around and strode back toward the house with what seemed like eagerness, something clearly lacking when he had come to meet her.

Chapter Two

The last time Jamie had felt such grief was beside his mother’s grave in Nantucket some sixteen years ago, when he was a lad of nine, struggling then not to cry. Now his jaw ached from clenching, and his chest throbbed as it had when a young whale had slammed him with its tail, trying to escape his harpoon. No, this was unlike any pain he had ever endured aboard his uncle’s whaling ship. He could not seem to pull in enough breath, could barely manage to climb the wide front staircase without clutching the oak railing.

In the third floor hallway, a footman cast a glance at him, and one eyebrow rose. Jamie stiffened. He was no fainthearted maiden who swooned over life’s injuries. He’d seen the harm he’d just inflicted upon Marianne…Lady Marianne. Yet despite the pain pinching her fair face, she had not swooned. Or had she? Perhaps after he tore himself from her presence, she’d succumbed to her distress.

With some effort, Jamie drew air into his lungs and strode down the hallway, bursting into the elegant bedchamber assigned to him. He ignored his friend Aaron’s shocked expression and dashed to the window to peer down into the garden where he’d left her. There she sat beneath the leafless tree, staring straight ahead, her shawl carelessly draped over the stone bench.

Pain swept through him again, but this time for her. How brave she was. No tears. Even at this distance he could see her composure. Was this not one of the reasons he loved her? As he had prayed, her unfailing good sense prevailed. She knew their romance was hopeless, and would not protest his declaration that it must end. See how she clutches her prayer book. Perhaps even now she is seeking God’s consolation. His parting admonition last year had influenced her as he hoped. Surely now she would cling to the Lord, as he did, to ease the agony they both must endure. No doubt she would manage better than he.

She lifted her gaze toward his window, and he jumped back, chiding himself for lingering there. She would survive the dissolution of their love, but only if he stayed true to his course. If she sensed he might waver, she might pursue him, which would lead to their undoing. No, far more than their undoing. Nothing less than the failure of his mission for the American Revolution.

“You’d best sit down, Jamie.” Aaron tilted his head toward an arrangement of green brocade chairs near the roaring fireplace. “You’re looking a mite pale.” Worry clouded his expression.

“Aye, I’ll sit.” He staggered to a chair and fell into it, clutching his aching head in both hands as warmth from the crackling logs reached him. The itchy collar of his brown woolen jacket pressed against his neck and generated sweat clear up to his forehead, while a cold, contradictory shudder coursed down his back.

Aaron sat in an adjacent chair and clasped Jamie’s shoulder. “You’ve got it bad, lad, no mistake. But you’d best gird up your mind straightaway, or General Washington will have to send someone else to spy on Lord Bennington and his East Florida interests. And by then it’ll be too late for any useful information to reach home.” His bushy brown eyebrows met in a frown. “I thought you’d worked this all out before we sailed.”

Jamie swiped his linen handkerchief across his forehead. “Aye. I thought it, too. Then I saw her.”

“Well, you’d best deal with it.” Aaron sat back and crossed his arms. “I didn’t sail over here to get hanged. My younger brothers aren’t yet old enough to manage my lands, you know.”

His words sank deep into Jamie’s mind, and the unsaid words sank deeper. In truth, now that he’d broken with her, a certain peace began to fill his chest. He lifted a silent prayer of thanks for God’s mercy. Determined to shake off personal concerns, he gave Aaron a sidelong glance and snorted. “If you aren’t keen on hanging, then you’d best quit pestering me and start playing your own part.” He punched his friend’s arm. “Up with you, man. When does a valet sit beside his master? And no more ‘Jamie.’ It’s Captain Templeton to you, and don’t you forget it.”

“That’s the way, Cap’n.” Aaron jumped to his feet. “And I’m Quince to ye, sir. So watch what ye say, too.” He spoke with the affected accent that augmented his guise as Jamie’s valet.

The good humor lighting Aaron’s face improved Jamie’s spirits. Together they could complete their mission and be gone in just over a fortnight. Surely he could evade Lady Marianne for that short time.

Shivering in the brisk breeze, Marianne clutched her prayer book to her chest and stared unseeing toward the back entrance of the house. Over and over, Jamie’s words repeated in her mind: You must not ask me to do that which would dishonor you, your family and my faith.

Dishonor? Did he truly believe loving her would cause such dishonor? Had all his ardent declarations of last summer meant nothing to him? Where was his honor if he broke his promise to love her forever? She could not think. Could not feel. His words hammered against her heart, numbing her to all, even tears, even to the biting March wind.

The memory of his cold facade burned into her like a fire, reigniting her senses. She tightened her grip on the prayer book. How could he cause her such pain? In answer, his face appeared in her mind’s eye. For the briefest moment, she had seen misery there. What his lips would deny, his eyes revealed. He did love her. Of that she was certain. Serenity filled her heart, and she dared to cast a gaze upward toward his window. She gasped. There he stood, looking directly at her. Then he was gone.

Marianne’s heart soared like the song of a nightingale, and warmth swept over her despite the wind. Oh, yes, indeed. Jamie Templeton loved her. And if he thought she would let him slip away because of some misplaced sense of honor, then the good captain had an important lesson to learn. She would begin teaching him this very evening.

Marianne’s father always insisted on supper in the formal dining room with all his family and followers gathered around the table. No one could escape. Even her brother Robert usually managed to appear and stay sober for the meal, after which he would go off with his friends for a night of activities about which Marianne tried not to think…or worry.

That evening as usual, Papa sat at one end of the long oak table, and Mama at the other. In her seat at Papa’s right hand, Marianne was delighted to see he had placed Jamie on his left, a singular honor that she prayed would not grate on her brother, who really should sit beside Papa. While it would be unacceptable for her to speak across the table and address Jamie, perhaps she might comment on his conversation with Papa.

According to his custom, Robert arrived several minutes late, but no hostility clouded his dark, handsome features. Instead, seated beside Jamie, he greeted him as a long-lost friend and insisted nothing would do but that Jamie must accompany him on his nightly exploits.

At Robert’s outlandish proposal, Marianne almost spewed her soup across the table, but managed to swallow and force her gaze down toward her plate. Please do not permit Jamie to go. Her silent prayer was directed to both her earthly and heavenly fathers. Before she could fully compose herself and observe Papa’s reaction to Robert’s plan, the gentleman seated to her right cleared his throat.

“Lady Marianne,” Tobias Pincer said, “how exquisite you look this evening.” As he leaned closer to her, his oily smile and the odors of camphor and wig powder nearly sent Marianne reeling off the other side of her chair. “Do tell me you plan to attend the rout this evening. I shall be nothing short of devastated if you do not.”

With the tightest smile she could muster, she muttered her appreciation of his nightly compliments. “You must forgive me, Mr. Pincer, but my mother and I have prior plans.” Did this man actually think she would consort with his crowd, even if Robert was a part of it?

“Of course.” His smile turned to a simper, but before he could say more, Grace Kendall claimed his attention from the other side.

“Why, Mr. Pincer, you are neglecting this delicious soup.” Her pleasant alto tones dropped to a murmur as she shared a bit of harmless gossip. Mr. Pincer bowed to propriety and turned his full attention to her.

Marianne wanted to hug Grace. For the past three years, Mama’s companion had frequently sacrificed herself to deflect unwanted attention Marianne received from suitors. Although more than pretty herself, Grace had no fortune and no prospects. At six and twenty, she would likely remain an old maid, but her selfless companionship always proved a blessing to both Mama and Marianne.

Freed from polite necessity, Marianne looked back across the table just in time to see Papa’s approving nod in Jamie’s direction.

“We shall see to it tomorrow,” Papa said.

What had she missed? Would Jamie go out with Robert this evening? From the defeated look on her brother’s face, she guessed he would not. Even as her heart ached over the way Papa often crushed Robert’s spirits, she could not help but rejoice that Jamie would not be dragged into the gutters of London.

“Papa,” she ventured in a playful tone, “what plans are you making? Have you and His Majesty already subdued those dreadful rebels in America?” She saw Jamie’s eyebrows arch, and she puckered away a laugh.

Papa chuckled in his deep, throaty way. “You see, Templeton, these women have no sense about such things.” He leaned toward her. “Would that it could be done so easily, my dear. No, I have another project in mind, one in which Captain Templeton has agreed to participate. Our good Reverend Bentley—” he nodded toward the curate, who sat at Mama’s right hand “—has agreed to school the captain in some of our more tedious social graces.”

Marianne turned her gasp into a hum of interest. “Indeed?”

The color in Jamie’s tanned cheeks deepened, and charming bewilderment rolled across his face.

“Yes, indeed.” Papa straightened and puffed out his chest. “If this partnership goes as planned, I shall be introducing Captain Templeton to other peers and gentlemen. Through our mutual business efforts, we will make East Florida the standard of how to prevent a rebellion, shall we not, Templeton?”

“That is my hope, sir.” Jamie’s attention remained on Papa.

“Furthermore, daughter,” Papa said, “I am enlisting your assistance, as well. Your mother can spare you for a while. I want you to take the captain to see the sights about the city.” He glanced down the table. “I suppose Robert should go along for propriety’s sake.”

She could hardly believe her ears and could not call forth any words to respond. Jamie blinked and avoided her gaze, perhaps as stunned as she was.

Robert stopped balancing his spoon on the edge of his soup plate and stared at Papa, his mouth agape. He shook his head slightly, as if to clear his vision, and a silly grin lifted one corner of his lips. Marianne would have laughed if her brother’s reaction did not seem almost pathetic. Papa never entrusted him with anything.

“Humph.” Now a wily look crossed Robert’s face, and he studied Jamie up and down, then sniffed. “Well, for gracious sakes, Father, before I am seen in public with this fellow, do let me see about his clothes. Look at him. Not a length of ribbon nor an inch of lace. And this awful black. And not even a brass buckle to catch anyone’s attention. Gracious, Templeton, are you a Quaker? Who makes your clothes? No, never mind. I shall see that you meet my tailor.”

Jamie’s narrowed eyes and set lips, if visible only for an instant, steadied Marianne’s rioting emotions. How she would love to thump her dear brother right on the nose for his rude words, spoken so shortly after his own invitation to take Jamie out for the evening. But Marianne could see the resolution in Jamie’s face. Her beloved could take care of himself. And although he was at least five years Robert’s junior, she had no doubt Jamie would have the greater and better influence on her brother. She would make that a matter of most earnest prayer.

“I thank you, Mr. Moberly,” Jamie said to Robert with all good humor. “I shall look forward to any improvements you might suggest.”

What graciousness he exhibited. Was that not the epitome of good breeding and good manners? Marianne blushed for the rudeness of her father and brother for suggesting that he needed anything more.

As for the favor Father was heaping on Jamie, she felt her heart swell with joy. If he considered Jamie a partner and an ally in saving the colonies for the Crown, this could be regarded as nothing less than complete approval of the man, perhaps even to the point of accepting him into the family, despite his being a merchant. Her parents had never insisted she marry. Was that not very much like permission to marry whomever she might choose? Hadn’t they themselves married for love, despite Mama’s lower status as a baron’s daughter and no title other than Miss Winston? But in the event she was mistaken, Marianne must take great care to hide her love for Jamie, at least for now.

Chapter Three

For the first time since he had set out on this mission, Jamie began to wonder if General Washington had chosen the wrong man. As a whaler and merchant captain, Jamie had learned how to employ patience and strategy to accomplish whatever goal was at hand. But the gale brewing around him in Lord Bennington’s grand London home just might sink him.

He had no difficulty maintaining his composure when the earl offered to introduce him to some important people. After all, that was why Jamie had come. But this scheme for improving his manners almost set him back in his chair, especially when the earl instructed Lady Marianne to help. Now he would be forced into her company and that of her foppish brother, a dark-haired fellow not exactly corpulent, but on his way to it. Jamie had only just met the curate, a slender, compliant fellow, but he preferred the clergyman as a tutor, for every minute in Lady Marianne’s company would be torture.

Bent over his roast beef, he wondered if he was doing anything amiss. Not that he cared whether someone pointed out a blunder, for he would welcome a chance to learn better manners for future use in such company as this. But he also would like for Lady Marianne to think well of him. Belay that, man. He must not think that way. Yet, without meaning to, he lifted his gaze to see how she wielded her cutlery. Her lovely blue eyes, bright as the southern sky, were focused on him, and he could not look away.

She glanced at the earl. “Papa, have you asked Captain Templeton about Frederick?”

Lord Bennington cast a look down the table at his wife. “Later, my dear. Your mother will want to hear the news of your brother, too.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Lady Marianne resumed eating, stopping from time to time to speak with the man beside her. From the prim set of her lips and the way she seemed unconsciously to lean away from the fellow, Jamie could see her distaste, especially when the man tilted toward her. If some dolt behaved thus toward a lady aboard Jamie’s ship, he would make quick work of the knave, dispatching him to eat with the deckhands. But civility had its place, and this was it. Jamie watched Lady Marianne’s delicate hands move with the grace of a swan, and he tried to copy the way she cut her roast beef and ate in small bites. When he swallowed, however, the meat seemed to stick in his throat, and he was forced to wash it down with water in a loud gulp. Anyone who may have noticed was polite enough not to look his way.

Beside him, Moberly chose a chaser of wine, several glasses of it. As the meal progressed, his demeanor mellowed. “I say, Templeton, do you ride?”

Moberly’s tone was genial, not at all like his insulting reference to Jamie’s clothes, a matter of some injury. Jamie’s beloved cousin Rachel had spent many hours sewing his travel wardrobe, and her expertise could not be matched.

“I have never truly mastered the skill, sir.”

Moberly snorted. “Ah, of course not.” A wily grin not lacking in friendliness creased his face. “Then you must permit me to teach you. ’Tis a skill every gentleman must have.”

If Jamie could have groaned in a well-mannered tone, he would have. Having grown up at sea, he could ride a whale with ease, but not a horse—something Moberly clearly did not believe. Lord, what other trials will You put before me? Will this truly serve the Glorious Cause in some way? He lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug and cocked his head to accept the challenge. “Then if I am to be a gentleman, by all means, let us ride.” The more time he spent with Moberly, the less he would be in Lady Marianne’s alluring company. The less he would be tempted to break his vow not to use her to gain information from her father.

Jamie managed the rest of the meal without difficulty and afterward joined the family in Lord Bennington’s study, where the earl held court from behind his ornately carved white desk. Lady Marianne’s brother and his slimy friend had excused themselves, no doubt for a night of carousing, for both Lady Marianne and Lady Bennington seemed disappointed as they watched Moberly leave.

“Now,” the earl said, “we shall see how my youngest son excuses his mismanagement of my money in East Florida.” He opened the satchel Jamie had brought and pulled out several sealed documents.

Jamie flinched inwardly. His good friend Frederick Moberly had made a great success of Bennington Plantation, as proved by the large shipment of indigo, rice, oranges and cotton Jamie had just delivered to Bennington’s warehouses. Not only that, but Frederick served well as the popular magistrate of the growing settlement of St. Johns Towne. Jamie had already apprised Lord Bennington of both of these matters in no uncertain words. Yet the earl referred to all of his sons in singularly unflattering ways. Had Jamie been brought up thus, he doubted he could have made anything of himself. As he had many times before, he thanked the Lord for the firm but loving hand of his uncle, who had guided him to adulthood, first in Nantucket and then on his whaling ship.

Jamie’s widowed mother had died when he was nine and his sister, Dinah, three. Uncle Lamech, his mother’s brother, had secured a home for Dinah with kindhearted friends, then took Jamie along as his cabin boy on his next whaling voyage. Uncle taught him how to work hard, with courage, perseverance, and faith in God, all the while demonstrating confidence that Jamie would succeed at whatever he put his hand to. Would that the four Moberly sons could have received such assurance from their father.

The earl broke open the seal of the letter addressed to him, and once again Jamie cringed. In his spoken report to Lord Bennington, he had omitted one very important fact about the earl’s youngest son.

“Married!”

Marianne and Mama jumped to their feet as one and hurried to Papa’s side, as if each must see the words for herself. Mama practically snatched the letter from Papa, who stood at his desk trembling, his face a study in rage. Eyes wide and staring at the offending missive, cheeks red and pinched, mouth working as if no words were sufficient to express his outrage.

Mama did not mirror his anger, but her sweet face clouded as it did when she was disappointed. “Oh, my. And to think I have found no less than six eligible young ladies of consequence who would gladly receive Frederick now that he has done so well for himself.”

“Papa, do sit down.” Marianne took his arm and tried gently to push him back into his chair. He stood stubbornly rigid and waved her away.

Reading the letter, Mama gasped, and her puckered brow arched and her lips curved upward in a glorious smile. “Why, they are expecting…” She blinked and glanced toward Jamie. “I shall be a grandmamma by July,” she whispered to Marianne and Papa. “How exquisitely delightful.” Her merry laughter brought a frown of confusion to Papa’s face.

“Do not tell me that you approve of this match.” Papa’s cheeks faded to pink, but his trembling continued.

“But, my darling, approve or not, the deed is done.” Mama touched his arm and gave him a winsome smile. “Do be reconciled to it. A sensitive young man can endure rejection from the ladies of his own class for only so long. His every word indicates that this Rachel is above average in wit and temper. Did he mention her family?” She lifted the letter to read more. “Ah, yes. ‘Her father owns…’” Her eyes widened. “Oh, my. He owns a mercantile. Tsk. Not even a landowner.”

“What?” Papa’s voice reverberated throughout the room.

Marianne jumped once more.

Mama scowled. “Now, Bennington, please do not shout.”

Marianne noticed that Jamie had moved across the room and was staring at a painting. Once again, his flawless manners manifested themselves through this tactful removal from the unfolding drama.

“I will shout in my own home.” Papa’s trembling increased, and he raised one hand, a finger pointed toward the ceiling. “I will shout in the streets. From the halls of Parliament I will proclaim it. For all the world can clearly see that I have spawned nothing but fools for sons.” He slammed his fist on the desk. Documents bounced. A bisque figurine of an elegant lady fell to the floor and shattered. “The daughter of a merchant. Not even an Englishman. An American. The next thing he will be telling me is that he approves of that infernal colonial rebellion.”

Mama quickly perused the letter. “No, dear. He speaks only of his little wife—”

Papa snatched the letter from her. “I was not in earnest. Should that day come, I would sail to East Florida and execute him myself.”

“Oh, look, Mama.” Marianne’s voice came out in a much higher pitch than she intended. “Frederick wrote to you and me, too.” She picked up the letter bearing her name. “You do not mind, do you, Papa? I shall tell you if he has written anything you must hear.”

Papa’s shoulders slumped, and his reddened eyes focused on her. “You see, Maria,” he said to Mama. “The Almighty saved the best for last.” He set a quivering hand on Marianne’s shoulder and bent to kiss her forehead. “Our wise, beautiful daughter gives us only joy.” He pulled her closer in a gentle embrace. “Would that I could leave all to you, Marianne, for never once in your life have you grieved me.”

Marianne’s eyes stung mightily. At that moment, she was very near to vowing to God that she would surrender Jamie forever, that she would never hurt her parents as Frederick and Robert and Thomas and William had done. But she gulped back the promise. To vow and to break it would be a sin. To vow and to keep it would mean a lifetime of bitter loneliness.

She stared across the room toward the man she loved, willing him to turn her way, to give her some direction, some wisdom to bear this situation.

But when he did turn, Jamie’s wounded frown seemed to shout across the distance that separated them. You see? I was right. We have no future together.

Jamie struggled to secure his turbulent emotions to their proper moorings. As captain of his ship, he often managed numerous life-threatening situations concurrently and with haste and acuity. But never had his heart and wits been so at odds in the midst of a tempest. Never had so many threats loomed over all he held dear.

Lord Bennington’s rage over Frederick’s marriage might extend to Jamie, especially when he discovered the bride was Jamie’s beloved cousin, Rachel. Even if the earl did not cast blame on him, Jamie still felt a bitter ache at not being able to comfort Lady Marianne in her distress. Or to declare his love for her. Or to seize her hand and dash from the room, the house, the country, and to make a future with her in the far reaches of America.

Parallel to these agonizing thoughts streamed the keen awareness that this very room might hold documents outlining Lord Bennington’s involvement in British defenses of East Florida. Yet this little meeting could scuttle the mission for which Jamie had been sent to England.

He inhaled a calming breath, relaxed his stance and unclenched his hands. Then, just as Lord Bennington looked his way, he directed a sympathetic frown across the room to the earl. If the man had caught him staring at Lady Marianne—

“Templeton, I will see you in private.” The glower Lord Bennington directed toward Jamie softened as he gave his countess a slight bow. “My dear, you will excuse us.” He turned to Lady Marianne with the same gentleness. “And you, my child.”

“But, Papa—”

“Come along, Merry.” Lady Bennington used the fond address Jamie had heard Lady Marianne’s parents and brother using. Indeed, her sky-blue eyes and merry disposition—subdued now in her unhappiness—warranted such a nickname. Jamie dismissed a fleeting wish that he had the right to address her with such affection. That right would never be his.

As mother and daughter walked toward the door, Lady Marianne cast a quick glance at him. He forced all emotion from his face and gave them a formal bow, then turned to the earl as if the two ladies had never been there.

“What do you know of this?” Lord Bennington lifted Frederick’s letter from the desk.

This was trouble Jamie could manage. Man to man. The earl had commended him for his forthrightness, and now he would receive a goodly portion of it. Jamie crossed the room and held the man’s gaze.

“They make a handsome couple, milord. Mrs. Moberly is a lady of spotless reputation, pleasant disposition and considerable courage.”

Lord Bennington inhaled as if to speak, so Jamie hastened to continue. “You may have heard the account of how she rescued Lady Brigham from being dragged from a flatboat by an alligator.”

The earl’s wiry white eyebrows arched. “Indeed?” Puzzlement rolled across his face. “When Lady Brigham speaks of her near demise in the jaws of a dragon, she says her husband saved her. She makes no mention of another woman being involved.” He studied the letter as if it would set the story straight.

“An oversight, I’m sure, milord. Frederick recounted the incident to me himself.” Jamie pushed on with the more important issue. “Mrs. Moberly is the perfect wife for a man who is carving a settlement out of the East Florida wilderness.” His own words struck him. Would Lady Marianne be able to survive in that same wilderness after her life of ease? Not likely. Breaking with her was best for her, if not for him, for far too many reasons to count.

“You seem to have some affection for this young woman.” Suspicion emanated from the earl’s narrowed eyes.

Jamie gave him a measured grin. “I have great affection for her.” The earl’s eyes widened with shock, so Jamie kept talking. “She is my cousin, reared with me like a sister.”

Lord Bennington’s face reddened. He placed his fists on the desk and leaned across it toward Jamie. “Are you responsible for this ill-advised union?”

Jamie still stared into his eyes. “No, milord. I was here in England when they formed their attachment. However, I will confess that when Frederick asked for my help, I complied. They were married aboard my ship by an English clergyman.”

Lord Bennington straightened, but his eyes remained narrowed. “You could have omitted that information, and I never would have known it.”

“That is true. But our shared business interests will prosper only if we are honest with one another, do you not think?” Honor and duty clashed in a heated battle within Jamie’s chest, as they always did when he considered his plans to spy on this man. He quickly doused the conflict. “As I told you earlier, your youngest son is performing his duties admirably as magistrate in St. Johns Towne. Bennington Plantation is prospering prodigiously, as you can see from the oranges we were served at supper tonight. Your warehouse is bursting with the indigo, cotton and rice harvests from East Florida, all grown under Frederick’s oversight.” Jamie paused to let his words reach the earl’s business sense.

Lord Bennington’s brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. Again he stared at Frederick’s letter, but said nothing.

Jamie decided to press on. “Milord, he has found in Rachel the perfect helpmate for who he is and what he is doing for you.” Again, Jamie permitted a cautious grin to grace his lips. “Their mutual devotion proves the truth of the proverb, ‘Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtained favor of the Lord.’” He wondered if it would be going too far to mention the similar devotion he had noticed between the earl and his countess. But Lord Bennington stiffened, and his white eyebrows bent into an accusing frown.

“And you, Templeton, where will you find your wife?”

“Ha!” Surprise and shock forced a too-loud laugh to burst forth, and heat rushed to Jamie’s face. He grasped his wayward emotions once again. “I am a seaman, milord. ’Twould be cruel to marry, only to leave my wife alone during my voyages. And of course the sea is no place for a woman.” Speaking that truth solidified his decision. He would pry from his heart every fond feeling for Lady Marianne, and marry Lady Liberty and her Glorious Cause.

Lord Bennington studied him with a hardened stare. But gradually, the old man seemed to wilt before Jamie’s eyes, and soon he slumped down into his chair as if defeated. “I’ll not doubt you again, my boy. Your honesty has proved your worthiness.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “You may go. And if you decide to accompany my reprobate son on his nightly jaunts, do remember that Robert is not Frederick.”

Several responses formed in Jamie’s mind, not the least of which was that the earl’s comment seemed to imply a measure of approval of Frederick and perhaps even Rachel. But the man appeared spent from his emotional evening, so Jamie withheld his remarks. “Very good, milord. Good evening.”

As he climbed the stairs to his third-floor suite, a grim sense of satisfaction filled him. He had gained Lord Bennington’s trust and could begin his search for information regarding Britain’s planned defenses of East Florida. And memories of his tender but short romance with Lady Marianne had been safely tucked away in a remote corner of his mind, to be fondly recalled when he was an old man.

Yet a dull ache thumped against his heart with each ascending step.

Chapter Four

“Your hair is so easy to work with, Lady Marianne.” Emma’s sweet, round face beamed as she set the silver-handled comb on the dressing table.

“My, Emma.” Marianne drew over her shoulder the long braid her maid had just plaited. As always, the work was flawless. “What makes you so happy this evening? Could it be Captain Templeton’s handsome young valet, whom I saw you talking with earlier?”

Even in the candlelight, she could see Emma’s cheeks turning pink. “Why, no, my lady. I mean—” Her smile vanished, and she chewed her lip. “We spoke for only a few moments. No more than a half hour.”

Marianne gave her a reassuring smile. “Do not fear. Mr. Quince seems a pleasant fellow. And being in the good captain’s employ, he is no doubt a man of character.” A tendril of inspiration grew in her thoughts. “You have my permission to chat with Quince as long as you both have your work completed and you meet only in the appropriate common areas of the house where anyone passing can see you. I will tell Mama you have my permission.”

Happiness once again glowed on Emma’s face. “Oh, thank you, my lady.” She curtsied and then hastened to turn down the covers on Marianne’s four-poster bed and move the coal-filled bed warmer back and forth between the sheets. Once finished, she returned the brass implement to the hearthside. “Your bed is ready, my lady. Will that be all?” She started to douse the candles beside Marianne’s reading chair.

“Leave them.” Marianne retrieved her brother’s letter from her desk drawer. “I wish to sit and read awhile.”

Emma seemed to blink away disappointment. “Shall I wait, my lady?”

“No. You may go.” Marianne pulled her woolen dressing gown around her, shivering a little against the cold night air. “I can warm the bed again if I need to. Thank you, Emma.”

Her little maid fairly danced from the room with a happiness Marianne envied. How wonderful to find a suitable man to love, one of equal rank, whom Papa and Mama would approve of without reservation. But the heart was an unruly, untamable thing, as evidenced by Frederick’s marriage and her own love for Jamie Templeton.

After she and Mama left Papa and Jamie, it had been all she could do to keep from pleading for her mother’s support for that love, especially since Mama seemed reconciled to Frederick’s marriage. But Mama had excused herself to attend to household matters, leaving Marianne to languish outside Papa’s study in hopes of seeing Jamie again. That is, until her brother’s missive began to burn in her hand. Here was her ally in the family. Frederick would support her love for Jamie, of that she was certain.

Seated now in her bedchamber in her favorite place to read, Marianne broke the seal on Frederick’s letter and unfolded the vellum page. A small, folded piece fell out, so she quickly perused the first one, which repeated the information he’d written to Papa. The details about his dear wife assured Marianne that she would love Rachel and call her “sister” the moment they met.

Wishing that meeting might happen soon, she opened the smaller page—and gasped at the first words. “You must not think to do as I have done, dear sister. For reasons I cannot now explain, other than to say it is for your own happiness and written because I am devoted to you, you must release our mutual friend from the premature vows you traded with him on his last visit to London. To continue this ill-advised alliance will bring only heartache to you both. While he is a man of blameless character, he will not make a suitable husband for the daughter of a peer of the realm. I cannot say more except that you must, you must heed my advice, my beloved sister.”

Scalding tears raced down Marianne’s cheeks. Never had she expected such a betrayal from Frederick. Had they not been the closest of friends all their lives? Had she not frequently stood beside him against their three older brothers, the sons of Papa’s first wife, when they sought to bully him? Why did he not wish for her the same happiness he had claimed for himself?

Trembling with anger and disappointment, she resisted the urge to crumple the entire letter. Frederick had signed the first page as if it were the only one, no doubt knowing she would share its contents with Mama. But she reread the second one just to be certain she had not mistaken his cruel intentions. No, she had not. So Marianne ripped the page to shreds and fed the pieces to the hearth flames, then watched as the fire’s ravenous tongues eagerly devoured them.

Childhood memories of Frederick’s devotion sprang to mind. His comfort when she fell and scraped her chin. Their forays into Papa’s chambers to spy on guests. His gentle teasing, edged with pride, when she emerged from the schoolroom and entered society. Why would he abandon her now? She knelt beside her cold bed and offered up a tearful prayer that she might understand why God would let her fall in love with Jamie and then deny them their happiness.

The response came as surely as if the Lord had spoken to her aloud. Be at peace. This is the man you will marry.

“Lord, if this is Your voice, then guide my every step.”

Joy flooded her heart—and kept her awake into the early morning hours, planning how she would bring God’s will to pass.

Following an afternoon visit to an elderly pensioner who had served the Moberly family for many years, Marianne sat at supper wondering at the different opinions people held about Papa. The old servant had extolled Papa’s generosity and kindness, calling him a saint. Yet across the table from Marianne, Robert practically reclined in his chair, his usual protest against Papa’s nightly berating. Beside him sat Jamie, in the place where the ranking son should sit, his admiration of Papa obvious in his genial nods and agreeable words to everything Papa said. Doubtless Jamie had no idea that Robert should be sitting to Papa’s left. Of course Mama, as always, gazed down the length of the table at Papa with the purest devotion, a sentiment Marianne felt as deeply as a daughter could while still seeing his flaws.

Tonight the topic was the Americans and their foolish rebellion against His Majesty. Some anonymous colonist had written a pamphlet entitled “Common Sense,” which was causing considerable stir in London, and Papa seemed unable to contain his outrage.

“Common nonsense,” he huffed as he stabbed a forkful of fish and devoured it. “What do these colonists understand about the responsibilities of government?”

While he fussed between bites about His Majesty’s God-given duties to rule, and the Americans as recalcitrant children, Marianne glanced directly across the table at Jamie, whose thoughtful frown conveyed his sympathies for Papa’s remarks. Eager to turn the conversation to more pleasant topics, Marianne patted her father’s arm.

“But, dearest, if these colonies are so much trouble, why does His Majesty not simply break with them?”

From the corner of her eye, Marianne could see Jamie’s own eyes widen for an instant, but she turned her full attention to Papa. He returned a touch to her arm, along with a paternal smile.

“Ah, my dear, such innocence. You had best leave governing to the Crown and Parliament.”

Any other time, this response might have soothed Marianne. But for some odd reason, irritation scratched at her mind. She was not a child who should have no opinions, nor should she fail to seek information to enlighten her judgments. She knew of some ladies who expressed their political opinions without censure, including Mama’s acquaintance, the duchess of Devonshire.

“I agree with Marianne.” Robert’s voice lacked its usual indolence, a sign that he had not yet succumbed to his wine. “Let the colonies fend for themselves for a while without the Crown’s protection. Then when they’re attacked and plundered by every greedy country on the Continent, they’ll come crawling back under His Majesty’s rule.”

Marianne sensed the bitterness in his wily wording. His break with Papa had lasted less than three weeks before he came “crawling back.”

Papa regarded Robert for an instant, then dismissed his words with a snort and a wave of his hand. “Templeton, what do you think of this rebellion?”

While her heart ached for her brother, Marianne could now study Jamie’s well-formed face without fear of who might notice her staring at him. A sun-kissed curl had escaped from his queue and draped near his high, well-tanned left cheekbone. His straight nose bore a pale, jagged scar down one side that added character rather than disfigurement. She wondered what adventure had marked him thus, and would ask him at the first opportunity.

“I find it a great annoyance, milord.” Jamie’s brown eyes burned with indignation. “East Florida is prospering and should soon prove to be the most profitable of England’s American colonies. But shipping goods back and forth from London has become difficult since King George declared the wayward thirteen colonies to be in open rebellion. I cannot sail five hundred leagues without one of His Majesty’s men-of-war stopping me to be sure I have no contraband.”

“Hmm.” Papa leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. “Have my flag and my letter of passage been helpful?”

“Yes, sir. They have saved me more times than I can count. But every time I am forced to heave to—no less than four times on this last voyage—especially when I’m ordered to change my course for whatever reason the captain might have, it delays shipments. This isn’t a problem when I carry nonperishable goods. But our orange and lemon cargos can spoil if not delivered in a timely fashion.” Jamie bent his head toward the fragrant bowl of fruit gracing the table. “We barely managed to reach London with these still edible.”

As he spoke, Papa’s smile broadened. “That’s what I like about you, Templeton. No interest in politics. Just business. If those thirteen guilty colonies were of the same mind, there would be no rebellion.”

Marianne enjoyed the modest smile Jamie returned to Papa, but Jamie did not look at her. While the two men continued to talk, she cast about for some way to gain his attention. When the perfect scheme came to mind, she knew the Lord was continuing to lead her.

“Papa, may we discuss something other than business and the war?”

His wiry white eyebrows arched in surprise. “Forgive me, my dear. I believe your mother is of the same mind.” He bowed his head toward Mama, who had sent more than one disapproving frown his way during the meal. “What would you like to discuss?”

“Why, I wonder if you recall that Mama and I plan to visit St. Ann’s Orphan Asylum for Girls tomorrow.” She could not keep her gaze from straying to Jamie, who seemed to be particularly interested in the aromatic roast beef the footman had just set before him. “Would you like to make a small contribution to our efforts?”

“Of course, my dear. I shall see to it before I leave for Parliament tomorrow.” He cut into the meat before him, but paused with a bite halfway to his lips. “Why do you not take Templeton with you? I’m certain he would enjoy seeing more of London, and I would feel more at ease if you had the protection of his presence.”

Jamie coughed and grabbed his water goblet, swallowing with a gulp. Marianne did not know whether to laugh or offer sympathy. But as long as her plan worked…

“I say, Merry.” Robert sat up and leaned across his plate, his cravat nearly touching the sauce on his meat. “My tailor is coming tomorrow to fit Templeton’s new wardrobe. You know how petulant these Dutch tailors can be if one misses an appointment, which, I might add, I had a deuce of a time arranging so quickly. Can you not take Blevins or a footman or someone else on your little excursion?”

“It is not an excursion, brother dear. It is ministry.” Marianne knew she must continue talking before Papa began to berate Robert, for she could hear Papa’s warning growl that always preceded such scolding. “In fact, I do believe you would enjoy it, too. Why not join us? I am certain Mama will not mind waiting until Captain Templeton has been measured. All of us could go.” For the life of her—and even to save Robert’s dignity—she could not think of another thing to say.

“Just the thing, Moberly.” Jamie appeared to be taking up the cause, and Marianne’s heart lilted over his kindness. “Let’s accompany the ladies. I still don’t have my land legs, so the walking’ll do me good.”

Robert’s eyes shifted in confusion, and he blinked several times before his gaze steadied. “Rather, my good man. A splendid plan.” His grin convinced Marianne he knew they had saved him. But now mischief played across his face in a lopsided smirk. “Shall we not ride, then? You did agree to riding, you know.”

Marianne saw the dread in Jamie’s faint grimace. One day she herself would see to his riding lessons, for her brother would be merciless in the task. “But, Robert,” she said, “you know Mama and I must take our carriage, for we have many items to carry.”

“No doubt too many items to leave room for Templeton and me.” Robert nudged Jamie. “Do you not agree?”

Jamie’s jaw clenched briefly. “I thank you, Lady Marianne, but tomorrow is none too soon to begin my acquaintance with a saddle.”

She could not stop a soft gasp. Would he deliberately avoid her? Somehow she managed a careless smile. “Of course, Captain Templeton. Whatever you prefer.”

The footman behind her removed her half-eaten meat course and replaced it with a bowl of fruit. Marianne glanced at Papa, who was absorbed in his own bowl. Once again she had deflected his anger and thus defended one of her brothers.

But who would work in her defense? Who would see that her dreams were accomplished? Despite the verse in her morning reading, “Be still and know that I am God,” her heart and her faith dipped low with disappointment.

Jamie had thought his heart was settled in the matter of Lady Marianne, especially after his first session with Reverend Bentley, who’d expounded on the nature of British social structures and everyone’s place in it. As he’d left the good curate, Jamie had felt certain he’d conquered his emotions. But this supper turned everything upside down. The impossible choice set before him demanded an instant decision, and he could see how his words had wounded her. Ah, to be able to comfort her. Yet there could be no compromise, even though by choosing Moberly’s invitation, he was now forced to risk his neck to keep his distance from her. Jamie could not bear the closeness that a carriage would afford, even with her mother present.

He’d never had cause to trust or not trust Moberly. But youthful experiences had taught him that privileged gentlemen found great amusement in putting other men through the worst possible trials to test their mettle. In truth, he’d suffered the same treatment as a cabin boy, and inflicted the same on youths under his command. How else did one become a man?

But did his latest trial have to be on horseback?

Chapter Five

Jamie had always dressed himself, and Quince employed his own manservant, who had remained on his farm in Massachusetts. So it was a challenge for both men to go through the motions of acting as master and valet. But they each put on their best performance for Jamie’s fitting with Moberly’s tailor.

Soon, however, the tall, finicky man irritated Jamie to the extreme as he roughly measured him, tossed about colorful fabrics and barked orders at his harassed assistant, a dark-skinned boy of no more than thirteen. Other than his helper, the man spoke only to Moberly and only in his native tongue—French—clearly regarding Jamie as less than worthy of being addressed. Just as clearly, the tailor had no idea Jamie was fluent in his language and was having difficulty not responding to his insults.

When he turned at the wrong moment, the slender thread of a man lifted his hand as if to cuff him, but Jamie warned him off with a dark scowl.

“I thought you said he’s Dutch,” he said to Moberly through clenched teeth.

Sprawled out on the chaise longue in Jamie’s suite, Moberly gave the remark a dismissive wave. “If Bennington knew I used a French tailor, the old boy would have apoplexy. All that unpleasantness with the Frogs, you know.”

At his words, Jamie’s crossness softened. Moberly had a deep need in his life, yet how could Jamie speak to him of God’s grace while spying on his father? He lifted a silent prayer that somehow Lady Marianne might deliver the message of God’s love her brother needed to hear.

Jamie ducked to avoid the long pin the tailor wielded like a rapier to emphasize his ranting. Used to homespun woolen and linen, Jamie chafed at the idea of wearing silk, satin and lace, but he’d decided to tolerate Moberly’s choice of fabrics and styles. That is, until the tailor unrolled some oddly colored satin and draped it across Jamie’s shoulder. What a ghastly green, like the color of the sea before a lightning storm. He would not wear it, no matter what anyone said.

As if reading his mind, Moberly rested a finger along his jawline in a thoughtful pose. “No, no, not that, François. It reminds me of a dead toad. Use the periwinkle. It will drive the ladies mad.”

“Mais non, Monsieur Moberly.” François sniffed. “That glorious couleur I save for you, not this…this rustique.” He snapped his fingers to punctuate the insult.

“That’s it.” Jamie snatched off the fabric and flung it away, ignoring the derisive snort from Quince, who observed the whole thing from across the room. “My own clothes will do.”

Moberly exhaled a long sigh. “Now, François, look what you’ve done. I shall have to find another tailor.”

The middle-aged tailor gasped. “But, Monsieur—”

“No, no.” Moberly stood and walked toward the door. “I shall not have you insult Lord Bennington’s business partner and my good friend.”

The man paled. “Lord Bennington’s business partner?” Now his face flushed with color. “But, Monsieur Moberly, why did you not say so?” He turned to Jamie, his eyes ablaze with an odd fervor. “Ah, Monsieur, eh, Capitaine Templeton, for such a well-favored gentleman, oui, we must have the periwinkle.” He snapped his fingers at his assistant. “L’apportes à moi, tout de suite.”

The boy brought forth the muted blue fabric, a dandy’s color if ever Jamie saw one. When François draped it over his shoulder, Quince moved up beside Jamie and stared into the long mirror with him.

“Aye, sir, that’ll grab the ladies’ attention, no mistake.” The smirk on his face almost earned him Jamie’s fist.

“Bad news about your ship, Templeton.” Moberly’s comment surprised Jamie. “What’s all this about repairs?” Perhaps he’d noticed Jamie’s difficulty in restraining himself throughout this ordeal. Indeed, Jamie knew the report about the Fair Winds had set him back, for it meant he and Quince would be in London for an unknown length of time instead of just a month.

“The hull requires scraping and recaulking.” Jamie stuck out his arm so François could fit a sleeve pattern. “And the storm damage to the mast was worse than I thought. ’Twill take some time to fix it all.”

“Ah, well.” Moberly’s grin held a bit of mischief. “Once we finish the charity bits with Marianne and Lady Bennington, we’ll find ways to fill your time.”

In the mirror, Jamie traded a look with Quince. When his first mate, Saunders, arrived early that morning with disappointing news about the sloop, Quince reminded him of their prayers for this mission. God wasn’t hiding when the Fair Winds received storm damage, and He’d brought them safely to port. The Almighty still had this venture safely in His hands. All the more time to secure important information, Jamie and Quince agreed, but too much time for Jamie to be in Lady Marianne’s beguiling presence.

Once the torturous fitting session ended, the now-fawning tailor withdrew, and Jamie gripped his emotions for the coming events. After their midday repast, he and Moberly joined Lady Bennington and Lady Marianne for their visit to the orphan asylum. Yet, other than the brief quickening of his pulse at seeing Lady Marianne—dressed modestly in brown, as was her mother—he had only to deal with riding.

To his surprise, Moberly chose for him a large but gentle mare that followed Lady Bennington’s landau like an obedient pup. Jamie began to feel comfortable in the saddle. Moberly also furnished him with a pistol and sword to keep at hand lest unsavory elements be roaming the streets.

The trip across town, however, passed with unexpected ease and some pleasant sightseeing under a bright spring sky. Although the cool March breeze carried the rancid odors of the city waste and horseflesh, making Jamie long for a fresh ocean wind, he did notice some of London’s finer points. Upon catching a glimpse of the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral, he decided he must visit its fabled interior. Then some shops along the way caught his eye as possible sources of gifts for loved ones back home or, at the least, ideas for items to export to East Florida.

The carriage and riders entered the wide front courtyard of the asylum as though passing through a palace’s gates…or a prison’s. The wrought-iron fence’s seven-foot pickets were set no more than four inches apart, giving the three-story gray brick building a foreboding appearance, a sad place for children to grow up, in Jamie’s way of thinking. Not a scrap of trash littered the grassy yard, which still wore its winter brown, and not a single pebble lay on the paved front walkway. No doubt the denizens of St. Ann’s had swept the path with care for the expected visitors. Dismounting with only a little trouble, he saw with gratitude a stone mounting block near the building’s entrance. He would have no trouble remounting. Perhaps this horse riding would not be so bad, after all.

Robert assisted his stepmother’s descent from the carriage and looped his arm in hers. Jamie had no choice but to offer the same assistance to Lady Marianne. Taking his arm, she gave him a warm smile that tightened when her mother glanced over her shoulder. But the lady’s attention was on John the footman, who balanced several large boxes in his arms as he followed them. She gave the man a nod and turned back toward the door. Lady Marianne squeezed Jamie’s arm, and a pleasant shiver shot up to his neck. He tried to shake it off, to no avail. Wafting up from her hair came the faint scent of roses, compounding his battle to distance his feelings from her.

“Mama takes such delight in these visits,” Lady Marianne whispered as she leaned against his arm. “She loves the children dearly.”

He permitted himself to gaze at her for an instant, and his heart paid for it with a painful tug. “It seems you do, too, my lady.” Indeed, her eyes shone with an affection far different from the loving glances she’d sent his way. How he longed to learn of all her charitable interests. But that could not be.

“Oh, yes.” Her strong tone affirmed her conviction. “They do such fine work here, rearing these girls and teaching them useful skills. My own Emma came from this school.”

“Ah, I see.” Jamie was glad they reached the massive double front doors before he was required to comment further. He had yet to discover just how deeply Quince cared for Lady Marianne’s little maid, but he knew his friend would not play her false. Still, both men would likely end up sailing home with broken hearts.

As the group moved through the doors and into the large entrance hall, which smelled freshly scrubbed with lye soap, the soft thunder of running feet met them. Some hundred and fifty girls of all sizes hastened to assemble into lines, the taller ones in the back ranks, with descending heights down to the twenty or so tiny moppets in front. Each girl wore a gray serge uniform and a plain white pinafore bearing a number.

Jamie swallowed away a wave of sentiment. An orphan himself, he, too, might have been a nameless child raised with a number on his chest, had his uncle not taken him in.

A middle-aged matron in a matching uniform inspected the lines, her plain thin face betraying no emotion as she turned and offered a deep curtsy to their guests. As one, the girls followed suit.

“Welcome, Lady Bennington, Lady Marianne.” Another matron, gray-haired and in a black dress, stepped forward. Authority emanated from her such as Jamie had witnessed in the sternest of sea captains, but he also noted a hint of warmth as she addressed the countess.

“Mrs. Martin.” Lady Bennington’s countenance glowed as she grasped the woman’s hands. “How good to see you.” Her gaze swept over the assembly. “Good afternoon, my dear, dear girls.”

Mrs. Martin lifted one hand to direct the children in a chorus of “Good afternoon, Lady Bennington, Lady Marianne.” One and all, their faces beamed with affection for their patronesses.

While the countess made some remarks, Jamie noticed Lady Marianne leaning toward the little ones as if she wished to go to them. The countess then gestured to John the footman, who brought forth one of the boxes. Jamie followed Moberly’s lead and moved back against the wall while the two ladies disbursed knitted mittens, scarves and caps they and their friends had made. The children’s joy and gratitude punctured Jamie’s self-containment, and he tried to grip his emotions. Still, breathing became more difficult as the scene progressed.

When Lady Marianne knelt on the well-scrubbed wooden floor among the smallest orphans, gathering in her arms a wee brown-haired tot to show her how to don her mittens, Jamie’s last defenses fell away, and a shattering ache filled his chest.

Lord, forgive me. I love this good lady beyond all sense, beyond all wisdom. Only through Your guidance can I walk away from her. Yet if, in Your great goodness, You could grant us happiness—

Jamie could not permit himself to complete the prayer. He would neither request nor expect the only answer that would give him personal joy. Not when there was a revolution to be fought and a fourteenth colony to draw into the mighty fray. If he must lose at love, so be it.

But he must not lose at war, for in that there was so much more at stake—nothing less than the destiny of a newborn nation.

Chapter Six

“Captain Templeton looks quite presentable in his new riding clothes, do you not think, Grace?” Marianne sat in the open carriage beside Mama’s companion, whom she had borrowed for today’s outing to Hyde Park. “Robert approves, or he would not have agreed to bring the American with us.” She herself had been stunned when Jamie walked into the drawing room just an hour ago, for the cut of his brown wool coat over his broad shoulders and the close lines of his tan breeches over his strong legs emphasized his superior masculine form. Why, if not for his colonial speech, he could pass for a peer of the realm.

Grace looked toward the two men, who rode their horses slightly ahead of the open black landau. “Yes, my lady. The captain has the appearance of a true gentleman.” She pursed her lips, and her eyes took on a merry glint. “And I do believe with a little practice, his horsemanship will improve.”

Marianne responded with a knowing smile as she searched Grace’s face. But the lady’s countenance bore no hint of feeling for Jamie other than her usual kindheartedness. A modicum of shame warmed Marianne’s cheeks, despite the brisk March breeze that fanned over them. She need never be jealous of dear Grace.

“I agree. But I am not altogether certain my brother can be trusted to see to Captain Templeton’s riding lessons.”

A shadow flitted over Grace’s face. “Surely you do not think Mr. Moberly would permit the American to be harmed.” She gazed at Robert, her eyes glowing with a softness that Marianne had never before noticed.

Withholding a gasp of realization, she forced her own gaze to settle on Robert. This morning she had observed the usual shadows beneath his eyes and his languid posture, which bespoke his many nights of intemperance and little sleep. Could pious Grace care for such a reprobate? Marianne hated to think of her brother in terms their father would use, but Robert truly met that description.

Before she could respond to Grace’s concern, Robert hailed another open carriage passing from the other direction. “Ho there, Highbury. Do stop for a chat.” He waved to Wiggins to stop Marianne’s conveyance.

The young man called to his driver, who reined his horses to a stop. Beside Mr. Highbury sat his sister, Lady Eugenia, and Marianne felt a rush of pleasure at seeing these friends. Due to Lord Highbury’s Whig politics, Papa no longer associated with him, and out of loyalty, both families deferred to their patriarchs.

Robert presented Jamie to the Highburys, and pleasantries flew about the little group.

“I see you and Lady Marianne have taken advantage of this rare sunny day, too, Mr. Moberly.” Lady Eugenia gave Robert a warm smile, and her eyelashes fluttered.

Marianne heard Grace’s soft sigh beside her. It was clear Eugenia was flirting with Robert. But Lord Highbury would never permit her to marry a second son.

Robert, all charm and energy now, bowed in his saddle. “My lady, it must be Fate that brought us together.”

“I absolutely concur.” Mr. Highbury’s gaze settled on Grace, and he nodded to her. “Even the ground is dry. We simply must take a turn around the park.”

With all in agreement, the ladies were assisted from their carriages. While Eugenia maneuvered her way toward Robert, Marianne managed to edge close to Jamie. Mr. Highbury seemed more than agreeable to pairing with Grace, bowing and offering his arm to her.

“Your riding has improved, Captain Templeton.” Marianne gave his arm an expectant look.

“Thank you, my lady.” He offered it without meeting her gaze. “I would not call myself a horseman, but at least I’ve remained astride.”

A light laugh escaped her, as light as her heart felt over walking beside him on this fine day. “Your modesty is as refreshing as today’s weather.” Indeed, the invigorating air in Hyde Park carried no hint of the unpleasant city odors.

“It is a good day.” He lengthened his stride, as if eager to catch the other two couples walking several yards ahead of them on the brown grass.

After several seconds of trying to keep up with him, Marianne tugged at his arm. “Perhaps when your ship is repaired, we can enjoy a short voyage on the Thames, as we did last year.”

Jamie stopped, but his gaze remained on the others as the distance between them widened. “I am sure Lord Bennington will be too busy for such an excursion.”

Again, Marianne laughed, a strained sound she hoped Jamie would not notice. “Of course Papa will be too busy. But Robert—”

“Ah, yes. Robert.” Jamie looked at her, and his eyes filled with concern. “My lady, I would not wish to presume…anything. However, Moberly seems to regard me as a friend. It may be that I can have some good influence on his, um, habits.” He glanced away. “Please continue to walk with me.”

“Yes, of course.” Her heart dipped in disappointment.

They resumed their stroll across the almost empty park. She did not wish to discuss Robert, but he was very dear to her. Jamie’s Christian charity toward her brother moved her.

“I have often spoken to my brother about his lack of spiritual interest. Our brother Frederick is also concerned about him. But Robert assures us he will take care of that matter when he grows older.”

“An error too many people make, if I may be so bold, my lady.”

A hint of dread touched Marianne’s heart. “I hope you will be bold enough to speak to him of Christ’s redemption.”

Jamie’s expression grew thoughtful, but he did not seem inclined to say more. Her heart heavy for more than one reason, Marianne gazed around the landscape, where trees had begun to bud and tiny shoots of green appeared in the brown grass.

“Moberly would benefit from our prayers.” Jamie’s deep, rich voice resounded with concern. “In truth, though I would not judge the man, I fear that his immortal soul is in danger.”

Gratitude for his observation filled Marianne. “I have the same fear. Oh, Jamie—”

Wincing, he stopped again, but avoided her gaze. “Please, my lady.”

The pain and censure in his voice cut into her. “I—I mean, Captain Templeton.” She resumed her stroll, and he followed suit. “What can we do for him?”

“I would not wish for Lady Bennington to think ill of me, since I am a guest in her house, but I have considered going to one of these routs with Moberly. They’re all he speaks of, and seem to consume his life.” Jamie paused. “What does a rout involve?”

The tightness of his tone almost made Marianne laugh. “Why, a rout is just a gathering at someone’s home. The hostess invites a huge number of people who want to be seen and to see others.” She sobered. “But Robert only says he’s going to a rout to avoid stating his true plans. Oh, he may indeed attend one, but he then goes gambling and—”

“You need not continue, my lady.” Jamie cast a quick glance her way and patted her hand, sending a pleasant shiver up her arm. “I understand your meaning.” He studied the ground before them. “Nevertheless, I feel compelled to go with him.”

They walked in silence for a few moments. Jamie’s large form blocked much of the breeze that fluttered the edges of her cape and carried the scent of his woody shaving balm in her direction. She could not resist the temptation to lean against his arm, as if she could absorb some of his strength. But he seemed to sway away from her to a degree so small she might have been mistaken.

“You would put yourself in temptation’s way…for Robert?” Marianne felt tears forming. Jamie’s godly goodness and selflessness were just two of the reasons she loved him.

“By God’s grace, I have so far resisted such temptations. The Book of Proverbs fully addresses the subject, and it is my guide.”

“But there are other dangers.” Marianne shuddered to think of the vicious packs of wellborn miscreants who wandered the night streets of London filled with evil intentions. Thievery, beatings, even murder were their games, and if they chose their victims carefully, they never had to pay.

Jamie nodded. “I’m sure there are. But our Lord dined with the worst of sinners that He might demonstrate God’s love to them.”

“Oh, Jamie…Captain…” She again tugged him to a stop. “Our Lord knew when and how He would die. He was in full control of everything. You are not. Why would you risk your life this way?” She argued against her own heart, for she did love Robert and longed for his salvation.

Jamie drew himself up to his full height, yet his gaze into her eyes was gentle and full of conviction. “Lady Marianne, there are causes worth giving one’s life for. Christ died to free us from sin and give us eternal life. Should I not willingly give my life for another man…and for freedom?” He clamped his lips closed and shook his head. “We should join the others.”

Confusion filled her. Jamie seemed to think he had spoken amiss, yet she found no fault in his words. “I am deeply grateful for your willingness to befriend Robert. I will pray God will bless your efforts.” And that He will protect you both, my love.

Jamie was surprised so little time had passed during his torturous walk at Lady Marianne’s side. A few more minutes alone with her would be his undoing. He could see she understood his concern for Moberly and that she truly loved her brother. This, along with her earnest words of faith—and the heady scent of her rose perfume—created in him a powerful yearning to confess his love that he was scarce able to deny. His weak, silent prayer for strength brought no relief, and the journey across the park left his emotions ravaged by the time they reached the others.

Not one of the four seemed to have missed Lady Marianne, and certainly not him. With great effort, he forced his mind to address this fortuitous meeting with young Highbury, a lad of perhaps twenty-one. Jamie had learned Lord Highbury was a prominent Whig who, with others of his party, opposed King George’s vile treatment of the colonists. In fact, their opposition extended to refusing to take their seats in the current session of Parliament. Jamie’s orders from General Washington included uncovering any allies among the Whigs who might help the Revolution, but Bennington’s social circle excluded those very men.

“Captain Templeton.” Lady Eugenia gazed at him, her eyelashes fluttering. “You must tell us all about the conflict in the colonies.”

A pretty girl somewhat younger than her brother, she had a merry disposition, and her flirting was harmless. Yet Jamie would remember his station, at least the way these aristocrats might view it, and be pleasantly formal. He had long ago rejected any plans to deflect Lady Marianne’s affections by showing interest in someone else. If he must break her heart and his own, it would not be through deceit.

“You must forgive me, Lady Eugenia.” He bowed to her. “My travels at present do not take me to the troubled areas.”

“But, my good man,” Mr. Highbury said, “surely you hear news of the war…or at least rumors.” An intense look flickered in his eyes, and he leaned toward him.

Jamie smiled and lifted one shoulder in a light shrug. “Sir, the North American continent is vast. An entire war can be fought at one end without a ripple reaching the other.” He observed the disappointment in Highbury’s expression, but could say nothing more. The lad might indeed be sympathetic to the Cause, but his emotions were too much in evidence to invite Jamie’s trust.

“Oh, bother.” Moberly emitted a long sigh. “Must we talk of politics? It is beyond enough that our fathers engage in their tedious debates over such things.”

“I agree, dear brother.” Marianne put one arm around Lady Eugenia’s waist. “For my own part, I have missed dear Genie very much these past months. We simply must have more time together. I think Mama should give a ball. Everyone has been in London since October, and here it is March. Yet she has not done her share of entertaining.”

“Oh, a ball at Bennington House.” Lady Eugenia’s voice trilled with excitement. “Indeed, that would be lovely.”

“Rather,” Mr. Highbury said with a chuckle. “That is, if you don’t think Lord Bennington will cast us out for disloyalty.” He sent Jamie a meaningful look.

Jamie returned a placid smile and looked to Moberly to respond for them. But inwardly, he groaned. In his search for allies, the last thing he needed was a foolish young pup who might ruin everything.

Chapter Seven

“Lord, I trust You to bring them safely home.” Bundled in her warmest woolen dressing gown, Marianne sat by the window of her bedchamber and watched the darkened street two stories below. Her prayer, which she had repeated countless times over the past several hours, soothed her emotions each time anxious thoughts beset her. Why this night was somehow different, she could not guess, but it seemed something sinister hung in the air.

After supper, Jamie had accompanied Robert and his friend Tobias Pincer on their nightly wanderings. Marianne had been hard put not to ask their destination, but such a question would have been beyond propriety. Perhaps they had indeed gone to a rout. In her first season, she had attended one and found it a crushing bore. But other than an occasional supper at the home of some friend, Papa preferred for Mama and her to stay home in the evenings, saying the night was for the devil and his dark deeds. Never mind that much of London’s social life occurred after sunset or that many political compromises were made over a fine supper. This very evening, from Billings House across Grosvenor Square, soft sounds of party merriment reached through Marianne’s slightly open window.

She yawned and snuggled into her wrap to ward off the night chill. Perhaps she was being foolish. But after going to bed she had lain awake for well over an hour, at last rising to light a candle and find comfort in the Scriptures. Her eyes fell on Psalm 27:1. “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” Whether or not Robert sought God’s protection, Jamie would, and in the coal-black streets of London, the Lord would be his light.

Her eyelids grew heavy, and she rested her head against a pillow on the windowsill. A cold breeze sent images of ships floating through her mind, and she dreamed of standing beside Jamie aboard his Fair Winds while the sails filled with wind and carried them to faraway shores.

Sitting up with a jolt, she realized that noise no longer came from the party across the Square, and silence ruled the night. But, no, distant sounds drew nearer. The muted thuds of a horse’s hooves on the dirt street, the rattle of carriage wheels. Hurried whispers. Jamie’s deep voice. And John the footman, who had kept vigil at the front door at Marianne’s request. She shoved the window farther open and leaned out to see a hired hackney driving away and forms disappearing through the front door beneath her.

She dashed from her room and downstairs to meet them in the front entry.

“Milady, ’tis Mr. Moberly.” John’s bushy eyebrows met in a frown as he and Jamie struggled to half carry, half drag Robert into the light of a single candle illuminating the hall.

“Go back to bed, Marianne.” Jamie jerked his head toward the stairway as he knelt and let Robert slump against his chest. “We can manage.”

Jamie’s breath came in deep gasps. Robert lay silent.

“Let me help.” Marianne knelt in front of her brother, whose forehead bore a bloody lump. “What happened?” Did Jamie realize he had not used her title?

“Go upstairs.” Jamie used a stern tone, one that must cause his sailors to quake, but only made her cross.

“I will not. John, take Mr. Moberly into Papa’s library. We can tend him there.” She could see the footman’s hesitation. “Do as I say.”

“Yes, milady.” John sent Jamie an apologetic look.

Still working to catch his breath, Jamie shook his head. “To his bedchamber.”

“No,” Marianne said. “We would have to pass Papa’s door, and he might hear us.”

Now Jamie leaned toward her, and she could see the raw emotion in his eyes. “Madam, it may turn out that Lord Bennington would actually want to have some final words with his son.”

Marianne drew in a sharp breath. She stared down the length of Robert’s drooping form and saw a scarlet stain oozing through a slash on the left side of his yellow waistcoat. “Oh, Robert—” She clamped down on her emotions. Tears would not help him.

Jamie glanced up the wide front staircase and released a weary sigh. “You’re right. To the library, John.”

While Marianne took charge of the candle, the men carried Robert down the dark hallway beside the staircase to Papa’s library. Inside, she pointed. “On the settee.”

“Milady, the blood,” John said.

“Never mind. Mama is planning to redo this room.” Perhaps not soon, but she did redecorate often.

With Robert on the long settee, Jamie fell to his knees beside him, still breathing heavily.

“John, fetch clean rags and water.” Marianne hurried to the hearth for more light, bringing back a candlestick with three candles. She placed it on a table in front of the settee. Robert smelled of sweat and brandy…and blood. “What happened?” She unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt to reveal a one-inch red gash on the left side of his pale, doughy chest. Although it still oozed blood, the color was crimson, not dark as from a deeper wound. Refusing to succumb to the horror of it, she rolled his linen shirttail and pressed it against the cut.

Jamie leaned against the settee arm. “Thank You, Lord. It’s not as deep as I feared.” He shook his head as if to clear it, and studied Robert’s forehead. “This is why he’s unconscious. I feared the stab wound was—”

“Yes. No doubt the blade was aimed at his heart.” Relief soothed Marianne’s ravaged emotions, and she released a few tears. “What happened?” she asked again.

Jamie blinked, as if struggling to focus his eyes. “It is sufficient to say that Moberly’s gambling luck did not follow him into the streets.”

“Footpads?” She could not think anyone would attempt to murder the son of an earl. It must have been true criminals, not bored aristocrats up to no good.

“Aye. And a scurvier bunch I’ve never seen.” He grimaced. “Forgive me.”

She laughed softly. “I am not so fragile that I cannot bear such words. My brothers—”

“Lady Marianne.” Blevins marched into the library wearing his usual black livery, but his sleeping cap instead of his periwig. Behind him, John carried the requested items and more. “Please permit me to attend Mr. Moberly.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Marianne stood and moved back.

Jamie struggled into a nearby chair, grasping his left forearm with his right hand. His blue wool coat was torn in several places and lightly splattered with bloodstains.

“Jamie!” She reached toward his arm, but he pulled it away. “You must let me look at your injury.”

“Just a scratch or two.” His eyes still did not focus. “I’m not injured.” Belying his words, he touched the back of his head and winced. “Not badly, anyway.” He glanced at Blevins and John, who were huddled over Robert, and sent her a warning frown. “Please, my lady, go to bed.”

She settled into a chair next to him. “When I am assured of Robert’s—and your—health, I shall retire. Until then, you will have to endure my company.” She would have given him a mischievous smirk had not Robert been lying there having his side sewn together by the incomparable Blevins.

Jamie watched the butler’s doctoring methods with interest and growing respect. He himself had stitched up numerous wounds during his whaling days. But he was in no condition to do this job. He’d certainly not expected to see such violence on the streets of London, especially against the son of an earl. Jamie couldn’t be altogether certain Tobias Pincer had not orchestrated the attack. At the very least, the man proved to be a worthless coward. If Moberly recovered, as it now seemed he would, Jamie would give a full accounting of his gaming companion.

After they had eaten supper at Lady Bennington’s table, the three of them had attended a strange gathering at a large private home, one of those routs, during which a throng of people milled about with no apparent purpose. Jamie met several people but was never presented to a host. Afterward, Moberly and Pincer insisted their next stop must be a gambling establishment. While Jamie stood near a window in the dim and smoky room, the two sat at cards downing drink after drink. Or perhaps Pincer didn’t drink all that much.

With minimal knowledge of the game, Jamie still could sense that Pincer was helping Moberly to win. When they decided at last to leave, Moberly’s pockets bulged with notes and gold coins. And it was he whom the footpads attacked. If Jamie hadn’t been last out the door, he might have suffered the same fate. As it was, he’d been able to drive away the scoundrels with a few blows of the ebony cane Moberly had loaned him for the evening. As many attackers as there were, perhaps three or four, Jamie thought he and Moberly had come out of it fairly well, especially since Pincer disappeared the moment they exited the gaming hall. But then, footpads generally proved to be cowards if their victims fought back.

Sitting in Lord Bennington’s library generated an instinct in one part of Jamie’s mind. He should be trying to locate a chest or hidden compartment where maps or plans or royal communications might be kept. But another part of him could think only of Moberly and his near encounter with death.

Jamie’s dizziness began to clear, but the injury on the back of his head still pounded deep into his skull. He touched it, drawing Lady Marianne’s anxious gaze. Dropping his hand to the chair arm, he decided he’d have to ignore the sticky lump until he could get to his quarters and have Quince check the damage.

Still, a surge of pride rolled through him. He’d never imagined Lady Marianne would be awake, much less that she would view her brother’s injuries without swooning. His lady had courage and pluck.

His lady? Try though he might, he couldn’t dislodge the pleasant notion nor stop the accompanying warmth spreading through his chest. If not for the blood on his hand, he might have reached out to grasp hers. Thank the Lord for the blood.

Before a new day dawned, he must speak to Moberly about his eternal soul, which so far the Almighty had mercifully spared.

Marianne insisted upon overseeing Robert’s transfer to his bedchamber, and informed Blevins that she would sit with her brother until morning. “You and John must retire for the night so you both can see to your duties tomorrow.”

In the dimly lit room, she noticed just a tiny flicker in the butler’s eyes, perhaps wounded pride, for he never failed in any of his duties no matter how late he had labored the night before. But he gave her a perfect servant’s bow. “Of course, Lady Marianne. Shall I summon Miss Kendall to accompany you?”

Marianne glanced toward the small side chamber where John had gone to wake Ian, Robert’s young valet. If she, Jamie and Ian were to keep watch over her brother, propriety demanded the presence of another lady in the room.

“Yes, please.”

Ian soon emerged fully dressed and began to assess the situation. Like Blevins and John, he demonstrated no emotion, but Marianne could see concern in his eyes as he arranged Robert’s dressing gown, pillows and covers.

Jamie excused himself to wash up, and Marianne settled into a chair beside Robert’s bed just as Grace joined her for the vigil. Within a half hour, Jamie returned, but gently refused Marianne’s request to check the lump on his head.

“Quince cleaned it and says it’s nothing, my lady.” Jamie settled into a chair across the room. When he fell asleep, with his long legs extended out in front of him and his head resting back on a pillow, Marianne spent half her time watching him and half watching Robert.

In the early morning hours, her brother became delirious, thrashing and mumbling nonsensically. Jamie awakened, and he and Ian held Robert fast so the stitches would not tear. Soon he quieted. Marianne wiped his face and freshened the cool, damp cloth on his forehead. The crisis passed, but she could not be certain another would not strike. All the while, she was aware of Grace’s soft prayers…and her tears. Assured of her brother’s progress, Marianne moved to the small settee where Grace sat.

A slim horizontal thread of gray appeared on the floor beneath the window, announcing dawn’s arrival. Marianne looked over to see Jamie stir awake, then walk to the bedside just as Robert opened his eyes. Relief swept through her, and she clasped hands with Grace.

“Well, old man,” Jamie said. “I believe you got the worst of it.”

Robert coughed out a weak laugh, then grimaced and grabbed at his wound. “Ahh. Hurts. Never thought—”

“Shh.” Marianne rushed to him. “Rest easy, Robert dear.” She dampened another fresh cloth for his forehead. “You’re safe at home.”

He turned his bloodshot eyes toward her. “Merry.” Then beyond her. “Miss Kendall. Ian.” A wry smile lifted one corner of his lips. “I say, have you all kept vigil? Am I going to die?” A sardonic tone accompanied his gaze around the room. “What, Father did not come to bid me farewell?”

“No, Robert.” Her heart aching for him, Marianne applied the compress. “We did not wake him.”

“No, of course not.” Robert grunted. “By all means, do not disturb the patriarch.” His bitter tone cut into her. “Fine Christian father that he is.” He closed his eyes and leaned into the cold cloth as she pressed it against his temple.

She swallowed an urge to reprimand him. “Shh. You must rest.”

“Hmm.” He rolled his head toward Jamie. “I say, Templeton, how did you enjoy your first night out in London?” He chuckled, then coughed and again clutched at his injury.

Standing on the opposite side of the bed, Jamie glanced at Marianne and then frowned down at Robert. “Can’t say I’d like to repeat it.” Again he looked at her, this time with a question in his eyes.

Without a word spoken, she understood him and quietly resumed her place beside Grace. Surely after this night, Jamie would see how well they worked together. How they could communicate without speaking. How their very souls were knit together in purpose.

A sense of urgency pulsed through Jamie. Many times he’d seen a wounded man become receptive toward God’s call at the height of his pain, only to recover and forget his mortality. Jamie had not a single doubt that the Lord had permitted this attack to capture Moberly’s attention. But where to begin? Jamie already had learned much from Reverend Bentley’s tutoring, especially that these aristocrats could take offense if wrongly addressed. But he must not lose this opportunity. Wisdom, please, Lord.

“You must forgive us for not waking Lord Bennington. Our main concern was tending your wounds and seeing you rested.”

Moberly shrugged against his pillow. “I doubt he would have been concerned.” The pain ripping across his face appeared more like damaged emotions than an injured body.

Jamie sat on the edge of the bed, hoping to set a mood of familiarity. Hoping Moberly would not be offended. “My friend, even the tenderest of earthly fathers can disappoint us.”

Moberly snorted, then cried out and grabbed his chest. “What is this? What happened to me?” Teeth gritted, he shoved away the goose down cover and clawed at his nightshirt.

Jamie grasped his hands. “I recommend you leave it alone, sir. You received a nasty knife wound, but Blevins stitched it together very nicely. Let’s don’t break it open.”

Moberly’s eyes widened. He touched the area with his fingertips. “Right over my heart. I might’ve died.” He slumped back and looked vacantly toward the bed’s canopy. “I might have died.”

“God’s mercy was on you,” Jamie said. “No mistaking that.”

“Yes,” Moberly whispered. His gaze returned to Jamie. “Yes.” A stronger tone. “Thank God. And you.” His eyes grew red and moist. “You saved my life.”

Jamie leaned a bit closer. “Perhaps. But I was merely God’s instrument. You’re right to thank Him.”

Moberly gave out a mirthless laugh. “But why would He bother when my own father regards me as a parasite and cares not whether I live or die?”

His words slammed into Jamie’s heart. How could anyone understand why Lord Bennington treated his sons so callously? “My friend, God desires to be a father to you. He longs to save your eternal soul. This is why you didn’t die in the street last night.”

Moberly appeared to consider the idea, and fear filled his face. “No. I have waited too long, done too much—”

“No.” Jamie gripped his arm as he would a drowning man’s. Moberly’s words indicated he comprehended his own sinfulness. Surely that meant it wasn’t too late for him. “Don’t believe that lie. The blood Jesus Christ shed on the cross covers every sin. God’s grace is offered as a free gift to you right now. All you need to do is accept it.”

Moberly seemed to fold into himself. “No. It cannot be that simple.” His gaze hardened. “There are rules and rituals and righteousness.” His lips curled. “All the things I despise about religion and—”

“No!” Jamie prayed Robert wouldn’t take his stern tone as an affront. “Christ’s death and resurrection are sufficient to save the worst sinner. If we were required to do even one small thing other than accept His grace, none of us could be saved. Did He not say to the thief who was crucified beside him ‘Today thou shalt be with me in Paradise’?”

Moberly’s dark eyebrows met in a frown, and his left eye twitched. “I thought perhaps the man received a special dispensation.”

Jamie shook his head. “I believe, in fact I am more than certain, that thief was meant for an example to us. As he was saved, so we can be saved.” He leaned close again. “Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, Moberly, and you will be saved.”

A long, narrow swath of light shone from beneath the drapes onto the Wilton carpet at the center of the room. The smell of sweat vied with the scents of soap and lavender for preeminence. Moments passed without a sound in the room, not even a rustle. Some hours ago, a maid had started a fire in the hearth, and Ian kept it burning. A barely audible sigh came from across the room, and Jamie guessed both ladies were praying. He wondered how much longer he could sit up without rest.

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