“Yes, I believe I do, Mr. Penniman.” Alex nodded, as reality struck her as a punch to the face.
Molly Duckett, simple country girl, had found herself a good man, and Alex had spoiled everything, with her horrible but well-intended counsel. She should have known better than to interfere, after the Lance and Cara fiasco. But never let it be said that Alex could not learn from her mistakes. Hell would freeze before she stuck her nose where it had not belonged. Yes, her days of playing cupid had ceased.
Just as soon as she set things right between the nanny and the stablemaster.
“My lady, I never meant to make you cry.” Tom knelt at her feet, drew a handkerchief from his coat pocket, and dried her cheeks. “Forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive, as I owe you an apology.” Alex extended her hand, which he clutched in his. “And I vow to repair the damage I have caused, and I swear you shall have Molly.”
“Will you help me?” the stablemaster inquired, with an expression of hope.
“Yes.” She dipped her chin, and he placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles.
It was to her misfortune that, at that precise moment, Jason barged into the back parlor.
Her husband glanced at Alex, Mr. Penniman, and to Alex. Then Jason narrowed his stare and stretched to his full height. “What in bloody hell is going on here?”
“Jason, I can explain.” Withering beneath her spouse’s ire, she peered at Tom. “You are dismissed, Mr. Penniman.”
The stablemaster winced and ran from the room, with his neck intact.
“Alex, did you put your lovely little nose in Tom and Molly’s affairs?” Her captain arched a brow and grimaced. “Answer me, now. And do not insult me by pretending an oblivion we both know you harbor not.”
In an effort to form a suitable response, one that would save her posterior, she studied the pattern on the upholstery of the chaise. In most English country houses, the back parlor ranked of relative insignificance. The primary function of the diminutive living space was to provide a quiet place for the mistress of the manor to enjoy afternoon tea, meet with servants, or—
“Alex.”
“Yes, sir?” She snapped to attention.
“Did you, or did you not, insert yourself into Tom and Molly’s relationship?” He folded his arms, hugged a parcel to his chest, and thrust his chin. “After I forbid such shenanigans, back in Plymouth.”
Brave and unafraid, Alex scooted to the end of the chaise and stood. “Yes.”
Jason blinked. “You admit your involvement?”
“I do, as I have nothing to hide, and my motive is honorable.” She squared her shoulders. “And I promised I would never deceive you again.”
“Your honesty spikes my guns, sweetheart.” He huffed a breath and shook his head. “And I must extend equal candor, as you are not alone in your matchmaking machinations, because I taught Tom the finer points of grooming, gentlemanly behavior, and procured new togs for the lad.”
“You did that, for them?” When he nodded, Alex stepped in his direction. “But—why?”
“Because they belong together, as do you and I.” Jason mirrored her move and closed the distance between them. “If Molly and Tom can resolve their differences, then there must be hope for us.”
“Really? I believe that, too.” Riding a wave of conviction, unlike any she had known since Plymouth, Alex smiled. “What is in the box?”
“You shimmer, love. How I cherish this side of you.” To her surprise, her captain clicked his heels and presented the beribboned package for her inspection. “A gift, which is long overdue. I ordered it, prior to my departure from Deptford, on my mission, and it was delivered, this morning.”
“Ah, yes.” Alex giggled, as the desire to flirt with her husband, nonexistent of late, returned with a vengeance. “The belated courtship.”
“Shall I convey this to the sofa, so you may open it?” Jason extended his arm, and she rested her palm in the crook of his elbow. “And how beautiful you look, in your blue dress.”
“Why Captain Collingwood, are you trifling with me?” Gooseflesh covered her from head to foot, as he eased her to the cushions. After untying the navy satin bow, she lifted the lid, parted the paper, and gasped. Inside, nestled in a bed of cotton, was a miniature replica, complete with masts and sails, of the Intrepid. “Oh, Jason. I used to pray you would gift me a model of your ship. How did you know I always wanted one?”
“I did not—until now, as I am an ignorant arse.” With a mighty glower, he groaned. “But, in the seafaring ranks, this makes you my woman.”
“Blast.” To her infinite frustration, she wept. “I am so tired of crying, but mine are happy tears.”
“Darling, Alex.” Her husband moved the box to the table and lifted her to his lap. “I owe you an ocean of apologies, as I neglected you sorely in London, and I wonder why you pursued me. But I vow never again to forget you, if you will give me a chance to prove myself.”
She was not sure why she had done it, but Alex framed his face and kissed her captain with all she had and for all she was worth. Fire erupted from their point of contact, searing their lips as their tongues twined, and cloistered them in blazing heat. Undeniable hunger blossomed in her belly, and she angled her head, drawing him deeper into the intimate connection. When, at last, they parted, Jason rested his forehead to hers.
“Is it wishful thinking, or was that an affirmative?” He claimed another quick kiss.
“Yes.” Even as he favored her with a boyish grin, she shivered. “If you are sincere in your courtship, I will not fight you. While I am still scared of the possibilities, should you fail me, no longer will I allow fear to rule my life. But you will rue my wrath, Jason Collingwood, if you disappoint me again.”
“No worries, love.” He chuckled. “As you shall soon discover your distress is unwarranted.”
“Do not make sport of my apprehension, as my trepidation is well founded and much deserved.” Alex sat upright. “Has no one ever leveled your world, shattered your dreams, and destroyed the person you thought you were, in a single catastrophic blow?”
“Actually, yes.” Jason held her close and cradled her head. “When my parents died, leaving me an orphan, and my uncle bought my commission. But I found my way, and so will we.”
“Consider your heartbreak and devastation, and then add an unwed pregnant member of the peerage to the mix.” Recalling her promise, she relaxed in his embrace. “Polite society is anything but, and had you not returned and married me, my life would have ended, and our babes would have been forever branded bastards. But you could have sailed the seas, with nary a concern, and never looked back. For those six months you were gone, that was the reality I contemplated, and part of me died to tolerate it.”
“No, sweetheart. You are still very much alive.” Jason shifted, tipped her chin, and met her gaze. “Together, we will find what has gone astray, and I will fulfill the dreams and grant you the future you thought lost, if I must labor in that endeavor until my last breath.”
“I believe you will try.” The mantel clock sounded the noon hour, and she slid from his lap. “I should check our lunch.”
“Alex, wait.” Her captain stood and clutched her hands in his. “There is something I wanted to tell you. I...that is to say...for a long while—”
“Jason, are you ill?” She reached up and pressed her palm to his forehead. “You are pale.”
“It is nothing.” He released her and dropped to the sofa. “I look forward to our nap.”
CAPTAIN OF HER HEART
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Two days later, Jason stood before the mirror in his study, practicing what had become an exercise in lunacy. After adjusting his cravat, he tugged on the lapels of his coat, smoothed his hair, and cleared his throat. Then he shifted his weight and stared at his reflection.
“My darling wife, for a long time I have wanted to tell you—no, that is no good.” With a sneer that would have reduced the saltiest tar to a pud
dle, he narrowed his stare. “Most beautiful Alex, from the moment I first spied you, in the Richmond’s ballroom, I knew you were the girl for me and—she is no girl, you addled arse.”
Grasping his hands behind his back, he paced. Given his tenure in the Navy, Jason had no prior experience with perfume and poetry, so he ventured into unfamiliar waters. Searching his limited knowledge of courtship, he composed another oratory. “Dearest and loveliest Alex, your body is—”
A knock at the door brought him to a halt.
After unlocking the bolt, Jason opened the oak panel. “Tom? What can I do for you?”
“I beg your pardon, Captain Collingwood, but might I have a minute of your time?” Mr. Penniman shuffled his feet. “It is a matter of utmost importance.”
“Of course.” Jason granted the stablemaster entry and then reclined in the new chair, behind the massive desk he so favored. “Have a seat and tell me what concerns you.”
“First, let me say that I would never encroach on your generosity were it not absolutely necessary.” Tom inched forward, tugged on his cravat, and then smoothed the sleeves of his coat. “I wonder if I might secure a loan or an advance on my salary?”
“Is everything all right?” Intrigued, Jason stretched upright. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“No, sir.” Then the lad shifted and frowned. “Well, you might call it trouble, as I wish to court Molly.”
“I beg your pardon?” He almost fell to the floor.
“Sorry, Cap’n.” The expression of utter helplessness investing the stablemaster’s face invoked a tidal wave of sympathy. “I intend to woo Molly, with flowers and such.”
“Indeed?” Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “And such frippery costs money, does it not?”
“More than I could have anticipated, sir.” Tom rolled his eyes. “Ladies covet perfume, roses, fine chocolates, lace handkerchiefs, and the like. Daisies no longer satisfy my girl, as she has developed a taste for Lady Alex’s Belgian truffles, along with your wife’s French fragrance. Do you comprehend my dilemma, Cap’n?”
“More than you know.” But Jason had an epiphany, in that moment. The stablemaster could not have known it, but he had just inspired a brilliant idea.
Alex had a brash, bold disposition—well, she had before Jason destroyed her. But the very things that Tom highlighted bespoke the return of the fiery society maiden. Probing his memory, he made several mental notations and scoffed.
In his desire to court Alex, Jason had solicited advice from everyone who knew her, but none knew Mrs. Collingwood half so well as her husband. While her friends had responded with sage counsel, recommending sweet little gestures, the former Lady Alex Seymour had lived large.
It was her zest for life, and all its niceties, that had attracted him to her, at the onset. And for a newlywed couple, such finery posed opportunities to win his bride’s heart.
“Captain Collingwood, I shall be happy to assume additional duties, to compensate you for the loan.” Tom wiped his brow. “I will do anything to marry Molly.”
“That is not necessary, as we are, in many respects, unlikely allies.” Jason drew a key from his pocket, unlocked the top drawer of his desk, retrieved a wooden box, and counted a generous sum of notes. “You may consider this an early wedding present, and I believe you and I can strike a blow for bungling suitors, if we pool our efforts.”
“Cap’n, this is a vast deal more than I can repay, in my lifetime.” The stablemaster scratched his cheek. “But if you have any insight into wooing the fairer sex, I am your most ardent pupil.”
“Well, I gathered a bouquet for my wife, and she was most grateful, so I would wager I might score a far grander victory with a full arrangement and, perhaps, a bit of original poetry.” Bolstered with renewed purpose, Jason grabbed a stack of parchment from a drawer and snatched the pen from the inkstand. “Let us scribble a few thoughts.”
“Oh, I say.” Poor Tom blanched. “I am uneducated, Cap’n.”
“There is nothing to it, as you need only rhyme.” Jason composed a few ideas. “How difficult is that?”
“I must trust your judgment, as I am, most definitely, out of my element, Cap’n.” Tom stood. “But I can fetch a couple of vases from the kitchen.”
“Tell Phipps I want the finest crystal.” Jason listed several words he discerned conveyed the appropriate sentiment, as he wanted his lady in no doubt of his ardor. “And fill them with water, so we may present our women with the arrangements, this afternoon.”
“Aye, sir.” The stablemaster ran into the oak panel.
“Tom, you must open the door, before you may exit.” Jason couldn’t help but laugh.
“Yes, Cap’n.” The lad shrugged and then charged forth from the study.
After a few minutes, Jason read his fledgling attempt at the stuff of poets and groaned. Without ceremony, he crumpled the stationary into a ball, tossed it into the wastebasket, and began again. Concentrating, he mulled the sentiments he ached to impart.
The second effort comprised a pitiful improvement on the first, so he sent the drivel into the trash and resolved to succeed with the third endeavor. Scratching out various passages, he mixed half of one sentence with another and struck syrupy, maudlin gold.
So Jason transposed the poem to a clean sheet of parchment and admired his accomplishment. “This is not so tricky as I had guessed, and I possess a talent that had been unknown to me.”
In that second, Tom returned, bearing two cut-glass vases. “Miss Phipps said Lady Alex will have our heads if we break these.”
“Sit them on my desk, and let us storm the garden, in search of flowers.” He folded the missive, slipped it into an envelope, and inscribed his bride’s name on the front. “When we complete our arrangements, you may compose your love verse.”
“I dread it, sir.” The stablemaster clutched his hands to his stomach. “As I am no bard.”
“Nonsense.” Jason chucked Tom’s shoulder. “And I shall help you, as it turns out I am quite the sonneteer.”
#
My most beautiful Alex,
Your body is like a well-stocked larder;
How I love to weigh anchor in your honey harbor.
Your breasts like cannonballs make my Jolly Roger stout;
How your naughty finger work inspires me to shout.
—Jason
Alex read and reread the card, which accompanied a rather unusual display, if she could call it such, of flowers, and burst into laughter. Gasping for air, she swallowed hard and attempted to calm herself, but she surrendered to another fit of giggles. At last, she wiped a tear from her eye, pressed a hand to her swollen belly, and examined what had to have been the most unique floral presentation she had ever received.
An elegant crystal vase, containing bits of leaves and twigs floating in muddy water, had been crammed, for lack of a better term, full of roses, to the extent that some blooms had broken and hung askew. But the bundle also featured what appeared to be small branches from the hedgerow, to her inexpressible confusion and amusement.
“Merciful heavens, what is that mess?” Miss Phipps stood, hands on hips, in the back parlor and frowned. “I should reprimand the maid—”
“You will do no such thing, as they are a gift from Captain Collingwood.” Sitting at her escritoire, Alex gazed at the arrangement, yes, that description was far too generous, and smiled. No words could convey the heights of her delight. “And never have I enjoyed lovelier roses.”
Then she glanced at Miss Phipps. In unison, they collapsed in unrestrained mirth.
“Oh, dear.” Gertie neared. “Should I resituate the blooms and change the water, your ladyship?”
“No.” In truth, Alex had not the heart to change one aspect of Jason’s gift, which she cherished as priceless artwork. “I would not, for the life of me, diminish my husband’s overture.”
“But the roses will not survive more than a day or two, at most, in that muck.” The housekeeper snickered. “I
should instruct him, else he will strip the bushes bare, with minimal reward.”
“You will say nothing, as I can always plant more.” So her captain courted her, as promised. Had she thought she loved Jason? In that instant, her capacity for said emotion grew in epic proportions, filling her chest with heretofore-unimagined bliss, and confidence charged the field. “Miss Phipps, I should like to change the dessert menu, for tonight.”
“Have you a craving, my lady?” Gertie queried, with a grin. “I shall have cook prepare whatever you wish.”
“Indeed, I do.” A sweet recollection jolted her memory, and Alex contemplated the logistics. If she caught her husband in the right place, at the right time, she could pleasure him, on her knees, with her lips, given a fortuitously placed pillow. With his hedonistic tutelage, had she not licked a favorite sweet from his most prized protuberance, in Plymouth? “I should like cherry compote, with shortbread and mascarpone.”
Perhaps it was time for Alex to woo her captain.
#
“A pleasant afternoon, Molly. Sorry, I am late, but the pantry ledger did not balance, and it took me almost an hour to reconcile the amounts.” Alex strolled through the sitting room and into the bedchamber. “And then there was a minor emergency in the kitchen.”
The household remained short of staff, and she had yet to hire a lady’s maid, because she found it difficult to replace Lily, her servant from Penhurst. Lady’s maids were like extended family, and she counted Lily a friend, so Alex struggled to employ a successor. So she compensated the nanny to perform the duties Jason had not assumed.
“I am ready for my bath, and I am in dire need of a long soak, so you may be excused, after you help me undress.” Alex kicked off her slippers and stopped short.
The tub had been situated by the fireplace, and rose petals floated atop the water’s surface. Pedestals, bearing huge floral arrangements, occupied almost every corner of the octagonal-shaped room. As Alex rotated, she discovered her husband.
“I wager it is going to be a very pleasant afternoon, indeed, my lady wife.” With a broad smile, Jason strutted from behind an oriental screen. “And I owe you a boon, given your naughty tongue work, last night, which was quite spectacular.”
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