The Captain's Daughter

by Jennifer Delamere

  His remark only brought a laugh from Rosalyn. “Once Julia arrives, the rogue will be done for sure. My sister is a force to be reckoned with.”

  “Hoorah!” Mary cried. “I can’t wait to meet her!”

  Nate wasn’t willing to let this go. “Maybe we could get Patrick to accompany you.”

  “Mary and Liza go places all the time,” Rosalyn pointed out.

  “That’s different. They know the city.”

  “And I am learning.” She spoke with emphasis. “I can’t be dependent on you for everything.”

  Jessie looked pleased at these words. So did Mary, for that matter. But then, she was always an independent one. In ordinary circumstances, Nate supposed he might have been glad to hear this, too. After all, Rosalyn was correct that she would have to learn to navigate the city by herself. But once again he thought of the man he’d seen skulking around the charity house. Nate had since made a point of passing by there every day, but he hadn’t seen the man again. He didn’t even know for sure if it had been the henchman from the brothel. Even so, he couldn’t help but be worried.

  There wasn’t time to sort it out now, however. Evening was fast approaching, and they had to get to the theater. “Let’s go,” he said. “I’ve got to return the cart to the stable.”

  That night, Rosalyn found the walk home from the theater less daunting than it had been the night before. Already the streets and the facades of the businesses, shops, and pubs were beginning to look familiar. The night sounds seemed friendlier, too: their echoing footsteps, the tolling bells from the church clock.

  “I see now why you enjoy this walk,” she said.

  Nate slanted a look at her. “Really?”

  “As you said, it seems easier to breathe somehow.”

  He nodded but didn’t say anything. Tonight he seemed immersed in his thoughts. Their conversation languished, and they walked several blocks without speaking.

  At length he said, “Are you sure you want to go alone to the station on Sunday?”

  “Is that what’s bothering you? I thought that was settled.” The damp fog made the night unusually cold, stealing her breath as they walked, and her words came out harsher that she’d intended. She tried to amend her statement. “I mean, I understand your concern—”

  “I saw Mick at the charity house last Sunday.”

  Rosalyn stopped dead in her tracks. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m not entirely sure it was him. I didn’t get a clear look.” He briefly described what had happened. “Can you see now why I’m worried about you going to the station?”

  Rosalyn could see. She took a long moment to consider the situation. “You say you’re not sure, and that you haven’t seen him since. Do you think that one incident is reason enough for me to be fearful wherever I go?”

  “Not fearful,” he insisted. “Just careful.”

  What was the definition of careful in London? Standing in the middle of a crowded railway station hadn’t stopped bad people from waylaying her. She was just going to have to look out for herself. Rosalyn was learning that it was possible for women to travel around the city without any problems, provided they took some basic precautions. Helen had given her advice about the safest ways to ride an omnibus or tram, or even the Underground. She didn’t feel brave enough for that yet, but she would get there.

  “I believe I’ll go on my own to the station,” she declared. “Although I was tricked by Mick and Mollie, I went with them willingly. They cannot drag me somewhere I don’t want to go. Not in broad daylight.”

  She spoke with all the bravado she could muster, refusing to cower in fear.

  “While we are on the subject,” she continued, “tomorrow I’ll be leaving early for the theater.”

  “Why? What for?”

  “Oh, there are some things I need to attend to.” She purposefully kept her words vague. He didn’t seem to like Tony, and there was no point making this conversation even more sour by bringing up the fact she would be seeing him. “I’ll need to leave the house before you get back from the stables, but I know the way.”

  “I see.” His voice was hard, as though he was affronted that she’d turned away his offer of help.

  Rosalyn came to an abrupt halt, determined to find some way to smooth his ruffled feathers. She placed a hand on his arm. “I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful. I am grateful—more so than I could ever express. Is that what’s bothering you, or is there something else?”

  He looked at her for several long moments. Any number of thoughts might have been going through his mind, but his expression was unreadable. She offered him an encouraging smile. The last thing she wanted was friction between them.

  Her hand was still on his arm, and she could feel as well as see the moment when he relaxed and let out a breath. “I apologize. What’s bothering me . . . well, it’s not your fault.”

  That was something, anyway.

  “It’s just as well you’re going to work on your own tomorrow. I have some business to attend to myself.”

  “Oh?” She looked at him hopefully, trying to show she was ready to listen if he wanted to say more.

  But that was apparently all he was willing to divulge. They spoke no more as they walked the rest of the way home, but she could feel that his silence was due to introspection, not anger.

  CHAPTER

  13

  ROSALYN HEARD the music before she made it to the top of the stairs. Someone was playing a lively tune, undoubtedly on the same piano whose music had led her toward this building.

  She reached the top of the stairs and followed the sound to the rehearsal room.

  It looked much as Rosalyn had envisioned. A piano sat along the shorter wall. At the far end of the room, the floor was raised about a foot. It was clearly a rehearsal area. As she expected, Tony sat at the piano.

  He stopped playing and stood up when he saw Rosalyn. “Are you ready for your lesson, my dear?”

  “Lesson!”

  “Don’t look so surprised. You have a great deal of natural talent. Wouldn’t you like to hone it to a skill that will bring envy and applause from all?”

  “But . . . you want to give me lessons?” She was still having a difficult time believing this. “Why would you do that?”

  He laughed. “Oh, Rosalyn, you are such a delight. You speak your mind with absolute honesty. Let me explain.”

  He took her hand and led her to a row of chairs lining the wall. She noticed he still held her hand once they were seated. He leaned toward her, speaking earnestly. “Being in the chorus of this production has been a tremendous opportunity for me. But it’s only a stepping-stone to greater things.”

  He sent a glance toward the door, as though to ensure they were alone. He lowered his voice. “I’m not one to spread backstage gossip, but I have heard that George Power was offered a good deal of money to take the lead in a production at the Gaiety.”

  “Really?” Rosalyn wondered whether London theater owners made a habit of trying to steal each other’s cast members. She supposed it was possible.

  Tony put a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell anyone I told you.”

  “I won’t. But what does this have to do with you giving me lessons?”

  “If Power leaves, I will take on the lead tenor role of Ralph Rackstraw. You can chart the same course: establish yourself in the chorus and rise from there. You have the talent. All you need to do is develop it. Although, in my opinion, you are already good enough for the chorus. Singing these light operettas is not so difficult as mastering the grand operas from the continent.”

  Rosalyn had to admit the idea of being on stage was appealing. The performers clearly loved their work, and the excitement coming from the audience each night was palpable even though Pinafore had been playing for over a year and was nearing the end of its run. Who wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of such approbation?

  “All right,” she said. “What can you teach me?”
/>   “Excellent!” He pulled her to a standing position. “Let’s begin with vocal exercises.”

  To Rosalyn’s surprise, he led her through half an hour of various warm-ups. It was taxing and exhilarating at the same time.

  “Now you are ready to sing a proper song,” he announced, and took a seat at the piano.

  They sang several duets, and then Tony sang a solo, pausing to explain certain breathing techniques that Rosalyn could use, as well.

  “Now it’s your turn.”

  Once more he began playing, and Rosalyn recognized Josephine’s aria toward the beginning of Pinafore. “Oh, I couldn’t sing that,” she protested. “The higher notes would be quite beyond me.”

  “Just do your best,” Tony urged. “After all the practicing we’ve done, I think you’ll be surprised at your range. It’s like flexing a muscle.”

  The idea was daunting, but she decided to try. With nervous determination, she launched into the song. She reached the lovely, poignant final line:

  Heavy the sorrow that bows the head,

  When love is alive . . . and hope is dead.

  Her voice wobbled on the last few high notes—Emma Howson’s job was certainly safe from her—but it did sound better than any time she’d previously attempted to reach such high notes.

  Tony bolted up from the piano stool, took hold of her forearms, and gave her a kiss on both cheeks. “That was splendid!”

  Excitement surged through her. “Can we try that again?”

  He grinned. “We most certainly can.”

  Rosalyn sang the aria again, feeling strength coming to her as she applied the techniques Tony had taught her. At the end of the song, she closed her eyes and reached deep within herself, trying to imagine how it must feel to love so deeply but in vain. Strangely, a picture came to her mind of Nate. His family had said he was suffering from unrequited love. Could such pain really drive a man from the country and from his family? Her own heart went out to him at the thought of what he was going through. She gathered all this emotion into her singing, and this time when she hit those final high notes, they came out very sweetly indeed.

  Rosalyn opened her eyes and was startled to see Tony standing mere inches from her. His eyes were alight with admiration.

  She was aware of her heartbeat, light and shallow as though she’d run a far distance. She seemed unable to refill her expended lungs. Uncertain, she wanted to withdraw, to put space between them. But part of her did not want to break this moment of triumph, this vision of what her future could be—to feel and sing with such passion.

  From the doorway came the sound of a throat clearing.

  Rosalyn jumped. Tony turned toward the door and said smoothly, “Good afternoon, Mr. Cellier.”

  Mr. Cellier was indeed standing there. So was Miss Lenoir. They were staring at Rosalyn and Tony with expressions she could not decipher.

  Immediately she felt a rush of guilt—and not just because she’d been found alone with Tony. Perhaps she wasn’t allowed up here at all.

  “Taken to giving lessons, Hayes?” Mr. Cellier said dryly.

  “Rosalyn was helping me rehearse,” Tony answered. “Isn’t she wonderful?”

  “She does seem to have some talent,” Miss Lenoir said.

  “It’s passable.” Apparently Mr. Cellier was not one to give out easy praise.

  Rosalyn smiled tremulously at Miss Lenoir. “I hope I’m not out of order being here.”

  Miss Lenoir shrugged. “It’s only a practice room. You are not yet on duty, so I see no harm.”

  Rosalyn felt her shoulders relax.

  “It certainly doesn’t hurt Hayes to get more practice,” Mr. Cellier added.

  Tony stiffened, his casual attitude falling away. “You gave me quite generous praise last week during the after-show notes, as I recall.”

  Mr. Cellier’s eyes glinted in amusement. “Don’t be so thin-skinned, Hayes. Nobody doubts your ability.”

  “Carry on.” Miss Lenoir pulled a watch from her lapel. “You still have a few minutes to call time.”

  She gave Rosalyn a thoughtful look, and then she and Mr. Cellier left the room.

  Tony went to the door to give a quick glance down the hall. Then he bounded back to Rosalyn. “What did I tell you! They were quite impressed!”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “If they hadn’t, I have no doubt one or the other—or both—would have sternly told you to mind your business with the costumes and stay away from the practice room.” He took her hands again and swung her around lightly. “You just passed your first audition, and you didn’t even know it!”

  Rosalyn could only laugh in return.

  Nate pressed the doorbell to the Wilkinses’ home.

  He felt out of place on the polished marble steps of their townhome, and not just because he was wearing working clothes for the theater. At one time he’d sworn that he would never cross this threshold. But now, here he was. And again he had the sensations that always came to him before a battle, where anything could happen and all careful preparations could turn out to be utterly useless.

  A maid opened the door, invited him in, and offered to take his coat and hat. He’d heard from Hannah that the Wilkinses had half a dozen servants. That was precisely six more than he would have been able to afford.

  Such a very fine house, too, he thought, as the maid led him into a large parlor that was elaborately decorated and filled with expensive furniture. But he felt no bitterness or envy on that account. It came to him suddenly that such a place would never make him happy—no matter who shared it with him.

  Ada was already waiting in the parlor. “I’m so glad you came!” she cried, and actually threw her arms around his neck in a hug.

  Nate heard the door close behind him as the maid withdrew. He stood there, not moving, and certainly not returning the embrace. “Is this proper?” he asked, trying to speak with an ironic air to cover the pain this was causing him.

  She let him go, taking a step back. “Matthew is here. He’s in his study. He knows we need time alone to talk.”

  “A very understanding husband you have.”

  “Please, let’s sit down.” She motioned him toward a plush green sofa large enough to seat them both and still leave comfortable space between them.

  Now that Nate was forcing himself to sit and talk to her, to look at her without turning away, he found to his surprise that he could study her dispassionately. He saw vulnerability and uncertainty in her eyes despite her smile. She was still beautiful, but it wasn’t the girlish beauty she’d had when he fell in love with her. Seven years had matured her.

  “There doesn’t seem to be any good way to begin.” Her pale cheeks tinged in a blush—from the awkwardness of the situation, he supposed.

  “Start wherever you like.”

  “All right.” She took a deep breath. “Even though I believe I did the right thing in marrying Matthew, I’m sorry the news came to you in a letter. But we had no idea when you might return home. I felt it was better to tell you as soon as possible. It took me days to write that letter. I tried so hard to put into words what I was feeling. I wanted to explain my actions in a way that might cause you the least amount of pain possible, and—”

  “Yes, it was quite a letter.”

  “—and apologize,” she finished, undeterred by his interruption.

  So many words were on the tip of Nate’s tongue, so many caustic things he could say about how deeply she’d hurt him. About how her letter had nearly gotten a man killed. Perhaps one of the reasons he’d been avoiding her was the fear that he would say those things. His shame over his own actions that day were so great, he hadn’t even been able to tell the truth to Patrick, who was not only his brother but also his dearest friend. He wasn’t about to share it with the woman who had jilted him. Even if he could, deep down he knew that both of them would only be worse off for it.

  He remembered how Rosalyn had placed her hand on his arm the other night. That
simple gesture, plus her kind words, had arrested his attention. It was a call for him to stop and consider the ruts he’d allowed his bitter thoughts to form in his mind. He’d thought on it all the way home and late into the night. His dereliction of duty that day was solely his responsibility. He alone could atone for it, which was precisely why he was returning to the colors. Right now, he needed to resolve his disappointment over losing the woman he once thought was the love of his life.

  “Just tell me why you decided not to marry me.” He waved a hand to indicate the room they were sitting in. “Looking around, one can get a pretty good idea . . .”

  “It isn’t that,” she replied, her voice earnest and appealing. “We were very young when we got engaged. While you were away, I believe I matured. Certainly I changed. Something very important happened that made me realize I should not marry you.”

  Nate shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “I was with my sister when she went through a very difficult childbirth. She came so close to death. All that saved her was the fact that a good doctor was close by. I began to grow scared at the idea of leaving England. Scared about living in a strange land. I am not as strong or as fearless as you.”

  “I would have protected you. I would have done anything to help you.”

  “But so many things are out of your control! Shipwrecks, storms, deadly diseases . . .”

  “We can look to God in those situations. He watches over us.”

  She sighed. “I admire your faith, but I always felt weak in comparison. At times when I tried to express a concern, you would simply dismiss my fears as irrelevant—as, in a way, you did just now. I don’t feel you ever really heard me.”

  Nate wanted to protest but realized he couldn’t deny the truth of what she was saying. Had he truly run roughshod over her feelings? “I don’t think my example has been so very admirable. Certainly not lately.”

  “You’re here listening to me and, I hope, ready to forgive. I find that very admirable.” Nate saw a glimmer of a tear as she spoke. “I think we have both gotten wiser over the years. We would not have been happy together, though you may not believe me when I say so.”