A battle of wills during a season of blessings...

Napoleon himself never gave Captain Gideon Radcliffe as much trouble as Miss Marian Murray. The fiercely protective governess won’t rest until she gains permission for the daughters of his late cousin to stay on at Gideon’s newly inherited estate. He agrees to let Cissy and Dolly remain at Knightley Park for Christmas. But by springtime they—and Marian—must go.

Marian is prepared to believe the captain a tyrant. The truth is far more complicated. Gideon is a kind yet solitary man who sees the navy as his only sanctuary. Can Marian’s unwavering faith, and the children’s Christmas cheer, convince him he’s found safe harbor at last?

“You’ve probably spent most of your life moving from one place to another. So perhaps you can’t understand why a child who’s lost her mother and father would want to stay in a familiar place around people she’s used to.”

“I understand better than you suppose, Miss Murray.” Captain Radcliffe spoke so softly, Marian wondered if she had only imagined his words.

“You do?”

He replied with a slow nod, a distant gaze and a pensive murmur that seemed to come from some well-hidden place inside him. “I was ten years old when I was set to sea after my mother died.”

The wistful hush of his voice slid beneath Marian’s bristling defenses. Her heart went out to that wee boy.

“I shall delay contacting Lady Villiers until January.” Captain Radcliffe sounded resigned to his decision. “That will allow the children to spend Christmas in the country. After that, the New Year is a time for new beginnings.”

“Thank you, sir.”

As she hurried back to the nursery, Marian thanked God, too, for granting this reprieve. Perhaps her earlier prayers had been heard

after all.

DEBORAH HALE

After a decade of tracing her ancestors to their roots in Georgian-era Britain, Golden Heart winner Deborah Hale turned to historical romance writing as a way to blend her love of the past with her desire to spin a good love story. Deborah lives in Nova Scotia, Canada, between the historic British garrison town of Halifax and the romantic Annapolis Valley of Longfellow’s Evangeline. With four children (including twins), Deborah calls writing her “sanity retention mechanism.” On good days, she likes to think it’s working.

Deborah invites you to visit her personal website at www.deborahhale.com, or find out more about her at www.Harlequin.com.

The Captain’s Christmas Family

Deborah Hale

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Thy will be done…

—Matthew 6:10

For Gloria Jackson and in memory of Rev. David Jackson, who both made worship the kind of joyful, uplifting experience it was meant to be.

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

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Nottinghamshire, England 1814

“He’s coming, Miss Murray!” A breathless housemaid burst into the nursery without even a knock of warning.

The book Marian Murray had been reading to her two young pupils slid from her slack fingers and down her skirts to land on the carpet with a soft thud. A tingling chill crept down her back that had nothing to do with the gray drizzle outside. The moment she’d been dreading for weeks had arrived at last…in spite of her prayers.

A new prayer formed in her thoughts now, as she strove to compose herself for the children’s sake. She hoped it would do better at gaining divine attention. Please, Lord, don’t let him be as bad as I fear and don’t let him send the girls away!

Unaware of her governess’s distress, Dolly Radcliffe leapt up, her plump young features alight with excitement. “Who’s coming, Martha? Are we to have company?”

The housemaid shook her head. “Not company, miss. It’s the new master—Captain Radcliffe. Mr. Culpepper sent me to fetch ye so we can give him a proper welcome to Knightley Park.”

“Tell Mr. Culpepper the girls and I will be down directly,” Marian replied in a Scottish burr that all her years in England had done little to soften.

Forcing her limbs to cooperate, she rose from the settee and scooped up the fallen book, smoothing its wrinkled pages.

“New master?” Dolly’s small nose wrinkled. “I thought Mr. Culpepper was master of the house now.”

“Don’t be silly.” Cissy Radcliffe rolled her wide blue-gray eyes at her younger sister’s ignorance. “Mr. Culpepper is only a servant. Knightley Park belongs to Captain Radcliffe now by en…en… Oh, what’s that word again, Miss Marian?”

“Entail, dear.” Marian plumped the bow of Cissy’s blue satin sash, wishing she had time to control Dolly’s baby-fine fair hair with a liberal application of sugar water. “Come along now, we don’t want to keep the captain waiting.”

Likely the new master would insist on the sort of strict order and discipline he’d kept aboard his ship. It would not do for her and the girls to make a bad impression by being tardy.

“What is entail?” asked Dolly, as Marian took both girls by the hands and led them out into the east wing hallway.

Marian stifled an impatient sigh. Ordinarily, she encouraged the children’s endless questions, but at the moment she did not feel equal to explaining the legalities of inheritance to a curious six-year-old.

Cissy had no such qualms. “It’s when an estate must pass to the nearest male relative. If I were a boy, I would be master of Knightley Park now. Or if little Henry had lived, he would be. But since there’s only us, and we’re girls, the estate belongs to Papa’s cousin, Captain Radcliffe.”

After a brief pause to digest the information, Dolly had another question. “Do you suppose the captain will look like Papa, since they’re cousins?”

“Were cousins,” Cissy corrected her sister. The child’s slender fingers felt like ice as she clung to Marian’s hand.

Dolly’s forehead puckered. “Do people stop being relations after they go to heaven? That doesn’t seem right.”

“You’ll find out soon enough whether Captain Radcliffe bears any family resemblance,” said Marian as they reached the bottom of the great winding staircase and joined a stream of servants pouring out the front door.

Exchanging furtive whispers, the maids smoothed down their aprons, and the footmen straightened their neck linen. They seemed curious and apprehensive about the arrival of their new master. Marian shared their qualms.

Outside, under the pillared portico, Knightley Park’s aging butler struggled to marshal his staff into decent order to greet Captain Radcliffe. Shaken by the sudden death of Cissy and Dolly’s father, Culpepper had let household discipline slip recently. Now he was paying the price, poor fellow.

Marian had too many worries of her own to spare him more than a passing flicker of sympathy.

“This way, girls.” She tugged them along behind the shifting line of servants to stand at the far end of the colonnade, a little apart from the others.

By rights, they probably should have taken a place up beside Mr. Culpepper and Mrs. Wheaton, the cook. Cissy and Dolly were the ladies of the house, in a way. At least, they had been until today. What they would be from now on, and where they would go, depended upon the man presently driving up the long, elm-lined lane toward them. Marian wanted to delay that meeting for as long as possible.

When the carriage came to a halt in front of the house, she could not stifle a shiver.

Dolly must have felt it for she edged closer. “Are you cold, Miss Marian?”

“A little,” Marian whispered back, conscious of a breathless silence that had gripped the other servants. “Drizzle like this can make midsummer seem cool, let alone October. Now, remember, bright smiles and graceful curtsies to welcome the captain.”

The carriage door swung open, and a tall, rangy figure emerged, clad in black from head to toe, relieved only by a glimpse of stark white shirt cuffs and neck linen. Marian felt a mild pang of disappointment that Captain Radcliffe had not worn his naval uniform. But, of course, he wouldn’t, under the circumstances. From rumors in the newspapers, Marian had gleaned that the captain was on leave from his command under a cloud of suspicion.

As Captain Radcliffe removed his hat, a breath of wind stirred his brown hair strewn with threads of gold. Tucking the hat under his arm, he strode slowly past the line of servants while Mr. Culpepper introduced each one. The movement of their bows and curtsies rippled down the line like an ominous wave rolling toward Marian and her young charges. Resisting an urge to draw the girls into a protective embrace, she took a step backward so they would have room to make their curtsies.

At that moment, Captain Radcliffe loomed in front of them, looking even taller than he had from a distance. His face was too long and angular to be called handsome. But it was quite striking, with a jutting nose, firm mouth and deep set, gray eyes beneath sharply arched brows.

Those brows slanted together at a fierce angle as he stared at Cissy and Dolly with a look of the most intense severity Marian had ever seen. Beneath his relentless scrutiny, Cissy lost her nerve. Her curtsy wobbled, and her squeaks of greeting sounded more terrified than welcoming. Dolly forgot to curtsy at all but stared boldly up at the captain.

Mr. Culpepper seemed not to notice as he continued his introductions. “Sir, these are the daughters of your late cousin, Miss Celia Radcliffe and Miss Dorothy. Behind them is their governess, Miss Murray.”

A clammy knot of dread bunched in the pit of Marian’s stomach as she waited for Captain Radcliffe to speak. It was the same sensation that always gripped her between a dangerous flash of lightning and the alarming crack of thunder that followed.

“Children?” His voice did sound like the rolling rumble of distant thunder, or the pounding of the sea upon a lonely, rock strewn coast. “No one said anything about children.”

The man was every bit as bad as she’d feared, if not worse. Besides all the other feelings roiling inside her, Marian felt a twinge of disappointment at the thought of another prayer unanswered. Once again, it appeared she would have to fight her own battles in defense of those she cared for. Some tiny part of her even stirred at the prospect—perhaps the blood of her warlike ancestors.

Or was it something about the captain’s presence that stirred her? Surely not!

When Cissy backed away from her formidable cousin, Marian wrapped a reassuring arm around her shoulders and reached out to tug Dolly back, as well. “Perhaps we can discuss the girls and their situation this evening after I’ve put them to bed?”

The captain seemed to take notice of her for the first time, looking her over carefully as if to assess the strength of an adversary. His scrutiny ignited a blistering blush in Marian’s cheeks. For an instant, the children and all the other servants seemed to melt away, leaving her all alone with Captain Radcliffe.

Perhaps the captain felt it, too, for he gave his head a brisk shake, collecting himself from a moment of abstraction. “Very well. Report to the bridge at eight bells of the last dog watch. That is…the Chinese drawing room at eight o’clock.”

“Yes, sir.” Marian dropped a curtsy, wondering if he expected her to salute. “Now I will take the children back indoors before they catch a chill…with your permission, of course.”

“By all means, attend to your duties.” The captain looked as if he could hardly wait for Cissy and Dolly to be out of his sight.

Marian was only too eager to obey his curt order.

“Come along, girls.” She shepherded them into the house, resisting the perverse urge to glance back at him.

Neither of the children spoke until they were halfway up the broad spiral staircase.

“The captain doesn’t look much like Papa.” Dolly sounded disappointed.

“He isn’t anything like Papa!” Cissy muttered fiercely.

“I don’t think he likes us very much.” Dolly sighed.

“I’m certain the captain doesn’t dislike you, dear.” Marian strove to convince herself as much as the children. “He was…surprised to find you here, that’s all.”

As they slipped back into the comforting familiarity of the nursery, Dolly’s grip tightened with such sudden force that it made Marian wince. “The captain won’t send us away, will he?”

“Of course not!” Marian stooped to gather her beloved young pupils into a comforting embrace.

They had been through so much in the two short years since she’d come to be their governess—first losing their mother and infant brother, then their father. She had done all she could to make them feel secure and loved, to protect them from the kind of harsh childhood she’d endured.

To herself she vowed, That man won’t send you away if there is anything I can do to prevent it!

As he waited for the mantel clock to chime eight, Gideon Radcliffe paced the rounded bay end of the Chinese drawing room, peering out each of its tall, slender windows in turn.

Even in the misty dusk, they afforded a fine view down a gently sloping knoll to the lake, which wrapped around a small, green island. Gideon had pleasant memories of boating on that lake from long-ago visits to Knightley Park when his grandfather was master. At the time, he’d enjoyed an even better view from the room directly above this one—the nursery.

That thought reminded him of his cousin’s children. He would rather have been ambushed by the combined French and Spanish fleets than by those two small girls. They could not have been more alien to his experience if they’d been a pair of mermaids. He had no idea what they might need, except to sense that he was entirely unequipped to provide it.

More than ever he felt the urgent necessity to restore his reputation, regain his command and get back to sea. He was confident he possessed the skill, experience and temperament to serve his country well in that capacity. After all these years of service, it was the only life he knew. Losing it would be worse than losing a limb—it would be like losing his very identity.

“I beg your pardon, sir.” The soft lilt of a woman’s voice intruded upon Gideon’s most private thoughts. “You told me to report here at eight. Did you not hear me knock?”

“I…didn’t.” Gideon withdrew into himself, like a sea creature retreating into the shelter of its tough, rigid shell. “But do come in. I wanted to talk to you about the…children.”

“As did I, sir.” She approached with deliberate steps, halting some distance away, behind an ornate armchair.

During their first meeting, Gideon had been so taken aback by the sight of his young cousins that he’d paid little heed to their governess, beyond her hostile glare. No doubt she had read all the scurrilous gossip about him in the papers and judged him guilty of the false accusations against him. So much for his hope of finding a sanctuary at Knightley Park to escape public condemnation!

Now he forced himself to take stock of his potential adversary. Marian Murray was small and slender, her dark brown hair pinned back with strict severity. Only a single wisp had escaped to curl in a softening tendril over her left temple. With high cheekbones and a fresh complexion, her face might have been quite pleasant to look at if she ventured to smile occasionally. At the moment, her brown eyes were narrowed and her full lips compressed in an expression of barely concealed hostility, if not outright contempt.

Though Gideon told himself her opinion was not of the slightest consequence, he could not deny the sting. “Yes. Well…about the children. I hope the entail of the estate did not leave them unprovided for.”

If that were the case, he would take responsibility for their maintenance. It might ease the unreasonable guilt he felt for displacing them from their home.

“No, sir.” The governess seemed surprised by his question, as if she had not expected him to care. “The girls each have a comfortable little fortune from their mother.”

“I am relieved to hear it.” Gideon nodded his approval. “Pray who is their guardian and why have they been left alone here?”

Surely he would have been informed if Cousin Daniel had named him in that capacity. And surely Daniel would have known better than to entrust his young daughters to the care of a distant relation who was apt to be away at sea for years on end.

“The girls have not been alone,” Miss Murray corrected him. “They have had an entire household to care for them. Their mother’s younger sister, Lady Villiers, is their godmother. She is to be their guardian.”

“Capital!” Tension released its grip on his clenched muscles so swiftly Gideon feared he might crumple to the floor. “I mean to say…how fortunate…for the children. Will Lady Villiers be coming to fetch them soon or should they be sent to her?”

The look on Miss Murray’s face grew even grimmer. A passing thought pricked Gideon’s conscience. Was she too strict a person to have charge of two sensitive children? Perhaps he should suggest Lady Villiers hire a more amiable governess for his young cousins.

Captain Radcliffe didn’t like her. That much was evident to Marian. Not that she minded—quite the contrary. Besides, it set them even.

She resented his obvious eagerness to palm off responsibility for Cissy and Dolly on someone else, without asking or caring whether that person might be the least bit suitable. In Marian’s opinion, Lady Villiers was not.

“Her ladyship has been abroad since before Mr. Radcliffe’s death. The family’s solicitor has not been able to contact her. She was in Florence the last we heard, but she may have gone on to Paris.”

“It does seem to be a fashionable destination since Napoleon’s defeat.” Captain Radcliffe sounded disappointed that Lady Villiers would not be taking the girls off his hands immediately. “I know someone in France who might be able to get a message to her.”

A message to come at once and take the girls away? The prospect made Marian queasy. But would Cissy and Dolly be any better off with this glacial man about whom she’d heard disturbing rumors?

Her gaze flitted around the elegant, exotic room. At least this house was familiar to the girls. And if the new master had no fondness for them, she and the other servants did. Besides, unlike their aunt, Captain Radcliffe had no reason to harbor designs on the girls’ fortunes. “Could you delay sending that message for just a bit, sir?”

“Why on earth…?”

“Knightley Park is the children’s home—the only one they’ve ever known. If they must leave it, I would like some time to get them used to the idea, if that’s all right?”

It wasn’t all right. That much was clear from his taut, forbidding scowl.

“Please,” she added, though she doubted any amount of begging would budge a man like him. “You’ve probably spent most of your life moving from one place to another. So perhaps you can’t understand why a child who’s lost her mother and father would want to stay in a familiar place around people she’s used to.”

It was not her place to speak to the new master in such a tone. Marian could imagine Mr. Culpepper’s look of horror if he heard her.

“I understand better than you suppose, Miss Murray.” Captain Radcliffe spoke so softly, Marian wondered if she had only imagined his words.

“You do?”

He replied with a slow nod, a distant gaze and a pensive murmur that seemed to come from some well-hidden place inside him. “I was ten years old when I was sent to sea after my mother died.”

The wistful hush of his voice slid beneath Marian’s bristling defenses. Her heart went out to that wee boy. A navy ship must have been an even harsher place to grow up than the Pendergast Charity School, where she had been sent. She wondered if young Gideon Radcliffe had been blessed with good friends and strong faith to help him bear it.

But she had no right to ask such questions of a man like him. Besides, the girls were her first priority.

Perhaps she could appeal to the part of him that remembered the loss and displacement he’d suffered. “Cissy is only nine and Dolly hasn’t turned seven yet. I know you don’t mean to send them off to sea, Captain. But away-from-home is all the same, no matter where, don’t you think?”

His brows rose and his lower lip thrust out in a downward curve. “I see your point.”

Marian sensed this was as receptive as he was likely to get. “I’m not asking anything of you, Captain, except to provide us with food and houseroom until Lady Villiers returns. This place has plenty of both to spare. I will see to the girls, entirely, just the way I have since their father died. I’ll make certain they don’t disturb you.”

For a moment Captain Radcliffe stared down at the finely woven carpet. Then suddenly he lifted his head to fix her with a gaze that did see her—too clearly for her comfort. “Very well, Miss Murray. I am not such an ogre as you may suppose. I know this is their home and would have remained so if they’d had a brother.”

“I never thought you were an—”

Before she could blurt out that bald lie, the captain raised his hand to bid her not interrupt him. “Until the New Year then.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“I shall delay contacting Lady Villiers until January.” Captain Radcliffe sounded resigned to his decision. “That will allow the children to spend Christmas in the country. After that, the New Year is a time for new beginnings.”

“Perhaps so.” That sounded ungrateful. Captain Radcliffe was under no obligation to let them stay for any length of time, let alone the whole winter. “What I meant to say was…thank you, sir.”

As she hurried back to the nursery, Marian thanked God, too, for granting this reprieve. Perhaps her earlier prayers had been heard after all.

Chapter Two

After his first night in his new home, Gideon woke much later than usual. He’d slept badly—the place was far too quiet. He missed the soothing lap of the waves against the hull of his ship, the flap of sails in the wind and the mournful cries of seagulls. When he had drifted off, the face of that young midshipman had appeared to trouble him. Though the charges brought against him were entirely unfounded—of causing the death of one member of his crew and threatening others—that did not mean his conscience was clear.

An iron band of pain tightened around Gideon’s forehead when he crawled out of bed. He staggered when the floor stayed level and still beneath his feet. It had taken him a while to gain his sea legs when he’d joined his first crew, all those years ago. Now the roll of a deck was so familiar he wondered if he would ever feel comfortable on dry land. Nottinghamshire had some of the driest land in the kingdom, many miles from the ocean in any direction. Coming here had given Gideon a far more intimate understanding of what it meant to be “a fish out of water.”

Perhaps some coffee and breakfast would help. Though he’d lived on ship’s rations for more than two-thirds of his life, he could not claim they were superior to the fare available at Knightley Park.

As he washed, shaved and dressed for the day, Gideon’s thoughts turned back to his unsettling interview with Miss Murray the previous evening. The woman reminded him of a terrier—small and rather appealing, yet possessed of fierce tenacity in getting what she wanted. What in blazes had possessed him to tell her about being sent to sea after his mother’s death?

He seldom talked to anyone about his past and never about that unhappy time. Perhaps it was what she’d said about a bereaved child needing the comfort of familiar surroundings. It had struck a chord deep within him—far too deep for his liking. Before he could stop himself, the words had poured out. For an instant after he’d spoken, Gideon thought he sensed a thawing in her obvious aversion to him. Then she had turned and used that unintentional revelation as leverage to wring from him a concession he’d been reluctant to grant.

He counted himself fortunate that he had not come up against many enemy captains who were such formidable opponents as this simple Scottish governess.

It wasn’t that he begrudged his young cousins’ houseroom—quite the contrary. They had been born and lived their whole lives at Knightley Park, while he had only visited the place at Christmastime and in the summer. Though it belonged to him by law, he could not escape the conviction that they had a far stronger claim to it.

While they remained here, he would be reluctant to make many changes in the domestic arrangements they were accustomed to…no matter how sorely needed. He would always feel like an interloper in his own home, prevented from claiming the solitude and privacy he’d hoped to find at Knightley Park.

That was not his only objection to the arrangement, Gideon reminded himself as he headed off in search of breakfast. What if his young cousins needed something beyond the authority of their governess to provide? What if some harm befell them and he was held accountable? He, who had been charged with the welfare of an entire ship’s crew, shrank from the responsibility for two small girls. It vexed Gideon that he had not thought to raise some of these objections with Miss Murray last night.

It was too late now, though. He had given his word. He only hoped he would not come to regret that decision as much as he regretted some others he’d made of late.

“Dolly!” That soft but urgent cry, and the light, fleet patter of approaching footsteps jarred Gideon from his thoughts; but too late to take proper evasive action.

An instant later, the child came racing around the corner and barreled straight into him. Her head struck him in the belly, like a small blond cannonball, knocking the breath out of him. Meanwhile the collision sent her tumbling backward onto her bottom. It could not have winded her as it had Gideon, for her mouth fell open to emit an earsplitting wail that made his aching head throb. Her eyes screwed up and commenced to gush tears at a most alarming rate. The sight unnerved Gideon like nothing in his eventful naval career…with one recent exception.

Before he could catch his breath or rally his shattered composure, Marian Murray charged around the corner and swooped down to enfold her young charge. “Wist ye now, Dolly!”

She looked up at Gideon, her eyes blazing with fierce protectiveness. “What did you do to her?”

“What…?” Gideon gasped. “I…?”

That was one unjust accusation too many. Somehow he managed to suck in enough air to fuel his reply. “I did…nothing to her! That little imp ploughed into me. A few inches taller and she’d have stove in my ribs.”

Anger over a great many things that had nothing to do with the present situation came boiling out of him. “What was she doing tearing through the halls like a wild thing? Someone could have been hurt much worse.”

Now he’d done it. No doubt his rebuke would make the child howl even louder, if that were possible. Less than twenty-four hours had passed, and already he’d begun to regret his hasty decision to let the children stay.

To his amazement, Gideon realized the child was not weeping harder. Indeed, she seemed to have stopped. Her sobs had somehow turned to chuckles.

“Wild thing.” She repeated his words as if they were a most amusing compliment, then chuckled again.

“You needn’t sound so pleased with yourself.” Miss Murray helped the child to her feet and dusted her off. “Captain Radcliffe is right. You could have been hurt a good deal worse. Now tell him you’re sorry and promise it won’t happen again.”

The little scamp broke into a broad grin that was strangely infectious. “I’m sorry I bumped into you, Captain. I hope I didn’t hurt you too much. I promise I won’t run so fast around corners after this.”

“I’m not certain that running indoors at all is a good idea.” Gideon struggled to keep the corners of his mouth from curling up, as they itched to do. “You are not a filly, after all, and this is not Newmarket racecourse.”

If Miss Murray found his remark at all amusing, she certainly gave no sign. “I apologize, as well, Captain. This is all my fault. I will keep Dolly under much closer supervision from now on.”

Gideon found himself torn between a strange desire to linger there in the hallway with them and an urgent need to get away. Since the latter made far more sense, he gave a stiff nod to acknowledge her assurance and strode away in search of a strong cup of coffee to restore his composure.

“Dorothy Ann Radcliffe,” Marian muttered as she marched her young pupil back to the nursery, “you won’t be content until you make my hair turn white, will you?”

“Could I really do that, Miss Marian?” Dolly sounded far more intrigued by the possibility than chastened.

“I don’t care to find out, thank you very much.” Marian pointed to a low, three-legged stool in the corner, with which Dolly’s bottom was quite familiar. “Go sit for ten minutes and think about what you’ve done.”

“Why must I sit in the corner?” demanded the child. “When you told the Captain it was all your fault?”

“Impudence, for a start.” Marian fixed her with a stern look. “I warn you, I am not in the mood to tolerate any more of your foolishness, just now.”

Though Dolly deserved her punishment, Marian could not deny her own responsibility for what had happened. Since their father’s death, she had encouraged Dolly’s high spirits, in the hope of lifting her sister’s.

“What happened?” asked Cissy, who sat at the nursery table, an untouched bowl of porridge in front of her. “I heard shouting and bawling.”

Before Marian could get a word out, Dolly announced, “I bumped into the captain and fell down.”

Walking toward the corner stool, she rubbed her bottom. “He called me a wild thing and said the house isn’t a racecourse. I think he’s funny.”

Captain Radcliffe was anything but amusing. A little shudder ran through Marian as she recalled his dark scowl, which seemed to threaten he would send the girls away if another such mishap occurred. “That’s quite enough out of you, miss. I don’t want to hear another word for ten minutes or I’ll add ten more. Is that understood?”

Dolly opened her mouth to reply, then shut it again and nodded as she sank onto the stool.

Marian returned to her rapidly cooling breakfast but found she had no appetite for it now.

“What did he say, Miss Marian?” Cissy asked in an anxious tone.

“He wasn’t happy about being rammed into on his first morning here, of course.” Marian cast a reproachful look toward the corner stool. “I can’t say I blame him.”

Now that she thought back on it, the captain had seemed more vexed by her tactless assumption that he’d done something to hurt Dolly, rather than the other way around. She couldn’t blame him for that, either. No one liked to be unjustly accused, especially when they were the injured party. But what else was she to think, after the experiences of her past and the things she’d read about him in the newspapers? There had been reports of severe cruelty to the younger members of his crew, resulting in at least one death,

“I don’t mean what the captain said just now.” Cissy pushed her porridge around the bowl with her spoon. “What did he say last night when you went to talk to him…at eight bells?”

“Oh, that.” He’d told her about being sent away to sea when he was only a little older than Cissy, though Marian sensed he hadn’t intended to. “He said you and Dolly are welcome to stay at Knightley Park until your aunt comes back from abroad. That was kind of him, wasn’t it?”

So it was, Marian reminded herself, though she still resented his obvious reluctance.

Cissy ignored the question. “I wish Aunt Lavinia would come tomorrow and take us away with her.”

“I don’t!” cried Dolly, undeterred by the prospect of ten more minutes in the corner. “I want to stay at Knightley Park as long as we can.”

That was what Marian wanted for the girls, too. She feared what might become of Cissy and Dolly once Lady Villiers took charge of them. Her best hope was that she would be allowed to remain as their governess. Though she disliked the idea of having no fixed home, flitting from one fashionable destination to another, at least she would be able to shield the children from the worst excesses of their aunt’s way of life.

But what if Lady Villiers decided that traveling with her two young nieces and their governess in tow would be too inconvenient? What if she dismissed Marian and placed the girls in a boarding school, while she used their money to stave off her creditors?

Worrying down a spoonful of cold porridge as an example to the girls, Marian tried to push those fears to the back of her mind. She had enough to be getting on with just now—she didn’t need to borrow trouble. If she could not keep the children from disturbing Captain Radcliffe, she feared he might turn them out long before Lady Villiers arrived to collect her nieces.

Gideon had intended to catch a few days’ rest before plunging into his new duties as master of Knightley Park. But after the collision with his young cousin on his way to breakfast, he decided a dignified retreat might be in order. If Miss Murray could not keep the children out of his way, then he must take care to keep out of theirs.

His belly was still a little tender where the child’s sturdy head had butted it. That did not smart half as much as the memory of Miss Murray’s accusation. Her tone and look made it abundantly clear her opinion had been turned against him before he ever set foot in Knightley Park. Was that the case with all the servants? He’d hoped the vile gossip about him might not have spread this far into the countryside. Apparently, that had been wishful thinking.

Such thoughts continued to plague him as he rode around the estate, investigating its operation. What he discovered provided a distraction, though not the kind he’d hoped for. Everywhere he looked, he encountered evidence of idleness, waste and mismanagement. By late that afternoon, his bones ached from the unaccustomed effort of sitting a horse for so many hours. His patience had worn dangerously thin by the time he tracked down the steward of Knightley Park.

“Pray how long have you been employed in your present position, Mr. Dutton?” Hands clasped behind his back, Gideon fixed the steward with his sternest quarterdeck stare.

Unlike every midshipman who’d ever served under him, this landlubber seemed not to grasp the significance of that look.

The steward was a solid man of middling height with bristling ginger side-whiskers and a confident air. “Been here nigh on ten years, sir. Not long after the late master’s marriage, God rest both their souls. In all that time, Mr. Radcliffe never had a fault to find with my service.”

“Indeed?” Gideon’s voice grew quieter, a sign his crew would have known to heed as a warning. “You must have found my late cousin a very satisfactory employer, then—easygoing, content to leave the oversight of the estate in your hands with a minimum of interference.”

“Just so, sir.” Dutton seemed to imply the new master would do well to follow his cousin’s example. “I didn’t presume to tell him how to hunt his foxes and he didn’t tell me how to carry out my duties.”

The man was drifting into heavy weather, yet he appeared altogether oblivious. “But there is a difference between those two circumstances, is there not? My cousin’s hunting was none of your affair, while your management of this estate was very much his. Now it is mine and I have never shirked my duty.”

At last the steward seemed to sense which way the wind was blowing. He stood up straighter, and his tone became a good deal more respectful. “Yes, sir. I mean…no, sir.”

From his coat pocket, Gideon withdrew a folded sheet of paper on which he had penciled some notes in the tight, precise script he used for his log entries. “From what I have observed today, Mr. Dutton, you have not been overseeing this estate so much as overlooking waste and sloth. I fear you have left me with no alternative but to replace you.”

“You can’t do that, sir!”

With a raised eyebrow, Gideon inquired what prevented him.

“What I mean to say is, I’ve got a wife and family and I’m not as young as I used to be.” Dutton’s former bluster disappeared, replaced by fear of reaping the bad harvest he had sown. “If word gets out that I’ve been dismissed…”

“I have no intention of broadcasting the information,” replied Gideon. “Though I could not, in good conscience, provide you with a reference.”

“Please, sir. Perhaps I have let things slide around here of late.” The man looked a proper picture of repentance. “But if you give me another chance, I’ll lick the estate into shape. So help me, I will.”

Though he knew the importance of decisiveness in maintaining command, Gideon hesitated. Granting second chances had not worked well for him in the past. One might argue that it had contributed to his present predicament. Too often, offenders looked on such a reprieve as a sign of weakness to be further exploited. And yet, there was Dutton’s family to consider. His wife and children had done nothing wrong, but they would suffer for his conduct, perhaps more than he.

“A fortnight.” Gideon fixed the man with his sternest scowl, so Dutton would be in no doubt this was an undeserved opportunity he had better not abuse. “I will give you that long to persuade me you are worth keeping.”

Ignoring the man’s effusive thanks, Gideon turned on his heel and strode away. He hoped this decision would not prove as much a mistake as his last one.

Making certain Cissy and Dolly did not disturb Captain Radcliffe was proving a great deal harder than she had expected. Marian reflected on that difficulty as she put the girls to bed one evening, a week after his arrival at Knightley Park.

Part of the problem was the captain’s unpredictable comings and goings. She could never tell when he might be spending time in the house, out roaming the grounds or riding off around the estate. If she knew, perhaps she could have adjusted the children’s schedule of lessons to take advantage of his absences. As it was, she could not take the chance of encountering him out in the garden or on their way down to the music room.

Since their disastrous run-in, Dolly had taken an unaccountable fancy to the captain and would no doubt pester him for attention if they met again. Cissy clearly resented his presence and might offend him with a rude remark.

Neither of the girls took kindly to being confined to the nursery after enjoying the run of the house during their father’s time. Just that morning, the governess had overheard Cissy muttering about being “kept prisoner.”

Marian found it difficult to discourage such an attitude, since it mirrored her own far too closely. In all her time at Knightley Park, and especially after Mr. Radcliffe’s death, she’d felt at liberty to come and go as she pleased, even free to borrow books from the well stocked library. Wistfully, she recalled the master’s hospitable answer when she’d first asked if she could.

“By all means, Miss Murray! Those books might as well serve some better purpose than giving the maids more things to dust.”

Since Captain Radcliffe’s arrival, she had not even dared return the last volume she’d borrowed for fear of meeting up with him. Considering the captain’s reluctance to have his young cousins around, Marian doubted he would tolerate a servant making use of his library. She knew she must soon put it back, before he noticed its absence and blamed someone else.

Perhaps now would be a good time, with the girls off to bed and the captain occupied with his dinner.

“I won’t be long, Martha,” she informed the nursery maid, who sat by the fire darning one of Dolly’s stockings. “Just a quick errand I have to run.”

And run she did—first to her own room to fetch the book, then down the back stairs. She was in such a hurry that she nearly collided with the butler on the landing.

Poor Mr. Culpepper seemed more agitated than ever. “Miss Murray, have you heard? Mr. Dutton has been threatened with dismissal! I fear I shall be put on notice next.”

The news about the steward did not come as a great surprise to Marian. Though she was working hard to make sure Captain Radcliffe was not conscious of the girls’ presence in the house, she found herself constantly aware of his. It was as if a salty ocean breeze had blown all the way into the landlocked heart of England, bearing with it a host of unwelcome changes.

“These naval men have most exacting standards.” Mr. Culpepper wrung his hands. “At my age, where should I go if I am turned out of Knightley Park?”

Marian bristled at the thought of such a good and faithful servant treated so shabbily. “Has Captain Radcliffe complained about the running of the house?”

The butler shook his head. “Not in so many words. But he is so very quiet and solemn, just the way he was as a boy. Who knows what plans he may be making? He is so little like his cousin, one would scarcely believe they could be of the same blood.”

That was true enough. The girls’ jovial, generous father had been a down-to-earth country squire devoted to his children, his horses and his dogs. His cousin seemed distinctly uncomfortable with all three.

“Don’t fret yourself, Mr. Culpepper. I’m sure the captain would tell you soon enough if the housekeeping was not up to his standards. He seems the type that’s quick to find fault. Silence is as close to praise as you can hope for from him.”

The furrows of worry in the butler’s forehead relaxed a trifle. “I hope you are right, Miss Murray. I will endeavor to remain calm and go about my duties.”

“Good.” Marian flashed him an encouraging smile, pleased that she had been able to ease his fears a little. “That’s all any of us can do, I reckon.”

As she continued on down the stairs, Marian strove to heed her own advice, though it wasn’t easy. She would have feared the captain’s disapproval less if her position was the only thing at stake. But with the children’s welfare hanging in the balance, she could not afford to put a foot wrong.

As she tiptoed past the dining room, the muted clink of silverware on china assured her the captain was busy eating his dinner. A few moments later, as she hurried back from the library, a sudden crash from inside the dining room made her start violently. It sounded as if a piece of china had been hurled to the floor and smashed into a hundred pieces. The noise was immediately followed by a wail of distress from Bessie, a nervous, and often clumsy, housemaid. What had the captain done to make the poor lass take on so?

Marian marched toward the dining room, not certain how she meant to intervene but compelled to do what she could to defend the girl.

She was about to fling open the door when she heard Bessie sob, “I’m s-sorry, s-s-ir! Have I burnt ye with that tea? I told Mr. Culpepper I’m too ham-fisted to be waiting table. Now ye’ll send me packing and I wouldn’t blame ye!”

So it was Bessie who had fumbled a teacup. A qualm of shame gripped Marian’s stomach as she realized she had once again jumped to a most uncharitable conclusion about Captain Radcliffe.

His reply to Bessie made Marian feel even worse. “Don’t trouble yourself. If Mr. Culpepper asks, you must tell him it was my fault. I am not accustomed to handling such delicate china. Now dry your eyes, sweep up the mess and think no more of it.”

As Marian fled back to the nursery, her conscience chided her for all the harsh things she’d thought and said about Captain Radcliffe since his arrival. She should have been grateful to him for allowing Cissy and Dolly to stay at Knightley Park when he’d been under no obligation to keep them here. Instead, she’d compared him unfavorably with his cousin and held those differences against him. She’d resented the loss of a few petty privileges, as if they’d been hers by right rather than by favor. Worst of all, she had allowed mean-spirited rumors to poison her opinion of the man without giving him a fair opportunity to prove his worth.

Clearly she needed to pay greater heed to her Bible, especially the part that counseled “judge not, lest ye be judged.” It might be that, in the eyes of God, Captain Radcliffe had a great deal less to answer for than she.

Chapter Three

Coming to Knightley Park had clearly been a huge mistake. As Gideon returned to the house after several frustrating hours reviewing the steward’s progress, he reflected on his folly.

He had come to Nottinghamshire expecting to escape his recent troubles by revisiting simpler times past. But Knightley Park was no longer the calm, well run estate it had been in his grandfather’s day. And he was no longer the solitary child, made welcome by one and all.

The seeds of gossip had followed him here and found fertile soil in which to breed a crop of noxious weeds. Young footmen turned pale and fled when he approached. Tenants eyed him with wary, resentful servility. Housemaids trembled when he cast the briefest glance in their direction. His cousins’ governess sprang to her young charges’ defense like a tigress protecting her cubs.

Gideon had to admit he preferred Miss Murray’s open antagonism to the sullen aversion and dread of the others. And he could not fault her willingness to shield the children, even if there had been no need. Unfortunately, his flicker of grudging admiration for Miss Murray only made her suspicion and wariness of him sting all the worse.

As he entered the house quietly by a side door, Gideon could no longer ignore a vexing question. How could he possibly expect the Admiralty’s board of inquiry to believe in his innocence when his own servants and tenants clearly judged him guilty?

Passing the foot of the servants’ stairs, he heard the voices of two footmen drift down from the landing. He did not mean to eavesdrop, but their furtive, petulant tone left Gideon in no doubt they were talking about him.

“How long do you reckon we’ll have to put up with him?” asked one.

The other snorted. “Too long to suit either of us, I can tell you that. With old Boney beaten at last, I’ll wager the navy won’t want him back.”

Gideon told himself to keep walking and pay no heed to servants’ tattle. He knew this was the sort of talk that must be going on behind his back all the time. The last thing he needed was to have their exact words echoing in his thoughts, taunting and shaming him. But his steps slowed in spite of himself, and his ears strained to catch every word.

Did part of him feel he deserved it?

One of the footmen heaved a sigh. “So he’ll stay here to make our lives a misery instead of his crew’s. It’s not right.”

“When did right ever come into it?” grumbled the other.

Gideon had almost managed to edge himself out of earshot when a third voice joined the others—a woman’s voice he recognized as belonging to Miss Murray.

“Wilbert, Frederick, have you no duties to be getting on with?” she inquired in a disapproving tone, as if they were a pair of naughty little boys in the nursery.

“We just stopped for a quick word, miss. We’ve been run off our feet since the new master arrived.” They were obviously counting on the governess to sympathize with their disgruntled feelings.

By now Gideon had given up trying to walk away. He braced to hear the governess join in abusing him.

“Perhaps if you’d kept up with your duties during the past few months,” she reminded the young footmen instead, “you might not have to work quite so hard now to get the house back in decent order.”

“Why should we run ourselves ragged for a master who’s done the things he has? They say he did away with a young sailor. If he wasn’t the captain of the ship they’d have called it plain murder.”

As he waited for Miss Murray’s reply, Gideon wondered if he’d been wrong to assume her opinion of him had been tainted by the kind of gossip she was hearing now. Surely, she would not have wanted her young pupils to remain in the same house as a rumored killer. Perhaps this was the first time she’d heard the worst of the accusations being whispered against him.

Though he tried to tell himself one unfavorable judgment more or less did not matter, Gideon shrank from the prospect of Miss Murray thinking even less of him.

“I am sorely disappointed.” The gentle regret in her tone troubled Gideon worse than the harsher censure he’d expected. “I thought better of you both than to condemn your master on the basis of malicious rumors.”

Had he heard her correctly? Gideon shook his head.

The young footmen sputtered in protest, but Miss Murray refused to back down. “Has the captain mistreated either of you in any way since he arrived at Knightley Park?”

“No…but he is very haughty and ill-humored. You must grant that, miss.”

“And did you hear he threatened to give Mr. Dutton the sack?”

“I have heard such a rumor, though that does not guarantee it is true. Besides, Wilbert, I have often heard you complain what a poor job Mr. Dutton has been doing of late. If you were in the captain’s place, would you have kept him on?”

After an awkward pause, Wilbert muttered, “I reckon not, miss.”

“And you, Frederick, would you be jovial and talkative in a place where you were made to feel as unwelcome as I fear we have made Captain Radcliffe?”

Gideon did not catch the young footman’s muffled reply, but that scarcely mattered. What did matter was that someone had defended him against the whispered slurs he could not bring himself to acknowledge, let alone refute. What astonished him even more was to find a champion in Marian Murray, a woman he could have sworn detested him.

And not altogether without reason, he was forced to admit. None of their encounters since his arrival had been particularly cordial. And his reaction to the children’s presence might have given her cause to regard him as a very hard man indeed. Yet there she was, taking his part against the prevailing opinion of the other servants. He did not know what to make of it.

To be championed in such a way when he neither expected nor deserved it stirred a flicker of welcome warmth deep within his fallow heart.

The hangdog looks of the two young footmen reproached Marian. What was she doing?

For as long as she could recall, she had felt compelled need to stand up for anyone who was the victim of mistreatment. The stronger the forces against them, the more fiercely she felt called to intervene.

It had not occurred to her that a man of strength and authority like Captain Radcliffe might need anyone to defend him, let alone her. But when she’d heard Wilbert and Frederick exchanging backstairs gossip about the captain, she had suddenly seen the matter in a whole new light. A sense of shame for the unfair things she’d thought about the man and her manner toward him had made her leap to his defense all the more fiercely.

Now she realized that that was not fair either. “I beg your pardon. I have no right to reproach you when I have behaved just as uncharitably toward Captain Radcliffe.”

Her rueful admission seemed to have better effect on the young men than her rebuke.

“That’s all right, miss.” Wilbert hung his head. “I reckon we may have been too hard on the master.”

Frederick nodded. “It’s true enough what you said, miss. The captain hasn’t done us any harm. We’ll mind our tongues after this.”

“We should get back to work,” Wilbert added, “before Mr. Culpepper comes looking for us.”

After brief bows, the pair hurried off below stairs, leaving Marian to follow as far as the ground floor. Lost in thought about her encounter with the footmen and the sudden reversal of her opinion toward Captain Radcliffe, she rounded the corner and nearly collided with him.

“I beg your pardon, sir!” She started back, frantically wondering whether he’d heard what had just passed in the stairwell. “I didn’t expect to find you home at this hour.”

The captain seemed every bit as rattled by their sudden meeting as she. “I…er…just got in. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

Caught off guard, his whole appearance was far less severe than Marian had yet seen it. The austere contours of his face seemed somehow softened. The sweeping arch of his brow looked less forbidding. His steely gray eyes held a tentative glimmer of warmth. Had he changed so much or was it her perception that had altered?

“No, indeed,” she sputtered, painfully aware that she owed him an apology for offenses she dared not confess. “I should have minded the warning I gave Dolly about charging around corners.”

“Ah, yes.” A half smile crinkled one corner of the captain’s resolute mouth. “I hope the child has recovered from our collision.”

“Entirely.” Marian nodded, relieved at this turn in the conversation. Perhaps the captain had not overheard anything between her and the footmen after all. “I believe you took greater injury from it than she did.”

His unexpected query about Dolly’s well-being emboldened her to continue. “I believe she would be less apt to run in the house if she could use up some of that energy running and playing out of doors.”

“I agree.” The captain raised an eyebrow. “What prevents the children from going out? Are they ill? Do they not have warm enough clothes?”

A fresh qualm of remorse gripped Marian. Not only had she misjudged Captain Radcliffe, she had allowed her prejudice against him to make life less agreeable for her pupils. In doing so, she might have provoked Cissy’s aversion to the captain.

“The girls are quite well,” she replied, “and they do not lack for warm garments.”

“Then what is the difficulty?”

She might as well confess and hope the captain would be as forgiving with her as he had of the clumsy serving maid. Marian inhaled a deep breath and forged ahead. “I’m afraid I thought, sir…that is…I presumed… You did tell me I should keep the girls from disturbing you. I was afraid we might disrupt one of your walks, or their noise from outdoors might bother you while you were trying to rest or read.”

“I see.” He flinched slightly, as if she had injured an unhealed wound but he was determined not to let her see the pain it caused. “I suppose my reputation made you fear I would have them flogged for it.”

He must have overheard her talking to the footmen. Marian scrambled to recall exactly what she’d said. If the captain had heard only part of their exchange, might he think she was spreading malicious gossip about him?

“Nothing like that, sir!” she cried, though her stricken conscience forced her to confess, “Though I was worried you might send the girls away from Knightley Park.”

Captain Radcliffe gave a rueful nod that seemed to excuse her suspicions. “I fear you and I have gotten off on the wrong foot, Miss Murray. For that I take full responsibility. In future, feel free to do with the children whatever you were accustomed to before I arrived. Proceed as if I am not here. All I ask is that you not seek me out. I have no experience with children and, as you have seen, no knack for getting on with them.”

Perhaps not, but in spite of that he had managed to catch Dolly’s fancy. In her forthright innocence, the child must have responded to something in him that had eluded Marian.

“Does that include the music room, sir?” she asked. “It can be irksome to hear a great many wrong notes struck on the pianoforte.”

After only a slight hesitation the captain nodded gamely. “It is difficult to learn anything of value without making mistakes.”

His assurance made Marian more conscious than ever what a grave error she had committed in her judgment of him.

“Thank you, Captain.” She dropped him a curtsy that she hoped would convey an apology as well as gratitude. “I’m sure the girls will be very pleased to enjoy greater liberty.”

He replied with a stiff bow. “I am only sorry they were ever deprived of it.”

The captain made it sound as if that were his fault, yet Marian knew which of them was more to blame. Perhaps it was the burden of her misjudgment that made her more self-conscious than ever in Captain Radcliffe’s presence. A blush seemed to hide in the flesh of her cheeks, ready to flame out at any second.

“I was just on my way to the music room to fetch a song book. If you will excuse me, I must finish my errand and get back to the nursery before the girls wonder what has become of me.”

“By all means,” he replied. “Do not let me detain you.”

Marian made another curtsy, then hurried away, torn between eagerness to escape his presence and a strange inclination to linger.

“Miss Murray.”

The sound of her name on his lips made her turn back swiftly, as if some part of her had anticipated the summons. “Sir?”

He hesitated for an instant, making her wonder if he had not intended to call out. “Thank you for speaking up on my behalf to those young men. I only hope I will have as able an advocate to defend me when the Admiralty convenes its inquiry.”

The blush that had been lying in wait now flared in Marian’s cheeks. “I don’t deserve your gratitude. I wish I could claim I have kept an open mind about you and not let my opinion be influenced by reports I’ve heard…or read. But I’m afraid that would not be true.”

Captain Radcliffe gave a rueful nod, as if her confession grieved him a little but did not surprise him. “If your mind was not fully open, neither was it altogether closed. May I ask what altered your opinion of me?”

His question flustered Marian even more. She could not bring herself to admit eavesdropping on his exchange with Bessie over the broken china. “I…I’m not certain, Captain. Perhaps it was hearing Frederick and Wilbert talking that made me realize I hadn’t given you a fair chance. I reckon it’s easier to see our own faults in others.”

“Perhaps so, but it is not so easy to admit those faults and alter our conduct accordingly.” A note of approval warmed his words and went a long way toward absolving Marian’s shame over her earlier actions.

She was about to thank him for understanding and head away again when Captain Radcliffe continued, “I can assure you the nonsense being written about me in the newspapers is entirely without foundation. I never laid a hand on that poor lad, nor did I drive him to do away with himself on account of my harsh treatment.”

What made her believe him so immediately and completely? Marian could not be certain. Was it only guilt over her prior misjudgment of him or was it something more? Even at first, when she’d thought him a strict, uncaring tyrant, she had not been able to deny his air of integrity.

“I believe you, Captain.” She strove to infuse her words with sincere faith.

She recalled how it felt to be unfairly accused and disbelieved, and how much it had helped to have even one person take her side. The image of her loyal friend, Rebecca Beaton, rose in Marian’s mind, unleashing a flood of gratitude, affection and longing. Rebecca now lived in the Cotswolds, more than a hundred miles to the south. Though the two corresponded as often as they could afford, they had not seen one another since going their separate ways after they’d left school.

Captain Radcliffe’s voice broke in on her wistful thoughts. “I appreciate your loyalty, Miss Murray, considering how little I have done to earn it. I hope the board of inquiry will render a decision to justify your faith in me.”

“When will this board hear your case, sir?” Though duty urged her to cut their conversation short and return to the nursery at once, Marian could not quell her curiosity.

The captain replied with a shrug and a sigh of frustration. “Not soon enough to suit me, of that you can be sure. Probably not until after the New Year at this rate. In the meantime, I am forbidden to speak publicly about the matter. I must remain silent while the newspapers make me out to be some sort of heartless monster. All I want is the opportunity to prove my innocence so I can return to active duty.”

“I’ll pray for you, Captain.” Marian wished there was more she could do. “That the inquiry be called soon and that your name will be cleared once and for all.”

“Why…er…thank you, Miss Murray,” he replied with the air of someone reluctantly accepting an unwelcome gift. “Though I doubt your prayers will avail much.”

His reaction surprised and rather dismayed her. “Do you not believe in God then?”

How could that be? He had treated her more charitably than many people who’d claimed to be pious Christians.

Captain Radcliffe considered her question a moment, then replied with quiet solemnity. “One cannot spend as much time as I have at sea and not come to believe in a powerful force that created the universe.”

Scarcely realizing what she was doing, Marian exhaled a faint breath of relief. Why in the world should it matter to her what the man believed? “But you just said…”

“It is not so much a contradiction as you suppose.” The corner of his straight, firm mouth arched ever so slightly. Yet that one small alteration quite transformed his face, warming and softening its stern, rugged contours. “What I cannot imagine is that such a being knows or cares about my trivial concerns any more than the vast ocean cares for one insignificant ship that floats upon it.”

No wonder the captain seemed so profoundly solitary, Marian reflected, if he did not believe anyone cared about him…not even his Maker.

“Your concerns are not trivial,” she insisted. “You want to see justice done and your reputation restored so you can continue to defend this land. Even I can sympathize with them, and I could not begin to know your heart as deeply as the Lord does.”

“You sound very sincere and certain, Miss Murray.” He did not seem to think less of her for it, as Marian had feared he might. “Why is that, if you don’t mind my asking?”

She was not in the habit of discussing her beliefs, especially with a man she scarcely knew and hadn’t much liked at first. Yet there was a kind of openness in the way he regarded her that assured Marian of his honest desire to understand.

“Cannot a God who is infinitely large also be infinitely small and infinitely close?” she ventured, trying to put complex, profound ideas into words that seemed inadequate to the task. “Just as the salt water that makes up the great ocean is not so different from our sweat and tears?”

This whole conversation was becoming altogether too intimate for her comfort. And yet she felt compelled to disclose one final confidence. “Perhaps that sounds foolish to you, but I have felt the loving closeness of God in my life. Never so powerfully as when I needed His presence the most.”

What had made her tell him such a thing? Marian regretted it the moment the words were out of her mouth. She had never liked talking about her past, particularly that part of it. In all the time she’d known Cissy and Dolly’s father, she had hardly told him anything about herself. Yet here she was blurting out all this to Captain Radcliffe, whom she’d met only a fortnight ago.

A spark of curiosity glinted in the depths of his granite-gray eyes. If she did not cut this conversation short and make her escape, she feared the captain might ask her how she’d come to be so alone and in need of Divine comfort. If he did, she was very much afraid the whole painful story might come pouring out. That was the last thing she wanted.

“I really must go now.” Lowering her gaze, she bobbed the captain a hasty curtsy. “Cissy will be worried what’s become of me and Dolly will be driving poor Martha to distraction with her mischief.”

Before Captain Radcliffe could say anything that might detain her a moment longer, she rushed off to seek sanctuary in the music room. Only when she was quite certain the captain had gone elsewhere did she venture out and fly back up the servants’ stairs to the nursery. Yet even as she took care to avoid him, an idea concerning Captain Radcliffe began to take shape in her mind.

Though the captain denied the power of prayer, Marian wondered if he might not be the answer to hers. A man like him would make an ideal guardian for Cissy and Dolly—far better than their profligate aunt. Once that inquiry was over and he returned to his ship, she would be left to care for the girls in familiar surroundings.

All day she mulled the notion over as she and the children relished their renewed liberty in the house and gardens. The more she considered her idea, the more certain she became that it would be an ideal solution.

That night when she knelt by her bed, Marian prayed fervently. “Lord, forgive me for misjudging Captain Radcliffe. I see now that he is a good man. Please let him be absolved of all the charges against him and permitted to return to active duty on his ship…but not before I can persuade him to challenge Lady Villiers for guardianship of Cissy and Dolly.”

How exactly was she going to persuade him of that, Marian asked herself as she climbed into bed, when the captain did not want to have anything to do with the girls? Perhaps she could pray for him to come up with the idea on his own, but this was too important a task to leave up to the power of prayer alone.

Chapter Four

What had Miss Murray meant about having been alone with no one to whom she could turn to but God?

While Gideon ate his solitary dinner that Saturday evening, he reflected on his last conversation with her and the unexpected turn it had taken. How had his thanks for her defense of him led to an examination of his spiritual beliefs? Never before had he confided in another person his doubts about the value of prayer.

As captain of his ship, he had often been required to lead his crew in Sunday worship. Though he’d read many prayers aloud, and knew the Our Father by heart as well as any man, he had not uttered those sacred words with any particular expectation that his Creator was listening. The last time he’d truly prayed from his heart, he’d been a child imploring the Almighty to spare the life of his beloved, ailing mother. Of course his pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

Uncomforted by the words of the funeral liturgy, he’d watched them bury her poor, wasted body. Then he’d been wrenched away from everyone and everything familiar and sent to sea. The harsh conditions and the gnawing ache of loneliness had been almost more than he could bear. But somehow he had borne them, and the experience had made a man of him. Gradually he’d come to know and love the sea. In the end he’d dedicated his life to it and to the defense of his country. Those things had helped to fill the emptiness in his heart and give him a sense of purpose.

Was it possible that had been an answer to his unspoken prayer? Gideon dismissed the thought.

“What’s for pudding, then?” he asked the young footman who collected his empty dinner plate.

“Plum duff, Captain. It’s one of Mrs. Wheaton’s specialties.”

“And one of my favorites,” Gideon replied.

Since the lecture they’d received from Miss Murray, the two footmen seemed a good deal less sullen. What she’d said must have made an impression. Could it have been gratitude for her unexpected defense of him that had made him let down his guard with her? Or had he somehow sensed a connection between them based on a common experience of loss?

As the footman set a generous serving of pudding in front of Gideon, a series of soft but determined taps sounded on the dining room door.

“Come through,” he called as if he were back in the great cabin aboard HMS Integrity.

In response to his summons, the door swung open, and Miss Murray entered. “Pardon me for disturbing your dinner, Captain, but I wanted a word with you concerning the girls, if I might.”

He did not care for the sound of that. She was supposed to be tending to the children’s needs, not pestering him with them.

Yet Gideon found himself strangely pleased to see her all the same. “Very well, Miss Murray. I was just about to sample Mrs. Wheaton’s plum duff. Would you care to join me?”

His request seemed to throw her into confusion. “I couldn’t…that is, I already had some when I gave the girls their supper. It was very good. I have no doubt you’ll enjoy it.”

“Surely you could manage a little more.” Gideon was not certain what made him so eager to have her join him. Perhaps because it would be awkward to converse with her standing there while he tried to eat.

Sensing she was about to protest more strenuously, he decided to try another tack. “I’d be grateful if you would oblige me, Miss Murray. It can be tiresome to dine night after night with only my own company.”

His appeal seemed to catch her as much by surprise as his original invitation. She glanced from him to the footman and back again. “Very well then, Captain, if that is what you wish.”

At a nod from Gideon, the footman pulled out a chair for Miss Murray, to the right of his place at the head of the table.

“Only a very small helping for me, please,” she murmured as she slipped into the chair.

Acknowledging her request with a mute nod, the footman headed off to the kitchen.

“Now then,” said Gideon. “What was this matter you wished to discuss with me?”

Miss Murray inhaled a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Well, sir, tomorrow is Sunday, and I hoped you might accompany the girls and me to church in the village.”

Gideon’s eyebrows rose. “In light of what you know about my attitudes toward children and religion, that strikes me as a rather improbable hope, Miss Murray. I doubt the Creator of the Universe cares whether or not I attend services.”

“That is not why I go to church!” The words burst out of her. “I go for my own sake, to…nourish…my soul.”

She pushed back her chair and started to rise. “I suppose you think that is all rubbish, too.”

Before Gideon had time to consider what he was doing, his hand seemed to move of its own accord and come to rest upon one of hers. “On the contrary, Miss Murray. Just because our beliefs differ does not mean I scoff at yours. I hope you will accord mine the same respect.”

Her hand felt cool and delicate beneath his, calling forth feelings of warmth and protectiveness Gideon hadn’t realized he possessed. But once discretion caught up with him, he knew he must not prolong such contact between them. The sound of the young footman’s returning steps spurred him to withdraw his hand, leaving Miss Murray free to go or stay as she wished.

To his surprise, she stayed, dropping back into her chair and pulling her hands off the table to rest upon her lap. Gideon wondered if it was only the footman’s return that had kept her from rushing away.

An awkward silence fell between them as the servant entered and placed a saucer of pudding in front of Miss Murray.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” he asked.

Gideon shook his head. “That will be all, thank you. You may go.”

He didn’t care to have his views on spiritual matters aired before the servants to fuel more gossip about him.

As the young footman withdrew, Miss Murray took a spoonful of custard from the dainty china bowl between them and dribbled it over her plum duff. In perfect unison, she and Gideon each took a bite.

“A sailor’s pudding is that,” he observed. “Though Mrs. Wheaton’s is far superior to any I ever tasted while at sea.”

If he’d hoped to draw Miss Murray into a conversation about food that would make her forget her original request, he was soon disappointed. “Let me assure you, Captain, I did not ask you to accompany us to church as a means of…converting you, but for the children’s sake.”

Gideon took another bite of pudding and chewed on it thoughtfully. What on earth did it matter to his young cousins how, or if, he observed the Sabbath?

Miss Murray seemed to sense his unasked question. “For Dolly’s sake, actually. She has begun to balk at going to church. I know it can be a long while for a child her age to sit still, but I believe it is important for children to be raised in faith. Otherwise they’re like ships without anchors.”

The nautical comparison appealed to Gideon. “I agree. If nothing else, it is a sound foundation for their moral development. But what does that have to do with me?”

Miss Murray sighed. “Dolly says it isn’t fair that she must to go to church when you do not. I didn’t know what to tell her, Captain.”

It was a valid point, Gideon reluctantly acknowledged. He was not certain how he would respond to the child’s argument. “The matter of my beliefs aside, I cannot say I am eager to venture out in public. I know very well the sort of gossip that must be circulating about me. I have no desire to be gawked at and whispered about.”

Miss Murray worried down another mouthful of pudding as if it were as tough as whale hide rather than a rich, moist confection that fairly melted on the tongue. “I understand your reluctance. But surely church is one place where you are less apt to be judged unfairly.”

“It should be.” Gideon placed skeptical emphasis on that middle word. “But can you assure me this particular church will be?”

She could not disguise her doubt. “I wish I could promise that, sir. But how can I expect others to behave more charitably toward you than I have? All I can say with confidence is that I believe once the local people meet you for themselves, they will be far less disposed to believe any false rumors about you.”

It was hardly a ringing endorsement, but Gideon appreciated her honesty. Though accompanying his young cousins to church went against his original bargain with their governess, he found it difficult to resist her appealing gaze.

Miss Murray seemed to sense his indecision. “If people see you going about your business openly, they’ll realize you have nothing to hide.”

That was true, Gideon had to admit. He wondered if his reclusiveness had fostered any mistrust the local people might have had of him. He could not let that continue. Besides, he felt responsible to set a good example for the children. At least that was one of their needs he was capable of meeting.

Having consumed the last morsel of pudding, he set down his spoon and carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Very well, Miss Murray, I accept your invitation. You may tell Miss Dolly she will not be able to use me as an excuse to shirk attendance at church.”

Gideon hoped this was not another decision he would come to regret.

“Thank you, Captain!” The governess surged out of her chair and dropped a curtsy. “I am very grateful for your assistance.”

The smile that illuminated her features lent them an air of unexpected beauty. It sent a rush of happiness through Gideon unlike any he’d felt in a great while.

“There you go, Dolly.” Marian smiled to herself as she tied on the child’s bonnet the next morning. “Now please try not to get mussed up before church.”

Since last evening, she had been more indulgent than usual with her headstrong little pupil. After all, it had been Dolly’s complaints about going to church that had inspired her to invite Captain Radcliffe to join them. Stumbling upon such a fine way to bring him and the girls together had given her hope that God might endorse her plan to have the captain seek guardianship of Cissy and Dolly.

Now if only she could get her pupils to play their parts properly.

“I trust you will be polite to the captain this morning.” She looked Cissy over and gave a nod of approval at her appearance. The ribbons on her straw bonnet matched the green velvet spencer she wore over her white muslin dress. The color looked well with her rich brown hair. “Remember, it is not his fault we were confined to the nursery this past while. It was mine for misunderstanding and rushing to judgment.”

“I promise I will remember my manners, Miss Marian,” the child replied demurely. Yet a subtle stiffness in her bearing suggested her behavior would be correct but not cordial.

Perhaps when Cissy got to know Captain Radcliffe a little better, that coolness would thaw. Marian hoped so.

“And you, Dolly.” She heaved an exasperated sigh when she turned to find the younger girl kneeling on the floor to recover her sixpence offering that had somehow rolled under the bed. “Please try not to be too forward. Otherwise, Captain Radcliffe may not want to come to church with us again.”

Clutching the tiny silver coin between her fingers, Dolly scrambled to her feet. “Why not?”

“Because…” Marian bent down to brush off a bit of dirt the child’s skirt had picked up from the floor. “Captain Radcliffe has lived on his ship for a very long time. He isn’t accustomed to the company of…young ladies.”

“Why can girls not sail ships?” Dolly demanded. “I like rowing on the pond in the summertime.”

Marian, too, had fond memories of their excursions to the little island in the middle of the ornamental lake. If her plan succeeded, it would mean she and the girls would still be at Knightley Park next summer to enjoy more of the same.

A glance at the mantel clock made her start with dismay. “We’ll talk about that later. Now, we mustn’t keep the captain waiting. Come along, girls.”

Seizing them by the hands, she hurried out of the nursery and down the main staircase.

They found Captain Radcliffe waiting in the entry hall, looking rather severe. At first Marian feared he was vexed with them for being tardy. But a second look made her wonder if he might only be nervous. Recalling what he’d said about not wanting to be stared at and whispered about, she hoped the people at church would treat the captain with more Christian charity than she’d first shown him.

“Good morning, sir.” She offered him an encouraging smile and was gratified when his expression relaxed a little. “The girls and I are very pleased to have you join us this morning.”

“Indeed.” He glanced from solemn-faced Cissy to her grinning little sister with a flicker of mild alarm in his gray eyes. “The carriage is waiting.”

Opening the great front door, he held it for Marian to usher her pupils outside.

The grounds of Knightley Park glittered with frost on this crisp, sunny November morning as the girls climbed into the carriage. When Marian followed them, her stomach sank abruptly.

She found Cissy and Dolly perched side by side in the carriage box, leaving the opposite seat empty. If Marian sat there, Captain Radcliffe would be obliged to sit beside her. The thought of being so close to him set her insides aflutter.

“Girls, budge up, please.” She tried to squeeze in beside them.

“You’re squashing me!” Dolly protested. “Why can’t you sit over there?”

“Hush!” Marian whispered. “Cissy, will you kindly move to the other seat?”

The child’s eyes widened. She shook her head.

“Then, I will,” said Dolly.

Before Marian could prevent her, the child wriggled out from between her and Cissy and bounced over to the opposite seat just as Captain Radcliffe climbed into the carriage. “It’s better than being squashed.”

The captain settled next to Dolly, with an air of reluctance similar to the one Cissy had displayed when asked to sit beside him.

One of the footmen closed the door behind them. Then, with a rattle, a lurch and the clatter of horses’ hooves, they were on their way.

Silence settled inside of the carriage box, as brittle as the thin sheet of ice on the surface of Knightley Park’s ornamental lake. Marian searched for something to say that might thaw it.

Before she could think of a suitable topic of conversation, Dolly turned toward the captain. “How do you go to church when you’re on your ship?”

“Dolly…” Marian addressed the child in a warning tone. Though Captain Radcliffe might not be the sort of seagoing tyrant she had mistakenly believed him, he probably expected the younger members of his crew to speak only when spoken to.

At first he appeared taken aback by the child’s forthright curiosity. But after a moment’s consideration he seemed to decide he might do worse than answer her question. “At sea it is not possible to go to a church building, as we are doing now. But most ships in the Royal Navy have chaplains who conduct Sunday services on deck when the weather permits or in the wardroom when it does not.”

“What’s a wardroom?”

A sterner warning rose to Marian’s lips, but before she could utter it, the captain replied, “That is what we call the officers’ mess on a ship, a sort of dining room and drawing room combined.”

Dolly digested all this new information with a look of intense concentration that Marian wished she would apply to her studies. “Your ship must be a great deal bigger than the boat we row on the lake. How many rooms does it have?”

By now Marian thought better of trying to restrain the child, for Dolly had clearly discovered one subject certain to set the captain at ease. To his credit, he did not seem to mind being bombarded with questions about all matters nautical. Marian was also favorably impressed with his answers, which were couched in simple enough terms for the children to understand without insulting their intelligence.

His discourse proved so informative that Marian found herself listening with rapt attention. It was not only what he said that engaged her interest, but the mellow resonance of his voice that made it a pleasure to listen to.

Almost before she realized it, the carriage came to a halt in front of the village church.

In the middle of an intriguing explanation of sails and rigging, the captain grew suddenly quiet again. “I can tell you more about it on the ride home, if you like.”

His features and bearing tensed as he gazed toward the other parishioners making their way into the church.

A qualm of doubt rippled through Marian’s stomach as she speculated what sort of reception awaited them. She hoped the villagers would not be as quick to misjudge Captain Radcliffe as she’d been. Otherwise, he might refuse to accompany them to church again. That would be a great calamity because she could not conceive of any other way to bring the captain and his young cousins together without deliberately disobeying his orders.

As the footman pulled open the carriage door, Captain Radcliffe seemed to steel himself for the ordeal ahead. Once the steps had been unfolded, he climbed out. Dolly bounded after him, eagerly seizing the hand he offered to help her.

Marian nodded to Cissy, who followed her sister with a reluctant air. When Marian emerged a moment later, Captain Radcliffe assisted her with thoughtful courtesy. For the fleeting instant his gloved hand clasped hers, she could not suppress a sensation of warmth that quivered up her arm. It reminded her of the previous evening when he had grasped her hand to keep her from rushing away. For hours afterward, she could not stop thinking about that brief contact between them.

“Come, girls.” Marian chided herself for succumbing to such a foolish distraction at that moment. She needed to keep her wits about her to divert the captain, if necessary, from any unpleasant reception he might receive.

She cast a swift glance around the churchyard, troubled to see a few people staring rudely in their direction. But others offered welcoming smiles.

Dolly ignored Marian’s summons. Instead she seized the captain’s hand and announced, “I’ll show you the way to our pew.”

Cissy shook her head and frowned at her governess as if to ask why she wasn’t scolding Dolly for her forwardness. But Marian had no intention of doing any such thing. Instinctively, Dolly had managed to provide the captain with the diversion he required.

Perhaps he recognized it, too, for he showed no offense at the child’s behavior. Indeed, her impudent grin provoked an answering flicker of a smile. “I appreciate your assistance. I have attended services at this church, but not for a very long time. I could not have been much older than you are now.”

“My gracious,” Dolly replied with her accustomed bluntness, “that was a long time ago!”

Marian was aghast. “Dorothy Ann Radcliffe, mind your manners!”

But the captain greeted the child’s tactless remark with an indulgent chuckle. “Do not fret, Miss Murray. I find my young cousin’s honesty refreshing. When I was her age, I remember thinking any person above five-and-twenty was hopelessly ancient.”

The man had a sense of humor, Marian noted with approval, wishing she’d perceived it earlier. It was a most desirable trait in a person responsible for bringing up children.

“Please don’t encourage her, Captain,” she murmured as they entered the vestibule. “Or I fear she may take advantage of your good nature.”

“Hush, Miss Marian.” The child raised her forefinger to her lips. “You always tell me not to make noise in church.”

Marian exchanged a glance with Captain Radcliffe that communicated exasperation on her part and barely suppressed amusement on his. Somehow that look made her feel as if she had accidentally wandered into a cozy room with a cheery fire blazing in the hearth.

They made their way into the sanctuary of golden-brown stone, bathed in the glow of sunshine filtered through the stained glass windows. Dolly led the captain up the aisle to the Radcliffe family pew, where he stood back to let “the ladies” enter first. Cissy scooted in at once and Marian followed. Dolly hung back, no doubt to claim her place beside the captain.

Later in the service, when it came time for prayers of thanksgiving, Marian offered a silent one to the Lord for answering her earlier plea.

His reluctant attendance at church had not turned out to be the ordeal he’d feared. Gideon reflected on it the following evening as he consumed his solitary dinner.

He’d been aware of a few hard looks, but most of the parishioners were more welcoming. That reception gave him greater hope that he might be able to get a fair hearing at the inquiry after all. During the service itself, a curious sense of peace had stolen over him as he’d listened to the familiar readings and joined in the hymns and prayers. It had scarcely seemed to matter whether or not God was listening. Surely, there was something worthwhile in a person expressing gratitude for his good fortune and identifying what he wanted in life for himself and others.

For himself, Gideon had only one wish—to have his reputation restored so he would be permitted to resume command of his ship. Had he been guilty of taking the blessings of an honorable reputation and a fulfilling career for granted in the past? If so, then his present difficulties might yield a worthwhile outcome, after all—by reminding him to appreciate all he had achieved.

When the pudding was served, Gideon cast an expectant glance toward the dining room door, half hoping Miss Murray might appear to discuss some matter about the children. He could not stifle an unaccountable pang of disappointment when she did not.

Though he had not been pleased by the governess’s sudden appearance on Saturday evening, he’d soon found himself enjoying her company. At first he’d been reluctant to grant her request to accompany her and the girls to church, but now he was grateful she’d persuaded him.

He’d discovered his young cousins were not quiet the alien beings he’d dreaded, but two small people, each with her own feelings and personality. He could not help but be drawn to the younger one, any more than he could resist a frolicsome kitten that rubbed its head against his hand, hungry for attention.

The elder girl was a good deal more reserved and appeared every bit as wary of him as he was of her. Gideon could hardly fault the child for that since it showed her to be similar to him in temperament.

“Can I get you anything more, Captain?” asked the footman as he removed Gideon’s plate. “Another helping of pudding? More tea?”

Gideon shook his head. “I have had my fill, thank you. More than is good for me I daresay. If I keep on at this rate, my girth may soon rival the Prince Regent’s.”

The young footman strove to suppress a grin but failed. “You won’t be in any danger of that for quite a while, sir. When you first arrived, Mrs. Wheaton said you needed filling out. I reckon she’s made that her mission.”

Though he knew such an exchange between master and servant was more familiar than it should be, Gideon could not bring himself to discourage it. He had opened the door, after all, with his quip about the Regent. Besides, he preferred a little cordial familiarity to the hostile silence with which he’d been treated upon his arrival at Knightley Park.

“When I return to sea, I shall have to send my ship’s cook to Knightley Park so Mrs. Wheaton can train him properly.” Gideon pushed away from the table. “I have no doubt my crew would thank me for it.”

In search of something to occupy him until bedtime, he headed off to the library. He had recently finished the books he’d brought with him, and he was confident he would find some suitable replacement on the well stocked shelves.

Uncertain whether he would find the room lit, Gideon took a candle from the hall table as he passed by. But when he pushed open the library door, he glimpsed the soft glow of firelight from the hearth and the flicker of another candle. It danced wildly as the person holding it gave a violent start when he entered.

Not expecting to find the room occupied, Gideon started, too. A quiver of exhilaration accompanied his surprise when he recognized his young cousins’ governess.

“Forgive me for disturbing you, Miss Murray.” He explained his quest for fresh reading material.

Clearly the young woman did not share his welcome of their unexpected encounter. Her eyes widened in fright and one hand flew to her chest, as if to still her racing heart.

When she answered, her voice emerged high-pitched and breathless. “It is I who should beg your pardon, Captain, for making free with your library.”

She offered a halting explanation of how his late cousin had permitted her the use of it.

“Then, by all means, you must continue,” Gideon assured her. It troubled him that she had feared he would be unwilling to extend her the same courtesy as Cousin Daniel had. “Though I enjoy the pleasures of a good book more than your late master, I have never had the knack of reading more than one at a time, let alone all of the hundreds collected by my family over the years. Having so many books for one person to read strikes me as a singularly inefficient arrangement. I would appreciate your assistance in making better use of this library.”

Miss Murray did not appear to grasp his attempt at levity.

“That is very kind of you, sir.” She bobbed a hasty curtsy. “But I still should not have presumed without asking your permission. If you will excuse me, I shall return at another time when my presence will not disturb you.”

Her eyes darted as if seeking the quickest route to the exit that would give him the widest possible berth. Did she really find him so alarming still?

“You are not disturbing me in the least, Miss Murray,” Gideon insisted, though he knew it was not altogether true. Her presence did affect him, though not in an unpleasant way. “Besides, if one of us must withdraw, it should be me. You were here first, after all, and I believe you have far more claims upon your time than I. If you were to go away now, I doubt you would easily find another opportunity to return.”

“Not very easily perhaps, but—”

“I will hear no buts, Miss Murray. I should feel like the worst kind of tyrant if you left this library empty-handed on my account. Surely you would not want that?”

“Of course not, Captain.”

“Good. Then we are agreed you must stay long enough to choose a book at the very least.”

“If you insist, sir.” Miss Murray reached toward the nearest shelf and pulled out the first book she touched, without even looking at the title. It might have been in Latin, for all she knew, or a sixteenth century treatise on agriculture.

It was clear she wanted to make her escape as quickly as possible. A few days ago Gideon would have wanted the same thing. But having dined with Miss Murray and escorted her and the children to church, he’d discovered he preferred her company to his accustomed solitude.

Was there any way he might detain her there and keep her talking?

Perhaps…

“Before you go, Miss Murray, I hope you will not mind informing me how your pupils are getting on. Is Dolly still as determined to resist going to church? She seemed in fine spirits on Sunday and quite attentive to the service for a child her age.”

His words had the most amazing effect on Miss Murray. All trace of diffidence fell away, and a winsome smile lit up her features. Clearly he had discovered the key to engaging her interest.

That accomplishment brought him an unexpected glimmer of satisfaction.

Chapter Five

Captain Radcliffe’s inquiries about the girls banished any thought of leaving the library from Marian’s mind. However uncomfortable she might feel in the captain’s presence after the way she had imposed upon him, she could not neglect such a golden opportunity to further her plans. She fancied she could feel the warm hand of Providence resting on her shoulder, approving her efforts and helping to move them forward.

“The girls are quite well, thank you, Captain,” she assured him, encouraged by his sudden concern for their welfare.

When he’d first entered the library to find her there, Marian had feared her presumption might cost her beloved pupils dearly. All she’d wanted was to apologize and make her escape as quickly as possible so the captain might forget she’d ever been there. To her surprise he seemed anxious for her to stay and not at all offended that she had made use of the library without his permission. Such generosity only made her more ashamed for sneaking around and assuming he would refuse her if she had asked.

“As for Dolly,” Marian continued, “she has not uttered a single word of complaint about church, though she has asked a great many questions about ships and the sea. I believe you sparked her interest in those subjects. I hope to make use of that enthusiasm to engage her more fully in her studies.”

The captain’s brow furrowed. “And how do you propose to do that, pray?”

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