The Piratical Miss Ravenhurst

by Louise Allen

  ‘You will, and the Ravenhursts will help, you’ll see. Now, let’s get these flowers back.’

  Clemence surprised herself by enjoying the meal. Her cousin Elinor, a redoubtable bluestocking, kept her laughing with tall tales of the adventures that had marked her courtship with Theo Ravenhurst. ‘You should write sensation novels for the Minerva Press,’ Clemence said after a lurid description of being chained up in a rat-infested dungeon with Theo and a jug of poison for company.

  ‘Every word of it is true.’ Theo came back with a platter of fruit and lowered himself onto the rug between the two women. ‘Word of a Ravenhurst. I had a dull and blameless life until I fell in with this woman.’

  ‘Liar.’ It was Sebastian, Nathan at his side. Clemence felt her colour rising and made rather a business of making room on the rug. ‘Theo, you should know, Cousin Clemence, is the scapegrace of the family. We are deeply grateful to Elinor for his reform.’

  ‘I may have reformed him,’ Elinor said with a twinkle, ‘but he has absolutely corrupted me as far as spending money on clothes is concerned. I used to be completely unconcerned about gowns,’ she explained to Clemence. ‘If a sack had been decent covering, I would have been satisfied with that. But now! I am so looking forward to shopping with you in town.’

  ‘You may be disappointed,’ Sebastian observed, peeling an apple. ‘Clemence is intending to return to Jamaica after the Season.’

  ‘What?’ Nathan, who had been lounging almost out of her sight behind Sebastian, sat up with a jerk. ‘Going back to Jamaica?’

  ‘Yes. I intend to run the business.’ For some reason her lips felt stiff.

  ‘Oh, well done!’ Elinor clapped her hands. ‘How enterprising of you. But what if you become betrothed during the Season?’

  ‘I have no expectation of doing so,’ Clemence made herself say. ‘Nor any desire, either.’

  ‘I used to think that,’ Elinor said comfortably. ‘I was quite resigned to my studies and being a support to Mama with hers. And then along came Theo—and here we are.’ She smiled, no doubt intending to be encouraging. ‘You wait and see. I am sure there is someone just right for you.’

  ‘Possibly Miss Ravenhurst believes she has already met that person and they are unsuitable,’ Nathan suggested. He passed the plate with the apple Sebastian had peeled and sliced to the ladies, his hand quite steady.

  ‘How perceptive of you, Captain Stanier,’ Clemence said, taking a piece of fruit and biting into it. ‘I have and, although I think him perfectly suitable, the gentleman in question has scruples that it appears he is unwilling to overcome.’

  ‘Then he does not love you enough, I fear,’ said Theo sympathetically.

  ‘It may be that, of course,’ Clemence agreed, selecting another slice. ‘I tell myself I would be better off forgetting him, but I have no idea how one goes about that.’

  ‘Painfully,’ Nathan said, getting to his feet and walking away.

  ‘Oh!’ Elinor put down her glass and stared after him. ‘It’s him? I am so sorry, I had no idea. I am quite ready to sink, of all the tactless…’

  ‘That’s both of us,’ Theo said, scrubbing his hand back through his hair. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Clemence said with a sigh. ‘Actually, it is quite a relief to talk about it.’

  ‘Er—Sebastian and I will go,’ Theo said, beginning to rise.

  ‘No, please, if it doesn’t embarrass you. I would rather like a masculine point of view.’ Theo subsided. ‘Nathan was going to marry me, because I had been compromised. That was before he realised he loved me, I think. But when he found out who I was, and realised that the family was more than sufficient to protect me from scandal, he withdrew.’

  ‘Why?’ Elinor wrapped her arms round her bent knees, propped her chin on top and regarded Clemence earnestly, as though she was one of her Greek inscriptions.

  ‘The scandal in Minorca when his wife died and he fought a duel,’ Clemence explained. ‘Then, my money—he has only what he earns as a captain.’

  ‘How much is that?’ Theo asked. He rolled over on to his stomach and propped his chin in his hands.

  ‘About £450 a year,’ Clemence said. Theo winced. ‘I asked Captain Melville. Then there’s prize money—which could be about the same, could be thousands—but that is complete chance. And, on top of the duel and the money, he thinks I should be looking for an earl or something and marrying properly, as befits a Ravenhurst. He thinks that the world is my oyster and that if he married me, it would be wrong.’

  ‘Idiot.’ Elinor.

  ‘Very proper sentiments.’ Sebastian.

  ‘Both those,’ Theo observed. ‘The family is all right though, isn’t it, Seb?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Her cousin nodded. ‘I have had Captain Stanier investigated from his bank account to the contents of his handkerchief drawer.’

  ‘You’ve what?’ Clemence glared.

  ‘You’re a Ravenhurst.’ Theo grinned. ‘No one breathes on you without Sebastian knowing.’

  ‘Pity I didn’t think to extend that to Jamaica when your father died,’ Sebastian remarked. ‘You were compromised, no getting around that. Do you want me to become the head of the family in Charles’s absence and demand that he does the decent thing?’

  The thought of Sebastian, or his half-brother the duke, demanding that Nathan marry her, made her blood run cold. ‘No! Please, don’t do that. Nathan is doing the decent thing, according to his conscience.’

  ‘I am baffled,’ Elinor admitted. ‘I don’t suppose Eva could create him Admiral of the Maubourg fleet, could she?’

  ‘Maubourg, you idiot,’ her loving husband reminded her, ‘has no coast, no navy and a lake with rowing boats.’

  ‘Drat.’

  ‘Who is an idiot?’ It was Eva, languidly graceful as ever. She sank down on to the rug and smiled at her family. ‘Theo?’ Her cousin grinned, balled up a napkin and threw it at her.

  Clemence couldn’t help smiling. They were all so happy, all so convinced that love would find a way because, for them, it had. She unfurled the old French fan Nathan had given her and looked at the fat little Cupids flying around delivering their prizes of love to the waiting girls. Far from being Clémence with her paragon of a lover, it seemed she was Isis, the one whose lot was to have no lover at all. Adieu toute espérance, she read. Farewell all hope.

  ‘Miss Clemence?’ Eliza folded her silk shawl away in tissue and turned, biting her lower lip.

  ‘Yes?’ It wasn’t like Eliza to be so hesitant.

  ‘We were wondering—Fred and me—if we could have a talk with you.’

  ‘Now? At this hour?’ The house party had lingered long into the evening on the lawn, the servants lighting citronella candles to keep the insects at bay, and now she was tired.

  ‘Her Grace had a word.’ Eliza shifted her feet. ‘Its made him a bit edgy, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘Not really, but I suppose I can talk to him now. Is he waiting in the sitting room?’

  The single ladies had a room close to their chambers. Sighing for the peace and solitude of her bed, Clemence followed the maid along the corridor. Street was standing in the middle of the boudoir, eyeing the spindly chairs nervously. One-Eye, who knew perfectly well he was not allowed upstairs, was attempting to hide behind a footstool.

  ‘Bad dog,’ Clemence said automatically and he wriggled over on his belly, tongue lolling. ‘Well, Street?’

  ‘Her Grace said I ought to be making an honest woman of Eliza and I suppose I ought,’ he admitted, shuffling his feet.

  ‘What does Eliza think about it?’

  ‘I’ll take him,’ the maid said grudgingly. Clemence looked from one to the other. The expressions on their faces said it all—the reluctant words meant nothing.

  ‘That’s all very well,’ she said briskly, sitting down. ‘But how are you going to support her?’

  ‘I mean to open an inn,’ the big man said. ‘A proper country one on a post road with food they�
��ll remember and good ale.’

  ‘That sounds a good plan,’ Clemence agreed. But Street was off in a world of his own. ‘I’m sure you and Eliza will be very happy.’

  ‘I used to dream about that, you know,’ he confided. ‘I’d stand there in my galley, stirring the pots and I’d think, What you wants, Fred Street, is a cosy inn with a big fire in the winter. Seems a miracle that you were in that very same galley, Miss Clemence. And I thought you was just a scruffy lad! Do you remember that galley?’

  ‘Yes, of course—’

  ‘Wasn’t much, but it was mine. In good order, I kept it, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, well, I’ll—’

  ‘All gone now, down to Davy Jones’s locker.’ He sighed gustily. ‘I’ll never forget it, that last day. I’ll wager you won’t, either, Miss Clemence.’

  ‘No, and—’

  ‘I told Eliza, I did, how you almost got killed. He was a mean-looking devil, that sailor with the pistol. I thought you was a goner, Miss Clemence, I did really. He was pointing that thing at you, and I couldn’t get to my gun in time.’

  Under her hand, One-Eye gave a startled yip and Clemence forced her fingers open.

  ‘Miracle he missed you, miracle. And then I shot him. Nasty mess that, extraordinary what a bullet in the head—’

  ‘Fred! That’s enough.’

  Clemence blinked; Eliza was shaking her elbow. ‘Are you all right, Miss Clemence? Fred shouldn’t have talked about that, how you almost got killed. It’ll bring it all back, that will.’

  ‘We will discuss this in the morning. But I wish you both to be very happy.’ Swallowing, Clemence made her way back to her room. The floor seemed to be pitching like the deck of the ship under her feet. Behind her she heard Eliza berating One-Eye.

  ‘Leave him, he can stay with me.’ The thought of company felt good. She did not want to ask Eliza to sleep in her room; she strongly suspected she wanted to creep off and join Street in whichever attic fastness he had been allocated. Now all she had to do was to manage to forget the images Street had conjured up, not think about Nathan at all and she might have a good night’s sleep. Pigs, Clemence concluded with resignation, might fly.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The urgent knocking on his door had Nathan out of bed and reaching for his sword before he opened his eyes. Then he realised where he was, dragged on the silk dressing gown that was thrown over the foot of the bed and opened the door.

  ‘Street? What the hell are you doing here? What’s the time?’

  ‘Two, Cap’n.’ The big man, incongruous in flowing nightshirt and bare feet, stood clutching a chamber stick. ‘Eliza said to get you, it’s Miss Clemence, sir.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Nathan snapped, his stomach sinking in a sudden swoop of fear.

  ‘It’s a nightmare, Eliza says. She can usually wake her up, but this time she can’t and she’s frightened.’

  Nathan began to stride down the corridor. ‘Send Eliza to wake the duchess.’

  ‘She says it is you she needs, Cap’n. Miss Clemence is calling for you something pitiful.’

  The room, when he reached it, was lit by four branches of candles. Eliza was leaning over the bed, shaking Clemence, who was tossing and turning, her face flushed and feverish, her hair damp. The bedclothes had been thrown back by her thrashing limbs and her nightgown was twisted around her knees. The old hound was standing on the other side, whining anxiously.

  ‘Nathan? Please, where’s Nathan?’ Clemence was muttering, her voice hoarse.

  ‘Oh, thank God, sir. She can’t call out any more, her poor throat.’ Eliza straightened up and as she released her hold on Clemence’s shoulders, she began to toss and turn.

  ‘Clemence?’ Eliza stepped aside and he took her place. ‘Clemence? Hush, I’m here now.’ She seized his hand, her eyes still tight shut. Behind him the door clicked. Nathan glanced back—Street and Eliza had gone. Puzzled, but too worried about Clemence to pursue it, he got on to the bed, gathered her into his arms and began to rock her gently, talking all the time.

  ‘I’m here, it’s Nathan, you’re in England, in bed. One-here, too, you’re safe, no one will hurt you. I’m holding you. My love, I’ve got you safe.’ The painful pleasure of saying it—my love—hit him in the gut and he tightened his hold. ‘Clemence, my love, wake up, sweetheart, wake up.’

  Nothing mattered now, not his honour, not his scruples, nothing, so long as she woke and felt safe. He slid down the bed, pulling her against the length of him, drowning in the scent and feel of her. ‘Shh, Clemence. I’m here, I love you, you’re safe.’

  I love you. Nathan’s voice penetrated the smoke and the screams and the noise and suddenly they had vanished and the light against her screwed-up eyelids was different and she was being held tightly against what felt and smelled wonderfully like Nathan’s body.

  ‘Nathan?’

  ‘Open your eyes.’

  Obedient, she did so and found she was in bed and that Nathan’s head was on the pillow beside her, turned so he could look into her eyes.

  ‘There, you are safe back. It was a nightmare, Clemence. Not real.’ He was stroking her hair, smiling at her.

  ‘Have I been ill?’ She felt weak, as though in the aftermath of a fever. ‘My throat hurts.’

  ‘It was a very bad dream. Eliza could not wake you. You had shouted until your voice cracked and thrashed around until you were almost exhausted. Here, can you sit up?’

  He helped her until she could sit up next to him, their backs propped against pillows, then held out a glass. ‘This smells like barley water, it was on the nightstand. Try to drink.’

  She sipped and her spinning head settled and the nightmare evaporated and all that was left was the man next to her on the big bed, smiling at her, his eyes anxious.

  ‘When I woke up, you were saying—’

  ‘I was saying I loved you. I thought I should not tell you, but I find I am too selfish not to let you know how I feel, even if it changes nothing. I should not be here, not now you are awake. I’ll ask Eliza to call the duchess.’ He began to turn, to get up.

  ‘No!’ She fastened her fingers on his wrist. ‘Things have changed, everything has changed.’

  ‘Not really.’ But he lay back against the pillows, his shoulder carefully not touching hers.

  ‘We know how we feel about each other,’ she said. ‘Shh! Let me finish. I know you are not in love with Julietta, perhaps never were. You know I am going back to Jamaica and have no intention of settling in England, finding a husband here.’

  ‘It seems I misjudged you. You know your own mind after all if you really mean that,’ he said, his fingers toying with the fringed sash of his dressing gown. ‘Then you will go back to Jamaica to your inheritance, a wealthy woman.’

  ‘I will go back to an income of one thousand pounds a year, for life,’ Clemence said concisely. Her head was clear now. She had one chance—by a miracle that dreadful nightmare had given her this opportunity.

  ‘One thousand? Surely your uncle cannot have squandered your inheritance? The lawyers will get it back for you.’

  ‘They will get it back and they will invest it in the trust fund Mr Wallingford has set up for me. There will be money to invest in the business, maintain the properties, make sure all the staff are kept on. I will have my allowance.’

  ‘And the rest?’ Nathan’s blue eyes were dark under frowning brows.

  ‘In trust for my children, should I have any, and some lucky young Ravenhurst cousins if I do not. It had become apparent to me,’ Clemence continued as Nathan appeared to be struck dumb, ‘that my money might be putting off honest men and could attract fortune hunters.’

  ‘Why one thousand pounds?’ he asked. There was, surely, a faint relaxing of that frown?

  ‘I asked Captain Melville how much a captain in the navy might hope to be paid and then I doubled it because I thought, from what he said, that even the most indolent or unlucky might expect that much prize money in a year.’

/>   ‘A captain in the navy,’ he echoed. The frown had gone. The corners of his eyes were beginning to crinkle.

  ‘Such as yourself.’ A tiny, warm flame of hope was beginning to fan itself into flickering life inside her.

  ‘Oh, dear. I am afraid, my clever Clemence, that you have miscalculated.’ The flame went out with a sizzle. ‘You will keep this confidential at the moment, but I will return to sea as a vice-commodore.’

  ‘A promotion? To vice-commodore? Nathan!’ And somehow she was in his arms, her own tight around his neck, and they were no longer sitting up, but were full length on the bed. ‘That is wonderful!’

  ‘I am moderately pleased,’ he agreed with a grin.

  ‘You can support a wife possessing moderate means herself, in that case?’

  ‘Is that a proposal, Miss Ravenhurst?’

  ‘It most certainly is, Vice-Commodore Stanier.’

  He rolled on to his back, taking her with him to lie cradled against his shoulder. ‘I had become so used to the idea that I could not, must not, wed you that it seems almost impossible. I am not sure I believe it now. Clemence, you are certain you do not want the life the Ravenhursts can give you here?’

  ‘Certain. Now, say yes,’ she prompted, wriggling up on her elbows so she could look into his face.

  ‘Yes, Miss Ravenhurst. I am honoured to accept your very flattering proposal of marriage.’

  ‘Oh.’ She dropped her head so her face was buried in the soft blue silk over his right breast. ‘Oh, thank goodness.’ The relief rolled over her in waves as she lay there, absorbing the warmth and strength of his body.

  ‘Might I hope for a kiss?’ Nathan asked.

  Suddenly very shy she mumbled, ‘Yes.’ And found herself rolling again, this time on to her back.

  Nathan leaned on one elbow and looked down at her. ‘I have dreamed of this moment. I love you very much, Clemence. I realised it as I was denying it to your aunt, knowing you were listening. It was the hardest thing I have done, crushing that feeling just as I became aware of it, knowing I was wounding you as I did so.’