My Saving Grace

by Harmon, Danelle

  Del’s lips twitched. The part of him that was stuffy, that Connor had worked so hard to change, to loosen up, to relax, wanted to draw himself up and retort with proper affront and dignity that he was more than just a sailor, that he was a captain in His Majesty’s Royal Navy and commanded a massive warship carrying six hundred men and a famous admiral. He would have liked to have told her that that admiral was one of Nelson’s own, his protégée in fact, and he’d have liked to have told her that her precious Captain Ponsonby had a long way to go before he was the “sailor” that Del himself was. But Del was not churlish, nor did he have a wish to cause this poor young lady any more embarrassment than she’d already suffered this day. Besides, he found a certain amusement in letting her believe he was a common tar. As bored as he was here at this wedding where he knew nobody but his admiral and that worthy man’s family, amusement was in desperately short supply.

  Let her believe that, then.

  No harm, there.

  “Yes,” he replied honestly. “I am a sailor. I work for your uncle.”

  “Good.” She wiped her eyes with one knuckle, raised her chin, and leaned forward. “Because I have a favor to ask of you, and I’m hoping you’ll oblige me.”

  12

  “A favor,” he repeated, and she heard the slight uncertainty in his voice along with a certain patient humor. “And what might that be, Lady Grace?”

  “As I’ve just told you, I... I fancy Captain Ponsonby, but he doesn’t even know I exist. And when my existence becomes known to him, it’s always at the expense of unbearable humiliation. I would like to rectify that. I would like to prove to him that I am more than what he’s observed to date, that I’d be a worthy counterpart, that I can converse on the subjects that are certainly near and dear to his heart.”

  In the gloom, she could just see Mr. Lord fold his arms across his chest and let his chin rest on his collarbone. He went very quiet. She wished she could know what he was thinking. Was he silently laughing, using the darkness to hide his amusement? Bemusement? Irritation, even?

  She wished she could see his face.

  She needed to find her footing.

  Rattled, she pressed on. “Obviously, my... um, performance in the lake this afternoon had rather the opposite effect. It proved that my skills are sorely lacking. Since you’re a sailor, Mr. Lord, I would be very grateful to you if perhaps you’d be willing to give me a few lessons on how to manage a boat.”

  “Well, I—”

  “I know it’s terribly forward of me, but Captain Ponsonby will soon be leaving for Norfolk and I don’t have much time to amend the impression I’ve made on him, not much time to show him that I do indeed have things in common with him. Once they leave for Norfolk, my opportunity will be lost.”

  “I... see.”

  “Can you help me?”

  Another long silence. “I would be happy to teach you a few things,” he said after a long moment, “but you will need a chaperone, of course. I don’t want tongues to wag. Or to put you in a position we may both lament.”

  “So you will you teach me?”

  “I can... attempt to,” he said, and she heard a faint bit of doubt in his voice.

  And this time, yes, most definitely— amusement.

  And she noticed something more about that voice. That it was pleasant in timbre, educated and confident. It was smooth and deep, reassuring, measured. The kind of voice a woman could happily listen to, curled up in his protective embrace, her ear against his chest, for hours on end.

  Or curled up beside him in bed.

  She blushed wildly. Where on God’s green earth had that thought come from?

  Her glance went to the shadowy form on the bench opposite her and she was grateful for the darkness, grateful that he could not see her sudden high color. He sat relaxed some fifteen feet away, but he had such a presence about him that he seemed much closer, and was imbibed with a sort of charisma that wasn’t unlike what she sensed in Captain Ponsonby. The captain, though, was resplendent and showy. This man...he was understated. In his own way he was easy to miss unless a person gave him a second thought, and studied him a little bit more than his initial demeanor invited.

  A bit of an enigma, really.

  “So do we have an agreement?” she asked, leaning forward.

  “Yes, but, you should probably know that I too will be leaving for Norfolk, most likely around the same time your quarry is likely to depart.”

  “My quarry!”

  “Is he not?”

  “Very well then, but put that way it sounds so... inappropriate.”

  “No more so than my being out here with you.” He rose to his feet. “Will you not come inside now?”

  “No, I will not.”

  “Very well, then. I’ll send someone out here to sit with you. In the meantime, we’ll have our first lesson tomorrow. Shall I meet you early in the morning? Say, at sunrise? At the pond?”

  “The lake?”

  “The pond.”

  “Yes, Mr. Lord. I will be there.”

  He bowed deeply, straightened up and melted into the darkness, and Grace was alone once more... wondering why she suddenly felt bereft, as though the very air had been sucked from her lungs, as though she’d just come down from a great height and fallen flat on her back, unable to breathe, somehow deflated.

  Odd, that.

  * * *

  “Ned, darling, would you mind finishing your pudding and going to check on your cousin Grace?”

  The boy had been trying to pretend interest in the goings-on around the table, adopting the gentlemanly manners he’d been taught, the posture, expressions, and words the adults were using but his mother, discreetly watching him from nearby, must have sensed his restlessness and much to Ned’s relief, now offered an escape. There was only so long he could pretend to understand the subtle politics and the not-so-subtle gossip that dominated the dinner conversation, much less show an interest in it. He wished Captain Lord were here. He’d probably be equally bored. At least they could talk ships and naval maneuvers.

  But Captain Lord had already been given his reprieve when Papa had sent him out of the room on some errand which, his mother admitted in a whisper when he’d asked, was to find his cousin, Lady Grace.

  Girls! Did they all require such... caretaking?

  Ned decided right then and there that he was never going to be bothered by girls. They were squealing, silly, delicate, ribbon-and-lace festooned creatures anyhow, and required too much effort.

  Still, a reprieve was a reprieve and an escape was an escape.

  “Yes, Mama,” he said dutifully, and cramming a last bite of strawberry tart into his mouth, tried not to leap from his seat. He kept his pace under control. Once out of the dining room, he burst into a run.

  His footsteps echoed through the empty hall, and there he paused. Where had his cousin gone?

  The big doors that led outside opened, and Captain Lord walked in. He looked preoccupied. Very preoccupied.

  “Captain Lord!”

  “Why, Ned. What are you doing out here? Is the meal finished already?”

  “It is for me. I was so bored I couldn’t stand it. Mama sent me out to find cousin Grace. You haven’t seen her, have you?”

  Captain Lord paused for a moment. “You ought to be in bed, young man. It’s late.”

  “Bed? Why? It’s not even nine o’clock. I’m not tired.”

  “You nearly died a few months back. You should be resting.”

  “But I didn’t die, I don’t feel like resting, and you know something you’re not telling me.”

  Captain Lord’s firm mouth tightened in the way it always did when he wanted to say something but was holding back, and Ned knew he was lamenting the fact that he, Ned, was not only a young boy but his admiral’s son and thus, at an advantage over even his father’s powerful flag captain. Captain Lord couldn’t really reprimand him, and both of them knew it.

  Ned pressed home. “So what aren’t you telli
ng me?”

  “Your cousin is out in the garden, on a bench, and pining for an absolute rotter. She is also quite alone. If you know what’s good for you, young man, you’ll go fetch her inside right now before any harm comes to either her person or her reputation.”

  “Why don’t you do that?”

  “Because you know what happened with your Uncle Connor and Rhiannon. Oh, no. If I’m seen alone with her, harm will indeed come to her reputation, I’d be honor-bound to defend it, but her guns are quite firmly sighted on Captain Ponsonby. I will not get in the way of them.”

  “You should.”

  “What?”

  “I’d rather have you in the family than Captain Ponsonby any day of the week. I don’t like him. Oh, he’s probably a good captain and all, but he thinks highly of himself, does he not?”

  “That is not for me to say. What is for me to say is that your cousin thinks highly of him, and that is her business, not mine.”

  Captain Lord turned abruptly on his heel but not before Ned caught the expression on his face. It was the same look of repressed, pinched longing that he’d had when the beautiful Rhiannon had turned her attention on Connor instead of Captain Lord. A look of resigned despair. For not the first time in the last half hour, Ned thanked his lucky stars that he was not prone to the foolishness that men and women exhibited over matters of the heart. He vowed he never would be.

  He watched as his father’s flag captain headed resolutely back toward the dining room. It was only as he reached the great doors that led inside that Ned saw him pause, thinking for a moment.

  He abruptly turned from the door and headed for the stairs instead.

  Ned didn’t blame him.

  That dining room was the most boring place in the world.

  He wasn’t inclined to go back in there, either.

  13

  Del moved quickly up the stairs.

  If he were half the rogue that Ponsonby was, he’d have positioned himself on the bench next to her, taken her hand, turned on the charm and kissed the living daylights out of her.

  But Del was not a rogue. And, he lamented, he had no charm to turn on. He was a mariner, and his skills lay in navigation and ship-handling, organization and command, problem-solving, admiral-placating, order-giving, diplomacy, naval tactics, and seamanship.

  What the devil did he know about women, save for his sisters and, in the romantic sense, a mistress he’d once set up in Bridgetown, a cunning female who’d turned out to be an expensive and demanding bother? He’d eventually terminated their relationship, and while meeting his needs would have been easy in any of the brothels in that tropical town, Del, as fastidious as his admiral had earlier noted, was not inclined to pick up the pox or any other lover’s disease all for the sake of a frolic in the sheets.

  No, he had been celibate for a while, and would remain so until such time as he took a wife.

  Strangely, the pretty face of his admiral’s niece suddenly filled his mind. Stayed there and wouldn’t leave.

  Allowing it to remain there was folly. He’d learned his lesson following the heartbreak of losing Rhiannon to his cousin Connor, and why would this be any different? The girl was all agog over Ponsonby. A mere frigate captain, Del thought rather loftily, and noticing his pettiness, frowned. Not that it mattered. He himself was the captain of a ship-of-the-line and yet the lovely Rhiannon Evans had never even looked at him, so enamored was she of the American privateer.

  If he could lose a girl to a veritable pirate, then he had no chance against a frigate captain, no matter how “mere” Del personally found that command in comparison to his own.

  She’s not for you, anyhow. She’s funny and kind-hearted, self-deprecating and pretty, but she’s got her cap set for another and it’s no sense even trying. Stop thinking about her. Stop fantasizing. Teach her how to sail the damned skiff and let it go at that.

  At the top of the stairs, he ran into his admiral’s wife just exiting her room. He bowed courteously. “Lady Falconer.”

  “Hello, Del. Just checking on the little ones. Did you find Lady Grace?”

  “I did, and turned her over to the competent care of young Ned.”

  “Oh.” She paused. “Well, then.”

  Del slanted her a confused look. “I’m sorry?”

  “Ariannah despairs of ever finding a husband for the girl. She’s got a wild streak in her, to be sure, but it’s her propensity for embarrassing mishaps that’s been her undoing. Or so her mother says. They invited Ponsonby here in the hopes of making a match, but...”

  “But what?”

  “I just can’t see them together, really.”

  “Well, the young lady is quite enamored of him. So much so that she’s asked me to teach her how to sail in an attempt to impress and win him.”

  “You should.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  He made a little scoffing noise and shook his head.

  “Have you agreed?”

  “I felt I had no choice.”

  Lady Falconer smiled, and her unusual tiger-eyes gleamed. “I can’t think of a better instructor. You’re patient, Del, and given how you always do everything by-the-book, I cannot, for the life of me, ever imagine her coming to any mishaps under your tutelage. You really ought to tell her what you do for work, you know. Who you are. She seems to like naval captains.”

  “I have no designs upon the girl,” Del said, rather too quickly.

  Her smile spread. “Of course you don’t.”

  “Besides,” he added hastily, “I’m finding I rather like the anonymity of being Sir Graham’s ‘sailor friend.’ Sometimes it’s rather nice to just sit back and watch the world go by, to be an observer instead of a problem-solver or commander.”

  “Indeed,” the former Pirate Queen mused, putting a finger against her mouth to quell the spreading grin.

  They stood there for a moment and Del, wondering what was behind that smile, was seized by a sudden desire to escape.

  “Lady Falconer,” he murmured, and bowed.

  “Captain Lord,” she said with a formality that was unnecessary given how long he had served as her husband’s flag captain— and the fact that she was Connor’s and Kieran’s sister and thus, after all, his own cousin.

  Del resumed his walk down the hall.

  “By the way, Del.”

  He paused and turned, one brow arched.

  “While we’re here, the admiral would like to visit Norfolk for a few days so he can see your brother, Colin. We’re leaving the day after tomorrow, should you wish to join us.”

  “And who will be making this journey?”

  “Sir Graham and I, and of course, the children. Lady Grace, and possibly her sister Hannah. It’s only fair to give Ariannah some private time with her new husband, really. Captain Ponsonby will sail us there to spare us the wretchedness of coach travel.”

  Norfolk.

  Del considered for a moment. He hadn’t seen Colin in quite some time. Quite a long time, really. He had planned to visit his brother and maybe his parents in Hampshire as well, before they all returned to the Caribbean, so why not join the Falconers? Besides, it would be far more interesting than staying here where he knew nobody and had little inclination to change that happy fact.

  Even if he’d have to clamp down on his unwanted feelings for the girl, stuff them away where they couldn’t hurt him, and ignore them as if they didn’t exist.

  Yes, he’d learned his lesson after Connor and Rhiannon.

  “Of course,” he said, feeling as though he were sailing toward a lee shore in hurricane force winds. “I would love to go to Norfolk.”

  * * *

  Del returned to his room, shed his tailcoat, shoes and waistcoat, and dressed in just shirt and trousers, stretched out on the bed.

  He stared up at the ceiling.

  Norfolk.

  A trip that would be spent grooming a girl to appeal to a man he was coming to despise. Something he could no
t understand because really, Ponsonby was a nice enough fellow, if a little too attractive to the fairer sex.

  He wondered why that suddenly annoyed him.

  Why it seemed like, well, almost a threat.

  He was still pondering his curious reaction to a colleague when the distant crowing of a cock penetrated his thoughts and he opened his eyes to faint light beyond the windows and a glow in the sky over the downs. Had he actually fallen asleep in his clothes?

  How improper.

  To sleep fully clothed aboard ship was one thing; as captain, he had to be ready on a moment’s notice to deal with emergencies, weather changes, the sight of a French warship hull up on the horizon. But his idea of slipping into a role of quiet anonymity and living as a landsman for a short time, was falling dreadfully afoul of reality.

  Sleeping in his clothing.

  Sunup and he hadn’t even shaved.

  He got up, padded to the corner where a washstand held a ceramic bowl and pitcher, and washed his face. He thought about summoning Thorne, but no... he was not in the mood for the company of his coxswain and certainly, he could shave his own face. He was just searching about for the razor when a shaft of early-morning sunlight came through the window and struck the opposite wall.

  Damnation.

  He glanced at his pocket watch. The idea of appearing in polite company unshaven, let alone in sleep-rumpled clothes was unimaginable to him, but so was the idea of turning up late. Bad enough to keep a man waiting. Twice, no thrice as bad if it was a lady. Del quickly changed into a fresh shirt, cleaned his teeth, and was just opening the door to dash down the hall when he spied Thorne approaching with a tray that included the coffee with one cube of sugar, otherwise black, that his captain enjoyed every morning.

  Del waved him off with a muttered apology and shrugging into his waistcoat, hurried for the stairs.

  Behind him, Thorne raised a brow.

  The captain was a man of strict routine and rigid protocol. What on earth would compel him to leave his chamber without a shave, let alone his morning coffee?