None But You (Frederick Wentworth, Captain: Book 1)

by Susan Kaye

  “Careful, boys,” Timothy said, holding on to his wife and the railing.

  In an instant, two small boys stood before them, staring as their sister had. “Nearly every other day I hear about your taking them up in the tops. I have also hidden my best telescope, as someone took the time to show them how it works.” Harville winked, and then continued down the stairs. “There is never a time this place does not reek of fish, but there is a small shipyard and so lots of rumours of the Navy. All in all, it will do until better things come along.” The boys were mindful of their father’s condition and gave him a wide path to his friend. He took Wentworth’s hand and then pulled him close. “I sent the letter and when I heard nothing for so long, I thought you’d probably got a ship and were headed for open water.”

  “No, nothing so exciting. I merely put Laconia in ordinary and then travelled to Somerset to visit my sister and her husband, Admiral Croft.”

  Harville was glad to hear they were practically in the same neighbourhood together. “Then perhaps we shall see one another often.”

  “Count on it.”

  “You will stay for dinner, Captain,” Elsa Harville insisted.

  It had been his intention to invite the Harvilles and Benwick to dine with him. He was about to extend the invitation when Elsa helped Timothy to a chair. He sat heavily and leant his head back, looking extraordinarily tired. It was clear that going out in the night air, much less making his way up to the inn, would be impossible. “I was hoping you would offer, Mrs. Harville. I have missed your cooking.” The innkeeper’s wife would just have to endure four too many plates of roasted beef.

  “Good. Then I will go and see to things in the kitchen, and the three of you will entertain yourselves.”

  As she left, she stopped by her husband’s chair and spoke to him. Wentworth could not hear their exchange, but he noticed that her hand rested just atop Timothy’s. Before she walked on, he took two of her fingers and held them. A little tremor was noticeable. It was nearly nothing as gestures go, but perhaps, in his weakened state, it was the best they could manage. She laughed, patted Harville’s shoulder, and left them. Her husband watched her until the door was closed.

  It was clear that had he not arrived, the evening would have been quiet but no less meaningful to them. Even with Benwick present, the Harville’s were closer than he could remember them in the past. His embarrassment was so profound that he might just as well have spied on them in their bedchamber. Why did he feel so strongly? The gesture was brief, barely noticeable.

  “So, Wentworth, what are you up to, now that you are without a ship?” For nearly two hours, the men traded stories about their new neighbours, fashioned solutions to all the nation’s ills, relived the glory days of their youth, and saluted the future with relish. All the while, the two boys sat quietly, listening or playing with small carved toys. Miss Fanny had taken up a sentry post by Wentworth’s knee. Occasionally, she leant against him, but always her hand rested on him, now and then patting him.

  When Mrs. Harville called them in to dinner, she directed the children upstairs to their tea and bed. He watched the nurse take them up and felt a little touch of sadness. Never before had he been so aware of the warmth children brought to a home. Mrs. Harville called to him particularly, and he was reminded that he was famished and ready to wipe the boards clean.

  The young girl, named Mary, he soon discovered, did her best to serve with grace but was hard-pressed to carry the steaming dishes and remember from which side to serve. Each place at the table seemed to be an entirely new circumstance and the steps re-learnt every time. Elsa bore it remarkably well and, with just slight tilts of the head, tiny movements of a finger and the occasional click of the tongue, saw the course served without any disasters.

  The soup was thin. It was followed by a small piece of bony fish which heralded a beef filet tougher and thinner than the soles of his much-loved but well-worn Hessians. Two of the side dishes were generous. The first was a bowl of potatoes of intricately shaped pieces, indicating that whoever pared them was a dab hand at avoiding bruises and worms. The second, a brimming bowl of sauerkraut, sat alongside a bowl of bitter greens barely covering the china’s pattern of a mill wheel, stream, and fishing party.

  The fare was scant and far below the quality of former days, but as he observed both Timothy and Elsa, there was never a break in the cheerful conversation to indicate embarrassment. It was his observation that in times of degradation, some felt a need to call attention to the circumstances by begging pardon. All this accomplished was to bring discomfort and awkwardness to the entire party. But that was not the case with his friends; the conversation never lagged and the small beer flowed freely.

  Mary brought out a tart that looked to be the heartiest course of the night. It was cut and the plates passed round. Everyone waited for Elsa to have the first bite. The graceful smile froze on her lips and she reached for her cup. After draining it, she said quietly, “Please forgive me, but there has been a little problem with the sweet.” In an instant, her plate and those of the others were whisked away to the kitchen. Timothy covered by passing a decanter of sherry, but the low hum of Elsa’s voice could be heard, then a small cry and a slamming door.

  The door from the kitchen quickly opened and Elsa appeared with a board bearing a small wedge of cheese and some interestingly cut apples. “Mary is a bit overheated at the moment, and it seems that somehow the salt was taken for sugar. Much to my shame, we will just have to finish our meal like the French.” The men laughed and Wentworth helped himself to an apple. Despite all its defects, it was the best meal he had had in weeks.

  In the past, he would have stayed until the sun rose, drinking and talking with his friends. But the past was as far from them as the other side of the world this night, and early in the evening Harville was near the breaking point. He insisted on seeing his guest to the door and was only made easy about the party ending on account of him when Benwick promised to walk the Captain to his inn. “Now I will not feel like such an old maid,” Harville said as the two set off. The cold night air insured they had the streets to themselves.

  After greeting the watchman, Benwick said, “I hope you do not think ill of me for attaching myself to Timothy in this way.”

  “And what way might that be?”

  “Well, Fanny and I did not marry; I have no claims on her family. Much of the time I feel as though I should be exerting myself more, making myself available for another position. Instead, I remain here, quite out of the way.”

  Knowing precisely how Benwick felt, Wentworth considered the agony of grinding upon the rocks waiting for orders. He could not help but laugh at himself and how the arrival of Harville’s letter had caused such brief but intense joy in his own bosom. But self-flagellation was rarely useful, and in Benwick’s weakened emotional state, it could prove fatal.

  “I think the times are against you, James. All of us are looking into a very dark glass just now.”

  “I know, I just did not wish you to think me some sort of leech on them. I have done what I can. More to the point, what Timothy would allow me to do. You know how he can be. But your visit has cheered them both more than I have seen for some time.”

  “All men are proud that way. I suspect the reduction has been much more difficult for Mrs. Harville. I still remember their pretty little house in Portsmouth. Living under a pier in Lyme is quite a come-down.”

  Benwick laughed a little and Wentworth asked the reason.

  “A few days after I moved in, I stated something to that effect to Elsa. I was trying to be careful not to mention anything of the past or better times. She sat me down and told me that, while Fanny’s death was a shocking tragedy, it had taught her a very important lesson.” Benwick fell into silence as they walked on.

  “And that lesson would be?” Wentworth prompted.

  “Ah, yes—it taught her that each day should be praised for the joy it brings since there is no profit to be had in regretting t
he past. Worry for the future is fruitless as well. There is no guarantee that there will even be a tomorrow, as Fanny’s illness proved.”

  Wentworth remembered Edward trying to make him understand such a notion when he spoke of the success and riches he would have one day. It had all been wrapped up with platitudes about chicken-counting and green grass. All such philosophising struck him as ridiculous when he was in his twenties, and he had deemed it little more than an excuse for failure. He still felt that a man, through exertion and intelligence, made his own end; but he was beginning to see that life was a hard prospect and that circumstances sometimes dictated striving for only what was barely possible.

  “I know that it wears on them both, Elsa especially, but we all manage to go on.”

  Wentworth was grateful they reached the door of The Binnacle before he had to reply. Bidding Benwick goodnight, he confirmed his plan to visit again tomorrow. They shook hands, and he watched Benwick disappear around the corner. The inn was quiet, though there were a few tables occupied in the open dining room. The keep noticed his arrival and indicated he should wait.

  “You didn’t come to dine.”

  The man’s expression was serious; so serious that Wentworth found himself unwittingly amused. “Uh, no, my plans changed.”

  The man scowled and he wiped the bar. “My wife was more than a little put out, I can tell you.”

  Keeping his amusement severely in check, Wentworth said, “I am sorry for any inconvenience I may have caused her. Any compensation that you think adequate, I shall gladly pay.” The man’s expression lightened at the prospect of money for uneaten food. Wentworth added, “Speaking of your good wife, is she still about? I would like a word with her.”

  The man’s face was serious again. “Oh, I don’t think you want to be talkin’ to her. She’s still put out with your not showin’ up.”

  “Better still. I can make amends and avail myself of her expertise.”

  The man’s face changed and he said, “Now, wait there. I don’t know what you think, but I run a respectable establishment here.”

  “I meant that I would like to ask your wife to help me. I would like to ask her advice as an innkeeper’s wife.”

  “Oh now, that’s better. There’s no one in this town who is more willing to give her advice, whether asked for or not, than my wife.”

  The woman was indeed put out with him. He was not certain she might not reach over the counter and demonstrate to what degree. In spite of this, when he began to share his brilliant plan and the part he wished her to play in it, she began to look on him more and more with a friendly eye.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The grey waves and their relentless heaving distracted Wentworth from his packing. He wondered if the same waves of fate that washed his friends onto their present, humble shore might not sweep him along to a similar destination. Years ago when he and Harville and Benwick were new to the service, there had never been a second’s doubt about wealth and glory. But now, with his friends laid low, he could not deny the uncertainty of his own future. Taking another look out the window, he was thankful the weather would be dry, though cool, for his ride home.

  Forcing himself to look away, he closed his bag and resolved to apply the advice Mrs. Harville had given Benwick about being grateful for the day and nothing more. He gathered his hat and gloves, took a last look around the room, and headed downstairs. There he spoke with the keep’s wife, arranging for his horse to be ready at one o’clock, and set out for the pier.

  Before dropping down to the shingle, then to the pier, he stood at the end of the Cobb and took in the whole of the view. No matter where he was in the world, his mistress, the sea, was ever glorious, mysterious and seductive. No matter how uncertain, his life with her was superior to any other he knew and a part of him would like nothing more than to jump ship after ship and stay as close to her as any lover. But now it no longer seemed enough.

  He was ashamed to admit that, although Harville was a prisoner to straitened circumstances, the family’s happiness gnawed at him. He was tired of being alone. He was tired of fretting about the past and planning for a future that was uncertain at its best. What had happened to the jumped-up lieutenant who knew no better than to strut his imagined consequence on the rustic gentry? A chastened man had taken his place and now faced life as it truly was. For the marital happiness Wentworth had seen and felt, he would live under that pier. He was certain it was the woman who made the difference. He resumed his walk to Harville’s house, setting a small flock of shone birds to flight. He envied them their uncomplicated lives.

  Again, the boys greeted him heartily, and Miss Fanny stared. Again, he felt disappointed when they disappeared up the stairs. He came late enough and assumed breakfast would be over, but Mrs. Harville had planned for him to join them for elevenses, which today was slightly more than a light meal. It seemed there was no getting around his being fed, and he tucked into the stew and hot bread accordingly.

  “After you left us last night, we realised you’d managed to remain quite silent about your future plans. Elsa is always concerned that you are unattached.” Harville glanced at his wife, who was blushing furiously. “She feels that every man needs a good steady woman to care for him.”

  “Timotee,” Mrs. Harville cried. She frowned and nodded slightly towards Benwick.

  “That was Fanny’s philosophy as well. She always said a man without a woman is like a ship without a rudder.” James paused a moment and Wentworth expected his moderately cheerful countenance to darken, but instead, he hoisted his glass. “To Fanny. May her wisdom guide us all.”

  The three glanced one to the other in surprise. “To Fanny,” they cried, raising their glasses as well.

  “So, when shall the repairs be finished?” Harville asked.

  Wentworth hesitated. “If you mean Laconia, she is in Ordinary. The crew has been dispersed, and I am no longer her captain.”

  “No, I meant your rudder,” he gestured towards Benwick. “Surely you’ve been in the country long enough to find a beautiful girl anxious to be a sailor’s wife and ready at a moment’s notice to take on the next adventure the Crown tosses your way.”

  Wentworth smiled, intending to refute his friend’s claim, but no words formed in his mind. The quick wit that had rescued him out of a thousand awkward situations was silent. Laughing a bit, he shook his head and continued eating.

  Harville halloo’d and slapped his napkin to the table. “There is someone. Look at him, Elsa! He’d blush if he were able. I knew you could not be on land so long and not fall in love.”

  The accusation put starch in his spine. Carefully wiping his mouth, Wentworth turned to Benwick. “Now see here, James, do you believe this bilge Timothy is spilling?”

  Looking from Wentworth to Harville and back again, he broke into a grin. “Yes, yes, I believe I do.” He barely got the words out when he began to laugh.

  Wentworth’s only hope was to divert them away from the subject of women all together. “You are right, there are pretty enough girls in the country, but that does not mean—”

  “Excuse me, ma’am, there is something you really ought to see out back,” Mary said, smiling as she peeked from the doorway.

  The interruption could not have been timed more perfectly. If he didn’t fear it would frighten the girl to death, he would have kissed her on the spot.

  “I wonder what the poor wretch has done now,” Mrs. Harville sighed, leaving the table.

  Harville looked at Benwick, who smiled. “I hope it’s not the fellow in back of us. He has been known to do something he likes to call, ‘air bathing.’ The last time Elsa caught him at it, she took a broom to ’im.” The gentlemen laughed and Wentworth anticipated a return to the previous ridicule.

  “But then it could be something Mary has done herself. My wife truly has the patience of a saint. I tried to persuade her that after last night’s catastrophe, it was clear the girl has no talent for the kitchen. Elsa said it might
look as if she has no talent, but she’s sure she can find something the girl can do well.”

  Wentworth took the last bite of his stew and said, “Your wife might very well be a saint, and that would make me the devil for I would have put her adrift after the first bite of salted tart.”

  Heavy footsteps and loud thumping from the kitchen interrupted them. All eyes went to the door, and Harville called out, “Elsa, are you all right? What was that?” Wentworth took a deep breath and made a study of folding his napkin. If the noises proved to be what he feared, what would he say upon its discovery?

  Soon, Mrs. Harville, breathing quickly and eyes bright, poked her head out the door, saying, “We are fine. Just a little rearranging. I’ll be out in a moment.” She disappeared back into the kitchen.

  “Huh, I wonder what she might be rearranging? There’s not much out there as I recall.”

  “You know how ladies are, Timothy,” said Benwick. “They can always find something to put their hands to.”

  The loud noises stopped only to be replaced by feminine voices, the sound of wood being dragged on wood, and an occasional gentle thud. After another quarter of an hour, Mary came out, said her mistress needed a man of stature to reach a canister from the tallest cabinet, and requested particularly the Captain’s help. After the message she dropped a curtsey and disappeared into another part of the house.

  With both the gentlemen looking at him, Wentworth shrugged and rose from his seat. “After all these years of bashing my head on the beams of my cabin and cursing my height, it seems there is a use for it.”

  Timothy, in particular, looked suspicious. “I can’t understand why she’d ask that you assist her. I’ve done well enough over the last few weeks.”

  Getting into the room was difficult, and he had to push something standing in the way of the door. After closing it quickly, he took a survey and was reminded of his father’s warehouse, or even more, the bedlam of the purser’s locker on board ship. The long counter against the outer wall was crowded with oddly shaped bags, crates of various fruits and vegetables, and large bundles wrapped with brown paper and twine. Nothing stood close to the hot, ramshackle stove, but the rest of the floor was crowded with small barrels, large and small sacks, and more bundles. In the midst of it all stood Elsa Harville holding a brightly wrapped bundle that marked it as something from a confectioner’s.