The Captain's Letters

by Caylen McQueen

  “Dogs?” Though she looked a bit puzzled, Phoebe answered the question with a smile. “Certainly! Who could not like dogs? Although, to be quite honest, I enjoy them most when they are puppies. A part of me wishes they could stay small and adorable forever.”

  “I like dogs,” Edward said. It was such a random topic, but he could not think of another. In his mind, he chided himself for arriving unprepared. How could he possibly impress the girl if he sounded like a witless looby? “I have three.”

  Before they could be struck by another awkward silence, the maid announced the arrival of a second visitor. When they realized it was none other than Augustus Wolfe, Phoebe exchanged worried glances with her aunt.

  And when Edward realized the other gentleman arrived with flowers in his hand, he was noticeably crestfallen.

  “Good day to you, Miss Bowden,” Augustus said, bowing to Phoebe as he presented the bouquet. “I hope you are well?”

  “Very much so, Mr. Wolfe. And what a pleasure to see you again!” As she studied the marigolds in her hand, she noticed they were very nearly the same color as her hair. She wondered if the match was intentional.

  “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” Augustus slid a glance in the direction of Edward. A small but obvious sneer briefly appeared on his nose as he studied his young rival. “I must say, I am surprised to find you indoors. The weather is so remarkable, I was almost certain I would be visiting you in the garden today.”

  Phoebe turned toward the window, where rays of sunshine poured through the pane. She swore she could feel the rays' warmth, even at a distance. “Perhaps we should venture into the garden, then?” she suggested.

  “We should,” her aunt agreed. “And I will accompany you, of course.”

  Edward muttered a few words of agreement before following the others into the garden. Ever since the other man arrived, Edward could not stop glaring at him. How could he, a whelp of eighteen, possibly complete with a seasoned blonde Apollo? His rival was seven and twenty. Why would Phoebe settle on a boy when she could have a man such as Augustus?

  Because, regardless of age, I am the better man, Edward attempted to reassure himself. He would have to try much harder to win her heart, for she did not deserve to lose it to the rake who was standing at her side.

  “Your hair in the sunlight,” Augustus observed. “My dear, it is practically on fire!”

  “It is very red,” Phoebe agreed with a chuckle. “Or possibly orange.”

  “I have always envied her hair,” Marie said of her niece. “She has never liked it, but I have always thought that red is rare and lovely.”

  “It is lovely,” Augustus agreed. “Of course, Miss Sutton... your hair is also lovely. It is as dark as a sky without stars, and it shimmers like the moon on black water.”

  “That sounds like poetry, Mr Wolfe,” Phoebe said—and though she praised him, she secretly hated that her aunt was the one receiving his compliments.

  “I do try,” he said.

  Suddenly, their stroll through the garden was interrupted by an unwelcome visitor. A streak of brown fur sped toward them. For a monkey who was likely middle-aged, Bosh dashed at an impressive speed. In an instant, he scaled the length of Augustus' body and absconded with his hat. The mischievous monkey cackled loudly as he raced away with the stolen accessory.

  “Bosh!” Marie squealed. “Bosh, return Mr. Wolfe's hat at once!”

  “Worry not, Miss Bowden. The hat is no loss. It is such an old and shabby thing.” Augustus turned around, locking eyes with the young man who trailed behind them. “Although he should have stolen your hat, Mr... what is your name again?”

  “Mr. Rhodes.” Edward was glaring as he answered the question.

  “Ah, yes. Mr. Rhodes. As I was saying, the monkey should have stolen your hat, as it appears to be even worse for wear.”

  Mr. Rhodes swept his hat from his head and studied it. “Is it... truly so terrible?”

  “It is perfectly fine,” Marie defended him. “And Bosh should know better than to steal any hat. That man's monkey is insufferable, I swear...”

  “Should we chase after him?” Augustus asked. “Or should I let him have the blasted thing? It isn't as if I'd miss it. If the creature wants it so bad that he's willing to swipe it from my head, perhaps I should let him claim it.”

  “I am truly sorry,” Phoebe sighed loudly as she spoke. “Bosh has not acted so fiendishly in some time.”

  “You needn't apologize for the loss of my hat. In fact, I find it rather amusing.” He pointed at Bosh, who was standing at the end of the garden path, whooping victoriously as he stomped on Augustus's hat. “I'm not so attached to any garment that I would not sacrifice it for a monkey's entertainment.”

  “Your greatcoat?” Phoebe asked with a giggle. “It looks like a very fine garment, and I would hate to see you lose it.”

  “I would tear it off and sacrifice it to that cheeky devil in a heartbeat!” Augustus vowed. “He could even have my trousers, if he wished it.”

  Marie grunted loudly. She hoped he would realize she did not approve of their current topic of conversation.

  As he walked behind them, Edward pouted silently. Ever since the moment he arrived, Augustus had dominated the conversation. Edward was desperate to take his leave, for it was embarrassing to be their shadow—but he did not know how to excuse himself without rudely interrupting.

  “Might I ask...” Augustus began, “why do you have a monkey?”

  “The monkey is a pet of my stepfather,” Phoebe explained. “He brought it with him when he returned from an overseas voyage.”

  “I see. As adorable as he is, I would have been tempted to leave the little monster behind.” As he gave his opinion on Bosh, Augustus watched the monkey continue to terrorize his hat. The animal chewed on the hat's rim and pounded on the top of it. “Look at that! He seems fiercely determined to obliterate it.”

  “Again... I am terribly sorry,” Phoebe apologized.

  “And again... you needn't apologize! I find it quite funny. Honestly.” For a moment, Augustus' eyes met Phoebe's, and his gaze wandered to her freckles. In the sunlight, he saw just how plentiful they were. Her face was quite literally consumed by them. “Your face... your freckles...” he began, but did not finish his thought.

  “What about them, Mr. Wolfe?”

  “They are adorable.” When he was confident that Marie was no longer paying attention, Augustus lightly tapped a very large freckle on Phoebe's nose. “Have you ever counted them?”

  “No. I fear I would be counting for days!”

  “I would happily volunteer to count them... if counting them meant I could stare at your face for days.”

  When he heard the other man's compliment, Edward groaned. How could he possibly compete with a rival who did not shy away from relentless flirtation?

  Phoebe's face was inflamed, so she assumed she was blushing furiously. “You are... too kind.”

  “If kindness is honesty, then I suppose I am kind. I only speak the truth,” Augustus told her. “You are lovely, Miss Bowden.”

  Edward groaned again.

  As hopeless as he was, he assumed he would have an easier time wooing Bosh.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You should be grateful that you never had to dance with me, my love.” Joseph raised his walking stick as he spoke to Amanda. “In my youth, even before I had the limp, I was quite a horrid dancer.”

  “I wasn't much better, I am afraid,” Amanda confessed. “I could never recall all the steps. I really was hopeless.”

  Amanda and Joseph had accompanied Phoebe to another small gathering. Though Marie was an excellent chaperone, she thought her sister deserved a break from her duties. Amanda had secretly hoped that, by sending her sister with Phoebe, Marie might form an attachment to a gentleman of her own. She was, after all, not too terribly old, and she was still quite pretty. Unfortunately, it seemed as if the only beau Marie desired was contained within the pages of the let
ters she had devoured countless times.

  “I'm sure you are a terrific dancer!” Joseph defended his wife. “But please... you needn't prove it. I would hate to see you dancing with another. I do get jealous.”

  “If I cannot dance with you, Joseph, I would not dance with anyone,” his wife assured him. Amanda briefly turned away from her husband and watched the dancers circle the room. Her daughter, with her flaming red hair, was easily recognized in the crowd. Phoebe was, at present, dancing with a gentleman of little note whose name Amanda could not remember.

  When the dance ended, Phoebe was immediately escorted back to her mother's side. Amanda held a fan in front of her lips and whispered to her daughter, “Who is that gentleman you danced with? I am afraid I cannot remember his name.”

  “Mr. Woollsey.”

  “Ah, of course. Mr. Woollsey.” Though she pretended to recall the name, Amanda had not the slightest clue who the young man was. “He seems very... kind?”

  “He is,” Phoebe agreed with her mother's reluctant compliment. “Very much so.” And though she appreciated that he saved her from becoming a total wallflower, Phoebe could think of nothing else to say about Mr. Woollsey. He was quiet and a bit peculiar, so there was really nothing else to be said. She secretly wished Augustus Wolfe would approach her, but he was busily flirting with a buxom widow at the opposite end of the Assembly room. And Edward Rhodes, sadly, was not in attendance.

  Phoebe caught herself glaring at the widow who held her beau's attention. If that was the sort of woman Augustus preferred, Phoebe prepared herself for an imminent defeat. In no way could she compete with the widow's abundant decolletage. Why could she not be pretty and well-endowed? Phoebe was trying not to despise herself, but nature had been very unfair to her!

  Her moment of self-loathing ended when she was approached by a friend. Emily Watkins had the thinnest lips, the blondest hair, and the most ear-piercingly high-pitched voice that anyone had ever heard. Conversing with her was a bit like conversing with a mouse. Her golden curls had been adorably arranged, but her large Roman nose was sadly a distraction.

  “Phoebe,” her friend's tiny voice hissed. “Phoebe, is it true?”

  Phoebe loathed gossip, but she knew it interested Emily, so she asked, “Is what true?”

  “Is Augustus Wolfe a suitor of yours? Truly?”

  Phoebe did not know what to make of the shock in Emily's voice. “I... suppose you might call him that... although he has shunned me quite thoroughly tonight.” Suitor? Phoebe's head tilted to one side as she reconsidered the word. “On second thought, I am not certain I would call him a suitor, precisely. But I have spent some time with him.”

  “So it's true... he's called on you?”

  “Only once.” The awe in Emily's voice filled Phoebe with a peculiar sense of pride. “Only days ago, we had a wonderful turn around the garden.”

  “Is that so?” Emily's shrill voice sounded perplexed. “The handsomest man in the room has been dancing attendance on you?”

  “Why do you sound so appalled? Is he so far above my reach that the idea is ludicrous to you?”

  “Do not misinterpret my words, Phoebe. You are pretty... in your own way,” Emily went on. “But Mr. Wolfe is something remarkable. He is a statue of Apollo come to life! That he would choose to spend his time with you... well... even you must admit it is somewhat surprising!”

  “You are too kind, Emily,” Phoebe sarcastically replied. “Oh, how you fill me with confidence!”

  “But he is so very handsome!” Emily continued to praise him. “His hair is like spun gold!”

  “Don't hold back, Em...” Phoebe shook her head and sighed. “If you must insult me, say exactly what is on your mind. If you mean to say he is too handsome for me, by all means...”

  Before her friend could utter a word in her defense, the topic of their conversation suddenly appeared in front of them. When she saw Augustus smiling down at her, Phoebe audibly gasped—and she immediately regretted her embarrassing reaction to him.

  “Miss Bowden... always a pleasure,” he greeted her.

  “I... y-yes...” Phoebe stuttered a reply. Augustus was so handsome, he often rendered her tongue a useless organ.

  “Who is your companion?” As he regarded the young lady standing beside Phoebe, his nose subtly flared in disinterest.

  “This is Emily Watkins, a friend of mine.”

  As she bobbed a curtsy, Emily said, “It is such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wolfe. Such a pleasure!”

  His blue eyes widened when he heard her piercing voice. “Ah... yes... likewise. It seems you already know my name. Am I truly so notorious?”

  “Famous,” Emily corrected his word choice. “You are famous.”

  “Is that so? Well, I cannot say I'm unhappy to hear it. If the young ladies are whispering about me, that could only be a good thing.”

  “Unless they're whispering bad rumors,” Phoebe added. “I have heard some rather unflattering gossip about you, Mr. Wolfe.”

  “Any gossip that paints me as anything less than saintly is entirely untrue! I am actually perfection!” he said with a wink. Though he was clearly being facetious, Phoebe wondered if there was a shred of truth in his words. Augustus certainly did not seem like a man who lacked for ego. “So, Miss Bowden...?”

  Phoebe's heart started beating faster when he hesitated to complete his thought. “Yes?”

  “Would you care to dance with me?” he asked. “I saw you dancing with Mr. Woollsey earlier, and I pity you. A lovely young lady such as yourself deserves a proper partner.”

  Though she did not face her friend, Phoebe could imagine Emily's expression. She would undoubtedly be incredibly envious. “Of course, Mr. Wolfe. I would like that very much!”

  “Wonderful.” He held out his arm to her, which she happily accepted. “Let us make a point to walk past Mr. Woollsey as I lead you to the dance floor. Let him seethe with jealousy!”

  “You're so cruel,” Phoebe said with a giggle.

  “I cannot argue with that. And I would be even more cruel if Mr. Rhodes was here,” Augustus claimed. “I would flaunt you in front of him until the young man had tears in his eyes.”

  “So cruel,” she repeated as they lined up for the quadrille.

  When the steps of the dance permitted it, Augustus continued his conversation with her. “Is that whelp actually attempting to woo you?” he asked.

  “Mr. Rhodes?” They were temporarily parted by the dance, but when he returned, she said, “I suppose he might consider himself my beau, but I cannot be sure.”

  “The poor lad...” Augustus shook his head and heaved and exaggerated sigh. “He's barely more than a boy. How can I possibly think of him as a serious rival?”

  “A rival, Mr. Wolfe?” The dance separated them again, but as soon as he reappeared, Phoebe finished her thought. “You think of him as a rival for... what, exactly?”

  “A rival for your heart, of course,” Augustus said. “And as I said, it is a shame he is not here, for I am sure I would profoundly enjoy the sight of him sulking as I dance with you.”

  “You are such a wicked man.”

  “Am I? I suppose I am.” He grinned at her. “But for you, Miss Bowden, I would try very hard to be worthy.”

  By the end of the dance, Phoebe's heart was hammering harder than ever. Even if he was toying with her—and she suspected he was—his words made her pulse race uncontrollably. Augustus seized Phoebe's arm and led her not to her mother, but to the furthest corner of the room, where they disappeared behind an enormous column.

  “Where are we going?” she whispered the question.

  “We're hiding from the crowd.” With a wink, he added, “Clearly.”

  “But are you certain that is entirely proper?”

  “Nothing about me is entirely proper, Miss Bowden. Surely you must know that about me already?” With an index finger, he tucked a lock of Phoebe's hair behind her ear. When she felt his finger grazing her skin,
her entire body exploded with tingles. “I must say... you are an undeniably lovely young lady.”

  “I... am?” Her hands were trembling at her sides, so she clenched her fists.

  “Indeed. You are very pretty and remarkably kind. I was drawn to you from the moment I saw you. Your hair is the loveliest shade, and your smile is irresistibly sweet.” Augustus leaned closer to her as he spoke. “I find myself longing to be in your company... always.”

  “Th-that is... M-Mr. Wolfe, I...”

  “Are you nervous?” His thumb gently stroked her cheek. “You needn't be so.”

  “You are... far too handsome for me. I have no idea why you would waste your time on me.”

  “I'm not wasting my time! I'm spending my time in the best possible way!” he disagreed. “And who on earth has led you believe I am too handsome for you? I have never heard something so ridiculous in my entire life!”

  “Actually... my friend said it.”

  “Miss Watkins?”

  “Yes. Emily.”

  “Your own friend suggested you were not a match for me?” Augustus threw his head back and chuckled so loudly, Phoebe was afraid someone would spot them behind the column. “Forgive me for saying so, Phoebe... but she sounds like a friend you could live without.”

  Phoebe. When she heard him say her given name, she nearly swooned. Perhaps it was too soon for him to treat her so informally, but she did not mind—not when her name sounded so magical when spoken in his deep, rich voice. “Mr. Wolfe, I--”

  Suddenly, Augustus' lips descended. His lips barely had a chance to brush against hers before she ducked away and gasped, “What on earth are you doing?”

  “Kissing you,” Augustus answered with a shrug. “Surely you're familiar with the concept of kissing?”

  “Of course!” she snarled at him.

  “Good gracious, Phoebe! You needn't get so irate! I am only teasing you.”

  “If I am irate, it is not because you are teasing me... it is because you attempted to kiss me at all!” Phoebe whispered her reprimand, for she did not want to be overheard. “I am... utterly saturated in disappointment.”