No. He would not do that to her.
Or, to himself.
But she was still looking at him, awaiting an answer. And Del made a little noise of amusement, shrugged, and gave her a wide and reassuring grin. “Of course not,” he said dismissively, hoping she couldn’t see behind his false smile. “I’m just trying to get your mind off your worries. I’m sure that your Captain Ponsonby is unaffected by a little splash on his shoe.”
“You’re certain?”
“Quite.”
Their gazes met, and something moved between them— invisible, indiscernible, there. Del felt it as a frisson of warmth that passed like lightning through every cell in his body. She must have felt it too, as she colored deeply and looked down. The moment, short as it was, turned suddenly awkward. Del didn’t know what to say. What to do. He cleared his throat and made to rise.
Her hand came out, her fingers on his wrist.
“Stay with me, Captain Lord.”
He began to sit back down.
And at that moment Sheldon Ponsonby, his handsome face sporting the smile that had conquered the hearts of England’s fairer sex wherever he’d gone, came toward them and the moment was lost.
“Lady Grace. Would you do me the honor of taking a turn around the deck with me?”
He offered her an arm and raised her to her feet. She glanced at Del and he nodded, grinned, and mouthed an I told you so. The grin immediately faded as they moved away, and Del was left sitting there all by himself, forgotten.
He watched them go, feeling as though he’d been punched in the stomach.
She did not look back.
With a heavy sigh, he retrieved his book and tried to pick up where he’d left off.
But the words, so interesting just minutes before, no longer meant anything.
* * *
Captain Ponsonby’s elbow was hard and muscular beneath his uniform sleeve, and giddy with excitement, terrified that fate would find some new way to sabotage her hopes and dreams, and most of all just plain confused about the conflict rising within her, Grace allowed him to guide her forward.
She heard him talking about the guns— how quickly they could fire, how far they could hurl a ball, how much each one weighed— and her mind didn’t quite hear him because she was still thinking of the moment she’d just shared with Captain Lord. A moment of quiet friendship that had suddenly been so much more, a breaking-through of a desire that she’d been increasingly aware of but unwilling, or perhaps afraid, to acknowledge let alone address, and his startling words. Words which he’d retracted under the excuse of teasing her, an excuse she sensed with all the intuition of her soul, was just that.
An excuse.
Words. And he had said them.
She could not get their recent interaction out of her mind. Could not get his words out of her mind. Could not get him out of her mind.
And everything inside her felt suddenly hollow.
I would have liked to stay there with Captain Lord, her heart said. I was enjoying that conversation. I was enjoying his company.
But look! It is Captain Ponsonby’s arm that you’re on. You’ve been dreaming of this moment forever! replied her head.
And yet the easy laughter she’d shared with Captain Lord, the slow thawing of his rigid exterior, the cautious smile and his brief foray into flirting with her—
All gone up like vapors in the sun the moment Captain Ponsonby had appeared.
Her escort, the dazzling man of her dreams, was still going on about guns.
“Will you fire them for the Falconer children?” she asked suddenly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Little Anne and Mary. They are apparently quite enamored of guns. I overheard them begging their mother to ask you to fire them.”
Captain Ponsonby looked perplexed. “And why would I do that? It seems like an unnecessary waste of powder and resources, firing guns for the entertainment of children.”
Something moved unpleasantly in her gut, and Grace realized it wasn’t seasickness. It was something more than disappointment but less than anger. Either way, it did not feel good.
“They are your admiral’s children, are they not?” she asked, smiling to mask that disappointment for suddenly, Captain Ponsonby wasn’t shining quite so brightly.
“They are, but I am not going to fire guns for no reason at all. What if there’s a French warship about and I call attention to it with such foolishness? No, my lady. Not a wise idea. Who ever would do such a thing, I wonder?”
“Captain Lord,” she said, almost defiantly.
“Did he, now?” Ponsonby’s brows rose, and his perfect and handsome face registered disbelief.
“That is what young Ned Falconer told me.”
Her escort shrugged and made a dismissive little motion with his hand. “I’m sure he only did so at Sir Graham’s directive, and given the endless monotony of a sea crossing, they were all probably quite starved for entertainment. Either way, if Captain Lord wishes to turn a warship into a circus show for the benefit of children, that is his prerogative.” The captain flicked a bit of spray off the barrel of one of the guns. “As for me, I will save my vessel’s resources for when it really matters. Shall we continue on, my lady?”
“Yes,” she said a bit numbly, and turning her head she saw Delmore Lord quite a distance behind her now, his tall form filling the chair, his head with its noble nose and unruly dark hair curling out from beneath his hat, bent in perusal of his book.
Delmore Lord, who appeared to like children much more than Captain Ponsonby did.
Delmore Lord, who didn’t think that firing guns and expending powder was a waste of his vessel’s resources at all.
Delmore Lord, sitting all alone back there with an empty chair beside him.
Lady Grace Fairchild looked at that empty chair and something stirred painfully within her heart.
That chair shouldn’t be empty.
I should still be sitting in it. Beside him.
“And this,” Captain Ponsonby continued, sweeping his arm forwards, “is the waist of the ship, where the ship’s boat is kept along with spare spars. It’s the place where the men...”
His voice droned on, but Lady Grace Fairchild was no longer paying attention.
She could not get that empty chair out of her mind.
* * *
She wasn’t the only one whose heart was churning.
Lieutenant James Akers stood near the helm, his eyes hard with anger. He had watched his captain frowning as he’d spied Lady Grace occupying the chair beside Delmore Lord, and telling James to assume the quarterdeck, had headed over to the pair.
Akers knew his captain well enough to know that Ponsonby did not welcome challenges to the things he took for granted, including the hearts of the women that came in and out of his life and who salivated after him like bitches in heat. He would not tolerate competition, especially from a dead bore like Captain Lord.
Damn that chit, Akers thought savagely.
Though he was in possession of both, he didn’t need good ears or eyesight to hear the words that passed between them or see the joyous smile that broke out on the girl’s face when Ponsonby offered his elbow. He’d hoped she’d decline him, prove herself immune to him when every other woman Ponsonby ever encountered could not resist him. He’d hoped she’d stay there with Captain Lord, but why would she? The flag captain was stiffer than a stick, lacking the easy, confident charm and sheer charisma that was so much a part of Sheldon Ponsonby. She was probably grateful to be rescued. Grateful to get away from the company of such a snoozer. Still, such rationalization did nothing to temper Akers’s jealousy, his anger that his captain was bestowing such attention on another. Someone who hadn’t known him as long as he, James Akers had done, someone who would never be as loyal, as devoted, as steadfast as he had been to the very best man in the world. A man who had plucked him from abuse and torment all those years ago, befriended him, continued to care about him even no
w.
No, Akers was not willing to share.
Or see one iota of Ponsonby’s attention transfer itself to some silly bit of fluff who would not only break his heart, but take Ponsonby away from him. Because unlike the many other women the captain had shown favor to over the years, Lady Grace presented a real and serious threat, and there was no denying it.
Fear, not unlike what he’d felt that long ago day at Eton, suddenly chilled him. Where would he be if Ponsonby wed the chit? Would Ponsonby care about him anymore with a wife and surely children, to occupy his time and interests? Who would protect him from his well-bred peers, the very unfairness of the system?
Nobody.
He would be alone.
Alone. Just like he’d been all those years ago at Eton before Ponsonby had reached a hand down to help him.
Akers clenched his fists, wishing there was something he could hit.
Nearby, the sailing master murmured something to the helmsman. Both laughed.
Akers rounded on them. “What was that?”
“Oh, nothing, sir. We just noticed how interesting the young lady became to the captain once he learned she’s got a big dowry.”
“And what business is that of yours?”
“Well, we heard talk, and—”
“You heard talk! Talk! You’ll speak no more of it, nor gossip about matters you know nothing about. Is that understood? Is it?”
“Aye, sir,” said the helmsman, touching his forelock, but his eyes had gone sullen and Akers, tormented by thoughts of what the man might be thinking, was suddenly filled with anxiety and rage.
He shot a last warning glare at Nickerson then went to the rail. No wonder Ponsonby had come fully about when it came to Lady Grace Fairchild. It wasn’t just Ponsonby’s pride trying to usurp and defeat a perceived rival. Oh, no. It was a more disturbing reality. A more terrifying one. Lady Grace Fairchild was a pretty young woman with a heavy dowry and a family connection to a powerful admiral. What more could an ambitious and career-minded officer want in a wife?
He determined to find a way to remove her before she could become even more of a threat to his friendship with Ponsonby.
Because Sheldon Ponsonby was his. His friend, his captain, his protector.
And James Akers always kept what belonged to him.
22
Grace spent a restless night in the tiny cubbyhole of a cabin, sharing the space with Polly, and neither of them got much sleep. Polly made some chatter about the sea voyage, voicing her gratitude that she hadn’t yet been seasick and oh, didn’t Captain Lord’s manservant cut a handsome figure? As Grace had tossed and turned in the darkness, Polly had confessed that she had taken the trouble to learn the man’s name. “Jimmy Thorne, milady. And he’s Captain Lord’s coxswain.”
“What is that?”
“Don’t know, milady. I’m still learning all this seafaring stuff, just like you. But I’ll find out, I will!”
In the morning they were off Norfolk and well into the North Sea. Pushed along by a brisk westerly they followed the coast, changed tack and by early afternoon were in The Wash, their destination the bustling seaport of King’s Lynn.
Captain Ponsonby had a spring in his step and was all smiles. His cheerful demeanor helped her forget his reaction when Grace had cast up her accounts all over his shoes the day before. And that conversation they’d had, where he’d expressed contempt for the idea of firing his guns for the benefit of children... that too seemed distant as well, as did her disappointment with him.
He’d probably been in a bad mood. Or perhaps he didn’t care for a landlubber suggesting what he should do. Either way, that had been yesterday and today was today. She would think no more of it and instead, recklessly stuffed it to the back of her mind and bade it to stay there.
Not that there weren’t other concerns. Yes, he’d given her a tour of the decks yesterday and she, enamored of being in his presence, had absorbed little of what he’d said. Oh, gun and sail and wind had come out of the conversation, and he had dutifully inquired about her health following her bout with mal de mer, but he never crossed the line from proper host to flirtatious potential suitor, and that had Grace more than a little worried.
She mentioned it to Captain Lord, her chosen confidante.
“I don’t believe he really thinks all that much of me,” she lamented as the frigate, her mainsail and foresail already doused, began to lose way as it nosed farther and farther into The Wash. She looked wistfully at Captain Ponsonby as he directed operations from his quarterdeck. “And now I suppose he will stay here with the ship.”
“Perhaps absence will make his heart grow fonder.”
“Perhaps absence will make his heart grow forgetful.”
“I think you’re worrying too much.”
“What can I do, Captain Lord?”
“You could find a way to get him ashore.”
“How?”
He shrugged. “Well, you could ask Sir Graham to suggest to him that he take the opportunity to visit his sister. After all, the former Letitia Ponsonby is married to Lord Weybourne and they live near my brother and his family. That would score points with Ponsonby, should he find out that you advocated for him.”
“What a great idea!”
Del just shrugged again. More the fool am I, he thought. But it was hopeless, anyhow. It always had been. Lady Grace’s attention was quite firmly on his charismatic blond rival. She saw nobody else.
Certainly not him.
Swallowing his bile over it, he watched her move toward Sir Graham who was relaxing with his family some distance away, and have a word with him. Saw his admiral nod and, a moment later, beckon a midshipman to him who was quickly dispatched to the helm to inform Ponsonby of his decision.
So much for that, Del thought, in defeat. He moved to the rail and stared down at the water, hearing the commands from forward as the anchor party prepared to drop the hook.
He took off his hat, raked his hands through his unruly curls, and gazed unseeingly at the low, flat marshes that surrounded the estuary. The houses and chimney pots of nearby King’s Lynn were in shadow beneath passing clouds, the air thick with salt and the smell of the marshes. A tern flew past, its long elegant wings carving a path through the sky. Del looked away, and back down into the water below.
His heart hurt. He had tried to guard it, tried to keep it safely contained in its little box and once again, he had failed. His attraction to Lady Grace was no different from what he’d felt for Rhiannon Evans, and he cursed himself for allowing himself to be vulnerable yet again. But no. This was worse. Worse, because what he felt for Lady Grace far surpassed what he’d felt for Rhiannon Evans, eclipsed it, even. And why not? Rhiannon had never involved him in a plot, never spent any significant time with him, never asked him about his life with any real interest, and his admiration for her had been from afar. She had chosen another, just as Lady Grace had done, and by now he should have known better. But loneliness did that to a person, didn’t it? Especially when paired with imagination and want. He was starved for female companionship, he wanted to start a family of his own, and he felt increasingly left behind, watching his peers all take wives while he seemed to be unlucky in love.
“Captain Lord?”
“What can I do for you, Ned?”
The youngster’s lower lip stuck out and he looked as defeated as Del felt. “I don’t want to go spend a week at some dumb horse farm with a bunch of people I don’t know. I’m sorry, I know that Colin Lord is your older brother, and that he was Papa’s flag captain at one time, just like you are... but how boring is that all going to be? I want to stay here, aboard a ship.”
“We’ll find something to do,” Del offered lamely, and wondered much the same thing.
“What? I’m sure I’ll end up having to watch Mary and Anne and keep them out of trouble. Mama is busy with the baby. At least at Ruscombe Hall, they had a pond with a boat in it.”
“Well, as I understand it, this horse
farm is near the sea... perhaps we can find someone with a boat so can make our escape for a few hours.”
“Don’t tell me you’re not looking forward to this either?”
Del allowed himself the tiniest of grins. “I would never tell you that.”
One corner of the boy’s mouth turned up in a knowing smile. He nodded, mollified. Then, modeling the ways of his father’s flag captain, he straightened his spine and adopted the same pensive pose, hands clasped behind his back and his thoughts his own as they both watched the anchor splash down into the harbor. Around them, the frigate bustled with sudden commands and activity. A boat was let down. Sailors rigged a bosun’s chair for the women. A side party was mustered, and the shrill call of pipes rent the air as the admiral left the ship. Lady Falconer, as nimble as any British tar, followed him and with a little nod from Del, Ned did too, shunning the “girls’ way down,” as he put it, that was the rope sling.
The shunned contraption, however, was in full use. The Falconer’s nanny, the babe wrapped tightly in her arms, was next, and then the twins, both of whom loudly protested such an undignified exit from the ship when their parents and brother had taken the “real” way off. Grace, dubiously eyeing the rope sling, was next to go. Del, still at the rail, curled his fingers into his palms and watched the sailors’ actions with a critical eye. He was just about to step forward to help her when Akers brushed past him, rudely bumping his shoulder.
“Beg your pardon, sir,” the lieutenant said, barely glancing at him. “Captain asked me to assist the lady.”
“Are you so damned clumsy that you can’t walk a straight line from the quarterdeck to the side without knocking into a person, Akers?”
Akers gave him a nasty glare. “No, sir, but from my observations the lady is, and my captain doesn’t want her to come to any mischief.”
Del felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. He could make an issue of it if he wanted, but this was not his ship nor his lieutenant, and he was not so hot-headed that he would chastise the man over the incident or the blatant disrespect he was displaying to a superior officer.
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