* * *
“Her money’s no inducement to me. She deserves to marry a man more like her ideal, Percy,” he said. He already felt awful enough about kissing her and taking advantage of her sympathy the way he had. She might embrace him out of pity, even return his kisses, but she’d never be happy with him. “Ever meet Ralph Babcock in your travels?”
Percy shook his head.
At the sound of heavy footfalls on the deck, Seelye spun to find an exultant Mr. Stoker.
“Surprised to see me, Lord Seelye?” he asked, a smile lifting his jowls.
“Not particularly, I haven’t had much luck lately.” Indeed, what luck Seelye did have, he would describe as excremental. Not least of his misfortunes being that he loved a lady who was not only above his touch, but who had spent a decade enamored of a jovial, earnest dimwit. Snarling at this interloper, however, would serve no purpose.
“Thought you left me behind,” the stubby man was saying, “but it takes more than a nap to stymie Thomas Stoker, sir.”
“Evidently,” Seelye agreed blandly.
Percy brushed past him, saying “I’ll just nip below, shall I?” and disappeared past the crate.
“I wasn’t so overcome as you thought, milord. Played dead, you might say,” he said in triumph. “Heard it all, Bristol, Invictus. Got here in good time anyway, and here I am.”
“Well done you,” his lordship replied. “Your point?”
“I could have you up on charges if this were an official matter,” Stoker said belligerently, “As it’s private, you may count yourself lucky.”
“Mr. Stoker, if you haven’t yet exercised your wondrous powers of deduction, let me explain. In that box—” Seelye pointed to the crate. “—is a bear. That bear and I have to catch the afternoon tide on a ship captained by a questionable character hired for the purpose. None of which is lucky for me.” As Seelye said this, he secured another rope to the crate for a block-and-tackle transfer. “If Rostand sent you, you should also know the bear is not his lawful property. You cannot have it. If you attempt to take it, I won’t hesitate to knock you down, tie you up, and call the harbor master to have you charged. Now, as I’ve a great deal to do, be so kind as to see yourself off.”
“The bear’s no concern of mine, ‘less it’s a danger to the lady.” He dropped his voice, “The duke himself sent me to see his sister home. I’ve made proper arrangements, I assure you.” He gave the word ‘arrangements’ portentous emphasis that Seelye found ludicrous. “I am here to escort her and a lady’s maid safely to London.”
“Oh, in that case,” Seelye said more genially, “I wish you the best of luck, Mr. Stoker.”
Percy returned, rattling a cup on its saucer in his hurry. “Tea, officer? You must be parched.”
“He’s not thirsty, he’s leaving,” Seelye snapped. “Put that away.”
Percy poured the teacup’s contents over the side with a shrug and set it atop the crate.
“Wish me luck, you say?” Stoker asked both men. “Is she armed?”
“She is,” Seelye said.
“Dangerous?”
“Frequently,” he deadpanned.
“Be that as it may,” the runner said, planting his feet and thrusting his underbite forward, “I’m here to see her home.”
Seelye knew what he should say and meant to, but the next thing out of his mouth was, “I wouldn’t stop you if she were still here, but she’s gone.”
Stoker looked to Percy for confirmation.
“Uh, yes,” he said with a look at Seelye. “Seems you’re too late.”
“You let her go off on her own?” Stoker demanded. “I don’t believe it.”
“There’s no reasoning with her, she’s famously stubborn,” Seelye said in apology.
“And dangerous,” Percy added, “when armed.”
“When did she leave? Where was she headed?” the runner demanded.
Percy turned to Seelye to ask, “Was it an hour ago?”
“I can’t say, Mr. Stoker, or tell you where. Now, if that’s all, I have a rendezous with a pirate,” Seelye said with a sweep of his hand in the direction of the dock.
The runner might’ve left, too, if not for a calm voice that said, “Mr. Stoker, I’m here.”
Chapter 38
In which our hero is one.
Having overheard Seelye and Mr. Percy, Jane slipped into the berth and sealed the portholes tight rather than hear another word about herself. She changed her clothes, determined to leave at the earliest opportunity rather than dawdle to see Bibendum safely onto the ship bound for Ireland.
If Seelye so dreaded the possibility of a scandal, why did he kiss her again and again?
Battlefield relief, he’d said.
Could it be true?
No.
Well—
Oh, dear.
What if battlefield relief wasn’t a trumped-up excuse, as she’d assumed? What if it were an affliction of the nerves that soldiers suffered after the stress of fighting for one’s life? Hadn’t he apologized for kissing her each time? He did seem to regret it quite sincerely afterwards.
If only she’d asked Prudence about the condition when she had the chance. Now, she could only feel like a conceited fool for dismissing it out of hand.
The truth was she’d afflicted his nerves with any number of shocks. She’d alarmed him by demanding a kiss for her birthday. (Only recall his pallor and eyes-on-stalks look of horror.) Next, the poor man was robbed and beaten at gunpoint, only to be dragooned into rescuing a bear and drawing its tooth. Most recently, he faced Limpley Stoke and memories of Maguilla. What if relief simply overcame him? Since she was the instigator of every crisis, she was always at hand when emotions ran high.
How mortifying! To think, she’d flattered herself and nurtured fresh hope based on a nervous affliction.
Didn’t that serve you right!
Finally, she comprehended the scope of her arrogance. She risked all manner of scandal just to tag along on Bibendum’s travels because she didn’t fear the consequences. In her arrogance, she knew she’d still be well-born and financially independent. No one could take any of that from her. Nor was having to marry him a dread outcome.
But poor Seelye, she never once looked at the repercussions from his perspective. If she precipitated a scandal, he’d be a gentleman and rescue her no matter how little he liked the idea. In fact, even her money couldn’t sweeten the prospect, he’d said so himself.
Reality was a cold dash of water.
She vowed he would pay no penalty for her missteps. She would hire a carriage to Athlingcourt. Her adventure was over. But what a journey it had been!
She dressed her hair carefully, drew on her gloves, and covered her head with the straw bonnet.
Then, there came several alarming thuds on deck. She opened a porthole in time to hear a Mr. Stoker declare his intention to take her home at her brother’s behest. Then came a knock on the berth door. Mr. Percy requested Bibendum’s tincture, squirted a few drops into a cup of tepid tea and left.
Next, she heard Seelye lie about her whereabouts. This was too much. She would not make a liar of him after all he’d done for her. Besides, the runner’s appearance was opportune.
She squared her shoulders and went to introduce herself.
“Mr. Stoker, I’m here,” she said when she joined the three men amidships.
“What the—” Seelye exclaimed.
“I’m happy to come with you and spare my long-suffering brother-in-law more travails.”
She paused by the crate window and Bibendum stuck out his snout to greet her.
“Take care, my lady!” Stoker cried and fumbled for his hand gun.
“Eh, Eh. EH!” she and Seelye both yelled at the man.
The runner pulled up short. Seelye stepped between Stoker and the crate.
“Put that away,” Jane said. “My bear goes to Ireland at the express invitation of Richard Martin.” To Bibendum, she said, “Be good, dear boy,
and mind Lord Seelye.”
“Damn you, he’s tame,” Seelye scolded the runner.
“That’s not what I heard in Woolhampton,” Mr. Stoker said. “But so long as the lady’s safe, I’ve no issue with it.” He slipped his firearm back into his coat. “I bespoke a private parlor and rooms for you at the Rummer Hotel in All Saints Lane. I brought a maid named Anthea Cushing from Athlingcourt to serve you. We’ll return to London in the duke’s own carriage, so all’s right and tight.”
“I know Cushing, she’s a fine choice, sir,” she said.
Mr. Stoker received her compliment with a bow.
“Lord Seelye, I apologize for putting you to so much trouble,” Jane said. “Please know how grateful I am. I will cherish the memory of Bibendum’s rescue for as long as I live. You needn’t fret over me any longer. I’ve reached my destination unscathed thanks to you. Now it’s time to go.”
“Jane—”
“More important, you have offered me excellent advice, I see that now. I’m sorry it took so long for me to appreciate it. I have been a great deal of trouble, but I’ll fulfill my pledge without delay. I have at last learnt that lesson.”
“If that’s what you want,” Seelye said.
“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll fetch my things.”
In the berth, she set aside the borrowed pattens with a note tucked under the strap of one asking Mr. Plimpton to return them to Fanny Jellicott of Hungerford. She had just closed her portmanteau when she heard a grunt and a much heavier thud.
* * *
Yet again, Thomas Stoker congratulated himself for the civilized way in which he resolved the whole Lady Jane Babcock affair. True, Lord Seelye and the other gentleman sent him down the canal to sleep off a drugging. But when he awoke, he disembarked in the village of Wootton Rivers.
No harm done, thought Stoker in a mellow mood. He surveyed the swarming harbor scene from the narrow boat deck. The lady was getting her things and they’d be on their way.
He’d recognized her ladyship immediately from her miniature. His first impression contradicted much the duke had said about her, not that he was sorry. Far from the militant female his grace described, Lady Jane was calm, demure and, knock wood, harmless.
Better yet, the lady agreed of her own accord to leave with him. The maid waited at the coaching inn and he could relax. Best of all, the bear was Lord Seelye’s headache.
Everything was going swimmingly, he mused, and wouldn’t the wife be glad for double the fee since he managed to bring it off quiet-like. Yes, she would indeed. She’d puff him off to all her friends and to the relations who’d belittled the match. A good week’s work, this.
Thus, Thomas Stoker, eleven-year veteran of Bow Street, gloated until—
Whack!
THUD!
Uhn!
* * *
Seelye and Percy were trussing up the unconscious Bow Street runner when Jane rushed back on deck. Excitement bubbled in his chest. How would he tell her? What would she say?
She looked pretty, if too prim.
“What’s happened, Seelye?”
“Change of plans. Only thing for it is to take him along,” he said. To his bemused friend, “Bear drops?”
Percy swung round to her, “My lady?” before he retrieved the teacup he’d left atop the crate.
“You mustn’t,” she said and gripped the handle of her bag tightly. “I may be careless of my future, but I should’ve considered the consequences for you. If you were obliged to do something distasteful to save me from my folly, I could never forgive myself.”
Why did he say that to Percy? He meant to throw him off the scent, not hurt Jane’s feelings. The truth was, he didn’t dislike the idea of marrying her. It was impossible. Ralph Babcock, he wasn’t and never would be. She ought to marry a man more like her paragon. And as soon as he could return to London, however much he hated it, he’d help her find him.
He knew he should send her back to George immediately. He meant to, but he wanted a little more time with her before she was lost to him forever. Was that selfish? Yes. Inappropriate? Absolutely. Yet, the heart wants what it wants.
“Fetch the maid, will you, Percy?” he asked without shifting his gaze from hers. “Know where the Rummer is?”
“All Saints Lane, I’ll find it.”
Percy set the cup and saucer aside and took his leave with a slight, satirical bow. He hopped off the narrow boat and strolled down the dock whistling.
She studied her properly-shod toes peeping out from under the muslin gown’s hem.
“What happened to Mr. Stoker, Seelye?”
“Someone once told me one must do what matters most, no matter what,” he replied. “You’ve come this far, wouldn’t you like to set Bibendum free yourself?”
Her head shot up, her answer as plain as the perfect nose on her face. But with effort, she held her tongue. Next, he was treated to the sight of Jane’s better angels coming to blows with her hellion self. Given her furrowed brow and nibbled lip, the scandalized proper miss within bade her not consider such an outrageous lapse. Whereas, her inner hoyden calculated, with a peep up at him, whether or not he meant it.
He winked.
She looked away.
To rout her killjoy conscience, he offered yet more encouragement, “From here on, Jane, you’ll have a proper lady’s maid and a Bow Street runner for chaperones. You’ll travel to Ireland in a positive fog of propriety.”
Her better angels took exception to his logic, “Seelye, I’ve run amok to such a degree George has sicced a Bow Street runner on me. You shouldn’t abduct him for my sake,” she said. “I mustn’t go.”
“Mustn’t visit the country estate of a respected member of Parliament?”
“Ireland would be—I simply mustn’t,” she said half-heartedly and held her breath.
He replied in a passable imitation of her favorite dismissal, “Oh, pooh!”
With that, she had him in a fierce bear hug.
“Thank you, Seelye,” she cried. “I hope the runner’s not injured and you’re right about the fog, but even if he is and you aren’t, I will nurse him and face the consequences alone. I won’t be a blight on you, I promise.”
He had no time to savor her full-bodied gratitude. For just then, a gent in a well-cut if showy velvet frock coat appeared dockside. When Jane noticed him, she leapt away. Her blushes announced an indiscretion made all the more inappropriate because Seelye wore the clothes of a common canal boatman.
“The Invictus?” the raffish fellow asked.
“It is,” Seelye said.
The cheeky wag begged pardon for his ‘intrusion’ and took the liberty to introduce himself, “If I may be so bold, my lady, Mr. Martin sent me. I am George O’Malley.”
Jane stepped forward, perfectly composed, and said, “How do you do? I am Lady Jane Babcock, sir. Mr. Martin mentioned you’re a descendant of Grace O’Malley.”
Jane spoke warmly—much too warmly—to the stranger.
“The pirate queen herself, ma’am,” he said with an irksome smile.
And does anyone care a turd who his ancestors are?
Seelye detested this velvet-clad swashbuckler on sight. He hated the man’s ginger hair, dimply smile, and over-familiar tone—he hated him most of all because Jane didn’t.
“Mr. Martin sent word that you need someone familiar with Connemara. My sloop and I are at your service, my lady,” the rascal said and bowed with extravagant elegance.
“Thank you, Captain,” she said.
“Flirting only encourages piracy,” Seelye leaned close to tell her under his breath.
O’Malley spoke with a thick Irish brogue, but his thoughts were universally comprehensible. He lapped Jane up with his eyes. Indeed, his saucy appreciation ranged impudently from her bonneted head to her dainty feet. More infuriating, Jane blushed at the man’s scrutiny and looked even prettier.
Primal instinct gnawed at Seelye. He felt his hackles spike. A slow burn left h
im with fisted hands at his side.
The O’Malley rascal dared give him a quizzical look that any male would understand as, ‘Who the hell are you to accost this fine lady?’ But asked aloud, “And you are?”
“About to draw your cork if you don’t show respect to your betters,” Seelye said with bored, aristocratic affability.
O’Malley smirked. “I see.”
“This is Lord Seelye Burton, my brother-in-law, Captain O’Malley,” Jane cut in hastily, ignoring every protocol to make peace. “He’s a Horseman of the Apocalypse. Perhaps you’ve read about their exploits during the war?”
“Indeed, I have. Most entertaining,” O’Malley said and stepped aboard uninvited. He gave the bound-up runner a cursory glance and fixed his attention once more on Jane. “Who are my passengers, my lady, and where is my cargo, if I may be allowed to inquire?” He gave Seelye a sidelong glance.
Bloody cheeky bastard.
Seelye answered, “The bear, this gentleman on the deck, Lady Jane, her maid and I. Will that be a problem?”
“Not at all. Who skippers here?”
Seelye waved Plimpton forward and made the introduction before excusing himself to take Jane out of the Irishman’s line of sight.
Plimpton accepted the captain’s offer to tow the narrow boat by dingy to his ship at anchor in deep water. O’Malley mentioned often working this way, which Seelye took to mean smugglers frequently on- and off-loaded cargo at sea to avoid revenue officers on shore.
He noted with grudging respect that the captain was all business with the skipper. They discussed the crate’s weight and the hogsheads of ballast needed to offset the box’s awkward placement behind his sloop’s jib. His ready expertise reassured Seelye, who was never a happy sailor.
“I’ll send my crew over,” O’Malley told Plimpton. He circled the crate, tested and nodded over the lines already tied, apparently satisfied. “First mate’s named Reilly. I’ll tell him where to find you.”
Plimpton offered his sons’ help to transfer the crate, which O’Malley accepted. The business settled, the man stepped around Seelye to address Jane directly.
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