Deborah Hale

by The Bride Ship

  Her words made Sir Robert laugh. The laugh made him groan.

  “Hardly agony,” he protested, though the notion of her fancying him stoic held considerable appeal. “However, I would welcome some distraction to take my mind off it. Why don’t you tell me what those men were doing here, brawling on your doorstep? While you are about it, explain to me what you were doing out there with them.”

  It would take more than a knock on the head to make him forget the fear that had clutched his heart when he’d seen that drunkard with the crowbar in his hand lurching up the steps toward her.

  Briefly Mrs. Finch explained who the intruders were and the grievance that had brought them to Prince’s Lodge. “It seems you were right after all in claiming the bride ship would cause a disturbance in the colony. And in ordering sentries to guard the lodge. I should not have doubted you.”

  “Believe me, I take no satisfaction in being right. I only regret I did not insist on a larger contingent of sentries. From now on, I promise you and your charges will be properly protected.”

  “And I promise you, from now on the girls will be properly chaperoned.” She told him about the disappearance of one of the sentries and a girl called Hetty. “I fear they have eloped, the young fools. Though they are no more foolish than I for presuming I could supervise such a large group on my own.”

  She raised her hand to rub her tired eyes. “Now there is sure to be a scandal that may taint the reputations of all the other girls. Then no respectable men will want them and my whole mission will end in…failure.”

  Her voice broke and her slender frame began to shudder with silent sobs.

  Sir Robert could not bear to witness her distress. He sensed she was not the kind of woman to blubber over every minor misfortune. She must be exhausted after a long day and her recent fright. Did some worry on his account also contribute to her vulnerable state?

  Though it aggravated the pain in his head to an almost unbearable degree, Sir Robert pulled himself upright and reached for her. Once he had grasped her free hand, he sank back onto the pillows, drawing her toward him. She was too tired and troubled to resist, any more than she could resist the sobs that racked her. She came to rest on the edge of the bed, with her head cradled against his chest, his arms encircling her.

  “There, there,” he murmured. “I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you think. I promise you will have my full support. I know I had some…reservations about this bride ship of yours, but I am beginning to recognize its possible benefits.”

  He was quick to recognize how pleasant it felt to hold a woman in his arms. But not just any woman. The pain in his head eased. Or perhaps he had just succeeded in distracting himself from it. Though he felt suddenly light-headed, he doubted it had anything to do with his injury.

  Almost against his will, his hand rose to stroke her hair. “You have done a remarkable job under difficult circumstances. These latest troubles may set you back a little, but I cannot imagine you will let them discourage you for long…any more than you let my opposition daunt you.”

  Her weeping eased to a sniffle or two, but she made no effort to forsake the shelter of his arms. “That was different. You were wrong. At least, I believed you were. The men who came here tonight may have chosen an offensive way to present their grievances, but what they had to say was true.”

  “You think so?” He was still too shaken by his glimpse of that violent fray on the doorstep of Prince’s Lodge to credit the intruders’ protests. Their actions felt like mutiny and he was still too much a solider to condone rebellion.

  Jocelyn nodded vigorously, making her head rub against his chest and her hair whisper against his chin. It took all his powers of self-discipline to concentrate on her words when he wanted to relish every sensation of her nearness.

  “The bride ship was intended to aid men in their situation.” She inhaled a deep, moist breath. “But I let my desire to relive my own first Season get the better of my…duty.” She spit the last word as if it had a disagreeable flavor in her mouth. “Now I fear it may be too late to set matters right.”

  “I make it a practice never to give in to the demands of a rabble,” said Sir Robert. “But if we put our heads together, surely we can come up with a solution to benefit all concerned.”

  Mrs. Finch gave a final sniffle then abandoned his embrace to sit up again. Her eyes searched his. “You think so?”

  Even with a red nose, swollen eyes and disheveled hair, she stirred potent feelings within his guarded, sensible heart. “I am certain of it.”

  Perhaps that fall in the ravine had temporarily knocked the caution and good sense out of him. Just then he wanted very much for the two of them to put their heads together…starting with their lips.

  Jocelyn’s heart raced faster than it had when she’d faced the crowd of intruders a few hours ago. Her breathing grew rapid and shallow as she stared into the governor’s cool blue eyes. No doubt he would be scandalized if he knew how much she wanted to kiss him at that moment.

  The firm restraint of his lips lured her in a way a more lively or sensual demeanor could never have done. It challenged her to both rouse and subdue him. To provoke him into a passionate outburst. Yet it was he who had provoked her…without even trying.

  At first she’d welcomed the steady, reliable solace she found in his arms. He had charged to her rescue tonight, like some knight errant of old, exciting her admiration. Then his injury had made him vulnerable and in need of her help, stirring all her best feminine instincts. Finally he had relaxed his accustomed reserve to offer her comfort and sympathy.

  Besides all that, the act of lying on a bed, once again in a man’s arms, stirred a host of tantalizing memories. She was still a young woman, after all, with a young woman’s desires and needs. Jocelyn reminded herself that the man who had held her with such tender strength was the last man in the colony she could hope to gratify those desires.

  “I beg your pardon, sir!” She dashed away the last traces of moisture clinging to her lashes and returned to her chair by his bedside. “I am supposed to be taking care of you, not imposing upon you when you are injured and in pain.”

  “You did not impose, Mrs. Finch.” Was it her imagination, or did he place an emphasis on her married name? “I offered.”

  “It was kindly done. I thank you.” She lapsed into a weary smile. “If you claim we can find a way out of this predicament, I believe you. I will put the matter out of my mind until morning and direct my energies to diverting you, instead. Shall I fetch a book and read to you?”

  Sir Robert’s nose wrinkled at the suggestion. “Not if you aim to keep me awake, ma’am. Most nights I read a little after I go to bed. I seldom get through many pages before I am obliged to snuff the candle. I fear persistent habit has made me associate books with sleep.”

  “Cards, then? Draughts? Chess?” Glimpsing a quicksilver twinkle in his eyes, she added, “I will not have you let me win this time, however.”

  “I promise you, your victory in our first match was altogether your own doing. The only way I contributed was by underestimating your ability and allowing my arrogance to get the better of me. That you were able to recognize and exploit my errors is to your credit.”

  That guarded scrap of praise kindled a pleasant glow within Jocelyn. “Shall I fetch a board, then?”

  “I beg you to postpone a rematch until I have all my wits about me. I know I shall have need of them.”

  Who would not shrink from taxing their brain in his condition? Jocelyn gave a resigned nod. “You do make yourself difficult to entertain, Sir Robert. How will I ever keep you awake until morning at this rate?”

  He thought for a moment. “Perhaps we could use the opportunity to become better acquainted. If you would not find that too tiresome?”

  “Indeed not!” She knew almost nothing about him except that he’d been a soldier before being appointed governor…and that he had never been wed. “I should like it very much.”

  “Goo
d. Then what if you start by telling me about this first Season you are so eager to relive? I expect it is a far more engaging story than most works of fiction.”

  Jocelyn dismissed a momentary stab of disappointment that her curiosity about him would not be appeased. There were plenty of hours to fill between now and sunrise. Sooner or later he was certain to lower his guard and tell her something about himself.

  “I marvel that you should be interested in such frivolous tales, sir. My first Season was nothing but balls and evenings at the theater and visits to the pleasure gardens—all the sorts of events you claim to detest. Why ever would you want to hear about them?”

  He gave a cautious shrug, as if too vigorous a movement might jar his sore head. “I do not enjoy taking part in such activities—at least, I did not until recently—but I have no objection to hearing about them. Especially from someone for whom they do afford pleasure.”

  At least, I did not until recently. Was that a roundabout way of saying he had enjoyed her company the other evening?

  “If that is the case, I shall be happy to oblige you with an account. Let’s see—it all began with my presentation at court. Having overheard a number of sensational accounts from my father about the King and his spells of madness, I was heartlessly disappointed to find our sovereign such an unremarkable gentleman.”

  “Indeed?” A look of amusement softened the tense set of fatigue and pain around Sir Robert’s eyes. “I felt rather cheated when the Prince of Wales had to deputize for His Majesty to confer my title upon me. Now I discover I was not missing much after all.”

  This was just the kind of opening Jocelyn had hoped for. “How did you earn your title?”

  “In battle, of course,” Sir Robert replied in a tone of wry deprecation. “Chance put me in a critical spot on the field, then I managed to survive the carnage. My men won the victory, not I. None of them received a knighthood.”

  This was not a subject on which they should dwell, Jocelyn knew. But she could not let it drop before offering one observation. “Soldiers do not win victories without able leadership.”

  Sir Robert did not acknowledge her implied praise. “Speaking of able leadership, pray give me an account of what happened this evening after all those men arrived. You dispatched Corporal Henshaw through the woods and the ravine to fetch help. What then?”

  “I summoned the girls inside and sent them to their rooms so we could account for all of them. That was when we discovered Hetty missing.” Jocelyn related the events of the evening up until the moment Sir Robert had appeared by her side with an unloaded musket and put the intruders to flight with his bold bluff.

  He did not interrupt her story, but stared at her with an increasing look of disbelief. When she had finished, he demanded, “What on earth possessed you to go out there by yourself and talk to those men? Did you not know how dangerous it might be?”

  A few days ago his scolding tone would have provoked Jocelyn to a sharp retort. Tonight, she sensed his fear for her safety and it touched her.

  “I had to go—don’t you see? These girls are my responsibility. I had a…” She searched for the proper word.

  “A duty to protect them?” Sir Robert suggested. “Even at risk to yourself? Call it what you will, it is clear to me you have a stronger sense of duty than you care to admit.”

  Did she? The notion rather shocked Jocelyn, but she could not dispute it altogether. Besides, it was evident Sir Robert meant his remark as a compliment and she found herself suddenly anxious to secure his good opinion.

  “Perhaps if you had been brought up as I was, you would not think duty such a great virtue, sir.”

  “How were you brought up to despise the very word?”

  The late hour, the dim light of a single candle and Sir Robert’s stillness all conspired to draw Jocelyn out. “I was but seven years old when my mother died doing her duty to my father and the family by providing him with a second son.”

  “So you have two brothers?”

  “Had,” Jocelyn corrected him. “Little Charles did not survive our mother long, poor babe. My brother Lord Thetford is dutiful enough for any ten children. He wed an heiress of our father’s choosing, rapidly sired two fine sons of his own and is a conscientious member of the King’s household. How can one expect even the DeLacey family to produce two such marvels?”

  Sir Robert seemed to understand that her bitter query did not require an answer. “I have two brothers, as well. Both living, thank God. Gavin is a captain in the Royal Navy and Alec is studying at the University of Edinburgh to become a physician. I was eight when we learned that my father had been killed in India, doing his duty for King and country.”

  “I am sorry.” Jocelyn’s throat tightened. She’d had trouble enough surviving on her own after Ned’s death. How would she ever have managed with three small children? “You and your brothers have all got on well in the world. Your mother must be an extraordinary woman.”

  “Aye, she was.” For the first time since she’d met him, Jocelyn detected a trace of the Scottish burr in Sir Robert’s speech. “She expected a lot of us—mostly me, because I was the eldest. Man of the family at eight years old.” He gave a soft chuckle that sounded somehow wistful.

  Jocelyn remembered the sorrow of her mother’s death as if it were yesterday. So many things in her life had changed because of it, and not in agreeable ways. But at least she’d never wanted for material necessities. “It must have been even harder for you than for me.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mind most of the time. Mam worked so hard to provide for us, I was anxious to help her out any way I could. She was so proud when I took up my first commission. I wish she’d lived to see me appointed governor. I’d have brought her with me to live at Government House. Though I don’t know how I’d have kept her from polishing the furniture and helping Miz Ada in the kitchen.”

  Was he still a bachelor because he’d never found a woman who could measure up to the high standard his mother had set?

  “I would have been honored to meet her,” Jocelyn murmured. “How long have you been without her?”

  Sir Robert thought for a moment. “Three years. The winter after Alec went away to school, she took sick for the first time I can remember. It was as if she’d kept some sort of promise to my father, so she could rest at last.”

  His words wrung a sigh from Jocelyn. “How tragic! To have struggled so hard then not been able to enjoy the fruits of her labors.”

  Sir Robert contradicted her with a wave of his hand. “Mam would have scoffed at the notion of her life being tragic. You may not believe it, but a person can take great satisfaction and pride in fulfilling their duty. Even when they do not reap the benefits directly. Even when the results may not appear satisfactory to others.”

  He was right in one particular—she did not believe it. And yet…the grave sincerity of Sir Robert’s words touched her and made her wonder if they could be true.

  He seemed to sense her uncertainty. “What did you stand to gain for yourself by going out alone to face that angry crowd of men, this evening?”

  The soft glow of admiration in his eyes kindled the beginning of a blush in Jocelyn’s cheeks. She hoped the dim candlelight and flickering shadows would conceal it. “You give me too much credit, sir. I did not fancy myself in any great danger until a few moments before you arrived. Indeed, I thought I had convinced the men to leave peaceably once they’d made their complaints known to me.”

  She went on to tell him how Vita had incited the riot he’d witnessed. “I mean to send the little wretch back to England on the Hestia before she ruins everything, if she has not already.”

  Sir Robert endorsed the idea.

  “You do not think I have a duty to reform her?” Jocelyn teased him. At that moment she found herself anxious to coax forth one of his reluctant smiles or even a grudging chuckle.

  He rewarded her with both. “On the contrary, I would say you have a duty to the other girls. You should rid them of
a rotten apple before she spoils the whole barrel.”

  They continued to talk late into the night on every conceivable subject. At Jocelyn’s prodding, Sir Robert related his adventures in the army, including his service in Egypt and later in Spain. In turn he demanded more stories of her merry social doings, which led to an account of her courtship with Captain Edward Finch.

  “My father refused to countenance the match.” Jocelyn could not keep the bitterness from her voice. “He intended me to wed a neighbor of ours, a particular friend and political ally of his—a widower not many years younger than himself. I vowed I could never marry one man when my heart belonged to another. Father insisted it was my duty to the family.”

  “Ah.” Sir Robert sounded as if he had just gained some fresh insight into a baffling mystery.

  Jocelyn was not sure she liked the idea. “I suppose you think I should have martyred my heart by going along with my father’s wishes?”

  “Well…” A troubled look came over Sir Robert’s face and his right hand clenched in a tight fist. “No.”

  “You do not sound very convinced of it.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he replied, “There are some who might call your situation a tragedy. You severed all ties with your family to make a love match, only to lose your husband a short while later. Then you were left without the support and comfort of your kinfolk.”

  Jocelyn bristled. “The only tragic part of all that was my husband’s death. The rest I do not regret for a moment! I would have rued it bitterly if Ned had left this world without having shared the brief happiness of our marriage.”

  Sir Robert thought for a moment. “I reckon we all make the choices we can best live with. Or perhaps we convince ourselves that is what we have done because we cannot bear to live with such regrets.”

  Of course she had made the only choice she could live with! In marrying Ned, certainly. But in refusing to reconcile with her family after his death? Of that Jocelyn was not so sure.