Only a Hero Will Do

by Susan Lodge

  Dr. Withington watched her thoughtfully.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said simply. The softness in his tone and the sincerity in his eyes moved her. He seemed about to reach out and take her hand – and it might have been quite nice if he had.

  ***

  Hetty turned the cabin upside down the following afternoon as tears of frustration started to pool in her eyes. The funds she had not given to the doctor for safe keeping had disappeared. She had removed it from the pocket sewn into her chemise after the doctor’s comments the other night, and she thought she had found a safe haven in the crevice between the bulkhead and the bench.

  Damn him! If he had not interfered, she would still have the money safely on her person. Anger overtook her tears. She would find out which of these miserable villains had her money. She would go to the captain and demand a search.

  She stopped as she reached the door and sighed. She wasn’t supposed to have any money, apart from the small amount she had given up to the doctor to lock away. She slumped back down on the seat. So much effort had gone into accumulating those funds.

  It was Mr. Nugent, Anthony’s old tutor, who had taught her to play cards under the guise of studying mathematical probability. He had been employed to educate Anthony after he had been expelled from Eton, but by the time her stepbrother left for University, Hetty had persuaded her mother to retain Mr. Nugent as her tutor. His instruction had gone beyond mathematics lessons, and he had taught her to read the players and their mannerisms: the way they held their cards, the movements of the body, the glances, and the slight sheen of sweat. Ever since her first serious game, she had never lost.

  She wiped away tears. So, she had lost her savings except for the modest amount she had given to the doctor to look after. Instinctively, she reached for the silver locket around her neck, opened it, and stared at her mother’s face smiling back at her. But the usual comfort did nothing to ease her misery this time.

  Furious with the whole thieving, miserable, interfering world, Hetty clicked it shut and sat and wept.

  Chapter Five

  A shiver ran down Anthony Avebury’s spine as he read his own memorial stone: Died in service to his country – Lost in battle 1806.

  “And now he’s found,” Anthony murmured to himself.

  As there were no other additions to the family plot, his father must still be alive. So why, he wondered as he rode up the long winding drive to Avebury Hall, did the land look so badly tended? Many of the fields he had just travelled through lacked crops. Unease stirred in him, tinged with anger. This was his inheritance. He had expected to return to the same prosperous manor he had left six years ago.

  Anthony rode to the stable block and left his mount with a ginger-haired youth who eyed him curiously. He strolled to the house, but instead of climbing the front steps, he walked slowly around the grey stone building. He paused for a few moments, taking in the familiar landmarks before he turned to follow the walkway into a paved courtyard. This part of the grounds looked neat enough, although it lacked the colourful mass of pink spring shrubs he remembered from the past. The sound of an unfamiliar feminine voice floating out from the open doors of the orangery distracted him, and he advanced, puzzled.

  Could it be Hetty? It certainly didn’t sound like the girl he remembered. A figure came into view through the doorway, and Anthony studied the elegant, raven-haired woman with appreciation. Dressed in pale blue silk, she reminded him of a storybook ice queen. She moved with graceful arrogance, and her voice had a sharpness to it that commanded attention.

  Who the devil was this?

  ***

  Lady Diana Avebury, third wife of Sir Henry Avebury, dismissed her cook with an imperious wave of her hand. The odious woman brought her nothing but requests for help or more supplies to maintain the menus. Things were beginning to get uncomfortable. She would have to implement a few more economies in the household.

  The news of her stepdaughter’s disappearance was the last straw. The girl had ruined their plans and endangered the agreement with Stark, which would have injected new funds into the Avebury coffers. Henry had always been soft with the girl, and he had almost given in to her whining protests against the marriage. Persuading him otherwise had been a time-consuming and tedious chore. Hetty might think she had escaped, but Stark was on her trail. He was not a patient man, and she would be very sorry when he tracked her down.

  They had already located her ridiculous maid. She might be loyal to Hetty, but she stood no chance against the intimidating questioning by Stark’s men. She had told them where Hetty had been taken. Inaccessible as the ship was at present, she couldn’t hide there forever.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when she caught sight of the stranger in the doorway. The man stared boldly, and she was stunned into silence for a few moments as he bowed gracefully and entered the room.

  “Pardon me, madam. I wandered into the courtyard and heard your voice.”

  Diana scowled at the tall, slim figure then she slowly examined the golden hair, impertinent brown eyes, and lazy smile. Devilishly handsome, he seemed frighteningly familiar although she had never met him before. The look in his eyes made her pulse race.

  “Are you unaware that visitors are usually announced and received? They do not wander through the courtyards and enter side doors.” Her words were cold, but she was intrigued enough to delay summoning assistance.

  “I apologise for startling you, madam, but these doors are not unknown to me. I grew up entering and leaving them. Sometimes furtively, I grant you. Perhaps I should introduce myself. Anthony Avebury.” He bowed again. “Back from the dead, I fear, madam.”

  Diana clutched the edge of the table. That was why he seemed familiar. He looked like a young and infinitely more attractive version of her husband.

  “We were told you had died with your company. There were no survivors.”

  “Survivors and prisoners, madam! I have spent several years sampling the hospitality of a French prison.”

  She waved her hand toward a chair, her mind whirling as she lowered herself into the seat opposite and reached to tug the bell. “I will have your father informed.”

  “Excellent idea. In the meantime, perhaps we can get acquainted. You are?”

  Diana swallowed. This man, despite his charming manner, caused a shiver of fear to ripple through her. She pasted on a smile.

  “I am Diana Avebury, your stepmother.”

  ***

  Anthony tensed and his smile slipped as he watched the woman dispatch a footman with a message. So this beauty was his father’s bride? She was close to his age of eight and twenty, but he could see who now ruled Avebury Hall. His father would never be able to handle this woman, in any respect.

  As if to confirm his thoughts, Henry Avebury cautiously entered the room.

  “Anthony! By God, boy, is it really you?” He walked forward and placed his hands on Anthony’s shoulders, as if he needed to feel the reality of his son’s flesh. “Where have you been? We thought you were dead.”

  Anthony returned the awkward embrace, trying to hide the shock of his father’s frailty.

  “It is a long story, Father. We have much to discuss.” Over the old man’s shoulder, Anthony studied his new stepmother with a mixture of admiration and intrigue. Taking over the reins at Avebury Hall might prove more of a challenge than he had realised.

  ***

  Robert studied Miss Avebury as she sat deep in thought on the correct side of the quarterdeck. She looked cold and troubled. The spring breeze had turned chilly since they had left the Channel, and the Atlantic shimmered and sparkled underneath bursts of intermittent sunlight. The sight of her moved him, despite his irritation that she hadn’t bothered to put on her shawl. He felt the urge to sit and put a comforting arm around her. Instead, he resumed his frown and cleared his throat.

  “You should put on something warmer, Miss Avebury. I don’t wish to have to treat you for pneumonia.”

  She
turned with a withering look. “That would never do, would it, Doctor? I can assure you I have no wish to waste any of your precious time, so I will go below at once. I would not want my presence to irritate you, as it always seems to do.” She gathered her skirts, preparing to leave.

  His brows shot up in surprise. “I am merely concerned about your welfare.” He ran his hand through his hair, unnerved by her strange mood.

  “My welfare is my concern, Doctor. I find it hard to keep my mind and body well exercised within the enclosures of this ship. The journey is tedious with so much forced confinement and so very little to do.”

  Robert came closer, regarding her thoughtfully. Women were such complicated creatures. He understood their medical problems and was an expert on their anatomy, but what went on in their heads had never interested him that much. But being a practical man, he put his mind to her complaint. He had no embroidery or watercolours to offer. What else did women do? Then again, she seemed to prefer more masculine pursuits.

  “Do you play chess?”

  She stared at him, obviously surprised by the question. “No, I have not learned that particular skill.”

  He looked away and across the open water for a few seconds. Did she have the intelligence to learn the game? He rather thought she might.

  “Well, as your mind needs exercising, perhaps you would permit me to teach you the game. It does, however, need a great deal of concentration…and patience.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. I should like that very much,” she replied.

  Her eyes had lost that hostile look, and Robert was inexplicably pleased for improving her mood. “Good! Shall we meet below then? The gun room in ten minutes?”

  She nodded in agreement and he started to walk away.

  “Doctor…”

  He paused and turned, surprised at the sudden softness of her tone.

  “I apologise for snapping at you earlier. It was uncalled for.”

  He walked back to her side and then hesitated, picking his words carefully. “If you have any troubles – medical or otherwise – that you wish to discuss, I will be only too happy to oblige. I have noticed you seem a little out of sorts.”

  She stared at him with troubled eyes, and for a moment he thought she would confide in him. But then she seemed to change her mind and gave him a rather beguiling smile.

  “I will remember that, Doctor. I appreciate the offer, but there is nothing that you need worry yourself about.”

  I doubt that very much, Robert thought as he strolled away.

  ***

  Ensconced in a corner of the gun room, Robert studied Hetty Avebury’s face as she carefully considered the remaining chess pieces. Her freckles formed a wavy line across the bridge of her nose when she frowned.

  She had quickly learned the basic rules and strategy as he helped her through the first game, advising her on moves and questioning her reasoning. The second game he had beaten her, of course, but not as easily as he thought he might. She soaked up the strategy, studying the moves, learning, and improving all the time. This woman was clever. She may be ridiculously naive in some areas and quite outlandish in others, but she had a sharp mind and a good memory.

  Even though he had never met her father, he resented the man. Sir Henry Avebury should take more care of his daughter.

  An unexpected stab of emotion shot through him at the thought of her being forced to marry anyone, let alone that peacock, Stark. Daughters had to marry suitably, of course, but he sympathised with the girl even so.

  Robert had experienced real love once, and he certainly wouldn’t marry for anything less.

  ***

  Although not accustomed to losing, Hetty enjoyed learning a new skill, but she enjoyed the company of her tutor even more. She kept sneaking peeks at him from under her lashes. He had abandoned his impatient air and sat relaxed in his chair. He answered all of her questions, and he didn’t treat her as if she was cork-brained, as many of the male population did.

  Did he have a wife back in England? Her concentration wavered.

  He was certainly attractive in a dishevelled, unfashionable sort of way. His profile was in shadow, and the lantern glow picked up flecks of dark gold in his hair. His sense of humour wasn’t all it could be, of course – verging on the side of sarcasm most of the time – and he frowned far too much. But there was an overall Corinthian dignity about him, one that belonged to and exceeded his professional status. Hetty had a feeling there was a lot more to know about Doctor Withington.

  The doctor swiftly punished her for letting her thoughts wander.

  “Miss Avebury, you have left your queen exposed,” he admonished softly, then swooped down and took the piece, effectively ending the game.

  She groaned in disgust. “You will not find me such easy prey next time, Doctor.” How had he managed to take her queen? She sent him a look of annoyed humour.

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and studied her with green-eyed intensity.

  And then it happened.

  Chapter Six

  He smiled. Not just with the corners of his mouth, but a real smile that curled her toes.

  Hetty stared, fascinated by the change. His frown had disappeared and there was a glow in his eyes that bathed her in warmth. She forgot the other inhabitants of the gun room, who were both seated at the centre table composing letters home, and for a few brief moments her eyes connected with his in a private exchange of admiration, amusement, and something else she could not quite define. Whatever it was, it caused her skin to prickle in a most disturbing way. Good heavens, if only he was rich, titled, and smiled more often, he could almost be the hero she needed right now.

  “I will look forward to a rematch immensely, Miss Avebury. Thank you for an enjoyable game. You learn quickly for a…umm…”

  “A female,” she supplied, as he seemed unable to find the right word. “Our heads are not all befuddled with hair ribbons, gossip, and suitors. In fact, as a medical man I would have thought you would have already come to the conclusion that the female brain is every bit as astute as a man’s. It’s just that we are not given the opportunity to exercise it.”

  His smile began to subside, and Hetty wanted to rip out her tongue for spoiling the mood.

  “I think, Miss Avebury, that your brain is very sharp – as is your tongue at times.” To her annoyance, his pointed look made her blush profusely. But she detected a touch of humour in his words, despite his frown.

  He rose.

  “I am afraid it is time I took my leave. I must check on Doctor Franklin. He took a turn for the worse last night.”

  “I am sorry to hear that,” Hetty replied.

  He pointed to a pile of books on the far end of the table. “I brought you some reading matter. I hope you find something to interest you.”

  She was touched by his thoughtfulness.

  “Thank you, I’m sure I will. The only book I have been able to locate on board is one of the midshipman’s mathematical texts. It was informative but lacked plot.”

  He gave a low chuckle, and she blinked in surprise. He does have a sense of humour then.

  She watched him leave with a sigh of regret. It was amazing how much she had enjoyed learning to play chess. For some reason she had always presumed it to be a dull game, but Doctor Withington had changed her mind about that. Yes, she was beginning to like the doctor – especially when he smiled.

  ***

  Hetty set about examining the pile of books the doctor had presented, hoping they might provide some entertainment, or at least diversion. She studied the titles. Hamlet – she frowned. Poetry by Coleridge – better. Gulliver’s Travels – excellent, something with a story to it. Anatomy of the Human Body.

  She gave a puzzled smile and picked up the medical text. He must think her intelligent to presume that she would enjoy this. She browsed through the pages, read a paragraph or two, and studied the diagrams. As she closed the book, she caught sight of a paper wedged inside the ba
ck cover. She pulled it out and straightened the sheet. It was a letter, the creases worn as if it had been read a hundred times. The writing was neat and small.

  My dearest, darling Robert…

  She knew she should stop there, but couldn’t.

  Two more weeks and then you will be back from your studies, and we shall be free to enjoy the summer. The thought makes me so gloriously happy. I cannot wait for you to see the new gown I have bought to celebrate your return.

  The rest of the letter was far less interesting, with only references of the health of various people and the weather. Downhearted, she replaced the letter in the book. It was deplorable to read his private correspondence, and by doing so she had discovered the existence of someone called Rose. Anyone who wrote such endearments to the doctor had surely captured his heart, and the knowledge was surprisingly painful.

  She gave herself a little shake. After all, the man was nothing to her, just a rather overbearing protector who couldn’t wait to be freed of her presence. Even so, she found herself wishing Rose – whoever she was – to the devil.

  ***

  The wind had dropped, and Captain Derwent’s impatience was clear as he prowled the decks, shouting testy orders to the Officer of the Watch. They should have sighted Gibraltar by now, but the calm weather had slowed their journey.

  After one more turn on the quarterdeck, the captain headed back to his cabin, much to Hetty’s relief.

  Doctor Franklin had passed away in the night, and a short burial service had been held that morning. As the body was given up to the sea, she was moved by the dignified way the service had been carried out. Although there were strict tiers of hierarchy on board, as there were on land, the whole company had stood together in respect for the deceased.

  Hetty studied the scuttling mass of men as the bell signalled a change of watch. She marvelled at the synchronisation of the exercise. Overhead, a line of men were busy releasing one of the sails. Squinting, she studied the dark-haired man at the far end. There seemed something familiar about him.