by S. G. Rogers
At that, Wesley’s throat closed up, and he had to clear it several times before he could speak. “Thank you, Mr. Oakhurst. I almost look upon you as a father.” He paused, trying to choose his words carefully. “If your daughter wasn’t already engaged, I would be in mind to pursue her.”
“If you’re asking for my blessing in that regard, you have it, but you’re fighting an uphill battle, I’m afraid.”
“Then you approve of her fiancé?”
“Not at all. The whole point of bringing Annabelle on this trip was to separate her from the man.”
“Is she that much in love with him?”
“No. I suspect her affection for Errol has waned considerably.”
“Well, then, I’ll convince her to end the engagement as soon as possible.”
“It won’t be easy. Annabelle has a high regard for keeping her word.”
“Nevertheless, I’ll do everything in my power as a gentleman to sway her opinion,” Wesley said.
“Best of luck, young man. Just between us, I hope you succeed.”
Mr. Vane strode into the room just then, carrying a tray with tea and toast.
“No visitors at present,” he said, glowering.
Wesley raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I’m leaving.” He gave Mr. Oakhurst one last smile. “I’ll let Annabelle know you are doing better.”
“Out,” Mr. Vane said.
Wesley slipped past the stewardess’s cabin to knock on Belle’s cabin door. Almost before he could put his hand down, she jerked the door open. Her red-rimmed eyes were wide and fearful.
“Your father’s all right,” he said quickly. “I just spoke with him.”
The frightened expression on her face eased slightly.
“The surgeon doesn’t believe any vital organs were damaged,” Wesley said.
Barefooted, Belle started forward into the empty corridor. “I must see him.”
Wesley caught her around the waist. “Not yet, Belle. Your father is resting comfortably and Mr. Vane does not want him disturbed. In fact, he threw me out.”
Belle’s muscles tensed, as if she wanted to argue.
“You don’t want to make things worse, do you?” Wesley asked.
Slowly, Belle shook her head from side to side. “I suppose not.”
Wesley helped her return to her darkened cabin, where she collapsed onto the bed like a rag doll. Worried, he snapped on the light and sat next to her. Belle’s hair had fallen from its careful arrangement, but hairpins were still entangled in the long brown strands. As gently as possible, Wesley took the pins out and put them on the dressing table. Belle’s hand crept into his.
“Thank you.”
He shivered with pleasure at her smooth, warm skin. Now isn’t the time to dwell on her touch, Wesley!
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “It’s past breakfast, but I can order something sent to your cabin.”
Her head moved slightly. No. He sighed.
“How about a cup of tea?”
Again, no.
“Have you slept at all?” he asked.
“I’ve been too frightened.” Her voice sounded hoarse and raspy. “First I nearly lost you, and then my father. I can’t take much more.”
Her eyelids drooped.
“You’ve nothing else to fear,” Wesley said. “Perhaps you can rest now?”
“Stay with me until I fall asleep?”
His fingers smoothed her hair and stroked her brow. “I can do that.”
Under his ministrations, Belle managed to close her eyes. Wesley waited by her side until her hand relaxed in his. Even when her breathing became deep and regular, he didn’t leave right away for fear of waking her. The pulse on her neck was visible. As it fluttered, Wesley couldn’t imagine feeling more protective of anyone or anything. He watched her sleep for a little while longer, marveling at the angles of her face and sweet curve of her lips. She’s like an exquisite orchid or a Calla lily…and I’m just a Yankee from Brooklyn.
A sigh escaped Belle’s lips. Wesley released her hand, turned off the light, and checked the corridor outside to make sure it was still empty. Unobserved, he left Belle’s cabin and closed the door as quietly as possible. Sleep well, my love.
Cavendish looked up from his knitting as Wesley entered the deck cabin. Exhaustion was written on the valet’s face, but he gave his employer a smile nevertheless.
“Thank you for allowing me to sleep this morning,” he said. “I’m quite grateful.”
“We were all up late, worrying, but it seems Mr. Oakhurst has pulled through.” Wesley passed a weary hand over his eyes. “I remember how I felt after my father’s accident. I was stunned and scared out of my wits, but at least I had my mother. Belle has no one except for a grandfather who has never shown any interest in her.”
“Fortunately, Miss Oakhurst has very good friends.”
“I’m trying to do what I can.” Wesley studied Cavendish for a moment. “I never thanked you properly for intervening last night. That makes twice you’ve saved my life.”
“You’re quite welcome, Your Grace. I trust there won’t be any need for a third occasion?”
“Let’s hope not.”
Cavendish resumed his knitting while Wesley settled into a chair and put his ankle up on a footrest. With the steady click of knitting needles in the background, Wesley closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
A sound startled Belle awake, and she instinctively reached for Wesley. With a sense of disappointment, she realized he’d gone. Did I only dream he was here? When a knock sounded on the door again, fear clutched her heart. Father! She wrenched the door open to find Louise, Eva, and Stacy waiting in the corridor. Belle gripped the door in relief.
“I thought you were Mr. Vane with bad news,” she said.
Louise gave her an appraising look. “The only bad news is your appearance.”
“We’re here to help,” Eva added.
The three girls filed into Belle’s cabin.
“First off, I’m taking you down the hall to the bath,” Louise said. “You’ll feel a lot better when you’re clean.”
“While you’re bathing, we’ll tidy your room and lay out something fresh for you to wear,” Eva said.
“We’ve also ordered lunch sent down. You’re going to eat, Annabelle,” Stacy said, firmly. “You simply must.”
Belle allowed her friends to bathe her, wash and comb her hair, and dress her as if she were a doll. As Stacy promised, lunch was delivered to the cabin. While Louise, Eva, and Stacy ate and chatted about inconsequentialities, Belle managed to eat a few bites of chicken cutlets. Although she didn’t participate in the conversation overmuch, she appreciated the sense of normalcy the small talk imparted.
“Thank you,” she said finally. “You are all being so kind to me and I can’t figure out why, especially after I misled you so.”
“We like you, Annabelle,” Eva said. “We need no more reason than that.”
“Before you and Louise came along, Eva and I thought we’d pull our hair out with boredom,” Stacy said. “It’s you we should thank.”
“And I know why you mentioned your grandfather,” Louise said. “It was because I was carrying on and on about royalty, like an idiotic goose. You probably thought it would hush me up.”
“You can’t shield me from my transgression as easily as that, Louise,” Belle said. “But I thank you for the effort.” She gave her friend a hug.
“Before we forget, let’s do exchange addresses,” Eva said.
Belle passed around sheets of the ship’s stationery.
“Mama, Stephen, and I are staying at the Savoy Hotel while we’re in London,” Louise said as she scribbled her home address. “Do you know it, Annabelle?”
“I haven’t visited the Savoy, but I hear it’s a splendid hotel,” Belle said. “It was built by Richard D’Oyly Carte and opened just last year.”
“The Gilbert and Sullivan man?” Louise asked.
“The very sam
e. I hope you will write to me,” Belle said.
“I hope I can do better than write,” Louise said. “I’d love to come visit you.”
“Stacy and I will come too, if we can find a way to slip out from under Grandmama’s nose,” Eva said.
“Wouldn’t that be splendid? Although someone will have to show me where Mansbury is on a map,” Stacy said.
“I’ll miss the three of you very much,” Belle said.
She embraced Louise, Eva, and Stacy in turn, and then her smile turned mischievous. “I wonder…should we have one last meeting of the dance club this afternoon? I promised to teach you the polka after all.”
Louise squealed with delight. “I was hoping you’d feel like going on with it. Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. It will take my mind off my troubles, and the captain did offer us the saloon. We can’t insult him by refusing, can we?”
“There’s nothing like a foundering ship and attempted murder to take the fun out of traveling,” Stephen said as he buttered a warm, crusty roll at lunch. “Half so eventful a voyage would have suited me.”
Wesley laughed. “I would have preferred it to have been positively dull. Perhaps henceforth our journeys will be ordinary.”
“Mother, Louise, and I will be met in Liverpool tomorrow afternoon by our British cousins,” Stephen said. “I’ll have a great many stories to tell them on the train ride to London.”
“I believe we’ll spend the night in Liverpool so Mr. Oakhurst can rest. Then we’ll travel directly to my estate the following morning,” Wesley said.
“I was perfectly serious before, about meeting you in London. You’ll look into it, won’t you?” Stephen asked.
“Yes, of course…but I’d also like to have you stay at Caisteal Park.”
Louise slid into the chair next to her brother. “I’m glad I caught you both. The dance club is on for this afternoon! Annabelle has agreed to teach us the polka.”
Wesley was taken aback. “She has? How did you manage that?”
“With a liberal dose of kindness and a serving of chicken cutlets,” Louise said. “Eva, Stacy, and I ordered lunch sent to her cabin and Annabelle was much cheered by our company.”
Wesley frowned. “I can’t dance with my sprained ankle.”
“Not to worry, Wesley. I can partner Miss Oakhurst on your behalf,” Stephen said.
Wesley gave him a level look. “Thanks, Stephen. I knew I could count on you.”
Belle made her way to Mr. Vane’s office to check on her father, only to find him asleep, strapped into the bed for safety. Several inches below his right clavicle, a thick square gauze bandage was visible. Belle’s eyes widened in alarm at her father’s unhealthy pallor, and she bit back a gasp.
“Is my father supposed to be so pale, Mr. Vane?” she murmured.
“He lost a great deal of blood, and I’ve given him laudanum to help him sleep. Don’t worry overmuch, Miss Oakhurst. I’ve attended lectures by Joseph Lister himself on the best ways to prevent infection.”
The doctor’s smile was sincere and Belle managed to take a deep breath.
“May I speak with him later?” she asked.
“Perhaps. When he wakens, I’ll tell him you were here. You should probably bring a change of clothes for him, lass. He’ll need something to wear when he leaves the ship tomorrow—and he’s not to carry anything until his wound closes completely.”
“I’ll see to it, Mr. Vane.”
Heartened by the doctor’s prognosis, Belle hastened off to the dance club meeting.
Any reminders of the midday meal had been removed by the time the club assembled in the saloon. Although Wesley couldn’t participate physically, he watched and listened as Belle described the basic polka steps. Cavendish seated himself at the organ situated in the orchestra niche. When he began to play the Tritsch-Tratsch Polka by Johann Strauss, the lively tune set Wesley’s uninjured foot tapping. Since the dance club was one gentleman short, each lady sat out at least one polka. When it was Belle’s turn, she slid into the seat next to Wesley. Her eyes were bright and her skin was flushed from the exercise.
“It’s so very good to see you cheerful again,” Wesley said.
“I was completely undone this morning. Thank you being so lovely to me. When I awoke, I thought it must have been a dream.” She watched the dancers for a few moments, a misty smile on her lips. “I’m going to miss this.”
“So will I. I’ve been thinking…does Caisteal Park have bedrooms enough for all our friends?”
“With plenty to spare.”
“I’d like to invite everyone to Mansbury for a week or two.”
“Oh, Wesley, that would be so much fun!” Her smile slipped slightly. “It would give everyone a chance to meet Errol.”
Although Wesley had the overwhelming urge to take Belle’s hand and ask her to break the engagement, he didn’t. Now isn’t the place or the time to discuss intimate matters.
“Indeed it would,” he replied, as gallantly as he knew how. “There’s a ballroom at Caisteal Park, I trust?”
“An enormous one, with a grand piano. I doubt, in all the years your uncle was in residence, that the ballroom was ever used.”
“That will soon change.”
After the last dance, Wesley gathered his friends together to tell them about the party. He was gratified when his announcement was met with excitement and glee.
“I’ll have my mother send formal invitations, of course, but save the date,” he said. “It will be three weeks from Saturday, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. I understand the house is very grand, and I’d enjoy your company.”
“Caisteal Park almost a palace,” Belle said. “In fact, the word caisteal is Gaelic for castle.”
“I hope Grandmama hasn’t already made plans,” Eva said.
“If she has, she can change them,” Stacy retorted. “I’m going to Wesley’s party.”
“I agree,” Carl said. “How often do we get invited to a house party in the English countryside?”
“By a duke, no less,” Horatio added.
“I’ll inform Mama that Stephen and I have been invited,” Louise said. “I don’t care what she has to say about it.”
“Mrs. Van Eyck is welcome, too,” Wesley said.
“There are more than enough rooms for everyone,” Belle said.
Wesley glanced at Stephen. “What say you?”
“You couldn’t keep me away.”
After the meeting, Belle went to visit her father in the ship’s hospital. On the way, she stopped by his cabin to gather together a change of clothes and any toiletries he would need that evening. Her father was awake when she arrived, and she was pleased a little more color had returned to his face since she’d seen him last.
“Hello, Papa!”
She gave him a kiss on the cheek before setting his things on a nearby table.
“I’ve caused a bit of trouble, haven’t I?” he replied, glancing down at his bandages.
“You are brave, heroic, and no trouble whatsoever.” Belle turned serious. “I owe you an apology, Papa. I shouldn’t have made up a story about my grandfather. I embarrassed you at dinner last night and I’m very sorry.”
“You didn’t embarrass me, Belle, but telling a falsehood is never a good thing. Therefore, I owe you an apology as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“I let you believe your grandfather didn’t want to see you. That isn’t true. It was my choice to keep you from him.”
Belle was taken aback. “Why?”
“Hurt pride at the way he treated me, partly. The other reason was pure selfishness. Hamish Heathcliff is a very wealthy man, and he could have given you a great many things I couldn’t. I was afraid of losing you to his influence.”
“Oh, my dearest Papa, don’t apologize. I’ve wanted for nothing and you could never lose me.”
“Thank you, Annabelle, but I’m heartily ashamed of my behavior.”
“You
nearly died to protect Wesley, Papa. As far as I’m concerned, you can do no wrong.”
Belle poured her father a glass of water from the pitcher nearby, fluffed his pillow, and straightened his blankets. “Now, I don’t want you to worry about a thing except for getting better.”
A sharp sense of remorse accompanied Belle as she left to dress for dinner. It was she who was in the wrong, not her father. Her lie had caused him pain in a way she hadn’t anticipated and uncovered old resentments best left buried in the past. I’ve failed in my duties as a good daughter, and Mama would be so disappointed in me. I mustn’t fail him again—no matter what the cost.
After dinner, Belle retired to the ladies’ sitting room for a game of whist with Louise, Eva, and Stacy. Stephen challenged Carl and Horatio to a cards-in-the-hat contest, and Mr. Ley claimed Wesley for a last game of chess. The match went on far longer than any of their previous games. Three times Wesley managed to check Mr. Ley’s king, but the older man still won. He clapped Wesley on the shoulder.
“Well played, sir. You’re becoming a formidable opponent, I must say. In the few matches we’ve had, you’ve learned to protect your queen. The instinct for knowing when to attack will develop with practice.”
Wesley sat back with a crooked grin. “Does that apply to courtship as well?”
Mr. Ley roared with laughter. “In my opinion, it’s far easier to secure a victory in chess than in love.”
“But far less rewarding,” Wesley said.
“Truer words were never spoken.”
Mr. Ley produced his calling card, wrote something on the back, and gave it to Wesley. “I’d be happy to propose you for membership to my gentlemen’s club in London.”
Wesley glanced at the back of the card, upon which Mr. Ley had written The Adventurer’s Club.
“Let me know when you’ll be in town next, and you can have a look around,” Mr. Ley said. “It’s not as traditional or fancy as the Carlton Club or White’s, but it’s a nice place to put your feet up and have a drink.”
Genuine pleasure lit Wesley’s face. “That’s very kind, sir, and I’d be delighted to meet your friends. I do hope you’ll come for a visit at Caisteal Park. In fact, I’m hosting a ball in three weeks.”