At the Captain's Command

by Louise M. Gouge

  While people lined up to be presented, Dinah spied a friendly face and tugged Anne by the hand toward Mrs. Pilot, the wife of a regimental officer. The older matron took special pleasure in organizing balls, and her hand was evident in the decorations around the room.

  “Mrs. Pilot,” Anne said, “thee must have scoured the entire city to find so many lovely flowers.”

  “Oh, my, yes, Mrs. Hussey.” The plump, cheerful lady chuckled, a deep, throaty sound, and her ruddy apple cheeks glistened in the ballroom’s candlelight. “Roses, gardenias, lavender, honeysuckle. Everyone was eager to help with the preparations for these fine naval officers. Why, even my husband, who admits to enjoying a vigorous competition with his naval counterparts, awoke this morning with extraordinary enthusiasm for this event.” She waved a pink-gloved hand at the middle-aged officer in question, who stood across the room in his red army jacket and white breeches. As he responded in kind, the lady continued to prattle on merrily about the supper she had organized for later in the evening. “And a large pig has been roasting over a pit outside the kitchen house since yesterday. And we have desserts that will delight the most discerning palate.”

  “The aromas are enticing,” Dinah said. “How shall we make it until supper?”

  Mrs. Pilot chuckled again. “Why, we must dance up an appetite. Which reminds me, Miss Templeton, I am sorry your handsome brother and his lovely wife are not in the city. Captain Templeton dances beautifully and could teach some of our locals a thing or two.”

  “Yes, he does.” Dinah felt a pang of loneliness for Jamie. “Marianne made certain he learned the skill in London.”

  “Will he be returning to East Florida soon?” Mrs. Pilot tapped her chin. “We must have another ball when he comes to celebrate all the new wares he will bring us. Even if the governor will never countenance such an event, we can meet in another home.”

  “I have not heard from Jamie for five months, so surely he will return soon.” Dinah’s old fears resurfaced. “I pray he will not encounter that pirate, Nighthawk, and have his cargo stolen.”

  “Now, Dinah,” Anne said, “thou knows that Captain Moberly’s presence will surely put an end to the piracy.”

  “Indeed, it shall.” Mrs. Pilot patted Dinah’s hand, then gazed across the room. “Now if you will excuse me, I see we have some newcomers.”

  Dinah and Anne curtsied to the English lady, who scurried away to tend to her hostess duties. Mrs. Pilot had long ago made it her duty to see that those who had fled to St. Augustine because of the war found safety and welcome. Every time the watchtower bell rang to announce the arrival of a ship, whether merchant or military, Betsey Pilot could be counted on to ascertain its identity and the needs of its crew.

  Anne smiled. “What would we do without her?”

  “Endure great boredom, I am certain.” Dinah peered through the crowd to see how Thomas fared and found him looking her way. Following Mrs. Pilot’s example, she gave him a tiny wave, as though the two of them shared a good-humored secret. His wry grin and slight nod assured her that he had understood.

  Thomas and Mrs. Pilot led the first dance, and young Mr. Richland claimed Dinah as his partner. She felt some relief, because dancing a country round with someone who was as provincial as she gave her the opportunity to reacquaint herself with her feet, silly appendages that seemed determined to embarrass her by failing to keep time with the music.

  At the end of the set, she looked for the captain, hoping for rescue from Mr. Richland. But the senior Mr. Richland moved his son aside, took her hand and led her to the floor. As the next piece ended, Mr. Wayland bumped the older man aside, and after him, another officer sought her as a partner. Perhaps she smiled too generously. Perhaps Mrs. Pilot took pity on her for her pieced-together dress and sent the gentlemen to her rescue. To a man, they heaped praise upon her for her gown, which only caused her more discomfort. Or, more precisely, annoyance. Their effusive compliments seemed to border on insincerity.

  At last, after countless rounds, she managed to hide behind a row of tall potted plants to catch her breath and watch the revelers from the shadows. Across the ballroom she saw Elizabeth Markham sipping punch with Mr. Wayland. To her surprise, her friend’s expression held not a hint of her usual coyness, merely modest admiration. Could this young officer, the third son of a baron, have won her heart? Already?

  A sudden rustling of the leaves nearby gave Dinah a start, which quickly turned to delight. Thomas stood just beyond the plants, his blue eyes focused on her, a teasing smile on his lips.

  “Hiding, are we?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you not enjoying all the merry matchmaking?”

  She emerged from her refuge, feigning indignation. “Hmph. This ball was meant to be in your honor, not a matchmaking event.”

  Now he laughed out loud. “My dear Miss Templeton, every ball is a matchmaking event.”

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I suppose.”

  He turned to face the room with her. “May I fetch you some lemonade?”

  “Gracious, no, but I thank you, sir. This past hour, I have had lemonade enough to drown me.” Nearly every gentleman with whom she had danced insisted on fetching her some refreshment between sets.

  He regarded her for a moment. “Ah, to have an abundance of tasty lemonade available after months at sea. I believe my officers and I would very much enjoy drowning ourselves in it.”

  “Just as you are drowning in the admiration of our city?” She could not withhold a laugh. “Why, look over there at my friend and yours.” She pointed with her folded fan. “I do think Miss Markham would be a fine wife for an officer in His Majesty’s navy. Her father is wealthy, and her mother has taught her the proficiencies required of a gentleman’s wife…or an officer’s. The younger son of a baron could not do better, could he?” She lifted one eyebrow and smirked.

  “I have no doubt the young lady is quite accomplished and worthy.” The captain eyed Elizabeth and tilted his head as if considering the proposition. “Yes, I believe she will do wonders for Mr. Wayland. By the expression on his face, I do believe you have lost your chance with him.”

  “My chance?” Dinah permitted herself a ladylike snicker. She started to remind him of her vow not to marry a seafarer, but somehow the words would not form. “No, thank you. Elizabeth may have him.”

  “Ah.” The captain gazed about the room. “Well, then, you do have your choice between Mr. Richland Senior or Junior. I recommend the lad, for the old fellow, while handsome enough, seems set in his ways.” He spoke in a mock-serious tone, as if constructing a battle plan. “I do believe you could get Junior in hand with very little trouble.”

  Dinah bit her lips to keep from giggling. “Captain, I order you to cease matchmaking for me.” A playful thought nudged her mind. “That is, unless I am permitted to serve the same office for you.”

  He gave her a slight bow. “Fair enough. Make your selection and present me to the lady.”

  She stared around the room, seeking a likely candidate. “Hmm. Well. How about…no, not her. And then there’s…but no, she would not suit.” She released a dramatic sigh. “I fear not a single match can be found for you in our city, sir.”

  Kindness would not permit her to tease about pairing him with any of her acquaintances. Kindness? Or perhaps something far more selfish? If only for the rest of this evening, she wanted Thomas to herself. With brotherly concern, he had sought her out and now stood beside her like a sentinel during this short inter mission between dances. And how kind of him to indulge in nonsensical banter that lifted her heart and caused harm to no one. How generous of him to ignore the plainness of her makeshift ball gown. Yes, she would gladly have this gentleman standing beside her, if only for this evening.

  Thomas had never felt such respite from duty and obligation as he did in Dinah’s company. The fragrance of a single gardenia, so artfully placed in her thick, upswept blond hair, wafted up to delight his senses. He saw a resemblance to her brother
in her well-formed countenance, especially in her dark-brown eyes, which met his gaze with good humor and friendly under standing. Her straight, narrow nose had a pert little upturn at its tip, a perfect complement to the upturned corners of her full, rosy lips. Her simple but pretty pink frock cast a healthy, honest glow upon her ivory cheeks, so different from the excessive blushes of the giddy girls who had earlier clamored for his attention. In fact, he had yet to see this young lady blush, although it could not be attributed to a lack of modesty. She merely seemed oblivious to her own loveliness, and actually rather shy and confused by the admiration heaped upon her by every man in the room, whether young or old, unattached or married.

  Even the governor himself had remarked on her beauty, nudging Thomas’s arm as he said it. Thomas had refrained from asking what the man meant by that gesture. They had exhausted their discussion of Nighthawk’s piracy and the unpredictable East Florida weather. No doubt the governor, for all his austerity and grousing, was a matchmaker, like everyone else in attendance. And for this night, Thomas could find no one he would rather be matched with than his dear young kinswoman. Yet even as he thought it, he reminded himself that they were not truly related, at least by blood. No legal or moral matter would prevent their being permanently matched.

  Belay that line of thinking, man. No, he must not think of her as anything but his sister-in-law. Must not think of marriage at all, especially to a colonial, especially to a young lady who did not wish to be shackled to a naval officer. His duty was to protect her from unwanted suitors…and that disagreeable Hussey. In fact, he must investigate that situation further as soon as he returned from the coming week’s patrol of the East Florida coast.

  He glanced down to see her hands clasped together almost as if she were wringing them. Had something distressed her? He scanned the room and noted that couples were lining up for the minuet. And approaching fast on their starboard side was young Richland, his eyes fixed on the lady like a pelican’s on a fish. The young pup had nearly tripped her half a dozen times when they had stood up together. In her defense, Thomas moved in front of his companion and bowed.

  “Miss Templeton, will you do me the honor of this dance?”

  Relief and gratitude glowed in her radiant smile. “Why, yes, Captain Moberly.” She placed her gloved hand in his. “I thought you would never ask.” There it was again. That delightful smirk that conveyed a world of good humor.

  Thomas’s heart soared. As often happened in her company, all he could think was what a delightful creature.

  But, as always before, an inner voice cautioned Avast!

  Chapter Eight

  The southeasterly wind swept over the Dauntless, bringing with it the salty scent of the ocean and cooling Thomas as he paced the quarterdeck in the blazing sun. Five days of patrolling the coast and inlets from Amelia Island down to Turnbull’s New Smyrna plantation had turned up nothing. Just as he had expected, the presence of the British fleet in the West Indies and the three frigates here had served notice to Nighthawk. Unless the man was a fool, he would cease his piracy.

  Yet, despite Thomas’s reassurances to Dinah, he worried about her brother. Templeton did not lack courage, as he had proven four years ago when he rescued Thomas’s young nephew from drowning in the manor lake in Hampshire. Of course, courage was required of any sea captain, especially during a time of war. But Templeton’s reluctance to fire on a ship that threatened him made him the perfect target for repeated plundering by Nighthawk.

  Thomas would feel no small relief when he laid eyes on his friend again. During their last meeting in London some fourteen months earlier, Templeton had seemed preoccupied, distracted, almost morose. Thomas had attributed it to his forced separation from Marianne. Lord Bennington had disowned her, but he still served as a patron for her husband and conducted business with him. Thomas had never comprehended his father’s eccentricities, and now that the old man was dead, he would never know what had driven him.

  Ah, such ponderings did nothing to soothe his mood or calm his restlessness on such a dull day. What would brighten his disposition was sailing back into St. Augustine harbor and seeing Dinah again. Her company was more refreshing than these brisk Atlantic breezes.

  He might as well admit it. He was weary of the war. Weary of the service. He had no doubt his father’s death had ended any influence in his favor with the Admiralty. His eldest brother, the new earl, seemed to have his own favorites whose careers he could advance. But Thomas found himself strangely unalarmed about the matter. In fact, if not for this rather independent assignment of guarding St. Augustine and the challenge of catching one more pirate, he might consider resigning the Service entirely.

  All his life, he had done his duty. But with Father’s death, it seemed he had done enough, for he would no longer have to face the old earl should he happen to fail. And like some of his fellow officers, he was beginning to agree with Charles Fox and his cronies in Parliament. Perhaps it was time to release the recalcitrant colonies to their own devices.

  “Sail ho,” the watchman called from the crosstrees. “Three points off the larboard quarter. Looks to be a merchantman.”

  At last. Something to alleviate the boredom. “Mr. Wayland,” Thomas called to his lieutenant, who stood below him on the main deck, “as soon as the vessel is near enough, signal her to heave to.” If he could fill out an inspection report, however mundane, it would prove to his superiors that he was doing his duty and that his presence was required on the East Florida coast.

  At the thought of being reassigned, he chafed against his woolen jacket, which was scratchy in the heat. A lighter uniform would be more suitable in these climates, and many times he felt the urge to throw off his frock coat and let the wind blow through his linen shirt. A fine example that would set for his men.

  Within the hour, the China Swan, which flew the Union Jack above its merchant flag, bobbed alongside the Dauntless, and Mr. Wayland was preparing to take a small patrol to deliver Thomas’s greetings to the merchant captain…and to inspect his papers. While the men lowered a cockboat and rowed over to the other ship, Thomas observed the action through his spyglass. Once Mr. Wayland boarded the other ship, Thomas noted that the gentleman, a plump, scruffy fellow, displayed an odd nervousness. Snatches of his animated conversation with Mr. Wayland wafted on the wind, proving the man to be English, so the man should welcome the frigate’s presence in these waters.

  After more conversation, Mr. Wayland returned to the Dauntless. “Captain Moberly, Captain Thatcher offers his compliments. He, uh—” he cleared his throat “—he asks if he may send over a gift. Some silk or a fan for your lady, or a sandalwood box.”

  “Huh.” Thomas snorted. “That’s blatant bribery, Mr. Wayland.” He glared across the water at the merchant captain, who stood on his quarterdeck tugging at his collar and fussing with his shabby coat. “Take over another ten men and find whatever it is this Thatcher does not want us to see.”

  “Aye, sir.” Wayland saluted Thomas, and the gleam in his eyes revealed his eagerness for the task. The lad was bored, too. No doubt about that. And this bit of excitement might turn up some interesting contraband. Guns or powder for the rebels? Opium? Slaves?

  “Mr. Brandon,” Thomas called to his first officer. “Sharpshooters to the tops. Man the swivels.” Against his better nature, he almost longed for a confrontation. He could even feel the heat of battle rising within him.

  There it was again, that unreasoning anger. And this merchantman made a convenient scapegoat. Although the Almighty promised to forgive such lapses, Thomas would not like to experience excessive guilt the next time he recited the general confession in church. He drew in a deep breath to regain his senses. What he needed was an hour spent in Dinah’s soothing company. An hour or two or—

  A commotion aboard the China Swan drew his attention. Two of Thomas’s crew escorted a dark-haired woman from below. The exotic beauty broke away and ran to the quarterdeck into the arms of the captain. After muc
h communication back and forth between the ships, the situation became clear. Somehow that unkempt merchant had secured the love of the young lady, and he feared that if discovered she might be sent back to her cruel father. If they could but sell their cargo in St. Augustine, they could sail quietly to England and find safety and happiness.

  Poor chap. Did he actually think this pretty Oriental lady would find acceptance by England’s middle class? Clearly, love had blinded him to the realities of his home country. Yet the fierce devotion and protectiveness now blazing from the man’s eyes suggested he would not care, as long as she was with him. What madness.

  But Thomas found his heart welling up with sympathy for the couple. He would ignore the merchant’s attempt to buy him off. In fact, he would purchase the very items the man had offered as a bribe. Thomas had brought many gifts from England to dispense to his family members in East Florida. Still, the silk from China would do nicely as an additional gift for Marianne. Would Dinah think him too forward if he offered her a fan or a sandalwood box? Well, he would purchase both and then seek Mrs. Hussey’s advice before making a fool of himself.

  After choosing his purchases and permitting his crew the same privilege, Thomas gave Thatcher a stern warning not to keep secrets from His Majesty’s officers and not to offer bribes. Then, as the China Swan tacked away from the Dauntless, Thomas saw Mr. and Mrs. Thatcher on the quarterdeck waving to him. Throwing dignity to the winds, he waved back.

  Would that he could find the same happiness they shared, a happiness that defied convention and rules and class. The kind of defiance that had led Marianne to forsake all she had ever known and stow away on Templeton’s ship. If the man had not proved both his love for her and his honorable character by marrying her, she would have been disgraced forever. Thomas would require the same courage and defiance his sister had displayed in order to—