Scandalously Wed to the Captain

by Joanna Johnson

  ‘Oh, nonsense.’ His charming hostess beamed at him. ‘You are as much a consideration as anybody else in this room and I won’t hear a syllable otherwise!’

  Cecily leaned towards him, one eyebrow raised in a direct mirror of the arch look he had seen so many times from Grace. ‘That’s quite true, you know. Mama never will hear anything she doesn’t wish to and you may as well get used to it now. Indeed, it will make your life much simpler if you do!’

  The room rang with laughter, the tension of moments before artfully diffused. Even Mrs Linwood chuckled at her daughter’s wit and turned to Spencer with her hands spread in mock indignation.

  ‘Do you see how I am treated? I’m sure the only person who shows me any respect is you!’

  She addressed him with such easy openness Spencer felt a dart of unnameable warmth within his chest, fluttering softly around his heart. It was strangely familiar and as he looked around at the five faces smiling back at him he tried to puzzle out what the odd stirring could possibly mean.

  I know I’ve felt it before. But when?

  Perhaps it was foolish on his part, but he found himself seized by the sudden—and startling—realisation that he knew exactly what the uncanny feeling was. It was one he hadn’t experienced in more than eight years, hidden beneath grief and guilt and wishing the clock could be turned back...

  Family. It feels like being part of a family again—as it did before Father died and sorrow robbed us of each other one by one.

  Being welcomed by the Linwoods as one of their own was more touching than he ever would have thought. To be part of a family again, to feel wanted and treated as though he belonged, fled to the deepest, darkest recesses of his soul and lit a spark there to smoulder, small at first, but to grow with a vigour that surprised him. It was Grace he had to thank for this, he thought in wonder—she had given her word that she would help him in his grief and, in dragging him into the embrace of her kindly family despite how little he deserved their warmth, she had gone above and beyond her promise.

  The knowledge struck him like a hammer blow, rendering him silent for much of the remaining time he and Grace spent within that happy sitting room before the morning fire. He ventured a few words here and there, but for the most part the strange feelings that swirled around the former emptiness of his heart stole any words from his mouth, and it was something of a relief when they finally stood up to leave.

  Grace’s sisters lined up beside the front door as Mrs Linwood helped Grace on with her cloak, tying the black ribbons of the sombre bonnet to frame her daughter’s pale face. Each of the girls pressed Spencer’s hands with real fondness and their mother gave his fingers an especially firm squeeze.

  ‘It’s been wonderful to see you. Please do feel as though you’re welcome here any time, any time at all.’

  Spencer’s bow was deeper and more heartfelt than it had been when he had first set foot on the front steps with his brow creased in apprehension. ‘Thank you for your kind hospitality, ma’am.’ Some flicker prompted him to voice some of the emotion that nagged at him, unexpected yet refusing to be dismissed. ‘I’ve rarely felt more welcome anywhere and I hope you feel at liberty to call at Nevin Place again whenever you choose.’

  He almost felt the surprised flick of Grace’s grey gaze towards him, mingled with a curious pleasure he could not have named. She said nothing, however, as she kissed her sisters and mother goodbye, turning to wave at them from the end of the gravelled path until the green door closed and Spencer found himself alone once more with the wife who tried to hide the gleam of sadness that crossed her countenance.

  ‘Are you well?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’ve just never been very good at partings.’

  Of course she would rather stay with her family, he acknowledged ruefully as they turned away from the house. The Linwood home was filled with laughter and light, whereas Nevin Place was quiet, shrouded in a gloomy atmosphere even on the sunniest of days. It was obvious which habitat suited Grace best; like a hothouse flower, she bloomed beneath the warmth of her family’s kindness and merriment—without that, how long would it take for her vivacity to wither and die?

  Determination to wipe the glimmer of unhappiness from Grace’s face helped Spencer to make up his mind. She had tried so hard to bring him in from the cold of his self-imposed banishment.

  Now it’s my turn to lift her spirits, or at least attempt to.

  Ignoring the nagging voice in the back of his mind that warned him against it, Spencer took Grace’s gloved hand and threaded it firmly into the crook of his arm. His heart leapt within him at the contact, but he made himself disregard it in favour of drawing Grace away from where his carriage waited to whisk them away.

  ‘Where are we going? Are you not eager to return home?’

  ‘Not yet. It’s a fine day, despite the cold; I thought you might like to walk into town, perhaps visit the bookseller’s shop. You seemed very interested in the Evelina Margaret spoke of.’

  Grace’s cheeks flushed a little, a combination of surprise and shy pleasure that struck Spencer as very pretty indeed. The tip of her nose was pink with cold and her breath escaped in small white clouds, but her body was warm as she drew a fraction closer to Spencer and they moved down the frost-scattered street.

  ‘I hadn’t realised you were listening. You seemed so distracted by something, I feared you did not enjoy yourself.’

  Spencer shook his head. ‘Nothing could be further from the truth. I was merely thinking, that’s all.’

  ‘Of anything with which I might help?’

  He glanced down at her hopeful face, luminous beneath the shadowy brim of her austere bonnet. How he longed to see her in glorious colour once again, he realised suddenly—she should be decked in emerald greens and periwinkle blues to complement the gold of her hair and bring light back to the clever gleam of her grey eyes. Black bombazine offset the flawless pallor of her skin, it was true, but it seemed unnatural to conceal Grace’s verve beneath the sober gloom of mourning dress.

  The look of uncertainty that crept over her face told him he’d been staring and he averted his gaze at once. He wouldn’t be sharing his thoughts with her. It was one thing to feel the stirrings of life fighting to return within the sorrowful mire of his inner self; quite another to allow anybody to know of them.

  * * *

  Inscrutable as a cat. As usual.

  Grace supressed the pang of mild disappointment Spencer’s lack of a reply inspired. Really she shouldn’t have expected him to tell her what he had been thinking when he seemed so far away, present in her mother’s tasteful sitting room but simultaneously miles away. Some of the tension between them had dissipated, it was true, but her husband evidently still kept a tight grip on his secrets.

  Still, there was definitely something altered in the way Spencer guided her on the chilly walk into town, her hand resting snugly on the rich fabric of his coat sleeve. He had placed it there himself, on his own initiative, so opposite to the first time he had escorted her through these streets, when he had fairly marched her along with a face like thunder and his hand like an unforgiving vice on her elbow.

  That was before any of this happened. Before he knew of my pain and I discovered some fragments of his.

  ‘Have you really not been to visit your father in the Fleet?’

  Spencer’s question shook her from her reflections with something of a jolt and she sighed before answering, a sad, deep breath that spoke volumes without words.

  Poor Papa. How he would have enjoyed this morning—for once he wouldn’t have been the only man in the house.

  ‘Mama did not think it fitting for a group of young ladies to visit. The kinds of people Papa is imprisoned with are not particularly desirable. Neither my mother nor father would wish us to be exposed, or think it appropriate we went without a man to escort us.’

  ‘Would you have like
d to visit?’

  ‘More than anything in the world, but we had nobody to step into Papa’s place as our protector. He has been ill, according to his letters, but knowing him he has exaggerated his recovery so as not to worry us. To see him would have set my mind at ease.’

  A well-dressed couple drew near to them, walking the opposite way on the cobbles. Their faces seemed familiar and Grace offered a polite smile—only for them to stare at her and then Spencer with naked fascination as though they were two creatures in a zoo, not returning her greeting with anything more than a look of burning interest that segued into whispers as soon as they had passed.

  I ought to be used to that by now, Grace thought, a hot flush of embarrassment warming her despite the winter chill. But somehow one never seems to grow accustomed to being notorious.

  She risked a swift cut of her eyes towards Spencer, worried what his reaction to their impudence could be and readying herself to calm him—but his sharp profile was still turned forward, his attention fixed on the street ahead and he took no more notice of the muttering than he would have a fly.

  He truly doesn’t seem to care, she thought wonderingly.

  He appeared so unfazed by the speculating looks in a way Grace could hardly understand, her own wish not to provoke curiosity running so deep it felt unescapable. Spencer’s uninterest was almost admirable, in a perverse sort of way, but it was easier to try to banish that strange thought as she stepped up into the bookseller’s, the ping of the bell above the door announcing their entrance.

  The elderly owner looked up from his perch behind the counter, peering over the top of the book held mere inches away from his nose. ‘Good afternoon, ma’am. Do come in, come in!’

  She stepped fully inside the little shop, Spencer following close behind. He had to stoop to fit through the door, she saw with vague amusement; for the first time his broad stature became a disadvantage as he stood among laden shelves, the width of his shoulders almost spanning the narrow space between the cases. The glorious smell of paper and leather assailed her and she breathed it in as deeply as one might expensive perfume.

  The bookseller placed his book down carefully on the counter and squinted at her through round spectacles. ‘Is there anything I might assist with?’

  ‘Thank you, yes. My sister recommended I procure a copy of Evelina. Would you have one?’

  The owner’s eyes twinkled with the admiration of a much younger man. ‘Your sister has fine taste. I shall search my storeroom, at once, ma’am... I feel sure I had a copy, if I could only remember where I put it...’

  He slid down from his high stool and shuffled through a small doorway behind the counter, muttering to himself beneath his breath as he went. Spencer watched him go, raising an eyebrow as the man disappeared from sight.

  ‘I think we might be here for some time. That gentleman must be a hundred and twelve if he’s a day.’

  ‘Are you in a hurry to return to Nevin Place?’

  ‘Not particularly, although I would have liked to see it again before I turned forty.’

  Before Grace could answer she heard the sharp ting of the shop’s bell as some unseen customer entered, concealed behind Spencer’s broad back. It was only when the newcomers edged round to the far side of the room Grace caught a glimpse of them: a fashionable couple about her age, watching her with looks of undisguised scorn that they swiftly redirected towards the nearest bookshelf the moment she caught their eye.

  Beneath her cloak and sombre black gown Grace’s heart began to skip a little more quickly. Surely she’d seen them somewhere before—weren’t they acquaintances of Henry and George? Now she considered it, she just recalled meeting them at a card party months before, their names now having escaped her, but their association with the Earls’ family enough to make her throat tighten in dismay.

  Another quick glance up showed they had concealed themselves behind a set of shelves, for which Grace offered up a silent prayer of thanks, but they still lurked unseen and she found herself suddenly wishing she had refused Spencer’s unexpected offer and gone straight home.

  His look was a combination of mild concern and suspicion as he took in her frozen unease. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You are an appalling liar. Tell me.’

  Grace shook her head stubbornly, attention fixed on the stack of books in front of her even as the sound of two whispered voices reached her straining ear, not wanting to listen yet at the same time intent on every sound.

  ‘So George was correct, it seems—she did snare that Dauntsey. Upon my word, I can’t imagine how she managed it.’

  ‘Nor I. No fortune, precious little beauty and her papa locked up in the Fleet. What on earth can have persuaded the man to take her on? Her family is still quite disgraced. Think what a fortunate escape poor Henry had in calling off their engagement!’

  There came muffled laughter, more like the cackling of two malicious old hens to send a dart through to Grace’s pounding heart.

  ‘Mind you, the more I think about it the more I’m convinced she and Dauntsey are a good match. His reputation is just as infamous as hers, after all. You must have heard he was seen brawling in the Black Swan tavern soon after his return? He claimed it was self-defence, but what was a man of his standing doing in such a low establishment in the first place?’

  ‘If you ask me, they’re each as scandalous as the other. Quite the pair of miscreants—how well-suited!’

  One glance up into Spencer’s face told Grace he had heard every word, but this time there was no blank uninterest. Real anger lit the darkness of his eyes and a scorching flood of mortification made Grace’s skin burn beneath her black gown. He looked ready to stride the length of the shop and haul the male half of the spiteful couple out from behind the shelf and sharp alarm shrilled to mix with the nauseous churn of Grace’s stomach at the thought.

  ‘Don’t.’ She laid a cold hand on his arm, feeling the strength in it with a vague appreciation she dismissed at once. There had never been a worse time for her unconscious weakness for her husband to manifest itself—while he glared over her head in the direction of the suddenly silent whisperers with such intensity it was a wonder their bookcase didn’t burst into flames.

  ‘Please. Say nothing. Just take me home.’

  Without pausing to hear his reply Grace gathered her skirts and swept towards the exit, pushing past Spencer’s rigid frame. He merely stood, apparently deciding whether or not to obey, and she could only hope he would follow her as she flung open the door, careless of anything but escaping the cruel words that echoed in her mind.

  Precious little beauty... Disgraced... A pair of miscreants...

  Her lungs felt as though they might burst as she slipped down the front steps and into the street, before stopping uncertainly, unsure where to flee. In her distress she couldn’t think where they had left the carriage and it was a relief to feel the sudden sensation of Spencer’s hand tightening around her numb fingers, turning her about so he could look down into her face.

  ‘Why wouldn’t you allow me to confront them? The bile they were spitting deserved to be challenged!’

  Grace’s throat was dry and she tried to swallow, a tidal wave of shame rising to engulf her as unstoppably as the sea against rock. Spencer’s expression was still angry, but edged with a puzzlement she could barely credit. How could it be that he still didn’t grasp their situation? Must she truly spell it out to him in terms a child could understand?

  ‘Surely you can see that would only have made things worse. If you’d stormed over to argue back, it would have caused an even uglier scene and given society even more reason to point fingers when I dare step outside my own door.’

  ‘But why would it have been you who bore the brunt of it?’ A frown pinched black eyebrows together in a stern line. ‘Why do you suppose it would be you who was shamed? It
would have been I who lost my temper and with good reason. I don’t care for people upsetting my wife, saying whatever they please about her and especially not in my hearing.’

  Grace blinked, the reply she’d thought to make mysteriously vanishing with Spencer’s unexpected candour. She’d assumed his ire was the result of his hurt pride; not concern for her, a protective gesture that caught her off guard.

  Surprise unravelled slowly in the pit of her stomach where before there had been only humiliation, travelling upwards to lick at her spine as she savoured his words.

  He dislikes the whispers about me that much? I’d thought him so unmoved.

  She peered up at him, unsure now how to respond. He had intended to defend her against the cruel slights of Henry’s friends, a stark difference to how Henry himself had exposed her to ridicule, and the knowledge found the young girl that still lived inside her to make her flush.

  Spencer Dauntsey, caring about my feelings above his own? Thirteen-year-old Grace would be beside herself.

  But they weren’t children any more, she a blushing girl and Spencer a handsome lad not yet grown. They were adults now and the thought that she had somehow, against all the odds, stumbled into a union with a man who not only made her heart race but seemed to care more for her with each passing day was surely too good to be true.

  Unless it is true. Unless Spencer has proven, without even knowing it, that not all men see a woman’s value in terms of her connections and fortune.

  He evidently waited for her to speak and the seriousness of his comely face forced her to grope for a suitable answer.

  ‘I appreciate the sentiment, but really, if you didn’t want any further scandal heaped on my name, you would have gone entirely the wrong way about it. You and I are a pair now in the eyes of the world: whatever either of us does is reflected on the other, for better or for worse. I’m sure you can understand that.’

  There was a pause. A slight action of Spencer’s jaw caught Grace’s eye as the muscle tensed and when he spoke she heard the note of displeasure there with a flit of dismay.