A Captain of Consequence (Westham Chronicles, #2)

by Osborne, Rachel

  GRACE SMILED AS AMELIA concocted a very pretty little story about her disastrous quest to locate a certain article for her wedding trousseau, laughing as she tugged even Joanna into the tale, which grew more ridiculous and unbelievable as it developed. In fact, Grace noticed a twinkle in Amelia’s eye and deduced that it was quite likely that she ought not to believe it, although she listened and laughed along all the same, pleased to be in company with her friend and still more pleased for the distraction that Amelia provided from her brother.

  There! As if by reflex, Grace found her eyes straying once more to the corner of the parlour nearest the door, where Arthur still stood, flanked by his father on one side and Emily on the other. Grace sighed. She tried not to notice just how close Emily stood to him, or how she dared, quite by accident, to brush her elbow against his, pressing him to subconsciously move back and put a little more space between them, which Emily closed just as quickly. This silly dance was performed once more before Grace wrenched her gaze away, looking dejectedly down at her skirts.

  “Captain Sudbury says that you have taken to walking with a cane, Grace,” Joanna said. There was a kindness to the usually sharp girl’s voice, and Grace lifted her eyes, surprised to see genuine compassion and what looked like understanding in her dark features.

  “I am trying,” Grace demurred, hoping she would not be asked to demonstrate, for she had been practising her walking by taking laps of the room all day and instead of helping, as she had supposed it might, her wretched ankle now registered its profound dislike at being so ill-used and throbbed painfully beneath her.

  “You are succeeding if my brother is to be believed!!” Amelia asserted. “He speaks nothing of praise over your progress, claiming that a dozen men in the navy would not bear their injury so well, nor work so hard to recover.” She nudged her with her elbow. “So there, Grace. High praise indeed!”

  “Yes,” Grace laughed. She could not help the warmth that seeped into her cheeks, nor the smile she could not quite keep from stretching onto her cheeks. High praise indeed! She was encouraged enough by these few short words from Arthur’s sister to seek him out again, her eyes resting upon him just at the moment that he let out a particularly enthusiastic laugh in response to something Emily had just said. Grace’s smile fell. She did not think Emily a comic, but surely she must have unearthed some heretofore undemonstrated talent, for Captain Sudbury seemed to find her amusing. She did not wish to lament that her sister and Captain Sudbury had, at last, found some common ground, yet, however petty it made her, she was forced to acknowledge that she did lament it, and wish it were she and not Emily who made him laugh so.

  If anyone lamented this circumstance as much as her it was poor Mr Crampton who was propped up next to Mama answering her questions as if he faced an inquisition, although the prospect of the guillotine to bring it to a swift conclusion might have been preferable to the poor fellow.

  “And how often does your work take you away from Westham, Mr Crampton?” Mrs Hardcastle’s eyes were wide, as if she had never before discovered a topic so thrilling as the work patterns of her neighbours.

  “Oh, uh, on occasion, Mrs Hardcastle,” Mr Crampton equivocated. “It is difficult to speak to specifics, for my weeks vary so greatly from one another.”

  “Indeed.” This answer did not seem to satisfy Mrs Hardcastle, and she opened her mouth as if to speak again.

  Grace could not bear to witness another person to suffer as she was, so she leapt into the fray, urging Mr Crampton to join her and her friends.

  “Amelia,” she said. “Joanna, you are acquainted with Mr Crampton, I believe?”

  “A little,” Amelia said, with a smile.

  “You own business interests in town, do you not?”

  Grace flinched. She had forgotten the innate snobbery that underpinned Joanna Devereaux’s worldview. She had mellowed a little, particularly lately, since the return of her brother and her mother’s sudden removal to visit friends and family in another county, but it was perhaps impossible to expect the poor girl to undo a lifetime’s worth of learning in but a few short weeks.

  “I do, Miss Devereaux.” Mr Crampton beamed, unaware or at least unaffected by any perception of a slight in Joanna’s words. “And several other towns besides.”

  “And you have travelled?” Amelia asked. “I imagine you are better travelled than any of us young ladies.”

  “I imagine so,” Mr Crampton’s smile soured. “And yet both your brother and father, Miss Sudbury, have travelled much farther than even I could dream of. I wonder -”

  “Milly!” Captain Sudbury’s voice boomed across the room, and he strolled after it, interrupting Mr Crampton entirely and not even seeming to notice that the fellow had been poised to speak. “Here you are! And Miss Grace! Why are you hiding in a corner here and leaving your poor sister to do all the hard work of greeting your guests alone?” His eyes twinkled with humour, but Grace felt her lips tighten.

  “She is far more skilled than I at such a task, Captain Sudbury,” she said. “I would not dream of depriving her of the opportunity to play host, which she does so enjoy. Even Mama has ceded her responsibility for this portion of the evening, you see?”

  She wished her voice had not sounded quite so cold as she spoke, but it could not be helped, and better to be distant than to admit how hurt she was at the captain’s ongoing preference for her sister over her. Did she imagine it or did Captain Sudbury frown at being spoken to in such a way? Yet, no, there was his same smile back in place once more, as he clicked his heels together and bowed, stiffly, before engaging Mrs Hardcastle in some complimentary conversation about her choice of flowers for the evening. Grace turned back to her own companions, quickly enough to see a slight glance exchanged between Amelia and Joanna, but not quickly enough to ask them what was the matter before Amelia addressed her once more.

  “I hope your ankle is not causing you too much pain, dear,” she said, patting Grace warmly on the arm. “Perhaps we will go in to eat soon, and that will be better. It is always a little awkward when everyone is still arriving and getting settled, is not it?” She took a breath. “I hear a great deal of your skill as an artist. Now that is the very accomplishment that neither Joanna nor I have ever managed to master.” She chuckled, and Grace saw an echo of her brother in the shining eyes she turned towards her. “In fact, it is one of many accomplishments I have not managed to master. Joanna, at least, has no small talent on the pianoforte. I have only my interest in reading, and so much rejoice that Sir Benjamin is content to have a very unaccomplished wife.”

  This self-deprecation was designed to be entertaining, to draw her friends' laughter with Amelia, rather than against her, and in this, she succeeded. Grace found herself sharing her own limitations with a self-aware sigh.

  “I think you are too generous in his assessment of my skills,” she said. “I scribble. I like to make studies. But I am not what could ever be called an “artist”.” She shrugged her shoulders. “And when it comes to music, I am worse still. It is Emily who is the musician of our family, and she has lately had some great success in learning the harp.”

  “The harp?” Joanna’s voice was sharp, and a little envious, Grace thought.

  “Oh, you must play for us, Emily!” Amelia said, turning to catch hold of Emily as she walked over to ostensibly speak to her Mama. She was in truth following Captain Sudbury, Grace thought, and perhaps had deigned at last to pass a word or two with Mr Crampton. Amelia’s words and gesture had arrested her progress, though, and she paused for a moment to speak to the other young ladies, her cheeks flushing in pride at what she perceived to be praise.

  “I would be honoured to play a little, after dinner,” she said, her features radiant.

  Grace smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. She ought not to begrudge her sister the chance to showcase her talents, and yet the thought of sitting through her performance made the pain in Grace’s foot throb unbearably.

  Perhaps it is not m
y foot that hurts, she thought, but my heart. She risked a glance at Arthur and saw him turn his head just as quickly back to her Mama, who had redirected her line of questioning towards him and his time in the navy. For half a moment Grace dared to think he had been looking at her, but no, that was foolish. He had clearly turned to Emily, listening to her speak of her plans to play for them. He had no reason to look at Grace when Emily was near.

  Chapter Eight

  Arthur had dined at Grafton Hall but once when he was a younger man, in the company of other friends who were, he supposed, more welcome guests than he, and he knew Mrs Hardcastle prided herself on her hospitality. He had dined at a great many tables since then, both grander and humbler, but he could not help but think that this particular evening there was a rather less substantial a feast laid out before the gathered guests. He frowned, surreptitiously pricing the contents of the table, before shaking off the notion. He owned no home of his own, nor had he ever had the task of hosting a dinner. What did he know of such endeavours? And if the Hardcastles sought to economise, even on evenings like this when they had invited guests, who was he to judge? Still, a word from Devereaux’s lips tugged at his memory. Hardcastle sought advice on the markets. I wonder that the family purse is rather lighter than it once was. I am surprised he has not sent Emily to London with the goal of marrying her to someone eligible and wealthy.

  The comment had been delivered with a sniff, for his friend still bore a great deal of derision against the economic role of marriage within the gentry and had vowed his own sister would not face such a fate.

  Arthur’s own request for Emily’s hand all those years ago had been refused on account of his wealth or lack of it. Could it be that the fortunes of her family had now reversed, even as Arthur’s own had improved? Fickle fate, he mused, taking another bite of his meal and in so doing catching the attention of his host.

  “Tell me, Captain Sudbury, what are your plans now that you have returned from the sea?”

  Mr Hardcastle posed the question, but he posed it loudly so that the whole table seemed poised to hear Arthur’s answer. He swallowed, setting down his knife and fork and buying himself a moment or two of time to construct his answer.

  “I am not sure,” he said, eventually opting for honesty and feeling sure it would not steer him wrong. “The future is open to me now, for I have no call on my time.”

  “Ahem!” Amelia coughed, pointedly, and Devereaux took her lead, weighing in on the conversation.

  “Yes, Sudbury, you need not talk as if you have nothing tying you to Westham. You might be just as happy to make your home anywhere as here, but I assure you that we wish you to remain here, at least for the immediate future.” He glanced slyly at his fiancée and continued. “I need someone to ensure my bride does not think better of her decision to marry me before the wedding takes place...ouch!”

  Amelia had kicked Devereaux under the table and Arthur could not fault her for that. Laughing, he turned back to Mr Hardcastle, who had watched this small performance with a thinly-veiled expression of distaste on his weathered face.

  “There is your answer, then, Mr Hardcastle. I shall remain in Westham for the present.” He watched him carefully, unsure whether he would see pleasure or not at this confession. The man’s features, usually so open, were inscrutable and Arthur wondered why he had asked the question in the first place. He had certainly taken little enough interest in Arthur before he left. His eyes strayed to Emily, who was sitting beside Mr Crampton. He supposed he ought to feel a flicker of jealousy that it was his rival and not himself sitting at Miss Hardcastle’s right-hand side, but surprisingly he did not. Frankly, he felt relief. He had been settled into a corner with his sister and Devereaux’s and the three had had a merry time discussing Amelia’s plans for the wedding and exchanging opinions of friends and connections up and down Westham. Arthur had secretly hoped Grace might be persuaded to join their conversation, for she sat quite close to them, but she had studiously avoided them all evening. Not for the first time, Arthur wondered if he had offended her somehow and raked back over their recent interactions in search of his error. Finding none, he let out a sigh, loud enough that it reached Mrs Hardcastle’s ears.

  “Captain Sudbury is right, my dear, we have sat for too long at the table! Perhaps we might return to the parlour.”

  “You might, m’dear,” Mr Hardcastle said, with a tight smile. “We gentlemen shall have our brandy and join you in a little while.”

  Arthur smiled, but the expression was far from genuine. Were it not for the fact that he was sitting in company with both Devereaux and his father, he might have found a reason to depart for he certainly had little enough desire to spend an additional hour in company with Mr Hardcastle, without the calming influence of the ladies.

  Still, their departure might afford him one opportunity he had not otherwise had. He hurried to his feet, bypassing Miss Hardcastle almost entirely for her sister.

  “Miss Grace, you must allow me to assist you to the parlour.” He shot a deferential look towards both his father and Mr Hardcastle, which was met with equanimity by one and ill-concealed confusion by the other.

  “How kind you are, Captain Sudbury, to care for my sister so astutely!” Emily’s voice was a little sharp, but when Arthur looked at her she smiled, so he determined he had imagined the tone. She could not begrudge him this small act, surely? It was not as if he was doting on her sister any more than he would any young lady who needed his help.

  “I can manage, Captain Sudbury,” Grace murmured, as they followed the other ladies from the dining room to the parlour. “Please do not trouble yourself on my account.”

  “It is no trouble, Miss Grace,” he said, his tone gently mocking as he reverted to the same formal address for her that she had used for him. “Although I am grateful to be afforded the opportunity to ask you whether you are quite well this evening. You are too quiet, and I was beginning to think I had offended you in some thoughtless way!” He assumed a tragical stare. “Do please forgive me, Captain Grace, if it be so...” His eyes twinkled and he hoped she recalled, by his allusion to her “pirate name”, the many hours that he had indulged her childish fascination for sea-faring games in the months before he had gone to sea himself. A faint smile suggested she did, but it dropped almost as soon as he noticed it.

  “You have not offended me, Captain Sudbury,” she said, as they neared the door of the parlour. “And I am grateful for your assistance, but truly, it is not necessary.” She brandished her cane and relinquished her hold on his arm. “As you see, I am quite capable of walking with the help of the stick your father so generously lent me. Perhaps you ought to see if all is well with my sister.”

  “Your sister?” Arthur glanced, confused, to the corner where Amelia and Emily were apparently deep in conversation. “What assistance could I possibly offer her?”

  Grace looked at him as if he were quite the stupidest man alive, and he felt heat flood his cheeks. Of course, he must be careful of offending Emily by lavishing too much attention on another young lady, or of appearing to.

  He let out his breath in a long whooshing sigh and stepped politely away from Grace, bowing stiffly.

  “What would I do without you on hand, Miss Grace, to recall me to my manners, and keep from making foolish missteps?”

  Grace’s expression was a strange one and lingered in Arthur’s mind long after he had retraced his steps to the dining room, joining the rest of the gentlemen in stilted conversation until a polite length of time had elapsed and Mr Hardcastle intimated they might be welcome to join the ladies in the parlour.

  “Perhaps Emily might be persuaded to play for us, sirs.” His eyes danced from Arthur to Mr Crampton and back again. “I am sure, if one of you were to ask her, she would be only too happy to showcase her considerable talents on the harp.” His smile grew. “How lucky I am to have so accomplished a daughter...”

  Arthur heard his own father harrumph behind him and dared not look at
him. He already knew the expression he would see on the admiral’s thin, weather-beaten face. He had despaired of Emily Hardcastle when Arthur first professed his intent to propose to her all that time ago. It did not seem as if his opinion had much improved in the intervening years.

  “I DO HOPE THE GENTLEMEN are quite well.”

  Emily’s voice quavered a little but Grace knew her sister well enough to know that it was not concern, but agitation, that made it so.

  “Free to smoke and drink and talk precisely as they wish without us ladies nearby to moderate their tone?” Amelia’s eyes sparkled, as she looked from Joanna to Grace and back again. “I should think it impossible that they are not quite well.”

  Emily smiled, but it was a half-hearted thing, and Grace saw her eyes dart to her harp. She wished for her audience to arrive so that she might play and begin receiving the adulation she deserved. Unkind sister! Grace chastised herself. She sighed, and it was this sound that caught her friends’ attention. Joanna’s sharp gaze seemed to understand her in a moment, and she looked up from her cards.

  “You ought to have joined us in our game of whist, Emily, then you would not notice the time passing so slowly as it seems to.” She nudged Grace. “Guard your cards, Grace. We shall have the best of Mrs Hardcastle and Amelia yet!”

  Her voice was artificially bright, but Grace appreciated her intent. She had always been a little nervous around Joanna, conscious of her insightful gaze and waspish temper, although Amelia had always tempered her well. Since Sir Benjamin Devereaux’s return, she had softened still more and whilst Grace knew she must lament the loss of her mother, she could not own that she preferred this new Joanna to the old.