Scandalously Wed to the Captain

by Joanna Johnson

  Quite unlike my dealings with another old acquaintance, who shall remain nameless.

  At the unwelcome thought of Spencer Grace’s hands grew clumsy, her mind too occupied to pay much attention to her movements. Her skin still tingled where masculine fingers had brushed her own, only feather-light and accidental yet dangerously effective in making her cheeks flare with heat. It was every bit as uncomfortable a fact as it had been the moment it happened, mere minutes ago downstairs, and Grace had yet to find a way to banish the thought back to the darkest pit of her mind where it belonged.

  ‘Have I done something to offend you, Grace? I’m not sure I deserve such manhandling!’

  There was a gleam of amusement in Dorothea’s eye as Grace jumped, freezing in the act of vigorously arranging the blanket. Evidently her focus had wandered too far for her to be gentle and she dropped the tasselled hem with guilty haste.

  ‘Sorry. My mind was...on other things.’

  ‘Don’t apologise. Of all people, I know what it’s like to have a lot to think about.’

  Dorothea tried to ease herself up to sit back against the cushions behind her, accepting Grace’s supporting hand with a pained smile. ‘Did I sleep for long enough, do you think? I hope you weren’t bored while I was so rudely inattentive. What pleasant thing did you find to occupy you?’

  Grace wasn’t entirely sure if spending time with Spencer counted as a ‘pleasant thing’; two conflicting opinions wrestling each other for supremacy. It seemed safest to offer a bland smile of her own, although Grace felt her heart rate skip a fraction faster.

  ‘I thought I’d sit in the library and read a while, until I was chanced upon by Spencer. We talked for a short while before I came to check on you.’

  ‘Ah. And how is my son today?’ With a grunt of effort Dorothea pulled a lumpy pillow from beneath her. ‘He came to my rooms soon after breakfast, but I doubt I shall see him again until supper.’

  Grace hesitated. The unerringly honest part of her ought to win out, but to tell Dorothea her son had made a beeline for the library decanter as she left seemed unwise. She knew how much her staunchly Quaker friend hated having strong drink in the house, although Spencer was far too stubborn to be ruled by anybody but himself. ‘He—he seemed well enough. After a fashion.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Dorothea eyed her narrowly, but then merely sighed. ‘You always were faultlessly polite, even as a little girl. I’m aware Spencer isn’t the easiest of companions these days and it worries me relentlessly.’

  ‘I know. I know you have much to bear, but do try not to distress yourself. It does you no good.’

  Something of an understatement, Grace conceded as she watched her friend’s laboured breaths.

  To lose the husband she’d adored, followed by a son just six years later, was a devastating blow—only compounded by her remaining boy turning into somebody she barely knew. Her failing health was the final piece of a tragic puzzle, so sad it hardly seemed possible.

  ‘You’re right, of course. Only...’ Another sigh came from the skeletal figure beneath the blanket. ‘The change in him, Grace. Of course he grieved when his father passed, but since we lost William he’s been a man I simply don’t recognise. You must have seen that he takes no pleasure in anything, not even pursuits he used to feel passion for. There was a time when he sketched every day, you know, and showed great promise; he hasn’t so much as picked up a pencil these past two years, as if the very spark of inspiration has been snuffed out like a candle.’

  A sudden cough racked her frail body and she pressed her hand to her heaving chest until the spell passed, leaving her cheeks ruddy and breath coming hard.

  ‘As time has gone by I find myself grieving less for William. I will be seeing him and my dear Richard again very soon, I am sure of it, and then I need never feel sorrow for them ever again. It is Spencer who now pains my heart the most when I think how he will be left alone with his secrets and the suffering he thinks I do not see in his face. He would never tell me exactly what happened the day Will died, but I am no fool.’ She wheezed for a moment, papery eyelids closed. ‘The idea of what he will become when I am gone—it haunts me.’

  Bony fingers found Grace’s arm, grasping at the sleeve of her gown in a twitch of distress, and she immediately covered them with her own. Her heart swelled with pity and powerful sorrow—Dorothea looked so small in her grief and fear, and the sight pained Grace more than she could say.

  ‘If I’d as much as suspected what damage it would do for my boys to go off to war, I would never have allowed them to enlist. You know my faith prohibits all kinds of violence, but I agreed with Richard on his deathbed I would let the twins carry on the military tradition of his family. If they had only stayed in England, Grace... I curse the day they left for Belgium, and I hate the very name of the Battle of Quatre Bras with a passion I feel in my bones.’

  A tear slipped down one sunken cheek and Dorothea cuffed it away, although not before the glitter of it sent ice piercing Grace’s insides. For the family she had known since childhood to be ripped so cruelly apart seemed the worst of injustices and from the tumult of her emotions a new thought arose to make Grace wonder...

  Had Spencer seen his brother die, cut down in front of him in some battlefield across the sea? Wouldn’t that go some way to explaining why he seemed so closed off, so strangely emotionless? She could only imagine with a powerful shudder what kind of effect such an experience might have on a man’s soul. It was a startling possibility, yet one that seemed so blindingly obvious, and Grace felt a suddenly overwhelming rush of compassion for the man who had previously inspired such wariness and confusion.

  ‘None of what has befallen your family is your fault. I hope you know that, despite your regrets.’

  Dorothea shrugged a thin shoulder beneath expensive linen. ‘Regrets are one thing I have no shortage of. The reason I sleep so little every night is out of worry for my only remaining son. If only there was something I could do, some way I could rest easily, knowing he won’t be left so alone when I am gone—and yet I fear nothing can turn him from the path he has chosen.’

  Grace nodded gravely, the truth in Dorothea’s words plain. ‘I can only imagine how such thoughts must trouble you. I wish there was something I could do to ease your cares.’

  Her sad gaze was fixed on the white hand that held her arm, lost in the world of compassion that gripped her—so she entirely missed the slow movement of her friend’s eyes in her direction and the look of dawning contemplation that crept in to brighten them.

  ‘Do you truly mean that?’

  ‘Why, yes.’ Grace forced her lips into a small smile despite the sorrow growing ever heavier in her chest. The image of Spencer’s grim face crowded out all other thoughts, the most obvious reason for his tightly drawn expression suddenly clear to her in terrible understanding.

  He has suffered so much and with his mother so ill surely there can only be more heartache to come for him. I wish for his sake, and for the friendship we might once have had, that things could be different.

  ‘Believe me—if there was any way I could help you or Spencer with the unhappiness that plagues you, all you would have to do is ask.’

  ‘Any way? Any way at all?’ Dorothea reached for a glass of water standing beside her bed, turning away so for a moment Grace couldn’t see her face. ‘Even if it were in a way you never would have dreamed? Even if it seemed the most unlikely thing imaginable?’

  ‘Even then, to repay your kindness and ease your cares, I give you my word.’

  Chapter Four

  The weeks passed slowly at Nevin Place, dragging out until January gave way to February and the weather turned from merely cold to biting. Time continued its unstoppable march, but the month shown on Grace’s calendar wasn’t the only thing that seemed to progress.

  The stares that accompanied her had increased since Henry’s rejection and
her residence at Spencer’s vast home, she saw now as she drew her cloak closer about her body and wished her bonnet covered more of her face. Each time she left the safety of the imposing house to visit her family she had to run the gauntlet of whispers that followed her, and now her situation was common knowledge and her link with the scandalous Captain was known the mutters had only grown worse.

  Grace Linwood. Daughter of a criminal, wife of nobody and companion to a woman with a reprobate for an heir. No wonder society hasn’t rushed to reclaim me.

  It didn’t matter that poor Papa was innocent, Henry a selfish rogue or Spencer not a common brawler. The gossip attached to Grace’s name was too fascinating for any dull truth to temper it and, when combined with Spencer’s own notoriety, she could only grit her teeth and plough onwards as another set of eyes turned towards her in undisguised curiosity she hadn’t yet learned to ignore.

  ‘Why, Grace! What a surprise to see you here!’

  She looked up sharply at a voice to the side of her and felt the horrid sensation of her heart sinking into her boots as she saw the man it belonged to: Henry’s younger brother, George Earls—one of the most spoiled, spiteful and disagreeable men she had ever had the misfortune to meet. Even in the first blissful flush of love for Henry Grace had seen how his brother was rotten to the core, a difference between them she had thought so stark.

  Perhaps I should have known then the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. It would have saved me such pain if I’d seen how alike they truly are.

  The sight of George and the memories he conjured squeezed the breath from Grace’s lungs to replace it with ice and for a moment she stood frozen before the man’s horrible smirk.

  ‘Good evening, George.’ Grace forced her lips to move, feeling a sudden rush of blood in her ears as dismay leapt inside her. Entertaining himself at the expense of others was George’s favourite pastime and surely there could be no better provider of a moment’s cruel sport than the woman his brother had helped to shame.

  ‘A very good evening to you, I’m sure. Won’t you stop and talk a while?’

  Nausea writhed in Grace’s stomach and her throat felt tight as she glanced about her, searching for a route of escape. Dusk was setting in the chilly street, stealing over the shops and houses like mist, but there were still far too many people around for her to risk an undignified retreat. She’d be exposed to yet more ridicule if she turned and ran, her hair flying and skirts flaring in the breeze, and to call for help would only bring more attention she could have done without.

  She squared her shoulders, bringing her chin up to look George in the eye. ‘I’d rather not. I don’t think there’s anything we have to say to each other.’

  George sighed in mock disappointment. ‘Oh? But we haven’t spoken for so long! I was sorry you didn’t attend the Campbells’ winter ball. I realise you weren’t invited, but I’m sure you would have enjoyed seeing Henry again and to meet his delightful new friend Miss Scott. Such an accomplished woman, with a perfectly flawless reputation and at least three thousand a year.’

  Grace felt her face stiffen as George’s mouth shaped into a smug curve she would have given anything to wipe away. Instead there was nothing she could do but stand with her breathing fast and shallow and her mind reeling, finally grinding to a halt on the crux of George’s cruel words.

  Henry has a new object already.

  She’d known he wouldn’t pine for her, his attentions as false as the compliments that had flowed so easily from dishonest lips, yet it was with a searing dart of pain Grace realised how swiftly she was forgotten. The speed at which Henry’s gaze had switched to another only underlined the truth: that she was worthless without her good name and fortune, apparently the only things able to catch the eye of an eligible man. With neither now at her disposal all she had to rely on were her own charms...evidently so sorely lacking they amounted to little more than nothing. It wasn’t the loss of Henry’s lacklustre affections that hurt so much as the knowledge of how easily she was replaced, supplanted by another as though she had never existed at all.

  As if I needed more proof of his indifference—or my own lack of value.

  George must have seen how his words hit their mark and, attempting to engage Grace’s averted eyes beneath the brim of her bonnet, his attention only shifted when she became aware of a silent presence at her shoulder, a sudden apparition that changed the atmosphere at once.

  Spencer stood behind her like a pillar of rock, his face impassive and yet one swift glance enough to tell him all he needed to know. Grace’s heart gave a curious leap as she saw his familiar jaw tighten as he took in her tense posture, her brow pinched and cheeks flushed; she swallowed as another of those complex looks passed between them just as that day in the library, when the touch of his hand had struck sparks in her stomach.

  ‘Good evening, Grace. I hope you found your mother and sisters well.’

  It wasn’t really a question, so Grace had no need to do anything other than nod as powerful relief rushed in to relieve some of the rigidity of her frame. It seemed a strange thing for Spencer’s unexpected appearance to trigger relief, of all things, but in that one quick look he seemed to understand her distress and not for the first time came reluctantly to her rescue.

  ‘If you’re returning to Nevin Place now, I’d be pleased to escort you.’

  His expression wasn’t quite one of pleasure, but Grace could have sworn she saw a glimmer of assurance pass through it before vanishing. It hardly seemed possible and yet there it was: the tiniest gleam of the kind boy he had once been, although determinedly suppressed as though something of which he was ashamed. Despite her dismay Grace’s pulse flitted a fraction faster at the sight, but George still stood before her with his features so like Henry’s and that was all it took for her to shy away from her disloyal reaction with a jolt of alarm.

  Spencer looked at George for a moment, his face hard and expressionless as stone. His dark eyes wandered slowly from the top of George’s ostentatious hat to his boots, taking in every detail with unhurried, ice-cold judgement that made the other man’s grin fade gradually, before turning his back entirely and holding out his arm.

  ‘The sun’s setting. We should return home before the evening chill grows worse.’

  Grace’s eyes flicked from Spencer’s face to the proffered arm to his face again, surprise and gratitude growing to wash away the horrid churn of emotion George had prompted. Spencer had cut him dead, not even bothering to introduce himself as though the other man was a minor inconvenience so irrelevant he was beneath Spencer’s notice. It was inconceivably rude, of course, and yet Grace felt the strangest hint of admiration as she slipped her hand into the crook of Spencer’s elbow and allowed herself to be borne away without so much as a backward glance at George’s now heated face.

  Admiration wasn’t the only thing Grace felt steal over her as Spencer guided her down the darkening street, almost scurrying to keep up with his much-longer strides. The warmth of his body seeped through her thin glove to kindle in her fingers, her hand pressed to an unyielding bicep she realised with a fresh sweep of discomfort felt just as firm as it looked. Her unpleasant encounter with George had stirred feelings she’d never wanted to revisit, proving she was correct in her promise to hold herself apart for ever, but she was still a woman of flesh and blood. Surely no young lady would be completely immune to the sculpted muscle of a strong arm, especially when its owner had just saved her from such a hideous situation.

  ‘Thank you. That was Henry’s brother, someone I never wanted to meet again. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come to rescue me.’

  Spencer inclined his head, although his eyes stayed fixed on the street ahead.

  ‘I see charm must run in the family.’

  Grace felt her cheeks flush a little at his tone. Evidently he thought little of her judgement—and on this occasion, wasn’
t he correct? She disliked the idea of him thinking her foolish, she realised with an unsettling recognition that she struggled to understand.

  ‘George took great pleasure in informing me that his brother has already found a new lady to pursue, one of spotless reputation and impressive fortune. I think he thought the revelation would wound me.’

  They walked on for a short while in silence, Grace all too aware of the tumult of feelings cartwheeling through her mind. Distress at seeing George, embarrassment at his humiliation of her, topped off with that insistent pulse of something forbidden each time Spencer’s arm flexed around her hand, irritating and unwanted yet refusing to be ignored. Out of the corner of her eye she saw how frequently faces turned towards them, unabashed interest flitting between her and the man who walked beside her so sternly. It was something of a novelty for people to stare at somebody other than herself, but of course Spencer’s reputation preceded him and low mutters followed their progress that Grace didn’t have to hear to understand.

  How much more will George now strive to drag that reputation through the mud after Spencer slighted him? Grace wondered with sudden regret.

  Gratitude for Spencer’s uncannily timely appearance still glowed, but tinged now with worry and the faintest wish Spencer had been able to summon up even the slightest of basic manners. His utter contempt for George, no doubt as a result of seeing Grace’s face frozen into a mask of dismay, had been so obvious it would only compound the rumours that already stalked him: that Captain Dauntsey was barely a gentleman, entirely lacking in charm and ready to be rude with little provocation. George would be only too keen to spread the story, she knew with certainty, and with it the further damning of Spencer’s good name.