Dark Before the Rising Sun

by Laurie McBain

  Kirby had just about reached the corridor leading back into the wing when he noticed that the double doors of one of the rooms were ajar. Lying just outside the opened doors was a small piece of half-chewed meat. Kirby smiled. He had the thief cornered.

  “Ah-hah! Got ye now, ye scurvy, hell-born piece of ballast!” he cried out as he jumped into the room, slamming the doors shut behind him. As he glared around, his knees nearly gave out. He was staring at the stunned face of the Duchess of Camareigh. In her lap was none other than the conniving tom himself.

  “Oh…no! Your Grace!” Kirby wailed in mortification, his bright red face the picture of abject misery. “Oh,” he repeated, unable to find his wits.

  Sabrina, Duchess of Camareigh, smiled. It was either that or start laughing, and that would never have done. “This is your cat, is it not?” she asked.

  Kirby nodded miserably.

  “I take it he has been up to mischief? He stole the salmon intended for breakfast?” she guessed.

  Kirby’s mouth dropped open. “How did ye know, Your Grace?”

  The duchess laughed aloud. “I can smell it on his breath,” she told the embarrassed steward, and to his amazement, she rubbed the purring tom under his chin while speaking softly to him.

  “I’ll take him back to the stables, Your Grace,” Kirby offered, promising himself he’d see that the old tomcat was soundly disciplined for causing such a disruption. “The captain’ll be mighty upset to think Jamaica was botherin’ ye.”

  “Oh, ’tis the captain’s cat too?”

  “Well, more his than mine. Actually, Jamaica was the mascot aboard the Sea Dragon, but ’twas the captain who rescued him when he found him tied up in a sack in Port Royal.”

  “I can see that my son-in-law and I have at least two things in common,” the duchess remarked.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, Your Grace, but I don’t see how ye could have much in common with the captain,” Kirby risked contradicting the duchess, his eyes shining with admiration as he stared at her. Dressed in a gown of emerald green velvet and lace, her black hair waved into delicate curls and draped with pearls, the Duchess of Camareigh looked like a queen.

  “We both love Rhea, and we both have a fondness for cats,” she said with a grin that altered her appearance and made the little steward think of a mischievous child. Like her own son, Robin, in fact.

  “And he does love Rhea, doesn’t he, Mr. Kirby?” the duchess asked softly, completely disarming Kirby with her smile and the questioning look in those incredible violet eyes.

  “Aye, Your Grace,” he said simply. “The cap’n’s not been the same since he first saw her. Loves her like he does Merdraco, and like he did his mum, the Dowager Lady Jacqobi, before she died. He still reveres her memory. There be only a few things his lordship treasures in this world, and once he’s given his heart to them, they’re always a part of him. Reckon he’d go crazy if he lost either Rhea or Merdraco,” Kirby said firmly. He was uneasy thinking about what would happen when they got to Merdraco.

  “A love like that can become obsessive,” the duchess said, thinking of Kate.

  “Aye, that it can, Your Grace,” Kirby agreed. “But, if I might say so, Lady Rhea Claire, being the gentle and understandin’ lady she is, might make all the difference in the world to the cap’n’s future. She has already influenced the cap’n in her own quiet way, I figure she’ll always be doin’ it. Reckon he’s not even aware of it, though.”

  “How very astute of you, Mr. Kirby,” the duchess said, her smile warmer as she met the confident little man’s wise eyes. “I have a feeling that you know both the captain and Rhea far better than either one may realize. You are not to be underestimated, Mr. Kirby.”

  “Please, Your Grace, just Kirby,” he suggested in embarrassment. He was, after all, still the captain’s steward, even though wealthy in his own right.

  “Very well, Kirby, but I shall tell you now that I shall not look upon you as a servant. From what I have heard from my daughter, you may well have saved her life, and I shall always be grateful for your many kindnesses to her,” she told the flustered man. “Besides, are you not a rich man now? Will you be leaving the captain?” she inquired in what sounded deceptively like mere polite conversation.

  “Oh, no, Your Grace. My place will always be by his lordship’s side and with his family, at least, as long as I am wanted. I was born at Merdraco, and I’ll most likely die there. I’ll continue to serve the captain and Lady Rhea Claire and their heirs,” he said stoutly.

  “Loyal and noble, yet not above a wee bit of larceny, I suspect. You remind me of two friends I once knew far better than I do today, which is a pity. They live near Verrick House, my old home in Sussex. They stood by me when I was in need of their very broad shoulders for support and assistance,” the duchess said with a soft chuckle, as if remembering a private joke. “Will and John Taylor. How I do miss them and the days when we…well, that is not for today,” the duchess halted. The curled form of Jamaica seemed to be reminding her of another time, and of both sad and joyful memories best left forgotten. She shook her head to clear her thoughts.

  “I am honored, Your Grace,” Kirby said, bowing deeply, endearing himself to the duchess without realizing it.

  “And how is your master today, Kirby? Do you think he is up to a visitor? No,” the duchess answered her own question. “I shall wait until he is not at the disadvantage. He would feel obliged to stand in my presence, would he not?” she asked innocently, but Kirby had the distinct feeling that Rawley had been telling tales about the captain and his breeches and that the Duchess of Camareigh had found the stories amusing.

  “Aye, Your Grace. The captain still knows how to be a gentleman when he wants to,” Kirby said, not realizing how revealing a remark that was.

  The duchess was thoughtful. “I see. Rhea has told me that he has made his living quite successfully as a privateer and smuggler these many years,” she said. “We have had several very interesting conversations about your Dante Leighton. He would seem to be a most enterprising gentleman.”

  “Oh?” Kirby said, not quite knowing whether the captain was being complimented or criticized. “Aye, he is that, but he’s considered quite respectable too. In the trade, that is.” Kirby came quickly to his captain’s defense. “He really was brought up a gentleman, Your Grace.”

  “You needn’t defend his honor to me, Kirby. As a matter of fact, just between you and me, I have the utmost respect for a man who can make the most of adversity. Raised a gentleman, with few practical skills, Dante Leighton might have lived off others after he lost his fortune. But instead he went out and worked for the wealth he now possesses. There can be no disgrace in trying to survive as best one knows how. He can be proud of his years as a ship’s captain.

  “My family, before I wed His Grace, was not wealthy. We had to struggle sometimes to keep food on the table. I was forced to help in any way I could, but I was determined to survive, Kirby, and I cannot condemn another for attempting to do the same.”

  Kirby was speechless. He had hardly expected to hear admiration of the captain from the Duchess of Camareigh. Something of his surprise and pleasure must have shown on his face, for the duchess felt compelled to say something further, but this time she spoke warningly.

  “However, I do not condone his actions where my daughter was concerned. He took advantage of her innocence, and I shall not forgive him for that. At least I shall not until I am certain that he will make my daughter as happy as she would have been in a marriage to another man, and in less suspicious circumstances. Your Dante Leighton, Kirby, is a very handsome devil, and I suspect that he is used to having his way,” the duchess accurately accused. “My sweet Rhea Claire never had a chance, did she? No, please do not answer, for I would not ask disloyalty of you.”

  “No, Your Grace,” Kirby said without guilt, “the cap’n can act like the devil. He
isn’t perfect, Your Grace, but underneath his arrogance and seemin’ contempt for what some people would call bein’ proper, he’s a good man. I’d not have stayed with him all these years otherwise, Your Grace. I would’ve left him to his fate, whatever it might have been,” Kirby said honestly.

  “Yes, I believe you would,” she said, her hands rubbing the soft fur of the pampered ship’s mascot.

  The duchess continued to fondle Jamaica, but her thoughts were on something else, for when she glanced up at Kirby, her expression was slightly troubled. “What is to be the fate of Dante Leighton, Kirby?”

  Kirby ran a finger beneath his stock while he cleared his throat, unprepared to answer. Not only was he uncertain of the captain’s fate, but also his speculations would cause only worry for the duchess.

  “He returns to Merdraco with a purpose, does he not? He is determined, now that he is a wealthy man, to reclaim his heritage? Perhaps regain his honor?”

  “Aye, Your Grace,” Kirby admitted.

  “Dreaming of success is far easier than achieving it, Kirby.”

  “Aye, Your Grace,” Kirby agreed. “But the cap’n—his lordship, that is—is not the same young man who ran away so many years ago. He’s become a man who knows no fear when it comes to achievin’ his goals. But…” Kirby hesitated, not willing to put his most troubled thoughts into words.

  “Kirby?”

  “Well, even though the cap’n’s been involved in breakin’ the law, he’s never been guilty of betrayin’ another, nor of cheatin’ at cards, if ye understand what I’m sayin’? The captain will fight to the death to win, Your Grace, but he’ll not lose his honor doin’ it. But…other folks may not play so fair,” Kirby finished.

  “So what you are telling me then, Kirby, is that my daughter could well find herself a widow before giving birth to her child?”

  Kirby swallowed, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he faced her searching gaze. “No, Your Grace,” the little steward finally replied. “The cap’n and me, well, we’ve come a long way. ’Twas a struggle at times, but we made it. No, Your Grace, I have to believe now that he will succeed in becomin’ master of Merdraco once again. I cannot believe that all of it will end in a cold grave on a hillside. No, Your Grace, I have to believe that the cap’n overcome anything. His enemies may do as they like, but he will succeed. He will,” Houston Kirby pronounced.

  “I trust you are right, Kirby,” the duchess said slowly.

  “The captain has to succeed,” Kirby repeated to himself later as he walked back along the shadowy gallery, Jamaica held firmly in his arms.

  “Don’t think ye could be sparin’ the cap’n at least one of them nine lives of yours, d’ye, Jamaica? ’Cause I got this achin’ feelin’ in me bones that he’s goin’ to be needin’ all the luck he can find if we’re to come out of this with a whole skin,” the little steward muttered. The well-fed, contented tom eyed the newel post as they passed, as if he hadn’t anything more to worry about than sharpening his claws.

  * * *

  “I’m beginning to wonder if there isn’t something horribly wrong with this husband of yours, Rhea Claire. Why, ’tis nearly two weeks now since he was brought to Camareigh,” Caroline Winters complained, her displeasure increasing as she noted the lovely primrose gown Rhea was wearing. Her friend was more beautiful than ever despite the fact that she was enceinte. Even that was hard to believe, for Rhea’s waist was still smaller than her own, Caroline thought in dismay while selecting another dish of rice and apple pudding.

  “Why, I can’t believe he is as handsome as all the maids declare him to be,” Caroline continued. Casting a sly glance at the earl, who was absorbed in handling one of his host’s pistols, she added, “Certainly not as handsome as Wesley. Wesley! You did hear what I said, didn’t you?” she teased, but her voice was sharp. “Isn’t it just like a man not to acknowledge a compliment,” she said with a tight smile, for despite all of her wiles over the past fortnight, Wesley Lawton still had yet to appreciate her.

  “The man’s been ill with a fever since last week. Besides, it is difficult for someone with a broken ankle to get about. ’Twould be next to impossible for the gentleman to climb the stairs,” Sir Jeremy explained patiently. “You know how much difficulty I have getting around when I’m suffering one of my attacks. Why, just the other day I—”

  “Papa, what was it you heard in London about Rhea’s husband? I’ve been trying to remember all day long.” Caroline sighed, wishing she could recall that tantalizing snippet of gossip.

  “It had something to do with his past. Of course,” she added with a knowing look at Rhea, “I s’pose he’s told you everything about why he left England so suddenly? I don’t s’pose you have any secrets between you.” She tried to bait her friend.

  Lord Wrainton, only brother of Mary and Sabrina, glanced up from his book and, peering over the tops of his spectacles at Caroline, quoted, “‘The secret of being a bore is to tell everything.’ You might remember that, for it could serve you well someday,” he advised, but her scowling attention was centered on the three Fletcher brothers and their cohort, Francis Dominick, who had rudely guffawed at the remark, their game of cards temporarily forgotten as they eavesdropped on the conversation. Their Uncle Richard always seemed to find something witty to say.

  “Well, I think ’tis a bore to be too smart, and always quoting nonsensical things from dusty ol’ books,” Caroline said, still smarting from having apparently been the butt of the joke, even if she hadn’t quite understood it. “Anyway, as I was saying…” She tried to continue despite the renewed laughter—even from her own father, she realized in outraged indignation.

  “Uncle Richard,” Rhea said softly, “you’re being a bully, picking on someone who could never understand you in a thousand years.”

  “I know,” he said, “but she does irritate me so. Besides, you will not defend yourself against her remarks. ’Tis the privilege of your uncle to do that,” he said with a boyish grin as he eyed his niece fondly. Rhea was holding his firstborn child, Dawn, in her lap, playing with her. “Now tell me again about this man aboard the Sea Dragon who actually knew my grandfather. ’Tis amazing the way life evolves. I have often wanted to chart the migrations of certain races, peoples, and families, and through the study of events, come to conclusive evidence supporting cause and effect. The one determining the other,” Richard Verrick explained, his bluish-gray eyes glowing. “Do you not think it would be interesting?”

  Rhea smiled. Her Uncle Richard was such a dear person. He had been only about Robin’s age when her mother and father married, and, being an orphan, he had come to Camareigh to live. He had always been bookish, her mother said, as well as nearsighted. At times he seemed to live in his own world. He wasn’t stuffy, though, and had always been happy to amuse his nieces and nephews, and had seemed more like an older brother than an uncle. Because he had always been close to their whole family, he had remained a contented bachelor until meeting Sarah Pargeter, the orphaned ward of his sister Mary’s husband, General Sir Terence Fletcher. Richard Verrick, his myopic vision sharpening rapidly, fell in love with the quiet young woman who made no effort to attract the eligible young gentleman. He was a very wealthy marquis who could not only claim a rich duke as a brother-in-law, but who also possessed several estates of his own as well as a castle in the Scottish Highlands.

  Rhea stared down at the child cradled in her arms. She liked the feel of the baby snuggling against her breast. Soon, soon she would know the warm feel of her own child’s body.

  “Oh, of course! I remember now!” Caroline exclaimed, glancing around for a proper show of appreciation of her mental prowess, but no one seemed to be paying her any attention. “Rhea Claire’s husband was accused of murder!” Caroline cried. Satisfaction was hers, for she had succeeded at last in gaining the shocked attention of everyone in the room. “Why, Rhea Claire, I do believe you are surprised
. You mean to say your husband never told you he was suspected of the brutal murder of a young girl?” Caroline asked.

  “Good Lord,” murmured the Earl of Rendale. He’d not known. “Is it true?” he asked.

  Rhea’s cheeks were turning a pale pink as she felt the embarrassing disquiet spreading through all the people in the room. She was thankful at least that her mother and father and her Aunt Mary and Uncle Terence were not present, for she had no answer.

  “Can it be that you are actually wed to a murderer? Oh, my dear, it’s just too awful. I should think you would be scared to death to be in the same room with him. I mean, if he does have an uncontrollable temper, why, he could do it again, couldn’t he?” Caroline asked. Her feigned pity was almost unbearable, Rhea thought as she met the girl’s gloating expression. “Or,” Caroline went on, “it could have been a calculated murder. Why, he might already be planning your death in order to get your inheritance.”

  “Caroline! This time you have gone too far. I am ashamed of you,” Sir Jeremy spoke harshly, his face turning beet red with shame. “Please, Rhea Claire, accept my deep apology on behalf of my daughter. She forgets herself.”

  “Oh, Papa, really!” Caroline pouted. “After all, you are the one who told me the story,” she went on, hardly endearing herself to her father.

  The Fletcher brothers and Francis had left their card game and were gathered behind the settee, on which Rhea and Richard were sitting quietly. Even the gentle chuckles of the baby had stopped.

  When Caroline saw the unfriendly faces staring at her, she said huffily, “Well, I don’t know why you should all be staring at me like that. I’m not the one accused of murder!”

  “No, but you’ve repeated a piece of gossip you know little about, and with the express purpose of causing offense,” Richard said, his voice unexpectedly harsh. His family glanced at him in surprise, for Richard was the soul of discretion and courtesy. “‘Gossip is mischievous, light and easy to raise, but grievous to bear and hard to get rid of. No gossip ever dies away entirely if many people voice it…’”