Buccaneers Series

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  For a measureless moment he stood in the doorway, a commanding presence, who, despite the heat, was immaculately garbed in a dark blue satin doublet and thigh-length jacket. Black leggings encased his legs.

  Jette rushed toward him, his relief spilling over. It was perhaps to the earl’s credit, thought Emerald, that his presence evoked so little fear in the child. In the months that the earl had been in Jamaica, it seemed he had won the affection of his grandson even if Lord Felix had not.

  “Grandfather, it’s you. I thought it was—” He stopped.

  There was a flash of a sapphire ring, and lace spilled from his cuff as the earl laid a hand on Jette’s dark head. “You thought it was your Uncle Felix, and no wonder you look as if you’ve swallowed a frog. What are you doing in his office?”

  A rebuke for me, not Jette, she thought, embarrassed, but the earl’s full attention was fixed upon his grandson.

  “I wanted to talk to Emerald alone,” Jette told him with blunt honesty. “I didn’t think we’d get caught in here ‘cause Felix is out again.”

  “It is well for you that he is. He will not take kindly to your snooping about his office, Jette.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t snooping, Grandfather. I already did that.”

  His grandfather’s mouth turned upward with amusement. “Already a spy for King Charles, are you?”

  “Me and Emerald are both spies,” he said with a secretive tone.

  Emerald didn’t move.

  The earl turned his head and looked pointedly at her. “Indeed?”

  She managed a curtsy. “Only a game he likes to play, my lord Buckington. If you will pardon me,” she continued breathlessly. “I’ll be leaving at once.”

  “Don’t go, Emerald!” cried Jette, coming between her and the door. “We can stay up late and have hot cocoa with Grandfather. The cocoa comes from our plantation, doesn’t it, Grandfather?” he stated proudly, looking up at him.

  Cocoa with the Earl of Buckington? Jette simply didn’t realize what he was saying.

  “And that scoundrel brother of yours would fare better if he’d own up to caring for its future instead of marauding the Caribbean.”

  “You’ll stay, Emerald?” Jette pleaded again.

  “It appears you’ve captured the hearts of both my grandsons,” came the earl’s sardonic voice.

  Emerald flushed, her eyes avoiding his and centering instead on Jette’s smiling face. “I taught Jette at Mathias’s singing school,” she explained, half apologizing. “He and I became friends.” She smiled at Jette. “Thank you for the invitation, but the storm is worsening. Zeddie and I must get home.”

  “You will not leave yet,” the earl said firmly. “Since you’re here, you and I have something to discuss. We might as well begin. Jette, you may leave us now.”

  She knew what he wished to speak to her about and prayed that the Lord would bring courage and peace to calm the ceaseless thudding of her heart.

  “Emerald’s going to help Sir Cecil be my tutor at Foxemoore,” Jette told him, and his eyes seemed to plead silently with his grandfather.

  “Is she now?”

  What dreadful things he must think of her, believing she had been out to entrap the viscount into a marriage he didn’t want and now, having accomplished that, out to woo Jette over to her side by including herself in his schooling. It didn’t matter that Baret had requested her involvement; the earl wouldn’t likely accept that.

  “Are you of the opinion the master from Cambridge will be needing your expertise?” asked the earl with a cynical glimmer in his eyes. He could not have made his estimation of her qualifications any clearer.

  “My qualifications are limited to music, your lordship,” she confessed. “But like Lavender, I too had a skilled tutor while growing up. She and I were both pupils of my father’s uncle, Master of Arts Mathias Harwick. He taught at Cambridge before deciding to come to Jamaica during the Civil War. However, your grandson Jette does enjoy making plans without taking into consideration what his family may wish.”

  “In that he is much like his older brother,” he said dryly.

  Emerald’s gaze lowered.

  “You may go to your room now, Jette, and wait for me. You will be pleased to know I’ve come to take you back to Foxemoore in the morning.”

  “Foxemoore! And can I ride Royal? And can Timothy and Titus ride double on Sugar?”

  “I think so.”

  Jette turned to her, his olive-green eyes shining. “And you can ride with us too, Emerald! Honey is still there.”

  “Off with you now,” his grandfather told him. “I’ll be up to say good night soon.”

  “Yes, Grandfather.”

  Jette hurried out, and Emerald stood without moving as the earl shut the door firmly and faced her, no smile remaining.

  Now the terrible scourging of her emotions was coming. How could she defend herself against his charges? Should she even try? What good to draw her rags of dignity about her and insist she was a lady? The earl would never accept her self-defense.

  “So, you are Karlton’s daughter.”

  So much said in so few words. She felt the hotness rise to her cheeks, for, though he did not say it, “Karlton’s wench” would have sufficed.

  As he stood taking her in, she imagined that he was measuring her by what he had already heard about her mother. The fact that Baret had been called out in a duel over her ruined reputation would be considered humorous. Neither side of the family believed she had a reputation worth defending. Did the earl think her father would ask for money in order to slip silently away and leave the titled family in peace?

  She felt ashamed as he stood dissecting her as though she were guilty of a grand scheme. She swallowed, holding back the tears that suddenly wanted to spill over. He’d only take her tears as proof of guilt and think she was appealing to his sympathies, afraid of his authority to cast her into Brideswell for a month for trying to coerce the family into payment.

  Emerald managed a stiff curtsy. “My lord Buckington—” her voice oddly was low and calm but breathless “—I can explain everything.”

  “So you have said. There is no need. I quite understand what is on your mind and, I might add, on the mind of your father.”

  “May I be so bold, sir, as to say you do not. At least not where I’m concerned.”

  “You underestimate yourself, Emerald. Your father’s schemes I know well enough, but Mathias wrote of you while I was still at Buckington House, just before his death. He claims you are a young woman of high Christian ideals. Now that I’ve seen you for myself, I’m inclined to accept his sound judgment.”

  Stunned, she stared at him. “Mathias wrote you about me?”

  “I’ve met enough women in my lifetime to recognize innocence when I see it. That you are a victim rather than the instigator shows in your blush and in your eyes. You may relax, my dear. I’ve no intention of throwing you to the bears to defend Baret’s reputation. He is perhaps little better off than you at the moment. The scamp is wanted for piracy and could easily hang!”

  In a gesture of impatience that must have stemmed from anger that matters had turned out this way for his grandson, he removed his hat and dropped it on Felix’s desk. “Maracaibo,” he said with disgust. “The Spanish ambassador is likely to register an angry complaint in the court of King Charles.”

  Emerald remained silent, watching him warily, unsure whether or not she could believe his estimation of her. She was relieved that Mathias had written to him, though, and accepted this act of providence as coming beforehand by the mercies of the Lord, who had known the direction of her future. A good word had been passed to the earl about her character. Thank You, Lord.

  “I’ve no reason to doubt that my grandson abducted you as you claim. Sophie and Lavender have their own reasons why they wish to question your story, but I do not.” He looked at her. “Why the scoundrel would abduct you aboard the Regale, however, is what piqued my curiosity. Now that I’ve seen you, I can g
uess. You are a most striking young woman. Baret has always been a rake when it comes to women.”

  Her fluster only increased, and she loathed herself for it. She wished to be demure, as elegant and poised as Lavender. Instead, she stammered and blushed like a child. She also found it strange that he would say Baret was a “rake.” She had not found him anything like Sir Jasper.

  A small breath escaped her lips, and she fumbled with her hair, too aware that it was still wet and misplaced. She must appear to him as a bright-eyed wench, despite his complimentary words. His sophistication and title embarrassed her, and she began to feel the room cramped and airless.

  He smiled, and his dark eyes were much like Baret’s. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?” he asked when she remained silent.

  The rain beat against the glazed window, loud and demanding. “Your understanding, my lord Buckington, brings me profound relief.”

  “Does it indeed?”

  Yes, he was too much like his grandson.

  “I’ve already explained to Lady Geneva that I’ll not go along with my father’s wishes to become …” She paused.

  “To become Countess Buckington?” he finished for her, using the words she would never dare speak to him.

  Her gaze lowered. He did have a malicious teasing streak after all, just like Baret. Or had Baret inherited it from the earl?

  “The title has a rather pleasant ring to it, does it not? ‘Countess Emerald.’ The things lacking, of course, could be supplied—customary jewelry, polished manners, the confidence that comes from being a lady of the blood. Ah! That is another matter. And in that lies the difficulty, do you agree? The bloodline of a countess is rather important in Whitechapel, although there is the scoundrel in each of us, including His Majesty.”

  Baret had said some of these same things about the nobility but in a much more direct way. Baret often seemed to scorn nobility as though he didn’t want it. The earl, she knew, held titles in high esteem.

  She made no reply to his rhetorical question. She was not suitable, no.

  “I’ll not keep you longer than necessary.” He briefly motioned her to a hardwood chair with an imposing back that fanned out over her head.

  “Your lordship, there is no need for this. You need not try to explain. If I pride myself on anything, it’s in being realistic. I’m aware of my unacceptability as countess. And despite your anger with your grandson now, I am certain the two of you will come to peace eventually—at least I hope you do—and Baret will be an earl. Nor do I fancy myself as a countess in London. May I please go?”

  “Baret has evidently decided otherwise. He must believe you acceptable, or he wouldn’t have agreed to marry you.”

  “It is not exactly so. What happened on Tortuga was a mistake.”

  “A mistake,” he repeated with mild unbelief. “Baret was a prey of circumstance, I suppose.”

  “Perhaps not,” she agreed quickly, remembering his strength of purpose. “But my father took advantage. The viscount went along with his demands to avoid killing him in a duel. My father knew he could rely on his honor and deliberately forced him to the point where he couldn’t refuse before the buccaneers.”

  “And saving face before this brotherhood of thieves and rogues was of great import to my grandson.”

  “Because he believes his father is alive, and he needs their cooperation.”

  “You are quick to defend him.”

  “I do not defend all he does, your lordship. I also believe he sails close to being a pirate and a scoundrel.”

  Her words gave him pause. “If you admit this to the High Admiralty, you may see him arrested and brought to England to stand trial. Is that what you wish, after all? It is hardly the role of his betrothed, unless Mathias was wrong. Perhaps I have misread you. You may have plans to inherit as a wealthy young widow.”

  She flushed, offended, and stood. “You have not misread me. I do not wish his arrest, nor will I testify to his doing wrong in Maracaibo. Even so,” she confessed, “I will not deny he is a buccaneer with questionable ways. He is motivated, however, by the high ideals of his father.”

  “My son is dead,” he stated, but his eyes softened for the first time. “If Royce lives, he lives on in Baret’s heart. Unwisely, he risks his life and reputation on a goal that cannot succeed.”

  She remained cautiously silent. If the earl was to learn of Lucca and why Baret was convinced that his father yet lived, it must be left to Baret to explain, including any involvement of Felix.

  The earl appeared satisfied with the explanation of her intentions, but he watched her thoughtfully as though she had proven more complex than he had expected. Whether this pleased him or not, she couldn’t guess. What did he want of her where Baret was concerned?

  “As for Baret being taken advantage of,” he said at last, “I’m hardly able to see him in that position. He knows what he wants and usually gets it, one way or the other.”

  She wouldn’t stop to consider why those words should have ignited a small flame of expectation in her heart, providing a safe haven for her fomenting emotions.

  “I’m confident the viscount will be the first to admit he was unfairly taken advantage of when he sees you again.”

  He smiled thinly. “It appears you are admitting to more than your share of blame for this unfortunate incident. Unfortunate, because now that I’ve met you, I see you are a young woman of rather rare character, considering your upbringing. Mathias is to be commended.”

  “Your compliment brings me pleasure, Lord Buckington, the more so because it comes from you. And you are right about Mathias. I owe him so much. God was gracious to bring him into my life when I needed him so desperately. My father was away at sea for long periods, and I was left alone at the bungalow on Foxemoore.”

  “Not a pleasant situation, I suspect.”

  She sat again. “Mathias taught me to rely on the watchful eye of the Lord. It’s been an adventure—and one not lacking its problems.”

  “Nor its divine reasons for being, if you believe as did Mathias in Calvin’s theology. God is working all things together for a high and good purpose in the lives of His foreknown children! However, Tortuga was unfortunate for you, as I see it. And Karlton is responsible. Had he married according to the family’s wishes, his daughter would find matters more to her favor at this stage of life. And yet here you are! The one woman my grandson was willing to duel a French pirate to claim! An incident not altogether without its romantic flare in the minds of the women who had earlier designs on him. There are, despite his ways, more titled ladies anxious to marry my grandson than he deserves.”

  “I do not see my position in so favorable a light, my lord Buckington. These ladies in England have little to fear from me, since I will not hold him to a vow given under duress.”

  “It seems to me you take Baret’s betrothal more lightly than does he. Am I to assume, then, that you do not wish to marry Captain Baret ‘Foxworth’?”

  Her throat tightened. She lifted her head with dignity, aware of the amusement in his eyes. He didn’t believe her, and she wasn’t so certain she believed herself.

  “Perhaps the roguish buccaneer-turned-pirate is not good enough for so fine a Christian young woman?”

  Was he mocking her?

  “I think you know better than that, your lordship. He—is a fine enough catch for any woman—as Lady Thaxton will tell you, if you ask her.”

  At the mention of Lavender, she noticed a flicker of irritation. Was it displayed against Lavender or Baret?

  “I am told by Karlton that my grandson has fallen in love with you.”

  Taken off guard, she could have laughed with the cynicism she felt. Baret in love with her?

  “My father exaggerates,” she said gravely.

  His keen gaze regarded her, and to her frustration she felt the blush creeping back into her face.

  “Baret made no mention of being in love with you?”

  “No, m’lord, nor would he,”
and she added with an indifference she didn’t feel, “I think you’re already aware that he’s in love with Lady Thaxton.”

  “This upsets you?”

  She moved uncomfortably in the chair. “I don’t see that I am entitled to question his feelings in the matter, your lordship.”

  “You are quick to deny. Should I believe you? You do not care for him then?”

  She sat stiffly. “I did not say so.”

  Why would he ask such questions? He was weighing her responses like a barrister. What was he trying to find out? She had already told him that she didn’t share the grand plans of her father for winning a position in the family, but she must not allow herself to forget the earl had his own purposes. What motivated him now remained unclear.

  “So you know about the long betrothal he has had with Lavender?”

  “I am well aware, m’lord,” she said simply.

  He mused on her answer. “And are you also aware I do not wish Baret and Lavender to marry?”

  She sat, hands folded in her lap. She might tell him of Lavender’s plans, but she remained silent, not wishing to betray her, in spite of the contempt with which her cousin often treated her. “Yes. Lavender—Lady Thaxton—told me. His reputation as a buccaneer is a grief to you and the family.”

  His dark eyes flashed with sudden temper. “I warned him before he left Jamaica. The scamp ignored my warnings and entered Spanish territorial waters. He drew sword against soldiers of the ambassador! You are aware of that, of course, since you were aboard his ship.”

  “Yes, m’lord. I’m sure he’ll be able to explain.”

  “Oh, no doubt. He always does. But he’s gone too far this time.”

  Too far? Wait until he hears about the San Pedro!

  “Baret will never settle down and become the heir I wish him to be. So I’ve chosen Jette. Until he grows up, should anything happen to me, Felix will manage Jette’s estate. As for Baret, I haven’t decided … though I’ve doubled his shares in Foxemoore sugar and consigned him a cacao plantation. Baret has shown no real interest in sugar.”

  Her mind had stumbled over the news that Felix would become Jette’s guardian should anything happen to the earl. She was still contemplating this when the earl reached across his son’s desk and, lifting the lid on the silver cigarillo box, removed a slim Cuban seegar. He proceeded to light it, his temper unabated.