Caversham's Bride (The Caversham Chronicles - Book One)

by Raven, Sandy

  He turned to his old friend and said, “And you look... just as you always do these days, like you want to strangle someone.” Michael proceeded to pile a plate high with eggs, kippers, and bacon, then took a seat across from the duchess and next to Ren. “So, who is it you want to kill this time?”

  “My sister perhaps? She’s been pain in my backside this past week.”

  “Leave her be, husband,” the duchess warned. “Her behavior is to be expected considering tonight is her ball. Since the season began, we’ve attended everyone else’s parties. Tonight is her night.”

  Michael knew what a strong-willed chit Elise could be when her mind was set on something, so he had to sympathize with his friend on this. Except she was off this morning. Like a slightly lame horse, where you can’t tell exactly where the thing is bothered, she was just... off.

  “She was looking rather piqued just now,” Michael commented. “Hopefully an invigorating ride will settle her.” He swallowed a mouthful of food. “You can tell she’s nervous. She’s snapping like a shrew, and.... Wait, she’s always like that.” He winked at Ren. Michael actually found the whole discourse refreshing. Elise’s discomposure, while not something he’d laugh at, was out of the ordinary for her. So the stress of the night’s festivities was starting to wear on her. At least he was able to calm her before she mounted the mare. He’d hate to see her injured or worse because she wasn’t paying attention while riding her horse. Elise didn’t ride tractable, quiet horses. No. She trained as she rode, so she rode horses that would be problems for most riders.

  But the good thing about tonight was Elise was now on the marriage mart. Soon she would be locked away in the country at some poor fop’s estate, bearing offspring to continue that man’s lineage.

  He remembered his mother’s departing words yesterday, and it only served to pressure him to fulfill his duty now that he had the title. He was, after all, the last male in a family of eleven women. She reminded him of the fact that the title would not just go into abeyance, it would, in fact die with him if he didn’t see to finding a wife and begetting his own heirs.

  Still, Michael smiled. Lucky for him he had a three month reprieve to mourn his uncle before starting his search for a suitable bride. He wondered if this paragon of ladylike virtue, if she even existed, would mind if he continued his tradition of breakfast with his friends before work.

  “Like I said before,” Ren replied, “I can’t wait to hand her off to some unsuspecting chap and get her out of my hair. She’s put more gray on my head this past year than I ever gave our father.”

  “Husband!” Her Grace chided.

  “Oh, you don’t mean that and you know it,” Michael said with confidence. “The gray hairs part might be true, but handing her off to some young, dunder-headed prig? That’s not what she needs. Elise requires someone who will appreciate her spirit and charm.” He lifted a forkful of egg to his mouth. “Not some spineless ninny or worse someone who will break her to his will like a horse to saddle.”

  Where did that come from? Why was he defending Elise? Looking out for her well-being? The disconcerting, gnawing feeling he’d experienced just now struck a chord in him. An irritating one, at that. He was not going to feel sorry for the girl. She sat a horse better than he, and was almost as good a shot with a pistol as he. Why, she was probably even a decent card and billiard player as well. He already knew she played a fair game of chess and backgammon.

  She was a sporting lady. Not one of those simpering women one was compelled to feel sorry for. The chit was, and always had been, a nuisance—fancying herself in love with him since she could string a sentence together. So numerous were the times she had placed herself in his path either to annoy him or, as she grew older hoping to catch his eye, that he could not count. Though in all honesty she hadn’t done so in several years. At least not since her grandmother had moved in with them and Ren married. Her grandmother, her brother’s wife, and her house guest, Lady Beverly Hepplewhite, all seemed to be very good influences on Elise. And Michael had to admit he hadn’t seen much of her since she started on this horse project of hers.

  Yes, she would make some horse-mad fop a decent enough wife. And with a dowry as ample as hers, she’d be betrothed before the season ended.

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were talking about yourself,” Ren stated, matter-of-factly as he met Michael’s gaze over the rim of his coffee cup. “But we do know better, don’t we?”

  Michael turned his attention to the egg and sausage on his plate, determined to explore this peculiar feeling later. “Most certainly, Your Grace. I don’t need any added troubles under my roof. Have enough as it is, what with my mother and now my sisters pushing all these women at me—everything from barely-out-of-the-schoolroom misses to widows older than I.” He shook his head for emphasis. “I certainly don’t need your hellion sister sharpening her claws on my fair heart.” He sipped his coffee, and looked up into the sympathetic face of the duke. “No, my friend, the safe route’s the one for me.”

  “Ha! That’ll be the day, you rapscallion.” Everyone turned to the doorway when a silver-turbaned Lady Sewell entered the room leaning on her cane. Michael and Ren stood as the duke’s elderly grandmother came to take her usual seat to Michael’s left.

  “Good morning, my lady,” Michael said as he placed a kiss on the older woman’s wrinkled cheek, and assisted her to her chair. A footman brought her a plate with her usual breakfast, then cut her ladyship’s ham steak for her, and stepped back from the table.

  “Camden, when your three months mourning are over you had best have a future wife in mind.”

  “I thought I’d marry you, darling,” Michael said. “After all, we get along smashingly and I’ve never had a whist partner as sharp as you.”

  “If I could give you the heir you need, I’d take you up on it.” The woman’s blue-gray eyes sparkled with mischief as she forked a fluffy piece of egg.

  “If it wasn’t considered bad form, you would have every one of my dances tonight, my lady.” Michael said, as he realized their conversation was causing his friend to squirm in his seat.

  “I told Elise last night that if I were a young miss again I’d not settle for anything less than a man who’s kiss made my lady parts quiver and my brain turn to mush.” His Grace choked on his coffee, as his duchess serenely scooped the yolk from her egg cup as though the ribald dialogue was a normal occurrence. “Ah Camden.... If I were a few years younger, I’d make you my third husband.”

  The servants would later say amongst themselves that they all heard His Grace choke on the mouthful of food he’d been about to swallow. A footman stood poised to run for the family physician in case his presence became necessary—which, thankfully, was not.

  ≈≈≈

  Already His is available now on Amazon.

  Enjoy a sneak peek from the newest book in the series.

  The Caversham Chronicles—Book Three

  LOVING SARAH

  Sandy Raven

  The Caversham Chronicles continue with Book Three, Loving Sarah, the story of Ren and Elise’s adventurous younger sister Sarah on her path to a Happily Ever After.

  Coming, Summer 2013

  CHAPTER ONE

  Liverpool, June 1835

  “What about her? She looks fast doesn’t she?”

  “Hmmm... Aurelia,” Ian Alexander Ross, grandson of the Earl of Mackeever, mused as he strolled alongside his friend Lucky Gualtiero, brother of Lia, the Duchess of Caversham. “She may look fast, but she’s not built the way I like. Something about her shape... too curvy if you ask me. It looks like she might fall apart before the ordeal is over.”

  “What about that one? Evangeline,” his tanned, olive-skinned friend asked.

  Ian turned his gaze to where Lucky motioned. “Too top heavy, and her bottom’s too narrow to support her. She’ll tip over in a stiff wind.”

  “What about that one?”

  “Her bottom’s too broad. She’l
l be too slow to tack.”

  “Well, you can’t say the same about that one over there. She has a nice, well-proportioned hull. At least what I can see of it.”

  He didn’t need to consider the vessel in question, for he knew her design well. He should, it was very similar to, if not exactly, a design of his father’s. “Yes. Nice curves, sturdily built, and I think I know her owner. If it is who I think, he has a load of money, but no skill at the wheel.” He gazed at Ann McKim longingly. “She was launched two years ago from the very yard my father helped found and has already broken records for fastest crossing times for the Atlantic and Pacific in both directions. But a ship like that could do far better with the right man at the wheel.” Sighing, he turned to Lucky. “What that lady needs is a man with a knowledgeable, soft hand and the experience to coax her on when she wants to give up.”

  “So, do you think we stand a chance?” Lucky stopped and turned toward him.

  Ian looked over the competition once more, and nodded. “Oh, I’d say the odds are very good. Next to McKim’s lady out there, we’ve definitely got the best boats in this race. A little smaller, a little aged, but well broken in. More importantly, both of them are lovingly maintained and handled.” They walked away from the dock and the preparations for the next day’s ceremony. “I believe everything is ready for the morning. God willing, we’ll have good wind.”

  “The weather will hold until we’re well out,” Lucky said as he scanned the sky and horizon around them. Ian didn’t question him. He knew better. Like an old sailor, Lucky had an instinct for forecasting weather just by looking at the clouds. “Remember, my sister’s throwing us a dinner party to see us off. Be at the house around seven.”

  “I’ll be there. You know I wouldn’t miss an opportunity for real food. Anything is better than the grub Mick throws into a kettle,” Ian said as they neared a waiting hackney.

  “You need to find a better cook,” Lucky replied. “So you stop trying to take mine away.”

  The driver tipped his hat and opened the door for the men. “You go on without me. I’m just going to get cleaned up, make sure the watch is in place, and I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Fine.” Lucky gave a quick nod to the man holding the door, then asked Ian if he needed the address again. Ian shook his head, and asked the hackney driver to simply return for him after dropping off Lucky. “Then I’ll see you soon.”

  The hackney door closed on his friend. After the driver cued the horse to move on, Ian turned back to the dinghy tied below, and rowed out to the Revenge, his best hope for victory in this race. Their supplies had been loaded earlier in the day, so he’d moved his boat away from the hustle and bustle of the dock. And any potential sabotage. Not that he suspected his fellow competitors of such underhanded behavior, but one could never be too careful when the stakes were this high. Tying off the dinghy, he climbed onto the deck and double-checked to make sure all was in readiness for the start of the race.

  Normally, he wouldn’t have even considered wasting their time entering a race, but the twenty-five thousand pound purse was far too large to ignore. More importantly, if he and Lucky were serious about succeeding in their joint venture, the newly chartered British Tea Import Company, they needed more ships. Two retrofit Baltimore schooners, though a respectable beginning, wouldn’t turn the kind of profits necessary to expand their business in the manner they wanted. The one tea run they’d made last year left him with barely enough to live on after paying the note—a full half of what they’d borrowed—and their crews’ salaries. Lucky might not need the money as much as he did, but he’d be damned if he’d let his partner pay their way until they could turn a profit. Lucky had done enough already by paying the shipyard bill for the retrofit of the two boats over the past winter.

  His dream, and Lucky’s too, was to have a fleet of at least a dozen clippers, preferably designed and built to their specifications. After carefully studying Colonel Beaufoy’s publication, Nautical and Hydraulic Experiments, where Beaufoy tested and found Newton’s hydraulics theory unlikely, Ian had begun drawing his own hull designs. In order to maximize hull space for valuable cargo, Ian’s idea was first to streamline the design of the hull; next to make her longer and deeper in the keel; then, thirdly, to eliminate the complete dependence on ballast and use lead plate on the keel in conjunction with minimal internal ballast for stabilization. He was excited and anxious to test his theory. If it worked, he knew it would forever change the way hulls were designed and built. And his father, wherever his soul rested, would be proud.

  Having grown up with a naval architect for a father, a man who designed clipper hulls and constructed them, Ian knew that shipyards in New York and Baltimore were more willing to build experimental designs; whereas in Aberdeen and Halifax, they were more likely to insist the time-tested and proven designs they have been very successful building for the last twenty years were better. Ian knew his design held promise, and so did his partner. But, he would amuse Lucky and have the Aberdeen yards look at the designs, but Ian knew they would likely have to go back to America to have them built.

  Ian made his way down to his small cabin, stopping to take a bucket of fresh water from the barrel near the companionway. He ladled some into the metal basin, set the bucket down near the washstand, then stripped. He dunked his head into the bowl and began washing. One day, he’d like to have a house with a proper bathing chamber. There would be no more tossing water out of the aft windows and refilling wash basins. No more bathing with cold water except when at sea. Worst of all were the times he had to bathe with salt water, because it always left him feeling sticky and itchy. For that reason, he understood why some of the crew went without baths during those times.

  Life at sea wasn’t the romantic, adventurous dream he’d imagined. But, this had been his reality for the past three years since leaving university. He supposed he could have lived on credit and taken rooms somewhere, as did others in his financial situation. But Ian was too American for that, as Lucky reminded him on those rare occasions he complained out loud. He might be the nephew of the current Earl of Mackeever, but he was still the American-born son of a Baltimore naval architect who designed ships for the Americans in their war for independence. A fact not lost to most of his classmates. Except for Lucky, who was as much of an outsider because of his foreign title and swarthy appearance as he for his American blood at a time when most still remembered their deceased loved ones. In that atmosphere, he and Lucky had become fast friends; then immediately after university, business partners.

  Now, at age twenty-five, Ian had the entire world before him.

  And no place to call home except this ship.

  Opening the cabinet, he remembered the cedar lining still needed replacing as he took out his good clothing. Repairs inside his cabin had been low in priority during the renovations, but now as he looked over his best trousers to make sure they weren’t moth-eaten or torn somewhere, he decided it needed to get moved up on the list. He checked the coat and linen shirt also for tiny holes, saw none and smiled. Lifting the only waistcoat he owned, he noticed the stitching at the edge of the wool where it met the satin was coming apart, but knew it would remain hidden by the coat if he kept it on.

  If he ever planned to take his place in society, he would need to pay more attention to his dress. Ian owed it to his father’s sisters not to be an embarrassment when he did. Especially after all they’ve done for him over the years, from taking him in when his father sent him over for a formal education to sponsoring his entrée into society. Events like this dinner with Lucky’s family were sure to become more common as they became more successful. He had to get over the gnawing hatred of his two uncles, and think of tonight as an opportunity to polish his manners, and become more accustomed with the world he’d not been born to, but found himself in now. To do so would make those little old ladies proud.

  Lady Sarah Eileen Halden dropped her gaze as her brothers discussed the upcoming race, lest they
see the delight in her eyes while her final plan started to form. The rented home in Liverpool the family had taken for the next several months was nowhere near as large or opulent as Caversham House or Haldenwood, but it had something that would serve her well this night, as she’d spied it right after arriving and looking over her temporary bedroom. She had a balcony, that was a mere ten or twelve feet above ground. Sarah could quite easily climb over the railing and ease herself down. The drop, after lowering herself as much as possible, wouldn’t be much more than the jump from her favorite tree at home.

  She saw it as a sign that she was meant to go with Lucky on this race.

  “Ian and I have gone over the charts several times, and already plotted our course.” Lucky pointed to something on the map Sarah’s brother Ren, the Duke of Caversham, had spread across the table in the drawing room where they all gathered while waiting for the last of their dinner guests to arrive. “Both crews have been with us since last year. They made the tea run with us, and they’re all veteran sailors. Most have crossed the Atlantic at least once, some several times. So we’re very confident in everyone’s abilities.”

  “Good,” her brother, Ren, said, “I know this is an exciting challenge for you, but remember do not push your boat any harder than she can handle. Even if you don’t win this race, you know I’ll finance you.”

  “I appreciate your offer, Ren, truly. But this is something I want to do on my own, and Ian feels the same.”

  Just then, the butler announced the arrival of Ian Alexander Ross, Lucky’s business partner and long-time friend. When Sarah looked up and met his eyes, she could have sworn her heart skipped several beats and her mouth went dry. His brown-eyed gaze met hers and she quickly turned away and took a sip of her sweet wine.