“Of course,” said Mrs. Kingsley. “I have enough to equip an army of artists, and I would love to donate some to the cause. If it suits him, we can get him his own. Though he has never shown the slightest bit of interest in it before, perhaps he will grow to love it.”
“I would welcome any further ideas,” said Tabby. “With time, I am hopeful that we can get him walking and riding, but in the meantime, he is an active man being confined to the house. It is a struggle to find things engaging enough to keep his attention. I have already read him most of his books, and he needs more.”
“Absolutely,” said Mrs. Kingsley. “I know his taste in literature. I will have a mountain of them shipped to Gladwell House immediately. And perhaps I can send—”
At that moment, Mr. Kingsley strode into the room. “I heard Mrs. Russell was visiting, and I wanted to come and see how things were faring with my irascible brother-in-law.”
“Not so much irascible as bored,” said Tabby.
“You must help us invent ways to entertain Graham,” said Mrs. Kingsley, reaching for his hand.
“Anything,” he said as he joined her on the sofa. “What are you looking for?”
Mrs. Kingsley slipped her arm through his in a manner that was so commonplace it should not have been remarkable. There was nothing exceptionally romantic about the gesture, and Tabby had indulged in far more glaring displays of affection when she and Joshua had been first married, but the simplicity could not hide the sentiment beneath it. All of her and Joshua’s passionate exhibitions held not a fraction of the comfort, tenderness, and closeness that Mrs. Kingsley’s understated movement conveyed.
Mr. Kingsley held his wife’s gaze for a moment, and though it wasn’t heated, Tabby was witnessing something far more deep and meaningful. And she realized that it was the look of true love. One based on friendship and respect, which ran far deeper than anything Tabby had ever felt for her husband—even at their best of moments. With that realization, Tabby was struck by a longing as intense as she had ever felt. A desperate melancholy that swallowed her heart whole for she had run headlong into marriage with a man unlikely to ever give her such a look.
“Pardon?” asked Tabby when she realized that Mrs. Kingsley had been speaking.
“Could you please tell us a little more of what you are looking for?” she repeated.
With a nod, Tabby launched into a recounting of her discussions with and observations of Captain Ashbrook. It was a difficult path to walk, as she was uncertain how much to divulge. The Kingsleys may be his family, but there were things she knew he would not wish them to know. Skimming over anything that felt too personal, Tabby laid out her plans with the Kingsleys when a sudden thought entered Tabby’s head.
“Perhaps you can show him around the estate. Demonstrate what you do,” she said. “He needs a new profession, and though I do not think he has a penchant for working the land, he just may find he has a liking for it.”
“That is a capital plan,” said Mr. Kingsley. “As soon as he is up to traveling the estate, I can show him some more, but in the meantime, there is not much I can do for him. Mr. Thorne handles most of the bookkeeping and at home business. But perhaps there are other options.”
And so, the three began plotting for Captain Ashbrook’s future.
Chapter 14
The delicate paintbrush felt liable to snap between Graham’s massive fingers, which wasn’t what he needed to be thinking about at the moment. Studying the clump of blossoms on the garden table, he dipped the bristles in a dash of blue and touched it to his paper. The pigment flew from the brush, spidering across the painting haphazardly. With a curse, he dropped the brush and reached for a rag, bumping his cup, which fell to its side and sent a shower of dirty water flying. Mrs. Russell abandoned her paints and rushed to mop up the mess.
“Don’t bother,” he grumbled. “The bloody thing is ruined already. None of the blasted colors go where I wish them to.”
Mrs. Russell dabbed at it with her rag. “I need to start penalizing you every time you use such language, sir. With the carelessness in which you speak such foul words, you are liable to teach your future niece or nephew a few colorful phrases that will make your sister blush.”
Graham shoved the half-finished painting away. It was pointless to pick the thing up again; there was no salvaging that mess. Resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, he stared at the sky. It was another beautiful day, and he adored being out in the garden, but this was a sad waste of time. Watercolor painting was far too infuriating. The colors had a mind of their own, and Graham did not have the patience to master it.
“Surrendering so easily?” said Mrs. Russell. “I thought you were made of sterner stuff.”
He looked up to find her standing there with a smile and a sopping rag in her hand. The sunlight cast a shimmer of gold in her hair, giving it more contrast than usual. It was such a unique color, alternating between various shades of blonde and even the occasional hint of brunette. Graham found it quite entrancing to see it all pinned up, the light and dark gathered together.
“I fear it has conquered me,” he replied with a matching smile.
“Painting is a fearsome foe,” she said with a mockingly serious glance before returning to her seat. Retrieving a sketchbook, Mrs. Russell handed it over along with a few pencils. “Perhaps you should try sketching. Graphite is far more orderly than watercolor.”
Lifting the pencil, he flipped open the book, finding a pristine page. The infuriating painting sat abandoned next to it, and Graham stared at the blue streak marring his meager efforts. He had spent an hour on the thing, and one misstep had ruined it all. However, it did not warrant his reaction.
Though spoken in jest, Mrs. Russell’s comment made him think about the state of his language. Truly, he had not thought him so foul mouth as all that, yet one small mistake and he had let out a string of words that he should not have said. He hadn’t even thought to speak the words; they’d simply sprung free without his bidding.
Some might argue that he wasn’t in the presence of a lady and need not worry about such things. Mrs. Russell was a servant, after all. But she was more than that to Graham, and whether or not she was forced into employment, she was a lady of the highest quality and didn’t deserve to have her ears befouled by such language.
And there was truth to her warning. He’d thought himself able to rein in his tongue while in mixed company, but the longer he remained ashore, the more he realized that wasn’t true. For short periods, he could manage it, but doing so on a permanent basis was more challenging than he had expected. It was a miracle he had not spoken thusly in front of Mina, for she would give his tongue a good scrubbing with the harshest soap she could find.
“You are right,” he said.
Mrs. Russell glanced up from her painting. “I usually am, and I am glad you have finally accepted the state of things. It makes life so much simpler to acknowledge reality for what it is. Does that mean you shall stop fighting me over each little thing?”
Graham chose to ignore that and the cheeky twinkle in her eye and clarified his statement. “You are right about my language. I have developed a habit of cursing. A byproduct of my life at sea, though that is no excuse,” he said, rolling the pencil between his fingers. “It has been pure luck that I’ve not said something in front of Mina. She would box my ears if she ever heard a single one of the words with which I assailed you.”
Her eyes widened, and she straightened in her seat. “Pardon?”
“I wish to break my bad habit, but often, I don’t realize I have said anything amiss until after the fact,” he said. “Perhaps you could point it out when I have misspoken. As a boy, Mina would flick my ear to get my attention when I misbehaved. Perhaps you could do the same.” Graham smiled at Mrs. Russell, but she only stared back at him.
“Are you all right?” he asked when she appeared unable to do more than blink.
“Are you in earnest?”
“Certainly
,” he said.
The lady blinked some more and then nodded. “I…ah, yes, sir. I would love to help you.”
“I even promise not to get cranky when both my ears end up bruised and throbbing,” he said, and Mrs. Russell gave him the laugh he had been fishing for.
“You should not make promises you cannot keep,” she said with a sly smile.
Graham grabbed at his chest and said with more than a touch of melodrama, “You wound me, madam. Deeply.”
The expression on Mrs. Russell’s face shifted, bringing a warmth to it that Graham rarely saw. Not to say that she was unkind, but it was clear that she was weighed down by troubles. Yet at that moment, she looked at peace.
“I think it is wonderful that you wish to better yourself, and I will do whatever I can to help you,” she said. Her voice was soft, blending in with the sound of the bees and birds singing around them. She dropped her gaze to her painting and retrieved her brush, dipping it into a bit of color and gently pulling it across the page.
Graham reached for the sketchpad, pulling it onto his lap to get a better angle, but he held the pencil in his hand as he watched Mrs. Russell. Tabby. Mina had called her that once, and the name suited her. The lady was regal enough for Tabitha, but her heart was a Tabby.
Watching her, Graham wondered for the first time what it would be like if he were to stay ashore—with her.
To allow himself such thoughts was straying into dangerous territory. She was his sister’s servant. Not that it was a question of class, for Graham knew Mrs. Russell had ample amounts of it, but they lived under the same roof. Even if he wished to ignore the social taboo of courting a servant, doing so while they were so often sequestered alone would destroy Mrs. Russell’s reputation. There was no good that could come of brushing up against such conventions. They existed for a reason. And he was not one of those gentlemen who viewed the servant class as prime plucking for a bit of fun. Mrs. Russell deserved better.
Besides, Graham would return to sea, and if he were to marry, he could not imagine leaving the lady behind. And children need their father. It wasn’t in his nature to live such a separate life from his wife and children, which is why he had never pursued matrimony in the past. So there was no need to think of Mrs. Russell as anything more than his caretaker.
Then why did the thought of leaving her behind make him uneasy?
Giving her a sly glance, Graham saw the surface beauty that would entice many a man to alter the course of their life in order to secure her as his wife. Yet, it wasn’t her fine features that had his conviction wavering. It was her. The life and light in her eyes; the passion and kindness that formed her very core. In only a few weeks, she had become a central figure in his life. Every hour was touched by her presence. Their conversations filled his days, and the realization that he was going to lose all of that left him feeling hollow.
Smoothing his hand over the paper, Graham knew better than to speculate about such things, but it still hung there in the corner of his mind. Mrs. Russell’s smile. Her laugh. Her company. With a few strokes of the pencil, he began to sketch out the blossoms on the table, though his eyes strayed to his companion more often than they did to his subject.
This would not do. Graham forced himself to concentrate. With more lines, the image began to take shape, and Graham found himself smiling at the crude drawing. This was much better than watercolor.
Chapter 15
Tabby twirled a daisy between her fingers as she strolled along the country lane. The sun was setting, the ripening wheat catching the dying rays, making it look as though the fields were ablaze. The walk from the estate to her home was the most beautiful part of Bristow, and if it weren’t for the fact that she was desperate to see sweet Phillip again, she would happily spend a few moments wading through the fields and listening to the birdsong.
As she walked along, she reached into her reticule, retrieving Captain Ashbrook’s latest drawing. He had deemed it worthy of the trash bin, but Tabby had rescued it from that heartless destruction. Rough though it was, the drawing held promise. Captain Ashbrook’s talent was quickly outstripping Tabby’s own meager abilities, and she was anxious to see him improve.
The grey lines came together in a picture of a faraway beach. Tabby always struggled to imagine the distant lands he described in his tales and had begged him to draw it for her. Though he claimed it did not do the place justice, it was entrancing. Tabby beamed at the drawing before tucking it away once more. Watercolor had not been the right choice, but sketching most certainly was.
Her feet knew the path to her son and followed it without any prompting, allowing her mind to wander over the past weeks. It had been an age since she had spent time with someone so enjoyable as Captain Ashbrook. His life was one grand adventure roving the seas, and Tabby would never tired of his stories.
Captain Ashbrook. The man puzzled her deeply. He was such a contradiction of terms. Domineering and demanding, yet introspective and open to criticism. Tabby had never met a man who was so strong-willed yet willing to admit he was wrong. Thinking over their conversation about his language, Tabby could not believe that a simple off-hand comment had inspired a change in him.
Even at his best, Joshua had needed strong prodding to do anything. It pained Tabby to remember their courtship and how she had lauded his every improvement, offering them up as proof of Joshua’s worthiness to her father when in fact, they had all originated from her. It hadn’t been his idea to attend church services. He had gone happily, eager to please her, but he had never initiated it. She had asked him to refrain from drink, and he had done so willingly, but not of his choice.
Yet Captain Ashbrook was taking pains to address his shortcoming of his own volition. Her remarks might have inspired him, but the ensuing efforts were made independent of her.
It had been a sennight since Captain Ashbrook had made the resolution, and he was far from perfect, but he never harried her when she reminded him or snapped when Tabby brought an unconscious uttering to his notice. In fact, he appeared to appreciate it. Tabby struggled to believe it was in earnest, yet every time she corrected him, Captain Ashbrook thanked her and tried again.
Following the curve of the road, their home came into view. Her heart swelled at the sight of her poor, pathetic little cottage. It looked cruder and more dilapidated than she remembered, but seeing Phillip’s nose pressed to the front window made it a most welcome sight. Hitching her skirts, Tabby allowed herself to run the rest of the way, and Phillip broke into a smile as wide as hers. Then the door was flung open, and Tabby scooped him up from the doorstep, burying kisses into his neck.
“Oh, my sweet boy!” Tabby squeezed him until he was certain to burst and then nibbled on his chubby cheeks.
“Mama!” He said the word with half excitement, half frustration at the flood of affection in which she drowned him. Of course, Tabby ignored his hands that went from hugging to pushing for a moment longer, reveling in the feel of having her dear child in her arms again, but eventually, she sat him on his feet.
And that was when she noticed the strangers inside her house, watching the whole scene.
Joshua sat at the table, looking far more worn and gaunt than when she’d seen him three days ago. His eyes were red and the skin beneath was purpling—clear signs that he’d only just dragged himself out of a bottle. Behind him stood a man, though man was too small a word for what he was. Tabby had heard many described as barrel-chested, but never had the descriptor been so aptly applied. Broad and brawny, his arms were as big around as Tabby’s waist. And though his eyes held something of an appreciative glint to them as they pursued her person, Tabby felt chilled at its underlying malice.
“You must be Mrs. Russell,” said a second man in the room.
He was middle-aged and well dressed; not the top tiers of fashion, but high quality and fastidiously put together. Shipshape and Bristol fashion, as Captain Ashbrook would say. He offered her a proper bow, and Tabby gave him a curtsy while grabb
ing Phillip’s hand to pull him close. The man’s manner was everything courteous, but a prickling at the back of her neck had Tabby stepping between him and her son.
“I’ve been looking forward to making your acquaintance,” he said, a warm smile on his lips, though his eyes held none of it. “Your husband speaks so highly of you.”
Tabby glanced at Joshua, but his eyes were trained on the floor.
“My name is Mr. Crauford, and this is my associate, Mr. Gibbons.” The man spoke as though they were standing in a grand ballroom and not a dingy hovel. “And your husband insisted that you might be of assistance.”
“Crauford, please…” said Joshua with a pleading whine.
Mr. Crauford gave both of the Russells a smile and then motioned for Joshua to speak. Her husband stood, keeping a weather eye on Mr. Gibbons, who had yet to move or speak. Coming to Tabby’s side, Joshua pulled her into a corner, which had the greatest amount of privacy they could hope to find.
“I need your pay,” he said without preamble, holding out his hand as though she would simply give it over without further comment.
“No,” she said, pulling away from him. Phillip stood beside her, his eyes bouncing between his parents. Tabby did not wish for him to witness what was certain to become a scene, but she would not allow him to wander while those men were here.
“Now, Tabby,” said Joshua. “I need it.”
“But we need it to live.”
Joshua huffed. “We owe these men money, and if we don’t pay things will get far worse for us than going to bed hungry.”
“We owe them money?” said Tabby. “How?”
“It was from before,” he said, his eyes darting to the men. “I thought I’d taken care of it all, but I overlooked one of our loans.”
“You said you took care of it all, Joshua,” Tabby said through clenched teeth. She glared at him, but he avoided her eyes. “You said it was over. Done. You promised me that we were starting afresh.”
A True Gentleman (Regency Love Book 2) Page 11