An Improper Proposal

by Patricia Cabot

  “That’s right. She sent me away. She said she wasn’t feeling well. Well, that might have been … well, never mind. Of course, I went back, later, with a cup of tea for her, and by then she was fine. It occurred to me, you know, Payton, that she might not take it amiss if we offered your father’s services to her. To give her away, you know. I mean, it isn’t as if she has anyone else to do it. And do you know, I think she quite fancied the idea.”

  Payton, sitting in the window, grunted. The sun had burned away almost all the fog in the garden in a surprisingly short period of time. She could see all the clay walkways now, including the one that led to the hedge maze, several dozen yards away from the fountain where she and Drake had kissed the night before.

  Kissed. Where they had devoured one another the night before.

  “Although I have to say,” Georgiana went on, as she tucked some pink rosebuds from the basket into Payton’s hair, “I do think Miss Whitby is a little old to wear her hair down at her wedding. I mean, she isn’t exactly your age, Payton. I’m sure she isn’t yet thirty, but I’d be very surprised indeed if she hasn’t seen twenty-five at least. I’m not saying I think she’s lied to anyone … I believe she told Captain Drake she was two and twenty. But I’m two and twenty, and I can’t help feeling that Miss Whitby is older than I am … and I certainly didn’t wear my hair down when I married your brother …”

  Through the window, Payton noticed someone moving about the hedge maze. She was very farsighted, which accounted for her so often being up the mizzenpost when they were at sea, and she hadn’t any trouble at all in recognizing the two people who came out the far end of the maze. One of them was precisely whom they’d been discussing: Miss Becky Whitby. The other was someone who was just as easily recognizable, but not because he was wearing a wedding gown.

  No, Payton recognized him because she’d been taught all her life to despise and abhor him.

  Chapter Ten

  “Georgiana!” Payton cried, jerking her hair from her sister-in-law’s hands. “Look!”

  Georgiana let out a yelp. “Payton! Payton, where are you going? Get back in here!”

  But Payton was already halfway out the window. Only Georgiana’s firm grasp around her waist—and, if truth be told, the yards and yards of petticoats she wore—kept her from climbing all the way down.

  “Georgiana,” she cried, struggling. “Let go! Let go! Don’t you see? Oh!” She realized that only Miss Whitby was in the garden now. Her gentleman escort had disappeared back into the hedge maze. The bride was walking, the light wind picking up her veil and sending it billowing out behind her, quickly back toward the house, looking all about her, as if nervous someone might have seen her secret assignation.

  Which, of course, someone had.

  “Stop!” Payton yelled. “Becky Whitby! Stop right there!”

  While it was true that Payton Dixon had spent a good deal of her life performing labors commonly only practiced by men, and that she was very strong for her sex and size, she was still a good deal smaller than most women. It was for that reason that Georgiana managed to haul her back into the bedroom, using her superior weight as a counterbalance. In fact, she succeeded in sending both of them tumbling backward, and causing them to land in a blizzard of lace-trimmed petticoats and pantaloons.

  “Georgiana!” Payton cried furiously, as she tried to scramble back to her feet. “What are you doing? You don’t know what I just saw!”

  “No, but I do know you’re acting like an utter lunatic.” Seated on the floor, her legs splayed, Georgiana still managed to keep a firm grip on the back of Payton’s skirt. “You can’t go around climbing out windows, Payton. It isn’t done.”

  “I’ll tell you what isn’t done,” Payton began, but before she had a chance, the bedroom door opened, and her eldest brother, Ross, walked in.

  Ross looked more than a little surprised at finding his wife and sister sprawled on the floor in a sea of skirts and underthings.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said. “Am I interrupting something?”

  In her shock at being discovered in so ignominious a position by her husband, Georgiana loosened her hold on Payton, who seized the opportunity and headed straight back toward the window. This time, however, it was Ross who stopped her, and he did so by slipping an arm around her waist and lifting her bodily from the windowsill, then striding across the room to deposit her upon the unmade bed, where he held her down quite easily with one hand pressed to the top of her head.

  “Ross,” Payton cried indignantly. “Let me up. You don’t understand! You don’t understand what I just saw!”

  Georgiana had, by this time, climbed to her feet and brought some order back to her skirts.

  “Honestly, Payton,” she scolded. There were bright spots of color on either of her cheeks. She was obviously appalled at having been discovered in so improper a position by her husband, even though Payton had a pretty good idea that her brother and his pretty young wife had been practicing some improper positions of their own the night before. “What could you have been thinking? Ladies don’t go scrambling out windows. They use doors. We’re not on the Constant, you know.”

  “I wish to hell we were,” Payton said with heartfelt earnestness.

  “And ladies don’t curse,” Ross said. He flicked an inquisitive gaze toward his wife. “Do they?”

  “Certainly not.” Georgiana shook her head. “Oh, Payton, really. Look at you. I’m going to have to start your hair all over now.”

  Payton had had about as much as she could take. “Bugger my hair!” she shouted.

  Georgiana gasped, and even Ross looked stern. “Payton,” he began threateningly.

  “Now that I’ve got your attention,” Payton said, a little more calmly, “would you please listen to me? This might be somewhat important.”

  Ross noticed that Georgiana was looking at him accusingly. “What?” he demanded.

  “Oh, nothing.” Georgiana looked away. “I was just wondering where she could have picked up that kind of language.”

  “Well, not from me!” Ross, though clearly outraged, still did not let go of Payton. “I don’t allow swearing on my ships. If she picked it up anywhere, it was in port somewhere.”

  “Sir Marcus Tyler,” Payton said.

  “In port?” Georgiana glared at her husband. “And in which port, pray tell, is the term she just used employed with any frequency? That particular word isn’t Chinese, you know. Nor is it Tahitian, Jamaican, or French. She obviously learned it from an Englishman, and I suspect it might have been an Englishman in her very own—”

  Ross held up his free hand. He was staring down at Payton curiously. “Wait a minute. What did you say?”

  Payton said, again, very slowly, “Sir … Marcus … Tyler.”

  Georgiana looked from brother to sister. “Sir Marcus Tyler?” she echoed. “What are you talking about?”

  “You saw,” Ross said, “Marcus Tyler? Here? At Daring Park?”

  Payton nodded emphatically. “Coming out of the hedge maze. He and Miss Whitby were talking. Then they both went away. In separate directions.”

  Ross shook his head, the way a dog did when it had water in its ears. “No, no,” he said. “You must be mistaken. What would Sir Marcus be doing here? Drake would sure as hell never invite him.”

  “Right.” Ross had let go of her, and now Payton was able to sit up. “I’m thinking Miss Whitby did.”

  “Why would Miss Whitby invite Marcus Tyler to her wedding?” Ross, clearly bewildered, sat down beside Payton on the bed. “She doesn’t know Marcus Tyler.”

  “How do you know she doesn’t know him?” Payton shook her head. “What do any of us know about Becky Whitby, except what she’s told us?”

  Georgiana, still standing, said, “Wait. I don’t understand. Payton, are you saying you saw Sir Marcus Tyler, the owner of Tyler and Tyler Shipping, outside in the hedge maze with Becky Whitby just now?”

  Payton looked up at her. “Yes,” she sa
id somberly.

  Georgiana was not a slow woman, but she was new to the family, and needed occasional clarification. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Tyler and Tyler—”

  “Our chief competitors.” Ross shook his head. “Payton, it couldn’t have been Marcus. It was just someone who resembled him.”

  “I think I would know what Marcus Tyler looks like,” Payton snapped. “After all, I was there last summer, too.”

  “Last summer?” Georgiana echoed, her pretty forehead knit with bemusement.

  “Last summer,” Ross confirmed grimly. “Those pirate raids I told you about, on our ships down in the Bahamas. We can’t prove it, of course, but we’re pretty certain Marcus was behind them. We think he’s got Lucien La Fond in his pocket. He denies it, of course, and we haven’t any proof, so we can’t prosecute. But the raids have all occurred on Dixon ships, not Tyler ships, and most especially Dixon ships carrying cargo belonging to commercial accounts for which Tyler and Tyler is in competition with Dixon and Sons.”

  “Oh.” Now it was Georgiana’s turn to sink down’onto the bed. “I see. And Lucien La Fond? Isn’t he that French pirate captain who hates you so, Ross?”

  “Not me,” Ross said. “Drake.”

  “He hates Drake? But why? What for?”

  Payton and Ross said, at precisely the same time, “It’s a long story.”

  Georgiana said, “Oh,” again, and was silent.

  “It couldn’t,” Ross said, after a moment or two, during which the three of them sat, thinking, “have been Marcus Tyler, Payton. The whole idea’s ludicrous. Miss Whitby doesn’t know him. I mean, my God, she lived in our house. She heard how we spoke of him.”

  “Exactly why,” Payton said, “she’d have kept her mouth shut if she did know him. She probably thought that if we found out she was friendly with Sir Marcus, we’d give her the old heave-ho.”

  “But if she’s friendly with Tyler,” Ross said, “why wouldn’t she have turned to him for help, after she was robbed? Why throw herself on our mercy?”

  Payton said, “Perhaps because she’s a Tyler spy.”

  Georgiana cleared her throat. “Um, Payton. Forgive me, dearest. But are you certain you aren’t letting your imagination run away with you? Perhaps what you saw was just … wishful thinking.”

  Payton stared at her sister-in-law. “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, darling, we know you aren’t very fond of Miss Whitby. And you’re quite understandably … attached to the captain. I mean, you’ve known him forever. It’s only natural you would come to feel … something toward him. Don’t you think it isn’t the slightest bit possible you only thought you saw Sir Marcus in the garden with Miss Whitby?”

  Payton said, “No.”

  Ross raised his eyebrows. “Payton’s got damned good eyes, Georgie. She can spot a whale miles off.”

  “I’m not denying that if Sir Marcus were in the garden with Miss Whitby, Payton could have spotted him. All I’m saying is perhaps Payton only wanted to see Sir Marcus in the garden with Miss Whitby, because that way there’d be a good reason to urge Sir Connor to call the wedding off—”

  “Georgiana!” Payton burst out. “This has nothing to do with that! I saw him, I swear it! I saw Marcus Tyler in the hedge maze!”

  Even to her own ears, she sounded like a crazy woman. Ross noticed, but didn’t react right away. Instead, he stood up, and very calmly reached into his waistcoat and drew out his pocket watch. When he saw the time, he gave a low whistle. “If we’re going to get to the church before the ceremony begins, we’d better go.”

  Payton, feeling tears in her eyes, stared up at him astonishedly. “Ross … you can’t mean … you don’t believe me? You think I’m making it up?”

  Ross cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Well, Pay, you have to admit, it’s a little convenient, your seein’ Miss Whitby with Marcus Tyler the day she and Drake are about to sail off on the ship you thought you were goin’ to get for your birthday.” Ross shook his head. “I know you want that boat, but really, Pay. You’ve gone a little too far. Even if he does call the weddin’ off, he still gets to keep the Constant. You’re not gettin’ your hands on it, wedding or no wedding.”

  “But Ross—”

  “That’s enough, now. You’ve told some whales of a tale in the past, but this one tops ‘em all. Next thing you’ll be telling me is that you’re marryin’ Drake.” This seemed to strike him as extremely amusing. “Right! You’re marryin’ Drake, in order to get your hands on the Constant! Wait’ll I tell Hudson and Raleigh!” He laughed for some time before finally reaching down to hold out a hand to his wife. “Come along, Georgie, before she thinks of a new one …”

  Obediently, Georgiana took her husband’s hand and stood. Payton, on the other hand, stayed exactly where she was.

  “Ross,” she said angrily. “I am not making this up. Don’t you think we ought to at least tell Drake? I mean, don’t you think he has a right to know?”

  Ross was still chuckling to himself over his little joke—which Payton couldn’t say she’d found very funny. “Payton, you didn’t see. Marcus Tyler with Miss Whitby in the garden just now. I’m sure you saw her with someone, but it was probably just one of the gardeners.”

  “One of the gardeners!” Now Payton did stand up—stood up and put both hands on her hips. “Are you trying to be funny? Because unless Drake’s started dressing his gardeners in frock coats and stovepipe hats, I don’t think that’s who I saw—”

  “Well, I do.” Ross looked down at her. He attempted to look stern. “Listen to me, Payton. I know you don’t like Miss Whitby. But I must say, I don’t find it very sporting of you, making up these outrageous stories about her—”

  Payton exploded. “I am not making it up!”

  Georgiana was chewing on her lower lip. “Well, Payton,” she said, after releasing it. “You are … fond of the captain.”

  Payton narrowed her eyes at her sister-in-law, daring her to go on. “So?”

  She shouldn’t have dared her. Georgiana went on, although, to her credit, it must be admitted that she did so reluctantly. “Well, it only seems natural that, as … fond as you are of Captain Drake, you might want to … well, I don’t know. Stop him from marrying someone else, perhaps.”

  For the first time since her brother had brought Georgiana home, Payton thought she might just have to kill her. Up until now, everything had been going well, but a girl simply couldn’t say something like that to another girl, and not expect reprisal of some nature.

  Especially for having said it right in front of her brother.

  Ross snickered. “Now, now, Georgie,” he said, patting his wife’s shoulders. “Let’s not go too far. Payton doesn’t like Drake in that way.”

  “No,” Georgiana said slowly. She must have seen the murderous glint in Payton’s eyes. “No, I’m sure she doesn’t.”

  “We all know Payton isn’t overly fond of Miss Whitby, however. I’m certain that if she’s loath to see Drake get married, it’s only because of that.”

  “Oh,” Georgiana said. “Of course. I only meant that Payton’s … affectionate nature might make her feel that perhaps Miss Whitby isn’t the most suitable bride for someone for whom she entertains such … sisterly feelings.”

  That was a little better. Payton decided she might not kill her sister-in-law, after all. The truth of it was, she was getting to be rather useful. The corset had certainly done its work, hadn’t it?

  “Right. And besides.” Ross draped a heavy arm over his sister’s shoulders, and gave her a squeeze that was as much affectionate as it was restrictive. “Drake knows that if it ever entered his head to lay a finger on Payton here, we’d be forced to chop ‘im up and feed ’im to the sharks. Right, Pay?”

  Payton swallowed, and uttered a swift and silent prayer of thanks that she hadn’t been observed with Drake in the garden the night before.

  “Um,” she said. “Right.”

  Chapter Eleven
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  The vicar, standing before them on the dais, prayer book in hand, cleared his throat. He was a big man, who evidently hadn’t turned down an offer of dessert in quite a while. He seemed an enormous figure in his little sunlit church. Small—hardly big enough to fit fifty people—it was nevertheless quite a beautiful chapel, with its stained-glass windows, and the scent of rose blossoms hanging so heavy in the air.

  Still, big as the vicar was, he was dwarfed by the four gentlemen standing to his right. Drake, Ross, Hudson, and Raleigh each stood a little over six feet tall, and with their deep tans and broad shoulders, radiated manly good health—well, except for the pallor of sleeplessness worn by Drake and the two middle Dixons. None of them looked very comfortable—they were all of them used to wearing considerably less clothing—but they were undeniably handsome.

  Of the four of them, Payton supposed that Ross looked the least unhappy. He even, as Payton gazed at him, managed to give her a little wink, causing Georgiana to frown.

  Drake looked the sickest. He looked, in fact, as if he might lose his breakfast at any moment. If he’d even had breakfast, which Payton supposed he hadn’t. Well, except for that cup of coffee she’d made him drink.

  Since she was seated in the first right-hand pew, he stood directly in front of her, not four feet away. She felt his gaze on her, though she refused to look up. Only the blush she could feel suffusing her cheeks gave away the fact that she was aware of his gaze, and she tried her best to tamp the color down. Think about something else, she’d urged herself. Anything else.

  The letter. He hadn’t acknowledged it. She’d scrawled a few words—a warning about what she’d seen—on a piece of foolscap, and stuffed it into Hudson’s hand as soon as she’d entered the church. “Give this to Drake,” she’d hissed, careful not to let Ross see her. “It’s important.”