by Cheryl Holt
SOMEONE TO WED
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Praise
Books By Cheryl Holt
Copyright
About the Author
“You little moppet,” Captain Ralston said. “What will become of you? I can’t imagine.”
As he asked the question, Joanna stared at him, her eyes wide. She’d like to tell him not to fret, that good things would happen on her life’s road. Her mother had promised her before she’d died.
Her mother had had a special gift. All of the women in Joanna’s family did, and as her mother’s infection had spread, she’d shared many stories with Joanna so she wouldn’t be scared once she was left alone. The end result was that she was worried about her present circumstance, but she wasn’t frightened.
Since her mother had perished, she’d frequently appeared in Joanna’s dreams, and Joanna viewed each one of them as a gift to guide her on her way.
She wasn’t yet possessed of her mother’s secret talents. They would slowly develop when she was bigger, and when they blossomed, she would have to be very cautious.
There would always be people who wouldn’t understand her peculiar skills, and they’d be afraid of her. It was why her mother and Joanna had had to flee England. Her mother hadn’t been safe there.
Captain Ralston was a kind man, and he was concerned about her, but she thought he should be more concerned about Libby and Caro. They would endure plenty of sorrow in the future, but Joanna would be fine.
She didn’t tell him that either. He wouldn’t have believed her, and she was only four. She’d learned to be very quiet, to observe and to speak just when it was necessary.
“Do you suppose you’ll ever talk again?” Captain Ralston asked. “Or has this ordeal rendered you mute?”
Joanna frowned. Of course she’d talk someday. Recently, she’d been silent simply because she was wary and vigilant, and she liked to keep track of details.
It was better now. He had made it better by rescuing them. When he’d arrived, they’d been marooned for so long that none of them could clarify the length with any accuracy. He’d fixed what was wrong.
She was cradled in his arms, propped on his hip, and loafing at the bow of his ship as it cut through the water. He’d been explaining the roll of the waves and the flight of the birds, about the current and the wind conveying them forward.
She felt cherished and happy, as if she was his daughter, and she liked to rest her ear on his chest, to hear his heart beating under his ribs.
They’d be in Jamaica in a few hours. It was the spot where she’d been headed with her mother when the storm had struck in the night, and their own ship had sunk in the tempest.
Afterward, they’d washed up on a deserted island. Originally, there had been six adults with them—six out of an entire vessel of passengers and sailors. The adults had gradually passed away until the only ones remaining were her, Caro, and Libby.
They weren’t her sisters. She didn’t have any siblings, but they’d grown to be her sisters. She was younger and smaller than they were, and they took care of her. She would miss them after they were parted, but her mother had warned her to be prepared for it to occur.
It didn’t seem possible that she wouldn’t see them again, and it was why she was being so quiet. She was marking their every act and comment, committing them to memory. She’d lost her mother, but how would she survive without them too? She’d suffered too many losses, and she was ready for them to stop.
“Gad, but you’re precious, aren’t you?” Captain Ralston said. “I predict those green eyes of yours will land you in trouble with the fellows when you’re older.”
Joanna knew that wasn’t true. She was descended from an ancient line of women who didn’t attach themselves to men. They didn’t marry. They didn’t carry on normally in society. They stayed separate in a manner that others deemed threatening. Men weren’t important in their world.
She nestled closer and whispered a request to him, but it had been ages since she’d spoken aloud, and he blanched with surprise.
“So you can talk after all. I’m delighted to discover it, but what was that, peanut? Your pretty voice was so soft that I couldn’t make it out.”
“Will you watch over us?” she asked.
“Haven’t I from the very first minute?”
His reply indicated she hadn’t been clear in what she meant. She hadn’t been referring to that very moment. She wanted him to always watch over them. She wanted him to always protect them.
“I want you to watch over us forever,” she said. She laid her tiny palms on his cheeks and added “Forever!” as if it was a new word he didn’t comprehend.
“Forever, hm?” He chuckled. “Well, yes, Miss Joanna, I can promise you that. I will watch over the three of you forever. Don’t you fret about it. I will be your guardian angel. How does that sound?”
He put her on her feet, which left her very sad. He was tall and strong, and she liked to snuggle in his arms, to pretend he was her father. She’d never met her own father, so Captain Ralston was the perfect substitute.
“You run along and find Libby and Caroline,” he said. “The cook is baking a cake—to celebrate our arrival in port. Tell him my orders are that the three of you can have a slice before anyone else.”
She smiled up at him, and he smiled back, and she dawdled, cataloguing his features, aware that she wouldn’t be with him many more times in her life and being desperate to never forget a single detail.
Twenty years later . . .
Joanna James walked over to the window and peered out. The sun had set, and the sky was a soothing lavender color that would swiftly fade to indigo. She was inside the manor, the ostentatious Ralston Place, and she hadn’t planned to tarry. It would be dark when she reached her cottage.
She never liked the dark. It was a lingering fear from her childhood when she’d survived the shipwreck. The dark scared her. Storms scared her. Bodies of water scared her, and she’d definitely never board a ship again. She’d learned the hard way that they could sink, and she’d used up all her luck in that one terrible incident.
She could see her dog, Mutt, faithfully sitting under a tree. He was a big, clumsy animal, his coat multiple shades of brown and black, his paws huge and his ears floppy. He looked harmless, but his calm demeanor was deceptive. He could be a fierce warrior when provoked.
She’d freed his leg from a hunter’s trap and had nursed him back to health, so he was devoted and loyal. He’d guide her safely through the woods to her home.
With the shadows lengthening, the colors were vibrant, the greens so green, the blues so blue. It had been a beautiful summer day, and the night would be even lovelier. She wouldn’t need a shawl to ward off the chill.
She was a grateful and fortunate person, and she laid a palm on the window glass and sent a prayer winging out to numerous people, some alive, some not. To her shipmates Libby and Caro. To little Clara, the orphaned girl she viewed as her niece. To her mother—dead for two decades. To her wastrel, despicable father she’d still
never met and didn’t intend to ever meet. To her mother’s sister, Aunt Pru, who was deceased too.
When Joanna had been brought to England from the Caribbean, she’d been claimed by her Aunt Pru. Pru had adopted Clara as well—shortly after she was born. Clara had been raised by Pru when her relatives might have abandoned her in the forest to die. She’d been that unwanted, but Pru had wanted her. Joanna wanted her, and they were a family.
Aunt Pru had been gone for the prior four years, having passed over when Joanna was twenty. It was just her and Clara now, getting by as best they could, and they had plenty.
She picked up her basket and exited by a rear door. Mutt rushed over, his tail wagging. She patted him on the head and said, “You’re sweet to wait for me.”
I know . . . he seemed to respond.
The cook in the kitchen had given her a meat pie for her supper. She searched in her basket, broke off a corner, and held it out for him to gobble down. She stood for a minute, letting him lick the crumbs off her fingers, then she started off with him trotting by her side.
Aunt Pru had warned her that they didn’t dare keep a pet. History proved an animal could be dangerous to women with their backgrounds and habits. While Pru had still been with them, Joanna had obeyed the edict, and she probably would never have ignored the solid advice, but she hadn’t sought out Mutt. He had found her.
After his leg had mended, he wouldn’t leave. She’d struggled to convince him to return to his former master, but he’d refused to heed her. Clara doted on him, so they had a dog, and she had to remember that England was a modern country. A woman could have a pet without it being a sign of nefarious tendencies.
They strolled across the park, and at the edge, she paused to study the manor. It was a grand mansion, three stories high with hundreds of windows reflecting the last of the waning light. There were turrets on one end, with the older section having been a castle in the ancient past.
The moon was rising, so the grey brick shimmered with an eerie silver hue. There were candles burning in several of the rooms, so it looked like an enchanted place where a princess might reside.
She faced the moon, its power flowing over her, as she whispered another prayer, that she be imbued with the strength she needed to heal others. That was her goal in life: to do good deeds, to be helpful, to be a blessing to others.
She’d lived on the Ralston estate for a decade, with Aunt Pru having a friend who’d offered the spot to them when they’d been in a hurry to move from their previous town. They’d settled in without too much difficulty, but there were changes on the horizon, and they’d be dramatic and overwhelming.
She sensed it in her bones, and she wondered if she shouldn’t read her cards to receive a hint of what was approaching, but it was usually pointless to inquire about herself. She was nearly always blocked from divining her own fate, but occasionally, she felt greedy and attempted it anyway.
One truth was front and center: Whatever was meant to be, it was meant to be. She couldn’t fix or deflect it, so it was ridiculous to try to discover more than the universe chose to reveal.
She spun away from the house and walked to the path in the trees that would lead her to her cottage. It was a long distance, but with the moon up, she would easily find her way.
She hadn’t taken a dozen steps when Mutt woofed to notify her of someone’s presence. The same moment, she smelled smoke from a cheroot and saw the glowing tip of a cigar. A more skittish maiden might have been alarmed. After all, it was growing dark, and she was alone. The servants at the manor were finished with their chores for the day, so if she shouted for help, there was no one to assist her.
But Mutt was a great judge of humans, and his bored bark apprised her that the man was friend not foe, and he posed no threat. If he ultimately turned out to be a fiend, Mutt would subdue him quickly enough. Generally, he was sweet-natured, but he could be vicious when riled.
“I didn’t scare you, did I?” the man said, and his voice was a rich, deep baritone that tickled her innards. “If so, I apologize.”
“No. My dog told me you’re harmless.”
“Harmless! Since I view myself as being very tough and masculine, I like to think there are better terms to describe me than that.”
Mutt went over, eager for some vigorous attention. The man obliged him, which made her like him immediately. She was partial to people who liked dogs.
“What’s your name?” he asked Mutt rather than her, the two of them bonding in a thoroughly male fashion.
“It’s Mutt,” she answered.
He snickered. “You’re not very clever at naming your pets.”
“It just seemed appropriate, and he doesn’t mind.”
Mutt lay down at his feet as if he’d decided they would tarry and chat.
“He likes you,” she said.
“He should like me. I’m a likeable fellow.”
“Modest too.”
He chuckled over her assessment, then he pitched his cheroot into the dirt, grinding out the flame with his boot.
“I’ve been spying on you since you left the manor,” he said.
“I can’t believe you’d openly admit it.”
“You were gazing at the house as if you might devour it.”
“I like to see the candles shining in the windows. It’s like a fairy castle in a storybook.”
“I’ve never stared at it from this angle.”
“You should try it more often. It’s very soothing, especially when the colors are so intense and the evening so pretty.”
“I don’t remember us ever being introduced,” he said. “Who are you?”
“Miss Joanna James. And you?”
“Captain Ralston.”
She blanched. Captain Miles Ralston was the sailor who’d marched onto her tiny island when she was a little girl and had whisked her away to safety. She still dreamed about him, and she’d never stopped pretending he was her father.
But the dear man was long dead, and she smiled at her silly error.
“Captain Jacob Ralston, I presume?” she said.
“At your service, Miss James.”
He pushed away from the tree where he was leaned, clicked his heels, and bowed, but it was in a teasing way.
“We were informed that you were coming,” she said, “but I wasn’t aware that you’d arrived. You’ve been away for an eternity. Why are you lurking in the woods? Have you even gone inside to announce your presence?”
“I’ve been inside, but I swiftly found myself craving some fresh air. The manor always seems very stifling to me, so it’s difficult to settle down and feel comfortable.”
It was a brash confession, and they were strangers, so she was surprised he’d uttered it. She supposed the black night and the quiet forest made it easy to offer comments that normally wouldn’t have been voiced.
In the ten years she’d lived at the estate, she’d never previously met him. Due to his being in the navy, he was rarely home, and when he was in England, he wasn’t too keen on visiting the property.
He’d inherited it from his father, but he hadn’t been fond of his shrewish mother, Esther Ralston. She’d been a spiteful harpy, renowned for her out-of-control raging and foul moods, so his childhood had been incredibly dreary. Mrs. Ralston was deceased now, and with her exhausting specter having vanished, perhaps he’d visit more frequently. She would wish for that to be his ending.
She hated to see families quarrel or not support each other or have members assuming they’d rather be alone. She had only Clara to call her own, so she could categorically confirm that being alone was no fun at all.
“Are you settled and comfortable?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
“How long does it usually take you?”
“Too long. Typically, I leave before any contentment appears.”
“You could be right.”
He stepped nearer, and he studied her in a manner that was thrilling. She was very petite, so he towered over her. After her ordeal in the Caribbean, she’d never gained the height and weight another woman might have. She was just five feet in her slippers, and she was thin to the point where people thought she didn’t have enough to eat and were always giving her gifts of food.
She ate plenty, but it never added weight or stature. She was destined to be small.
“What color is your hair?” he inquired.
“What an odd question. Why would you wonder about that?”
“It’s too dark for me to be sure, and when I want to know something, I ask. I don’t blunder around and guess.”
It was likely a habit developed because he was a ship’s captain. He barked orders and had them obeyed.
At his query about her hair, her arrogance flared. They resided in a land where almost every female had blond hair and blue eyes, so she—with her auburn hair and green eyes—was very different. Pride was a great sin, but she couldn’t stop being vain about her looks.
She constantly tried to tamp down her conceit over her exotic features, but she never succeeded. Her Aunt Pru had claimed she’d inherited her conceit from her father who’d been an earl’s wastrel son. It definitely hadn’t come from her mother who’d been kind, modest, and even a tad shy.
“Well, if I’m being charitable with myself,” she said, “I’ll declare my hair to be auburn, but if I’m being brutally honest, I’ll have to admit it’s red.”
“Ooh . . . a red-haired woman! How absolutely fascinating. Do you have the temper to match?”
She chuckled. “No. I’m the most placid female in the kingdom.”
“There’s no such thing as a placid redhead.”
“Then let’s call it auburn.”
She never wore it in a proper chignon, so it was hanging down and tied with a ribbon. He stunned her by reaching out and grabbing a dangling strand. He wrapped it around his finger, using it as leverage to draw her closer. Her pulse thundered with a peculiar excitement, and she was frozen like a statue, puzzled over his intent.