His Secret Heroine

by Delle Jacobs

  "Warrenton?" MacDevie asked, not bothering to look at Reggie.

  Reggie shook his head. "He loves to race too much. It's no contest to run a race against a crippled ship."

  "Who, then?"

  He'd probably never know. "Maybe someone with a healthy wager on the Argonaut."

  Across the river on the south, a line of carriages sprang to action, away from the river to follow the main road between Gravesend to Sheerness. Reggie scanned over the lot of them until he spotted Castlebury's distinct blue and gold. With him, two women, unless he missed his guess, Chloe and her aunt. Castlebury would probably lessen his risk for their sakes, but he'd go for speed on the less traveled route.

  The carriages would race the boats all the way to Sheerness, no matter what Reggie had asked, a good race in and of itself, for while Reggie couldn't sail faster than good teams could run, his wind wouldn't tire. The vessels were forced to follow the river's winding course, but the carriages had to tackle rough and winding roads. But he knew Castlebury, who would have taken the trouble to have his own pairs stationed at the hostelries along the route, and his own men to make the changes, to assure himself of the best fresh horseflesh.

  Straight down the channel and around the bend, the Xanthe sailed with masts and booms creaking, rigging snapping and humming. Adjusting to the larboard turn, they slowed and the sails rippled, lacking the full force of the wind with the sails canted. But the Argonaut slowed too.

  Reggie's task was partly to keep track of the competition, and he watched as the Argonaut sought her favorite channel, safe, but crowded. The river's shifting mud could make a passage treacherous, wiping out yesterday's channel as surely as if it had never existed, and most boats stuck to the surer routes. But this was a time for daring, not safety.

  "MacDevie, that new channel you found last week. Can we take it?"

  MacDevie grinned. "Done, sir. The wind's right, but it's a shallow one. We could run aground."

  And be a laughingstock. "It's happened before, and will happen again. But we have to make up time."

  MacDevie stuck to his business. At the bow, the pilot called out, and MacDevie answered. Booms swung, shifting the sails. Tricky business, this. They had to sail farther south than the straightest line, and would lose time, and draw jeers from the Argonaut for their foolishness. But if the channel worked, they'd cut half a mile off their route, and keep the best wind, while the Argonaut, secure in its lead, would have to slow and maneuver against traffic from the oncoming slower full-rigged ships.

  If it didn't work, Xanthe would be high and dry till next high tide. Reggie would be twenty quid poorer, and Chloe would lose her faith in him as a crack seaman.

  MacDevie held the helm as sails shifted. They lowered the mainsail and jibs, slowing, nudging their way along an unknown river bottom, which could have shifted even since yesterday.

  Rigging creaked and lines hummed with a turn to starboard. The pilot called out. MacDevie answered, sharpening the turn.

  "Aye, there's a girl!" shouted the pilot, plumbing the depths and keeping his eye on the narrow channel as if he could see through the murky water to what lay beneath. "Full sail, MacDevie!"

  They'd made it into the narrow channel. Far to larboard, the Argonaut still struggled in the main channel, blocked by big square-rigged merchant ships. Once again the jibs and mainsail rose to full height and caught the wind, and the Xanthe surged ahead. She ran a clean course through the deceptive channel back to the busy river, while Warrenton clipped close behind, tacking and wearing past the lugging merchantmen until he, too, had a clean shot down the river. The heavy traffic wouldn't hit the river again until the next tide turned to carry them upstream to the docks.

  The carriages kept pace, racing about a mile in from the river, where they could only be seen sporadically. There were fewer of them now. Castlebury's phaeton was still in the lead, but Reggie couldn't make out its occupants.

  The channel once again narrowed before the Argonaut caught them. She couldn't come up behind and overtake them here. She'd have to sail too close, and risk tangling her rigging in the Xanthe. Warrenton wasn't that kind of fool.

  As the channel widened again, the Argonaut pressed them, all sails flying. But MacDevie was on to that, and tacked to larboard, blocking the larger vessel.

  It was a clean shot into port. The Xanthe tied up first.

  Over a little sandy hummock came the first of the carriages as it raced through the streets of Sheerness. Castlebury's phaeton, with the women holding on for dear life. Reggie would ring a peal over him for that, but it would change nothing.

  Ship secured, Reggie swung over the side and leaped to the dock just as the carriages pulled up.

  Warrenton dashed up, his brown eyes shining. "Damn good race, Lord Reginald!" he said, slapping twenty quid into Reggie's hand. "How'd you find that little channel?"

  "Already knew about it," Reggie replied. "We would have beaten you by ten minutes if we hadn't been spiked."

  Warrenton's face paled. "I didn't do it."

  "I know that. Who was betting?"

  Warrenton looked back over his shoulder, warily assessing the round of gentlemen behind them. Reggie caught the drift. It could have been any one of them. But he caught Vilheurs' eye and saw fury. So that was it. Vilheurs had a higher stake in the race than money. He meant to make Reggie look a fool to Chloe, and make a bit of blunt in the process.

  "Let it go, then," he said.

  "I'll be going, then." Warrenton nestled his dark brown beaver hat tightly on his scalp. Any other time he would have stayed around, but the cit didn't have much use for the upper crust. His own friends collected around the Argonaut, ready to recharge their hero with rounds of ale in the local inn. Sadness hung like a lump in Reggie's throat, thinking of the man who was as good a man as any he knew. Warrenton had a sister who had married a baron, but Warrenton himself would be forever a cit. The world had a strange way of measuring a man's worth.

  "Good race," Reggie called back.

  A little shifting around, and Reggie took up in Bibury's curricle, for a slow ride to the sands, where they spread a picnic lunch.

  Lady Lavington, decked out in a ridiculously prim dress of white lace and a wide pink sash, sat on a blanket beside Vilheurs, and while Vilheurs couldn't keep his eyes off Chloe, Lady Lavington coyly batted her eyes and ducked her head as if she were blushing. Reggie guessed the woman had not had a legitimate blush since she left the schoolroom. Seeing him looking her way, she jumped up and started a silly schoolgirl skip in his direction.

  Reggie felt like a rock had lodged in his throat, and cast about for a quick escape route.

  "Ah, Lord Reginald, I see you are alone."

  Reggie turned to see Miss Hawarth, her sweet pale green eyes reflecting mischief. Seeing her unescorted, Reggie took her arm, and led her away in the opposite direction of Lady Lavington's onslaught.

  He fought the awkward sense of imbalance, studying the tough grass and sand with all the intensity he had once poured into seeking Chloe's eyes.

  Tough work, this pretense of not caring.

  Miss Hawarth gave him a warm smile, meant to reassure, he was sure, but her pale green eyes were so much like Chloe's, he found it hard.

  "You are very kind, Lord Reginald," she said, "But you must not feel you must do the pretty for me. I am a spinster by choice, you know."

  He grimaced. He had heard that. "But surely, Miss Hawarth, since I am in need of company and I find you companionable, you do not object."

  "Oh, not at all, Lord Reginald. It is just that, well, I had so hoped. But, well, it is not for me to say."

  "It appears it is not for me to say, either."

  "Oh. Dear. Then is there no hope, Lord Reginald?"

  He studied the pleading green eyes, and added Miss Hawarth to his list of conspirators. He smiled. "There is hope, Miss Hawarth. As long as we have breath. I pray you, do not give up yet."

  * * *

  The following day, Chloe was in t
he kitchen occupied with one of her favorite secret tasks, baking bread, when she heard the sounds of a caller above. With a quick punch, she deflated the risen dough, covered it with a damp cloth, unpinned her apron and dashed up the steps. As she reached the door to the long corridor, she recognized the voices.

  The Duke of Marmount and Aunt Daphne. Her jaw tightened as she brushed fingers over her face, hoping to wipe away any stray flour that might cling there. Her heart pounded at the thought of the odious duke, but she paused to take a deep, long breath to calm herself, then marched toward the salon.

  "You were not invited here," Aunt Daphne said, the sharp edge of her voice echoing down the corridor.

  "I am the Duke of Marmount. I go where I please. I have no need of invitations."

  "So I have heard, and it is not surprising, as you are neither invited nor wanted."

  Chloe gulped. Whatever the man wanted, it could not be good, but Aunt Daphne's confrontation could only make it worse. She stepped into the salon, and the duke turned to face her.

  For an immensely long moment, the duke stared as if he could not stop, in the oddest gawk she had ever seen, as if he saw some shocking sort of apparition. A shiver coursed up her spine.

  "Ah, there you are, Miss Englefield," he said, returning his face to its usual flat, hard look. "I was given to believe you were not at home."

  "I am not 'at home' to callers on Tuesdays, Your Grace. It is my day for other things."

  "Baking, I presume?" A touch of a sneer accompanied his falsely pleasant smile.

  Involuntarily, she touched her hair, thinking stray flour clung there to betray her unladylike activity, then realized that very gesture exposed her. She shoved the offending hand into the grasp of the other one and clasped it tightly. "A pastime I enjoy," she replied.

  "Indeed. Perhaps you are to be admired for your industriousness, Miss Englefield."

  Chloe also read the unspoken statement that the reverse was more likely to be true. She clenched her teeth and stood silently, for it seemed the more she said, the worse things got.

  She waited, still silent. If he wanted to talk, let him do it. The duke surveyed her in his detached way. Chloe met his gaze with the same hardness.

  "I am very pleased to see you chose to take my advice, Miss Englefield, and I am prepared to reward you for it. You see, I keep my promises." He reached into his waistcoat and removed a sheet of fine rag paper, which he held out to her.

  When she did not reach for it, he shoved it closer. A bank draft. She could read the 'five thousand pounds' he had written on it. Chloe gripped her hand so tightly, her ring bit into her fingers, and she shook her head. "I have done nothing at your behest, Your Grace. Nor did you make me any promises, only threats. I will not take your money."

  "Ah. You think to hold out for a bigger prize."

  "I have said I will not take your money. You will find, I also keep my word. But I find it amazing, since you have got what you want at no cost, why you now seek to pay for it?"

  A tight muscle twitched in his jaw, but nothing showed in his eyes. Chloe began to sense this was like a chess game, with each move carefully assessed before a counter move was made. And he had not expected her response.

  "My son is to marry his cousin, Portia Nightengale, Miss Englefield, not you. You have broken your attachment with him, and that was wise of you. However, Reginald has not yet come up to scratch."

  "Perhaps he does not want to marry his cousin."

  "And that is your doing, Miss Englefield. He was perfectly malleable before you came into the picture. Now you will have to correct that."

  Chloe thought of a lot of things to say, most of which were better left unsaid. "I am so sorry you know your son so poorly, Your Grace." Perhaps she should not have said that, either, but it was out, and could not be taken back.

  The duke's eyes narrowed. He reached into the waistcoat again, and this time removed a bundle of papers, of miscellaneous size and style, tied together with string. "Do you know what this is, Miss Englefield?"

  Chloe swallowed, but the lump in her throat would not go down. She had a suspicion, a very nasty one.

  The duke flipped through the papers. "Dillard's. Hatchard's. Rafferty, the draper and purveyor of goods of suspicious origin, a few others. You have accumulated a rather sizeable debt for a woman, and in a very short period of time."

  She swallowed hard, her heart pounding. He had her bills. He must have bought them up. Did he have them all?

  The duke handed her another paper, a list. A very long list. Chloe scanned down it, her hands shaking.

  "You paid these."

  "If I have missed any, you may feel free to tell me, and I will see to them as well. You are to be debt-free, Miss Englefield."

  "Except to you."

  "Smart girl."

  She crumpled the list in her hand and tossed it into the firegrate, wishing to heaven it were winter and she had a roaring fire there. "You cannot buy me, Your Grace."

  His iron-cold gaze remained unchanged. "I do not need to buy you, as I own you already. But you need not fear, I shall give you a full month before you must begin repayment. At one thousand per month."

  Chloe thought her heart stopped.

  Aunt Daphne gasped. "You are a perfect villain."

  "If you wish to think so, you may," said the duke, not even bothering to glance in Aunt Daphne's direction. "You, of course, are naught but a dried up, penniless spinster, so your opinion is of no importance." He turned his attention back to Chloe with not so much as a pause to see if his jab had inflicted a wound. "In the event, Miss Englefield, the terms I grant you are within reason. If you find yourself unable to pay, I give you an alternative-simply that, when Reginald marries his cousin, all your notes will be returned to you."

  "And if I do not comply?"

  The strange smile he gave her was almost paternal. "Do you mean to hold out for an even greater prize? I wonder what it is you might want?"

  She felt the color draining from her face. Her knees turned wobbly. What if he guessed? Could there be any way the man might discover what it was she hoped to achieve? Chloe's throat went dry. She swallowed hard, praying he would not sense her fear.

  His cold blue eyes took in every movement she made. He was clearly a master at knowing people and turning their weaknesses against them. She clenched her teeth and stiffened her spine, determined.

  "Yes," he said. "I do imagine you might choose to defy me, Miss Englefield. That would be unfortunate. You are aware of the consequences to debtors. Do give it some thought. I bid you good day."

  The Duke of Marmount spun on one heel, strode down the corridor, and collected his beaver hat from Cargill, which he whacked against his leg as if it had accumulated dust in the short time it had been in her house. Cargill had to jump to reach the door in time to open it. Just before passing through the door, the duke pivoted around again, catching Chloe gaping.

  "Oh, it would not be advisable of you to discuss our little encounter with Reginald, Miss Englefield." His parting reminded her of a cat licking its face following a meal of new hatchlings. Then he was gone.

  Her knees quaked like leaves in a windstorm as the last ounce of strength drained out of her. Clinging to her aunt, she barely made it across the room before collapsing onto the blue settee. Sobs tore through her as she trembled. "He knows about them!"

  "No, he doesn't." Daphne snuggled Chloe into a protective embrace. "He was angling, and he would not angle if he already knew."

  "Those eyes are so piercing. I thought he could read my very mind. What am I to do? I couldn't do that to Reggie."

  "I know," said Aunt Daphne, caressing a hand across Chloe's back.

  She had to do something. But tears would not help, and she dared not waste time with them. Chloe sat up and wiped her eyes. At least, thanks to the duke, she had a month with no creditors hounding her. With good fortune, perhaps she could find that husband who could help her, and pay the duke his due as well.

  She
sucked in a deep breath and sighed. Perhaps she would become Queen of England. The chance was just about as good.

  Chloe stood and straightened her garments. One glance in the chimneypiece mirror told her she needed more effort to right her appearance, so she made for the stairs to go up and make repairs.

  She had so little time left, and so few choices. Not Bibury, who had not a feather to fly with, nor St. James, who was all that was kind, but thought only of his horses. Most of all, it would not be Castlebury who would become her husband and save her sisters. She had already deduced that much. For all that he occupied every spare minute of her time, he made not the slightest move in the direction of marriage. Not for a moment was he alone with her. Nary a hint of innuendo. Yet because of him, no other suitor could get close. He was more of a guard than an admirer. For some reason he was impeding her search for a husband.

  Chloe upright. She wished she'd realized that sooner. That was exactly what he was doing, most deliberately, and she suspected that was Reggie's doing. She had to do something about their little scheme if she meant to be wed before the season ended.

  * * *

  Chloe was ready for Castlebury when he came to call.

  She thought the man turned a bit pale when Aunt Daphne departed the blue salon with the blandest of excuses, leaving them alone.

  "Miss Englefield, this really is not necessary..." Castlebury stumbled over his words.

  "It is not? But Lord Castlebury, you have given me to expect, how shall I say, more."

  He really did turn pale. Chloe was incapable of continuing the ruse, even if he did deserve it. Regrettably, she had to let him off the hook. She smiled.

  "You have occupied my company almost exclusively of late, Lord Castlebury. So much so that another suitor would have no chance. So it could be said you are interfering with my opportunities to find a husband. I cannot help but wonder why."