Catching Captain Nash

by Campbell, Anna

  “Goodness me, you’re so dreamy at the moment. It’s hardly worth trying to talk to you,” Amy said crossly. “Did you hear me say the news is all over Town that the King is ill? It looks like we might have a queen on the throne before the end of the year.”

  “That’s nice,” Morwenna said, although she hardly cared. Her days as part of London society seemed long ago now.

  Amy sighed impatiently. “I’m sure I wasn’t nearly so besotted with my babies.”

  That caught Morwenna’s attention. “I’m sure you were—and are.”

  Amy had borne her first child, golden-haired Charlotte, five months after Robert came home. Wilfred arrived two years later. The strikingly good-looking Dacre children were hanging around their cousins on the riverbank, under the watchful eye of Miss Carroll and their father Gervaise, Lord Pascal.

  These days, Amy and Pascal didn’t spend much more time in Town than Morwenna and Robert. London’s handsomest man had, much to the fashionable world’s astonishment, become a dedicated farmer. He and his wife devoted most of their attention to a thriving estate in Shropshire, where Amy received great acclaim for her experiments in cattle breeding.

  “Who knew I’d find my children even more interesting than my prize Herefords?” Amy paused to admire the sleeping baby. “You’re so lucky that Anne is such a quiet child. Both of mine howled like banshees for the first two years.”

  Morwenna smiled down at her daughter, loving her pink cheeks and soft, light brown curls. She was going to grow up to be one of the leonine Nashes. “After Bella, I deserve a quiet baby. I swear she didn’t sleep a wink until she was three.”

  “She’s still a bundle of energy,” Amy said, glancing across to where Bella rushed over to torment her cousin Wilfred, Amy’s dark-haired son.

  Sally and Charles, both as always dressed in the first stare of fashion, approached them up the hill. Once the flurry of greetings was over, Sally was holding Anne, and Charles had gone in search of Silas who was, as usual at these picnics, talking horses with their host.

  “Isn’t she beautiful?” Sally said softly, running an elegant finger down the baby’s rounded cheek.

  “Well, I think so.” From habit, Morwenna searched her friend’s face for some sign of regret or resentment that she’d never had children. But Sally and Charles were so wrapped up in each other, she supposed they were happy as they were. “She’s grown since you last saw her.”

  The Kinglakes had made Anne’s acquaintance last Christmas, not long after she arrived in the world. Sally lowered her voice, although only Amy and Morwenna were within earshot. “We’re not telling anyone yet, just in case, but…”

  Amy’s face lit up with joy. “Sally, are you going to have a baby?”

  Eyes bright with tears, Sally nodded. “In October, if all goes well.”

  “Charles will be overjoyed.”

  Sally accepted Morwenna’s handkerchief and balancing Anne on one arm, wiped her eyes. “He’s pleased and worried in equal measure—I’m thirty-nine after all. But the doctors say I’m as healthy as a horse. And I feel marvelous.”

  “Oh, Sally, I’m so happy for you.” Morwenna laid her hand on Sally’s arm.

  “How are my favorite girls getting on?” Robert said from behind her.

  “Why, thank you, kind sir,” Sally said, turning and batting her eyelashes at him.

  “Of course you’re my favorite,” he said, kissing her cheek and taking his newest daughter into his arms. Anne opened bright hazel eyes and gave a satisfied murmur at the move. She adored her papa beyond anything in the world, except perhaps Rascal.

  “What about me?” Amy asked.

  “You’re all my favorites.” Robert smiled at his sister. “Don’t you know that?”

  These days, Robert smiled a lot, and a large gathering like this presented no difficulties. He was no longer the troubled, damaged man who had come back to Morwenna almost eight years ago. Even the horrific slash on his face had faded to a subtle silver. In her opinion, the scar made him look rather dashing.

  It had been nearly a year before he told her the full story of his captivity in South America, and she still occasionally woke from nightmares inspired by the horrors he’d described. But that long, sleepless night when he’d relived every harrowing detail for her had been like lancing a wound. Since then, he’d risen above his ordeal with a courage that awed her.

  “Good try, brother,” Amy said without rancor.

  “You’re definitely my favorite youngest sister.” He tilted his chin toward the activity down in the field. “I believe the races are about to start.”

  Contests of horsemanship always formed part of the picnic’s entertainment. Morwenna watched Silas and Vernon, still best friends, still competitive, mount up. Pascal was already sitting on his chestnut mare, although with Vernon riding last year’s Derby champion, he didn’t stand a chance of winning. But that hardly mattered when a man looked as spectacular in the saddle as he did.

  Everyone, adults and children, started to move toward the makeshift course to watch the fun. All except Morwenna and Robert who lingered behind on the rise with their new daughter. Amy was right. Morwenna was besotted. And so, she was delighted to note, was Jane’s papa.

  “Anthony’s playing umpire again,” Robert said, frowning into the sun. At the finish line, Anthony Townsend, Lord Kenwick, towered over his delicate blond wife Fenella.

  “At least he’s big enough to stop any fights,” Morwenna said with a fond laugh.

  “Not that he gets much practice with his perfect wife and perfect children,” Robert said wryly. “He should come and pour oil on troubled waters at my house. That would really test his skills.”

  Morwenna cast him a sardonic glance. “Your children are perfect.”

  He rolled his eyes. “When they’re asleep. Maybe.”

  “You wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  He shook his dark head. “No, I love their spirit. They get it from their mother.”

  She arched her eyebrows. “Are you saying she’s not perfect either?”

  His smile held such a wealth of unconditional love, her breath caught. “She’s perfect for me.”

  “Oh, Robert…” Even after all these years, he maintained the ability to turn her heart to syrup.

  He leaned in, juggling the baby, and kissed her. “I love you, my darling.”

  “And I love you.” She blinked away the misty haze in front of her eyes. “We’ve been lucky, haven’t we?”

  They had, despite their years of heartbreak and separation. Robert had needed a long time to recover from his captivity and find his way on land instead of on the water, but they had made a good life in Devon. And Morwenna could never doubt how much he loved his family. And her. “Yes, we’ve been blessed.”

  Holding Anne with one powerful arm, Robert slung the other around his wife’s shoulders. As Helena called “go” to start 1837’s Dashing Widows Stakes, Morwenna leaned against her husband in perfect contentment. She barely spared a glance for the riders down in the field.

  As far as she was concerned, it didn’t matter a fig who won the Dashing Widows Stakes today. What mattered was that in the game of life, all the Dashing Widows had emerged victorious.

  THE END

  Continue reading for an excerpt from:

  Pursuing Lord Pascal

  * * *

  Book 4 in the Dashing Widows series

  * * *

  Golden Days…

  Famous for her agricultural innovations, Amy, Lady Mowbray has never had a romantical thought in her life. Well, apart from her short-lived crush on London’s handsomest man, Lord Pascal, when she was a brainless 14-year-old. She even chose her late husband because he owned the best herd of beef cattle in England!

  But fate steps in and waltzes this practical widow out of her rustic retreat into the glamour of the London season. When Pascal pursues her, all her adolescent fantasies come true. And those fantasies turn disturbingly adult when grown-up desire en
ters the equation. Amy plunges headlong into a reckless affair that promises pleasure beyond her wildest dreams – until she discovers that this glittering world hides damaging secrets and painful revelations set to break a country girl’s tender heart.

  All that glitters…

  Gervaise Dacre, Lord Pascal needs to marry money to rescue his estate, devastated after a violent storm. He’s never much liked his reputation as London’s handsomest man, but it certainly comes in handy when the time arrives to seek a rich bride. Unfortunately, the current crop of debutantes bores him silly, and he finds himself praying for a sensible woman with a generous dowry.

  When he meets Dashing Widow Amy Mowbray, it seems all his prayers have been answered. But his mercenary quest becomes dangerously complicated when he finds himself in thrall to the lovely widow. Soon he’s much more interested in passion than in pounds, shillings and pence. What happens if Amy discovers the sordid truth behind his whirlwind courtship? And if she does, will she see beyond his original, selfish motives to the ardent love that lies unspoken in his sinful heart?

  Prologue

  * * *

  Woodley Park, Leicestershire, November 1828

  To a farmer, even winter’s dreary beginning had its purpose.

  Or so Amy, Lady Mowbray, told herself as she stared out of the morning room window onto the landscape of her childhood. It was early on a gray day. Around her, the old house was blessedly quiet. That would change, once everyone was up.

  Nash friends and family gathered to celebrate the christening of her brother Silas’s fourth child. The revels had extended late last night, but Amy, used to rising with the birds to tramp her fields at Warrington Grange, couldn’t sleep.

  So she didn’t expect the door to open and reveal Sally Cowan, Countess of Norwood. “Lady Mowbray, I didn’t think anyone else was awake.”

  Amy didn’t know Sally well. Recently the attractive widow had become friends with her sister-in-law Morwenna. Morwenna mostly lived in seclusion in Portsmouth, but she and Sally both supported a charity for indigent naval widows.

  “I don’t keep sophisticated hours, Lady Norwood.” Anything but. Lately the sheer predictability of her days had begun to pall.

  When she was a girl, she’d become interested in scientific agriculture, and since then, the rhythms of planting and harvest had ruled her life. Her brief marriage seven years ago had caused barely a hiccup in the endless seasonal work.

  “I don’t either.” Lady Norwood closed the door and ventured into the room. “I’m looking for something to read. I know Caro keeps the latest novels in here. I won’t disturb you.”

  Amy rarely sought female company, although she loved her sister Helena who slept upstairs, no doubt blissfully, in her husband’s arms. But something about the bleak, lonely dawn left her dissatisfied with solitude. “No need to go. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  Lady Norwood cast her a searching look, before a smile of startling charm lit her face. She wasn’t exactly pretty. Her long, thin nose had a definite kink, and her eyes and mouth were too large for her face, but she was dauntingly stylish. Next to her, Amy always felt a complete frump.

  This morning was a case in point. Lady Norwood wore a filmy cream gown, trimmed with bands of satin ribbon, deep green to match her remarkable eyes. With her loosely gathered fair hair, she looked like the spirit of spring, even as the year moved into winter.

  Whereas Amy had dredged a frock ten years out of date from the cupboard in the bedroom she always used at Woodley Park. She’d assumed at this hour, she wouldn’t run into any other guests. She was sharply conscious that the dress was faded and worn, and too loose for her. At twenty-five, she was slimmer than she’d been at sixteen.

  “Thank you. I’d love a cup of tea. Morwenna speaks so fondly of you, Lady Mowbray. I was looking forward to this house party as a chance to get to know you.”

  Amy crossed the room to the tray a footman had just brought in and poured two cups. “Please call me Amy. Lady Mowbray is my late husband’s mother.” Who lived in Brighton, and fussed over her ten pugs, and found little common ground with the practical young woman her son had married.

  Lady Norwood turned something as mundane as accepting a cup and saucer into an act of breathtaking grace. Amy stifled an unworthy pang of envy. Not even her best friend—if she had one—would credit her with a shred of elegance. Somehow this morning, that seemed a shame.

  “Very well, Amy. And you must call me Sally.” She sipped her tea as the door swung open.

  “Morwenna,” Amy said in surprise, placing her tea on a side table and stepping forward to embrace her lovely, fragile sister-in-law. The body in her arms was so thin, Amy feared it might break if she wasn’t careful. “You’re up early.”

  “You know I don’t sleep much these days.” The willowy brunette focused her large blue eyes on Sally and managed a smile. “Good morning, Sally.”

  “Good morning, Morwenna.”

  “Have some tea.” Amy filled another delicate Wedgwood cup. There were four on the tray. The footman must have guessed she’d have company. “I’m sorry you had a bad night. If it’s so difficult for you to see the family, you don’t have to come to these gatherings. Everyone would understand—although we’d miss you.”

  Bitterness twisted Morwenna’s lips as she took her tea and sat on a brocade chaise longue near the fire. Although all three women were widows, only Morwenna wore mourning. The dense black emphasized her ghostly pallor. “I doubt it. I’m well aware that I’m a constant reminder of sorrow.”

  Grief stabbed Amy. Sharp. Painful. Accepted, but unsoftened by time. “The sorrow is always there for us, whether you’re here or not.”

  Robert Nash, Morwenna’s husband and Amy’s brother, had been lost at sea three years ago in a skirmish with pirates off the Brazilian coast. At first, because Robert had been such a larger-than-life character, everyone who loved him had held out hope of his survival. But as month followed month, the grim truth of his death became undeniable reality. When the navy had ordered him into the South Atlantic, Robert was newly married to this charming Cornish girl, who had since become a beloved member of the Nash family.

  Morwenna cast her a sad smile—sad smiles were her stock in trade these days. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to imply his family had forgotten him. I know you haven’t—but you all have other concerns, other people to occupy you.”

  Amy hid a wince. Because she didn’t. Not really. Her estate ran like clockwork, and her steward and staff were so well trained in her methods that they could manage without her, indefinitely if necessary.

  Devil take this strange humor. Why on earth was she so discontented? Envying Sally’s style. Even envying Morwenna, who at least had known love before losing it.

  Amy and her late husband had been good friends, despite the age difference, but the stark truth was that she’d married him to join him in his farming experiments. When Sir Wilfred Mowbray passed away five years ago, agriculture lost a great innovator. Amy had grieved over a man more mentor than husband.

  Her marriage had been her choice, but on this dismal day, she couldn’t help thinking life should hold more than cattle breeding and crop rotation. And she’d never thought that before.

  “Kerenza enjoys seeing her cousins.” Sally sat next to Morwenna. “I know you miss Robert, but you’re lucky to have a daughter to love.”

  “Yes, she’s a darling. I wish Robert had known he had a child. She’s so like him.”

  “And becoming more so,” Amy said. The whole family found a measure of consolation in Robert’s bright, pretty daughter.

  “I would dearly have loved children,” Sally said in a muffled voice, her mobile features uncharacteristically somber. She placed her teacup on the tray, and Amy was distressed to see that her hand trembled. “But God didn’t see fit to bless me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Morwenna said gently.

  Sally shook her head. “Ten years of marriage, and no sign of a baby. Lord Norwood bore his dis
appointment bravely.”

  But nevertheless made that disappointment felt, Amy guessed.

  “You could marry again, Sally,” Morwenna said.

  Amy saw Sally hide a shudder, confirming her vague impression that the Norwood marriage had been unhappy. She was curious, but even she, renowned for her tactlessness, couldn’t ask a woman she hardly knew for intimate details. More was the pity. She had an inkling she and Sally might end up friends.

  “No, thank you. I’m too old to take a man’s orders, or change my ways to fit another person.”

  Morwenna struggled for a real smile. Amy almost wished she wouldn’t. Even just watching it, the effort involved made her feel tired. “But if you want children…”

  Sally’s shrug didn’t mask her regret. “I have nieces and nephews. In fact, I’m going to bring my niece Meg out in London next season. I intend to dive into the social whirl and enjoy myself as much as a woman of my advanced years may.”

  To Amy’s surprise, Morwenna gave a derisive snort that sounded like the vital girl Robert had married, rather than the wraith of recent years. “Only if your arthritis permits, you poor decrepit thing.”

  Reluctant humor tugged at Sally’s lips. “Well, I’m no longer a giddy girl. Not that I had much chance to kick up my heels. My parents married me off at seventeen.”

  “And now you’re only thirty,” Morwenna said, showing more spirit than Amy had seen in ages. “Why not have some fun?”

  “You’re a great one to talk,” Amy said, before she remembered that Morwenna needed delicate handling.

  Morwenna paled, and her animation faded. “It’s different for me.”

  “No, it’s not,” Amy said, justifying her reputation for blundering in where angels feared to tread, but unable to stay quiet. “I loved my brother, but you’ve mourned him for three years. He wouldn’t want you moping around for the rest of your life. Why don’t you go to London with Sally?”