Weathering Captain Storm

by Charles, Jane

  “No, I did not know.” He turned questioning eyes on Isabella. “How?”

  “Mary’s father is the older brother of my Uncle Osborn,” Isabella answered and prayed he didn’t ask anything further.

  “Then you’re cousins.” He smiled.

  “His wife, Mary, who our Mary is named for, is the sister of my mother.” And with those last words, Isabella began the lie they’d told everyone since they’d come to live with the vicar and his wife when Isabella was only a small child. She cast a glance at Mary who gave her sympathetic smile. Mary knew the truth. She was the only one outside of Isabella’s immediate family who carried her secret. Well, other than her sister’s husband. Noah Felding, the Marquess of Felding, loved Rosalind and didn’t give a fig about their past. Isabella was happy for her sister, but didn’t expect that she would be as lucky and thus, she intended to never marry.

  Mary wouldn’t even know the truth if the two of them hadn’t drank a bit too much whiskey one night following a horrible battle that kept them busy with the wounded for days. They’d both been nearly broke, overwhelmed, and unable to help nearly as many soldiers they wished, and Mary had taken a bottle from her husband’s supply, and the two of them had gone off alone. It was the drink that loosened Isabella’s tongue, but Mary had held the Valentine’s secret as if it were her own.

  Mary and Isabella hadn’t even met until Orlando was assigned to Major Soares regiment, and it was only by chance as the two of them were talking one day that they realized the connection. It was Mary who first commented, recognizing the Valentine name and then explaining that before she married Major Soares she’d been Mary Grant. Soon after, they became fast and close friends.

  “Mary, come away from there and attend me.”

  Isabella glanced up to find Major Soares standing not far away, his hateful gaze fixed on Nate.

  “Of course, Phillip.” Mary let the blanket she was rinsing drop back into the bucket of water.

  “I do not like the company you keep, wife.”

  The tension flowing between Major Soares and Nate was heavy and thick, a current that could explode at the slightest provocation.

  “Isabella and I were simply doing laundry,” Mary insisted as she took her husband’s arm.

  “Yes, well, I have my own laundry that you need attend to somewhere else.”

  They turned and walked away, and Isabella snuck a glance at Nate. The cloth in his hands was bunched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. No doubt he’d like Mary to be rid of Major Soares so that he could pursue her for himself. “Tell me of your family, Captain Storm, are they well?”

  He turned his head and blinked at her and then focused, as if he’d forgotten she was there. It shouldn’t surprise her since Isabella always knew Nate preferred Mary’s company to hers.

  “My sister, Abigail, also married a few months ago.”

  “And your other sisters?”

  “They’re still at home,” he answered as he began to relax, and Isabella inwardly sighed. It wouldn’t be good if Nate had gone after Major Soares. He’d been lucky last time with only a transfer after striking a superior officer. She feared what would happen to him if there was a second altercation.

  “What of your brothers? You have three if I recall.”

  “Ben, who probably should marry sooner than later, has not found anyone he wishes to take as a wife.”

  Benjamin, the Earl of Kenley, if she recalled, was the oldest of nine siblings. Nate’s family was nearly as large as hers.

  “Sam hasn’t left Barbados, and I don’t expect him to ever leave. I’m not sure what Peter is doing these days, but he’s two and twenty and should settle into a profession instead of constantly seeking entertainments. At least that’s what Ben writes.”

  “I have two such brothers. Uncle Osborn and Aunt Mary have been at a loss with what to do with them.” Isabella chuckled. “Mercutio is a pugilist by trade, and does very well, but I understand that most of his hours are spent as a lothario. I shouldn’t be surprised since from as far back as I can remember, he’s loved women.” Her face heated. Why hadn’t she just mentioned that Merc was a pugilist and left it at that?

  Nate chuckled. “And the other?”

  “Petrucio, or Pete as we call him, is an actor and travels with a troupe.” The last she’d heard, he was on the Continent, even though he’d hoped to perform in London this Season. With so many of English society in Brussels, perhaps he’d perform here, and then she’d be able to see him again, if even for a short time.

  Nate lifted the last of the blankets from the soapy water and handed it to her. “You’ve never really spoken of your family. Do you have only one sister?”

  “Goodness no,” she laughed, but offered no more.

  Nate helped her hang the last blanket and then grabbed a pile of clothing and dumped them into the soapy water. “You don’t mind if I finish my own?”

  “Of course not. I’ll help you.” She often did laundry for the soldiers. Many of them hated the task, and she earned a few shillings each time. It wasn’t much, but after a few years of following the drum, she’d been able to save a bit.

  “You don’t need to ruin your hands by doing my laundry as well.”

  “I’m happy to help, Captain Storm. Besides, you’re still recovering.”

  His eyes met hers. “You used to call me Nate.”

  Her face heated. “That was a year ago, and you’ve risen in rank.”

  “I’m still Nate and wish that you would address me as such, Isabella.”

  Her blood always heated when he used her name. It boiled when he looked into her eyes and said it, just like now. A smile tugged at her lips, and Isabella quickly lowered her head so that he couldn’t see her face. Her blush might be as bright as the fire since her face felt nearly as hot. “Very well, Nate.”

  Chapter 3

  On the list of things a gentleman should do when courting a woman, laundry was not on it. But, as this was where Isabella was, so this was where he’d be.

  If he were in London, Nate would call on her at the townhouse where she’d be staying with her family. Perhaps he’d bring her a small bouquet of flowers and then ask her to ride in Hyde Park. Or, perhaps save a waltz for him at the next ball. “Have you ever enjoyed a London Season?” There was so much he didn’t know about Isabella and so much he wanted to learn. It was odd that his feelings were so strong for this woman, and had stayed with him for over a year, but they’d never really talked, just the two of them, without others present.

  “No. Have you?”

  “A few, before I was sent to the Continent.” His face heated as he pulled the last of his clothing from the bag. His undergarments. He couldn’t wash them in front of Isabella, and he certainly couldn’t expect her to rinse them and then hang them on a line.

  “I’ve washed my brother’s clothing, Nate. Nothing will embarrass me nor should it you.”

  How the hell had she read his mind?

  “How long have you been with the army?”

  “Nearly eight years. I couldn’t decide which profession to pursue. The ones my brother suggested held no interest, so I ended up buying a commission.”

  “Which professions did he suggest?” she asked, taking a pair of underdrawers from the soapy water and rinsing them. They were all scrubbed and washed, Nate just couldn’t bring himself to hand them to Isabella.

  “Clergy and the law.”

  She hitched an eyebrow as she rung out the water from his drawers. “I can’t imagine you as a vicar.”

  “Not repentant enough?” He grinned. He’d make a horrible vicar. How could he preach against sin when his mind was full of sinful thoughts, most of them centered on Isabella? Did her lips taste like raspberries or strawberries? Were her nipples coral or rose? How many ticklish places could he find with this tongue? How would her legs feel clasped around his hips? Would she cry out her passion, or silently convulse as she reached the peak and splintered?

  “Not formal enoug
h,” she answered decidedly.

  “Immoral?” He teased.

  “Formal! I’m sure I wouldn’t know anything about the other.”

  Isabella’s face deepened to the most beautiful shade of rose. She might just go up in flames if he told her his secret thoughts, but he didn’t wish to send her running from him either. Nate leaned over and dropped his voice. “I don’t do well sitting in Sunday services. I couldn’t imagine spending my days preparing sermons and visiting parishioners begging them to turn from sin.”

  “If you have little patience for services, then perhaps we could count on you for short ones,” Isabella offered with a smile.

  “Is your uncle long winded?”

  Isabella sighed. “On occasion. Depending on the chosen topic.”

  “Such as?” Nate prompted.

  “The weakness of women and sin, and that it falls to the man to see that she is sheltered and protected so that she does not fall into the original sin.”

  “So, a man has no responsibility?” Sometimes the double standard of the church and society as a whole astounded him. A gentleman could take lovers, have mistresses—before, after, and during a marriage—but if a woman was not a virgin upon her wedding night, she was to be shamed.

  “As the blame fell to Eve, so must it fall to the rest of us.”

  “Is it not Adam’s fault for not being strong enough to resist?”

  “Which is why men are warned, often, to be strong because women are not.”

  If Isabella wished to fall into desire, Nate wouldn’t even attempt to be strong but would willingly fall right with her. “What of you, Isabella? What are your desires?”

  Isabella turned away from him so quickly that he barely caught the sudden rose hue tint of her skin once again. As she hung his laundry to dry, Nate couldn’t help but wonder what she desired that was so embarrassing. Did he dare hope that they were of one mind?

  * * *

  Uncle Osborn may be the kindest man she knew, but he’s also formal, respectable, and sober. He did smile, but Isabella rarely recalled him laughing, even though his heart was full of love for her family. Nate may be respectable, but he was also full of the devil, or so she suspected by the twinkle in his emerald eyes, like when he asked about her desires. Nate would be a horrible vicar. Perhaps he’d deliver the sermon appropriately, but he’d never be able to stop his female parishioners from succumbing to sinful thoughts while he stood at the pulpit.

  If he knew her true desires, he’d run away. He was her friend, and it was Mary he wanted. Anyone could see it as plain as day if they only bothered to look.

  Perhaps Major Soares had looked and that was why he took Mary away.

  Isabella still didn’t know the reason for Nate bloodying the major’s nose. She hadn’t been there, and it wasn’t her place to ask. It had to have had something to do with Nate’s desires for Mary and perhaps Mary’s for Nate, but both of them were stuck, unable to be together because Mary was married.

  She anchored the last clothing pin in place with determination. She did not want to think of Mary and Nate together. It was too depressing. “Why not pursue the law?” she asked as she turned.

  “It bored me,” Nate shrugged.

  “I have a brother who’s a solicitor. Demetrius.” She attempted to lift the tub of water so that it could be dumped, but Nate lifted it before she could. He took it away from the others and poured it out onto the ground then returned for the one used for washing, setting the bar of lye soap aside.

  “Pugilist, Actor, and Solicitor. A rather interesting group.” Nate grinned with humor after returning the last tub.

  “Benedick is an investigator with the Thames River Police,” she offered, though there was really no reason either of them needed to be in the laundry area. There wasn’t anything else they could do until everything was dry, but she hated to leave Nate, to walk away and go about her other mundane tasks. She’d been perfectly content until yesterday, but now everything was grey and dull when Nate wasn’t present.

  “How many brothers do you have?” he asked in surprise.

  “That’s all. Demetrius, Benedick, Orlando, Mercutio, Petrucio, and Bertram.”

  Nate just shook his head then offered his arm. “Walk with me?” He held out his arm, and she slipped her hand in to the crook of his elbow. A thrill shot through her. She’d walk anywhere he wished.

  Nate turned from the laundry and the others and led her away from the camp. “How many sisters?”

  “Rosalind, Bianca, and Perdita.”

  “Ten children, and I thought my family overflowed with nine.”

  Isabella couldn’t help but laugh. “I like having a large family. We were never lonely, and there was always someone to play a game with.”

  Nate nodded and his eyes took on a far-off look. Had she said something that disturbed him?

  “I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but I do miss my younger sisters.”

  “How many are there?”

  “Abigail, Hannah, Tabitha, and Deborah.”

  “All Biblical names,” she said as she realized it herself.

  “Whereas your family…”

  She laughed. “Shakespeare. My parents had a fondness for Shakespeare, though a few of my brothers dearly wished they’d not.”

  “Mercutio and Petrucio”

  “How did you ever guess?” She laughed. It was so easy to slip into the lies from childhood.

  Chapter 4

  Nate loved the sound of Isabella’s laughter. Too rarely had he seen her carefree and relaxed. If he could control the fates, he’d see her like this always.

  The path he chose led through a wooded area. New growth of green foliage was leafing out, and wildflowers of yellow, purple, and white dotted the ground. The further they walked, the less they could hear the army camp behind them.

  “You’ve never spoken of your parents.” This was the first she’d really spoken of her family, and he was thirsty for more.

  “There’s little to tell.”

  There must be something. The couple had ten children, and he wasn’t even sure where Isabella fell other than an older sister and that the doctor was an older brother and Bertram a younger one.

  “I was only three when they were killed. Perdita, the youngest, was barely a month old.”

  She’d be lucky if she even remembered her mother and father. “I’m sorry.” Nate wanted to ask how, but Isabella hadn’t offered any details.

  “It was long ago and far away. Almost as if it’d happened to someone else.” She turned to him. “Uncle Osborn and Aunt Mary are the only parents I’ve ever really known, or remember.”

  “Far away?” Did she mean England? It wasn’t really all that far.

  “India.” She turned and they continued walking. “My father was a missionary. There was an uprising. We were lucky to have survived. My parents were not as fortunate.”

  Nate’s gut twisted. What had she witnessed? Hopefully Isabella had no memories of what he presumed was a massacre. It was an uprising so he could only believe what her parents suffered was horrible. How was it even possible the children survived? Were they hidden away or simply spared because of their ages?

  “We were sent to my aunt and uncle to be raised, as my father had no family.”

  He probably wouldn’t learn the answers, at least not right now. Isabella had been laughing just a short time ago, but the light had left her grey eyes, and the smile was gone from her face. He wanted to take her from the past, knowing he couldn’t erase it, and make her smile again. “Where do your aunt and uncle live?”

  “Hampshire.” Her smile was gentle, as if she closed the door on India. “We practically lived on top of each other in their modest cottage, but we were happy.” Isabella looked up at him. “That’s really all that matters, isn’t it.”

  “Yes.” His eyes locked with hers. Happy! She made him happy and had done so before. He’d been such a fool not to pursue her a year ago. “So, tell me, Isabella, out of the ten child
ren in your family, which one are you.”

  “Seventh.”

  “Five older brothers? One being a pugilist?” He teased. “I will need to remember that when we return to England.”

  Her eyebrows drew together, as if there was a question, but she didn’t ask. Did Isabella have no idea of his feelings for her?

  Of course not. Why should she? He’d never voiced them before, but he would voice them before the first battle, when he was certain she might consider him with the same affection.

  * * *

  She and Nate would not see each other in England, and why would he be concerned about Mercutio? He may be a pugilist, but Merc was far from violent.

  Perhaps Nate didn’t realize that once this war was finally over they wouldn’t be moving in the same circles. Her life would return to the quietness of the country, where she’d become a spinster, along with her younger sisters. Nate was the brother of an earl, which meant seasons in London, friends in society, a lady for his wife. They were worlds apart. Far more than he even realized.

  It didn’t set well that she lied to him. She hated the story that had been created, but her aunt and uncle insisted it was necessary. The decision had been made by someone far more powerful than them—the Duke of Eldridge. It also brought respectability in the community, which she well understood. Her uncle’s parishioners would have never welcomed them into the church or their homes if they knew that half of the Valentine children were bastards. It was her secret and one that she would never share with Nate. Besides, there was no reason for him to ever know. She’d enjoy what moments she could with him. When all of this was over, they’d return home, and she’d never ever see him again.

  “Didn’t you mention that Samuel was your twin?”

  “Yes, but I’m older.” He grinned, as if proud of maneuvering to be the first out of the womb.