A Captain of Consequence (Westham Chronicles Book 2)

by Rachel Osborne

  “Come along, Grace. It will all be well, you’ll see!” he declared cheerfully, glancing down into her upturned features with a smile. Her eyes, which had been fixed on him, darted away as he soon as he looked at her and his heart went out to her. Surely she must be in a good deal of pain and unwilling to admit it to him. She was braver than some of the sailors under him had been, who wept and wailed at the tiniest wound.

  “Will you at least tell us what you were drawing, up there in the tree?” he asked, seeking to distract her from the pain and indignity of being carried home.

  Her reply was barely discernible, her lips buried in her shoulder. He shifted her in his arms, so that her face was a little closer to his, and raised his eyebrows, a silent invitation to her to repeat herself.

  “A bird,” she murmured. “A robin.”

  “Perhaps you will show us your work, once we are home,” Arthur continued, hoping such encouragement might relieve the drawn expression on her face. “I, for one, should like to see it.”

  “Very well.” The old imperiousness was back and Arthur’s spirits lifted. This was the Grace he remembered. Spoiled, bossy and ill-equipped to suffer fools. Had he not suffered from her lack of patience himself on many occasions as a younger man? He had been entirely deferential to her, allowing himself to be used however she saw fit. It was as her slave he’d first swabbed the decks, albeit at play; in her imagination he’d first circumnavigated the globe by make-believe ship. He clutched her a little closer to himself, hoping she did not feel the pain and shock of her fall so very badly.

  “Here we are, Miss Grace!” he exclaimed, as they reached the door. Devereaux went first, announcing their presence to the housekeeper, who hurried on ahead of them to alert Mr and Mrs Hardcastle and Miss Hardcastle, who looked up from her seat in the window of the parlour as the party entered.

  “Captain Sudbury!” she exclaimed, brushing absent-mindedly at her dress. “Oh, and Sir Benjamin!” Her breath of welcome grew shrill as she recognised the bundle in Arthur’s arms. “Grace! Oh dear, what has happened?”

  “She fell from a tree, Miss Hardcastle,” Arthur explained, depositing Grace carefully on a sofa and trying not to notice the wince of pain as he moved her. “It was thanks to Providence alone that we were there and able to help.”

  “Indeed!” Emily’s grey eyes, paler than her sister’s but no less beautiful, widened, and she smiled delicately in Arthur’s direction. “How grateful we are to you for bringing her home!” She flew to her sister’s side, her compassion evident by the affection she bestowed upon her. “Poor Gracie! But what possessed you to go climbing up a tree?”

  “I wished to see a bird,” Grace said, stubbornly.

  “Why, we have encyclopaedias! You might have seen any number of birds pictured there.” She laughed. “You needn’t have climbed a tree like a monkey to get at them.”

  Grace set her jaw, saying nothing until the door to the parlour opened and Mr and Mrs Hardcastle hurried in.

  “My poor dear!” Mrs Hardcastle cried, almost shoving Emily aside in her haste to reach Grace.

  “I have sent for the doctor,” Mr Hardcastle said, his eyes travelling past Arthur to Devereaux. His expression of concern slipped fully into humble gratitude. “I cannot thank you enough for the service you have shown to my daughter, Sir Benjamin,” he continued, in a tone of admiration.

  “You are most welcome,” Devereaux said, stiffly. He held out the leather folder. “But it is Captain Sudbury here who truly deserves your thanks.”

  “Ah.” Mr Hardcastle’s enthusiasm visibly dimmed as he turned towards Arthur. He became businesslike once more, his voice brisk and dismissive. “Yes. Well, thank you, Captain Sudbury. We are in your debt. You must both stay for some refreshments.”

  “OF COURSE, I DIDN’T mean to fall out of the tree....” Grace finished, irritated by the amused smile that tugged at her father’s lips. He settled down in a seat next to her and called for tea, changing the subject to one that was selected, she was sure, solely to attract and maintain the attention of Sir Benjamin Devereaux.

  She sighed and shifted her position on the sofa, wishing her father was less grasping. He had scarcely acknowledged Captain Sudbury, even though he had been the one to carry Grace all the way home! Heat flooded in her cheeks at the recollection and she sank even lower into her seat. Tumbling from a tree branch was not exactly the impression she wished to make on their neighbour! She glanced up at him and noticed the admiring glance he shot towards Emily when he could be sure that her sister would not notice it. Emily would never have acted so childishly, and did he not admire her all the more because of it? She bit her lip, frowning.

  “Oh, poor Grace!” Mama noticed her dour expression, misreading the emotional pain for a physical one. She turned to shoo the gentlemen from the room. “You must not bore her with your talk of business and finances!” she hissed to her husband. Leaning forward, she smoothed a loose lock of Grace’s hair away from her forehead. “Do you need anything, dear? Perhaps you should have something to eat or drink while we wait for the doctor. I fear you have had quite a shock and even if your ankle is not broken -”

  “It is not broken, Mama,” Grace replied, shortly. Seeing her mother’s wounded expression she modulated her voice and tried again, swallowing the irritation she felt at being treated like an invalid. “Do not fret, I shall be quite alright again soon.” She shuffled in her seat, trying to sit upright as if to prove it, but the movement jarred her ankle and a flare of pain shot through her whole body, rooting her to the spot.

  “Broken or not, I think you ought to sit still and wait for the doctor to judge!” Captain Sudbury said, his eyes sparkling merrily. “Much as it must pain you to do as you are told and be fussed over.” His eyes widened and he turned apologetically to Mrs Hardcastle. “Forgive me, Mrs Hardcastle, I meant no -”

  Grace’s mother sniffed, but did, mercifully, move away from her daughter. Grace took a deep breath, feeling as if she could breathe again without her mother hanging over her as if she were on her deathbed, and she shot Arthur a grateful smile. He had already looked away, though, angling to insert himself into the conversation taking place between Sir Benjamin and Mr Hardcastle. In but a moment, her father had invited Sir Benjamin to join him in his study, widening the invitation to include Captain Sudbury out of politeness, Grace thought, rather than desire. Her heart railed against her father’s prejudice, but she was pleased to see the delight that registered on Arthur’s face at being welcomed into the gentleman’s sanctuary. It almost overtook her disappointment at their leaving, for barely a moment after the door closed behind them, Mama was by her side once more.

  “You need not be brave any more, my darling!” she wailed, clutching Grace’s hand so tightly that she feared that it, too, was bound to break. “Is the hurt very bad?”

  “No,” Grace replied, through clenched teeth. “Though that may be because my senses are distracted by your attempt to crush my hand. Mama!” She wrenched the offending appendage free, and wiggled her fingers, wincing as the blood flowed into them once more. “Honestly! Anyone would think I had been trampled half to death!”

  “You would rather nobody cared at all for your latest scrape?” Emily tossed her head, smiling condescendingly in Grace’s direction. “You wish you could be left to run and roam as freely as you did when you were a child?”

  “No,” Grace countered, ignoring the withering glare her sister shot her.

  “You are a young lady now, Grace,” Emily remarked, haughtily. “You must begin to act like one! Your drawing, for instance. That is an entirely appropriate accomplishment - but it might just as easily be practised indoors as outside, where you are less likely to come to harm. Why could you not draw the fruit in the fruit bowl, which can be seen from the sofa, instead of putting yourself in harm’s way climbing a tree?” She pursed her lips. “You are very lucky that Sir Benjamin and Captain Sudbury happened to be there, or you might have been left in agony for who knows how many
hours?”

  Grace opened her mouth to respond but closed it again, silenced by this surprising bit of wisdom. Could it be that Emily was actually concerned for her wellbeing, caring more for Grace’s injury than for the impact of having such a harum-scarum sister might have on her own future prospects? Grace’s heart softened towards her sister and she turned to welcome her a little closer, but Emily’s continued reflection ruined the picture.

  “We are fortunate it was only Sir Benjamin and Captain Sudbury, although their witnessing your folly is quite bad enough.” She sniffed. “Just imagine if your rescuer had been someone like Mr Crampton!”

  Mama gasped as if this were truly the most dreadful fate she could imagine - worse, even, than her younger daughter being hurt in the first place. Grace rolled her eyes and buried her head in a pillow. Mr Crampton. Emily had gone almost a day without mentioning their neighbour, the proud, wealthy Mr Edward Crampton, and she had dared to think him forgotten. No such luck. Why Emily persisted in admiring such a man was beyond Grace’s logic, particularly when she had the clever, amusing Arthur hanging on her every word. Her heart turned over as she recalled how Captain Sudbury had found a reason to call at their house since his return from the sea. She had been a little afraid of him, at first, for he suddenly seemed so altered from the young man he had been, the merry boy who had been perfectly content to indulge her in games and all manner of imaginary play. She flushed to recall how many adventures they had had when she was but a child, setting out to explore the Amazon (a particularly overgrown patch of the gardens) or fight off marauding pirates (much to Mama’s everlasting terror that they might break something other than themselves.) Arthur was older now and surely cringed to recall such games. Grace bit her lip. She was older now, too, although he hardly seemed to notice. His attentions were all for her sister, who had once scarcely acknowledged him and now only sometimes seemed interested, when reminded of the great fortune he had amassed in his career.

  A knock at the door startled all three ladies, and they looked up as the doctor was admitted.

  Grace relaxed a little. She had always been fond of Dr Parker, for he was kind as well as clever and never made her feel foolish for enjoying being active, as her sister and mama did.

  “Well, now Miss Grace!” he exclaimed, striding into the room and taking in their tableau with one sweeping glance. “What misfortune has befallen you today?” His eyes sparkled. “And how shall we see about mending it?”

  Chapter Three

  The Sudbury dining table was always a merry place, but most evenings Arthur preferred for the merriment to focus on their neighbours and current affairs than entirely on him.

  “And then what happened?” Arthur’s father, Admiral Sudbury, asked, his pale eyes as wide and round as if his son was recounting a tale of heroism at sea and not that afternoon’s adventure with Devereaux.

  “Yes, Sudbury, tell on!” his wry companion urged, his features stretched in an amused, mocking smile. “Do not leave out a single moment of your gallantry!”

  “It is hardly gallant to escort a child home when she has fallen from a tree,” Arthur spoke with as much dignity as he could summon, slicing into his meat with a great deal of energy.

  “A child?” Devereaux snorted with laughter until a look from his beloved made him contrite.

  “Yes, be fair, Arthur, Grace Hardcastle is only a tiny bit younger than me!” Amelia, Arthur’s sister and Devereaux’s fiancée, pointed out.

  “Which still makes her a fair bit younger than me,” Arthur asserted. He took a bite of his meal, swallowing thoughtfully. “Although you are quite right, of course. I suppose she is not the child she was when I went away. But still! She was up a tree!”

  Neither his father nor sister seemed at all perturbed by this, and he turned to Devereaux, feeling that, mockery aside, his friend was surely the only other sane person seated at their table.

  “There are worse places to find young ladies,” he remarked, cryptically, and attended to his own meal with an enthusiasm that was neither necessary nor genuine.

  “Poor Grace,” Amelia said, when the table had fallen quiet but not yet succeeded in finding another - better - topic of conversation. “She must have been so embarrassed!”

  “Embarrassed?” Arthur shrugged off the notion. “I dare say she was more in pain than anything, although I remain convinced she’d have walked the whole way home - pain be damned - if she had been able to put even half of her weight on her ankle.”

  “It is broken, then?” Admiral Sudbury asked, caring more for specifics than speculation. “Nasty thing, a break such as that.” He knitted his bushy brows together, troubled by the plight of any young person who enjoyed to be active suddenly having their energy thus curtailed.

  “Sprained, the doctor said.” Arthur laid down his fork and reached for his glass, drinking down a healthy measure. “I dare say she will be forced to rest it for quite some time.”

  “Poor Grace!” Amelia repeated, her voice laden with sympathy. “I will go and see her tomorrow. She will be aching for company, I am sure.”

  “Aching, pah!” Arthur remarked, setting down his glass. “She has her sister, does not she? And what better company could one wish for than Miss Hardcastle?”

  There was a less-than-subtle snort from Devereaux’s corner of the table but when Arthur looked that way his friend was innocently examining his plate and he was left with no recourse.

  “My dear brother,” Amelia began, in the tone of voice he had begun to weary of since his return from sea. She had always possessed it, he did not doubt, but it was far easier borne on the lips of a child than a young lady only weeks away from becoming a wife and a lady in her own right. Were she not younger than him - and his sister - he might even think it patronising. As it was, he would bear it, and he forced his lips upwards into a smile.

  “My dear sister.” He pushed his plate away, his appetite sated, and faced his sister as a picture of obedience.

  Amelia’s imperiousness was utterly ruined when she stuck her tongue out at him, and Arthur could not help but laugh. She was his same Milly, bride-to-be or not. He did not mind listening to her advice, for, whilst he would never admit to it, she possessed rather a deal of wisdom in that pretty head of hers.

  “Just because you consider Emily Hardcastle a veritable angel from heaven does mean that that is the prevailing opinion.” Her smile grew cold. “She and Grace are very different people and I dare say being cooped in the house with one another is far less of a thrill to Grace than it might be to any of Miss Hardcastle’s long list of admirers.”

  This was uttered simply but not without warning. Arthur’s heart sank. He knew Emily Hardcastle must have her fair share of suitors. More than her fair share, for she was quite the prettiest young lady he had seen in all his life and had only grown prettier during their time apart. Add to that the dearth of competition in Westham - his own sister notwithstanding - and it was hardly to be marvelled at that a great number of men found their attentions captured by the elder Miss Hardcastle. But must Amelia remind him of it? He did not care to think of competition keeping him from winning Emily Hardcastle’s hand. In the past, it had been his fortune, or lack of it, and his position relative to hers, the only daughter of a gentleman. Now that he had both fortune and rank, and a good deal more besides, he did not like to think that his suit might be ignored in favour of a competitor.

  “Anyway, I shall take Grace some books. No doubt she will grow bored being forced to sit still for so many hours at a stretch.”

  This was enough to provoke a laugh and Arthur forgot his concerns over Miss Hardcastle’s scores of suitors in teasing his sister.

  “Not everybody is as much a bookworm as you are, Milly, dear!” he said, with a merry smile. “In fact, I dare say not one in ten young ladies care to read to the same extent. And Grace Hardcastle evidently much prefers romping to reading.”

  “Yes,” Amelia replied, tersely. “But if she is prevented from romping, perhaps
reading will become an enjoyable alternative pastime. In books, she might travel wherever she wishes whilst staying still and mending.” She glared around the table, seeking some challenge that nobody was eager to offer. “I shall go anyway and I dare say she will be pleased to see me!”

  IN HEALING HER WOUNDED ankle, Grace was afforded the choice of precisely two positions. Either she must lie for hours in bed, undisturbed by anybody save the servants and driving herself mad by counting the ridges in the ceiling, or she might be permitted to sit on a long sofa in the parlour, with the offending ankle propped up on a pillow and watch her sister sew, poorly, or play the harp, hesitantly, or talk incessantly about the latest rumours that swirled around Westham. She sank her head back into a cushion, rolling her eyes skywards as Emily, at last, paused for breath after a detailed exposition on Joanna Devereaux’s Mama’s flight away from Westham and whether her daughter would seek to follow her or not. She was distracted from pursuing this particular topic of conversation any further just at present, however, by a knock at the door, announcing, “Miss Amelia Sudbury.”

  “Milly!” Grace sat up in her seat, instantly regretting the movement as a wrenching pain shot up her leg.

  “Oh, good afternoon, Amelia,” Emily said, a picture of politeness to Amelia’s face, although Grace noticed the tiny flash of irritation that had registered there before being overtaken with a smile. “Do stay awhile. I shall order some tea. How lovely to see you!”

  “Well, it is lovely to see you, too, Miss Hardcastle, but I confess it was Miss Grace that I came to visit.” She crept past Emily’s seat to perch on the end of Grace’s sofa. “How are you feeling?”

  “Oh, I am quite well really!” Grace replied, her cheeks reddening a little. She was not fond of undue attention, particularly not when it was lavished on her as an invalid.

  “I’m sure!” Amelia remarked, her eyes twinkling with fun. “You do not at all object to being confined to that seat and forced to listen to the practising of music for hours at a time when you might instead be outside - oh, not to suggest there is anything at all the matter with your playing, Emily!” She turned, contrite, to smile at Grace’s sister, who could only maintain her icy irritation for so long. She smiled, tugging her own chair a little closer to Grace’s and encouraging Amelia to make up their trio with a seat of her own.