My Saving Grace

by Harmon, Danelle

  “Ignore him!” Grace said, putting a hand on her instructor’s arm, which was rock beneath her fingers.

  The other man wasn’t backing down. “Will you enjoy his niece now, as well?”

  Grace gasped, and saw Captain Ponsonby trying to steer his companion away. “Lieutenant Akers is foxed,” he called with a nervous and placating gesture. “Pay him no mind, Del.”

  “Not foxed enough,” Akers said, gaining his feet and in trying to keep his balance, shoving Captain Ponsonby aside. “But I’m getting there.”

  The boat nosed into the weeds, parted them, and hit the shore with a jolt.

  Mr. Lord got out of the boat and pulled it farther up onto the shore, the muscles in his arms jumping, his face hard.

  Captain Ponsonby tried again to get control of his friend. “I’ll bring him into the house, Del,” he said hastily. “No need for conflict here, really.”

  The smaller man pushed helplessly at him. “Unhand me, Captain. I do not need a child-minder.”

  “What you need is a good kick in the head,” said Delmore Lord, reaching into the boat to help Grace out.

  “What did you say?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I should call you out for such an insult!”

  Delmore Lord steadied Grace as she stepped out of the boat, making sure she did not get her feet wet. “Go right ahead. Nothing stopping you.”

  “I should! And I will.”

  “No, you shouldn’t because it would be foolhardy on your part, and you won’t, because you, sir—” Mr. Lord turned and leveled his gaze on the other man— “are a blustering coward.”

  The word hung in the air, ugly and shocking, and Akers stood there gaping, his face reddening with anger and his lips trembling with affront. He began to speak, thought better of it, and when he looked at Grace she saw the humiliation there, the rage, and a sudden violence in the man’s eyes that made her instinctively want to crowd closer to her instructor as he yanked the boat fully up on the beach and tossed the bow rope around a nearby rock.

  Akers found his voice. “What did you say?”

  Mr. Lord straightened up. “I said, that you are a blustering coward. Do I need to repeat myself a third time?”

  Grace’s hand flew to her mouth. Her teacher moved toward the gaping aggressor, and Captain Ponsonby stepped suddenly between them.

  “Now, now, gentlemen—”

  His desperate attempt to prevent violence was a needless one.

  At that moment the door to the house opened, Ned Falconer came flying across the lawn and in his wake, taking all the time in the world, was Sir Graham Falconer.

  * * *

  “Good morning, gentleman,” said the admiral, smiling, but Del saw the cold glint in his superior’s eyes, the assessing look he gave both himself and Akers, the way the little tightening of his mouth indicated his displeasure before he said genially, “Everything all right out here?”

  “Yes, sir,” Del said tersely.

  “Aye, sir,” repeated Akers, glaring at Del.

  Sir Graham nodded to the little boat that Del and Grace had just vacated, giving his son permission to take it out onto the lake. “Good. Because I couldn’t help but observe what was going on out here from the dining room. Given the propensity that naval officers seem to have for dueling, I won’t have either of you engaging in such needless displays of foolhardiness.” He looked at each man in turn. “Is that understood?”

  Polly, watching this all with mute horror, had gone white.

  It was Grace who broke the sudden tense silence. “Everything is fine, Uncle Gray. Mr. Lord was showing me how to sail a boat and this man here, well, he’s had too much to drink so none of us are taking him seriously. Maybe it would be best if you bring him back into the house so he can sleep off the effects of too much rum.”

  “It was brandy, my lady,” said Akers, bowing and nearly falling over. His mocking attempts at chivalry only earned a look of raw disgust from Mr. Lord, who turned away and stared hard out over the sparkling lake as though he could not suffer even looking at the other man.

  “The admiral’s right,” said Captain Ponsonby, flashing a smile that found the pit of Grace’s stomach and tweaked her nerves into a thrumming mire of confusion. “Best to get you to bed, James! Come along, let’s go.”

  He snatched the flask from the man’s hand and led him, still protesting, off toward the house.

  Grace saw Mr. Lord’s shoulders visibly relax. Sir Graham, however, was not mollified.

  “What was that about, Del?”

  “Bad blood between us, sir.”

  “Obviously.”

  “He has not changed since we served together aboard the old Dancer. In fact, he’s only become worse. I cannot promise that my response will be as restrained the next time he insults me.”

  “There will be no next time. Maeve and I have decided that we’ve both had enough of silly sisters, stuffy houses, gossip, foolishness, and this lamentable house party.”

  Del said nothing.

  “We have decided to spend the remainder of our stay up in Norfolk. It’s been years since I last saw my former flag captain and I know you’d relish the chance to visit Colin and his family as well.” Sir Graham grinned. “He is, after all, your brother.”

  Del nodded stiffly.

  “I have asked Captain Ponsonby to transport us as he, too, owes his family there a visit. His sister Letitia is married to Tristan St. Aubyn, the Earl of Weybourne, is she not?”

  “Aye, sir. And Weybourne is Colin’s brother-in-law. He married Lady Ariadne St. Aubyn, the earl’s sister.”

  “Complicated, all these family connections.”

  “Indeed.”

  “They raise horses now, I understand?”

  “Yes, sir, they do.”

  “I love horses,” Grace put in, gazing helplessly at Ponsonby’s retreating back.

  “Nasty, smelly creatures,” Sir Graham said. “Give me a ship any day of the week over a foul-tempered beast who wants nothing more than to dump you on the ground or take off with your carriage while you cling to the damned thing for dear life.”

  “They are not as bad as all that, Uncle Gray.”

  “Even so, our time here is limited and I’ll not waste it thumping and bumping in a cramped coach all the way up to Norfolk. We’ll leave for Portsmouth tomorrow and travel by sea.”

  Grace felt a sudden panic. “I love ships, too,” she added desperately, though she had never been aboard one in her entire two decades of life.

  “Then I guess you should prepare to see one up close.”

  She stared up at her uncle, her mouth falling open in confusion.

  “There’s nothing here for you to do, what with your mother occupied with her latest husband. They deserve some time together. Hannah has declined the offer to visit Norfolk in favor of spending time with a friend at a nearby estate, but you are free, should you wish, to accompany us.”

  No separation from Captain Ponsonby then, and more time to make her case, to rectify damage, to try and win his heart.

  She clasped her hands together. “Oh, Uncle Gray, I would love that. Thank you! Thank you!”

  17

  Grace could hardly contain herself.

  Escape from the dreary monotony of Ruscombe Hall and Mama and her new husband making eyes at each other. Escape from Nothing To Do. An adventure on a real boat where she might be able to demonstrate her newfound skills to Captain Ponsonby, and that real boat commanded by Captain Ponsonby himself, who would be blindingly handsome in full dress uniform and causing her heart to flip and flop in her chest like a fish gasping for air. She could just swoon with excitement!

  It did not escape her, though, that her instructor didn’t appear to share that excitement. A part of her knew why. She thought to say something, to thank him for the lesson, but he quickly excused himself and headed off to the house.

  Captain Ponsonby left a few hours later for Portsmouth and Grace and Hannah were quick to start
their packing, poor Polly, who was shared between them, lamenting the idea of being on a boat.

  “I get seasick, milady.”

  “And how would you know that, Polly?” asked Hannah. “You grew up here. You’ve never been on a boat.”

  “Don’t matter, I just know ’twill be awful.”

  “Oh, Polly, it will be fun! Think of all the dashing sailors you’ll meet!” added Grace, thinking of one dashing sailor in particular and trying to picture him standing on deck in command of his frigate. “And once there, we’ll get to see the Weybourne’s famous Norfolk Thoroughbreds. You may not like boats, but no person in their right mind would pass up an opportunity like that!”

  “I concur,” Hannah said. “You couldn’t pay me to get on a boat. No, you two can sail on up to Norfolk... I’m happy to be staying on terra firma!”

  They took two coaches. One carried the Falconers, with Ned happily perched on the box and asking the driver all sorts of questions as his clever young mind sought to understand how teams of horses were driven. When they stopped for lunch at a coaching inn, he was given the chance to hold the reins and help drive the team around the yard— under heavy supervision, of course. Afterwards, everyone went inside for a repast of gammon, potatoes, hearty bread and a very nice pea soup. The second coach carried Grace and Polly, as well as the luggage. Delmore Lord and his manservant rode along on horses just outside, both heavily armed with pistols. Mr. Lord also had a sword, his face stony, his thoughts his own.

  Watching him, Grace concluded that he was not the best rider in the world. He had a passable seat, but it was obvious that horsemanship was not something that came naturally to him and his demeanor when the animal got a little forward indicated unease. When they stopped to rest some time later, she invited him into the coach but he declined, saying the motion would make him queasy.

  Grace had the distinct impression that it was an excuse.

  But for what? Was he angry with her because of the mishap with the swans? Was he stewing over the frightful insults delivered by that odious man, Lieutenant Akers?

  She watched him riding outside the coach, his face in shadow beneath his hat, only his hard lips and jaw, now properly shaved, catching the light from the sun above.

  They stopped for the night at an inn and arrived in Portsmouth early the following afternoon. The mild weather back home had not followed them to the bustling naval port. Here, the air was cool and damp, heavy with salt, the harbor steeped in mist that looked much the color of Mr. Lord’s eyes. Gulls screamed and called, mariners and seamen were everywhere, and the streets were full of carts and wagons and fancy vehicles carrying naval officers to and from their port duties. Heavy cloud hung suspended from a sky that yielded no blue, and as they got out of the coaches, with Mr. Lord coming himself to personally assist Grace and Polly down from theirs, her eyes lit upon the boats, ships and other vessels tied up at the wharves and anchored in the nearby reaches of the harbor, the masts of the tallest of them lost in mist.

  “Which one is Captain Ponsonby’s ship?” she asked him, unable to conceal her excitement.

  “Anchored out in the roads. You can barely see her because of the mist.”

  “And the ship that you work on with my uncle — is that one here, too?”

  “Yes, even farther out in the mist. You will not see her at all.”

  His manservant made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a guffaw, until a quelling glare from Mr. Lord silenced him.

  The man turned away, smirking.

  Confused, Grace looked at Mr. Lord, wondering why he was so stiff. So remote. So... tight. He passed the reins of his horse to a young groom who came running to assist them, all but dismissing her.

  Grace glanced at Polly, raising her brows in question. The maid shrugged and then turned her attention on Mr. Lord’s manservant who, at that moment, cast a glance over his shoulder and winked at the maid as he also gave his horse to the groom. Polly blushed wildly. Across the street, the door to an inn opened and out came Captain Ponsonby, polished and handsome, his smile as bright and shining as the buttons of his smart blue naval coat.

  Grace’s jaw dropped. Her heart pounded in her chest. She stood trying not to gape as he greeted the admiral and his family, for he was blindingly handsome in his uniform and he was now moving toward her.

  And smiling.

  Ohhh! He’s looking at me. Me! Looking at me as though he actually sees me!

  “Lady Grace.” He took and bowed over her hand. Grace’s heart skipped a beat and she glanced at Mr. Lord, hoping to share her excitement with her co-conspirator. He nodded tightly to acknowledge their small victory and turned away as Ned went running to him, excitedly babbling about the ships in the harbor.

  Grace looked at him and frowned. Poor man. He must be sore from riding. No wonder he looked so unhappy.

  But she was anything but unhappy. Captain Ponsonby was standing there right in front of her talking to her uncle, he had noticed her with warmth and interest, and she was suddenly glad she’d chosen her favorite nankin carriage dress for the journey. It was accented by a jaunty azure scarf with a white-butterfly print— a gift from her mother— tied at the junction of her collarbones. It complimented her eyes. Or so Mama said. Did she look all right? Would the Captain think so?

  “The George is serving a delicious kidney pie for lunch,” Ponsonby said cheerfully. “And the gravy is enough to melt it in your mouth. Fresh bread right out of the oven as well. You must all be quite famished.”

  Hearty murmurs of assent.

  Mr. Lord had moved closer to the water, his arm around Ned’s shoulders as he pointed to something out in the gray, foggy harbor. Grace watched him for a moment, and then Captain Ponsonby was there at her side, offering an arm.

  “Lady Grace,” he said warmly. “Shall we?”

  She blushed with delight and gave him what she hoped was a demure but dazzling smile. “Thank you, Captain.”

  Suddenly breathless, she slid her gloved fingers into the crook of his arm and allowed him to escort her and their party across the cobblestones and toward the building from which he’d emerged, Polly walking just behind her and no doubt worrying about the upcoming sea voyage. Sir Graham cradled the baby in the crook of his arm and Lady Falconer held tightly to the little hands of each daughter, both of whom were clamoring for kidney pie and speculating what the pudding might be. Ned raced past, nearly getting mowed down by a horse pulling a cart of produce before an admonition from his father and a shouted curse from the driver caused him to slow his pace.

  “Sorry, Papa!”

  Through her own euphoria Grace saw her uncle and aunt exchange a private smile, and she realized the admiral was relieved to be returned to his element.

  They continued on toward the inn.

  Forgotten, Del stayed behind for a bit, purposely giving them distance. He made idle chatter with the drivers as they waited for ostlers to come and take the teams, but his gaze went to the vibrant and pretty young woman clinging to Sheldon Ponsonby’s arm as though it were a lifeline.

  He watched her go, laughing and looking up at the captain, his presence already forgotten, and the sensitive Irish heart that beat so woefully in his chest suddenly throbbed with unbearable pain.

  She looked back at him and he forced a smile and gave her a little wave.

  He only prayed he could keep up the pretense that he was happy for her.

  * * *

  To Grace’s eyes, the frigate was immense.

  They had enjoyed a hearty lunch that was every bit as delicious as Captain Ponsonby had promised it would be and she had passed the hour without shedding any hairs into the captain’s food, saying anything she’d instantly regretted, or otherwise embarrassing herself in any way.

  Huzzah for small victories! And now they were all being rowed out to Captain Ponsonby’s gallant ship, Mars to make the short journey up to Norfolk.

  The ship got bigger and bigger as they approached and on the thwart beside her, poor Po
lly grew whiter and whiter. Grace began to regret the decision to bring her; the poor maid’s distress and fear were palpable, and she began to worry about her.

  “Are you well, Polly?” she whispered.

  “Oh, yes, milady, I’ll be fine,” she whispered, with a wan smile. “Don’t like this much, I don’t. But it won’t be for long now, will it?”

  “Supposedly just a short sail around the coast and up to Norfolk. We’ll be fine.”

  Polly nodded jerkily, and touching her hand to reassure her, Grace watched in excitement as the sailors hooked on to what Ned, giving her a running commentary about ship-parts, said were the “chains.” Then, one by one, the men climbed aboard with ease, ascending strips of wood set into the tumblehome (according to Ned) with quick agility. On the deck high above, she heard shrill piercing whistles as the captain and her uncle went aboard, and half-heard Ned saying that was part of the navy’s ceremonial greeting to an officer boarding a ship. Grace was still thinking about the tumblehome and thinking it could just as easily be called the side, or the hull, or even the wall, because from her vantage point in the small boat, that was exactly what it looked like as she peered up at the ship towering above her.

  A wall.

  Steep and painted in black and yellow, the snouts of cannons— guns, Ned told her— poked out in a menacing line all along its deck above.

  It was a beautiful but intimidating thing, the ship, and she suddenly felt a bit of poor Polly’s unease.

  What mishaps await me this time? Because I know, I just know, it’ll be something.

  She and Polly were each hauled up this wall— or rather, tumblehome— in a contraption of ropes by some brawny-armed tars on the deck above, one of whom winked at Polly and caused her to blush wildly beneath her bonnet when her feet were finally on the deck. It did not escape Grace’s notice that while Lady Falconer sent her youngest children and their nanny up via the rope contraption, she herself derided it; instead, she pulled her skirts to one side, looped them over her arm, and clambered up the ship’s side as nimbly as did the men.