скачать книгу бесплатно
‘It’s not the same,’ He knew the personal loss he suffered with each death, whether the sailor was a second lieutenant like David Newsome, or an able seaman. Joe was the man in charge, until a battle or disease reminded him he was no such thing. ‘It’s not the same.’
He looked into her eyes and doubted she believed a word of it.
‘Thank you for your sacrifice.’ She hurried on ahead, either giving him a moment to grieve, or her such a moment. Perhaps it was both.
He joined Miss Newsome at a stone wall which had once formed the back of a crofter’s cottage, from the looks of it. She simply stood there, staring at the ivy.
‘Miss Newsome?’ he said cautiously. ‘I’d offer you a penny for your thoughts, but I suspect I know them.’
She turned around, startled, then relaxed. ‘Perhaps not. This is the time of day when class begins in the school for tenants’ children that I used to teach.’
‘I had no idea,’ he said. ‘I assumed you lived quietly at home.’
‘I educated children for five years,’ she said and he watched her eyes soften. ‘Lovely children.’
‘May I ask...?’
Her eyes hardened then. ‘Lord Blankenship, who employs my father, informed me that he had a poor relation needing work. I was released and another put in my place.’
She pursed her lips together and frowned. Joe knew if this were his misfortune, he would be swearing and throwing things about. Obviously Miss Newsome was better equipped for ill fortune than he was.
‘But, sir, here is holly, with berries properly red. You cut there and I will hold this end.’
He did as she asked, struck by the fact that a woman of Miss Newsome’s obvious calibre would even consider work. When he finished, she deftly wound the length of ivy into the basket he had set down.
‘Lord Blankenship has found me similar employment in Norfolk,’ she said. ‘I am to go there on the mail coach after Christmas.’
‘I confess I do not understand why you need employment,’ he said, then knew he owed her an immediate apology for inserting himself in family matters that were none of his business. ‘Beg pa—’
‘Oh, please, not that,’ she interrupted. ‘Perhaps we Newsomes appear more genteel than you think.’
‘I never thought...’
Shut up, Joe, he told himself. Admit your interest, at least to yourself.
She indicated a rustic bench and sat down, giving him leave to do the same.
‘Papa is an estate manager of several large properties,’ she said, ‘but we fall far short of gentry. What is your background, sir, if I may ask?’
‘You may. My father was a solicitor in Cornwall,’ he said. ‘My mother was of the friendly persuasion.’
‘My goodness, a Quaker,’ Miss Newsome said. ‘What did she think of your profession, if I may be so bold?’
‘She died before I went to sea. My father remarried and his new wife was happy to see me gone. She brought several hopeful offspring to the connection’, he said, leaving it at that.
Miss Newsome gave him a sympathetic look, which took him aback. No one had ever looked at him that way. ‘No fears, there, Miss Newsome,’ he hurried to explain. ‘Her indifference moved me quickly into a career for which I am entirely suited.’
‘And I am suited to education,’ Miss Newsome said. ‘Lord Blankenship was kind enough to find me that position. I considered a bolt to Boston, United States of America. My uncle there said he would help me.’
‘But why...?’
‘Must I earn my bread?’ she finished. ‘Sir, David was supposed to make the family fortune as an officer with prize money. He promised me on his last visit home that I need not worry about my spinster state, because he would always support me. Trafalgar changed that and here I am, heading to Norfolk when Christmas is over.’
‘You have no other relations?’
‘None, Captain Everard, except that Boston uncle. How fortuitous that I enjoy teaching.’
What could he say to that? If Miss Newsome had only until after Christmas to celebrate with her parents, he had no business intruding on family intimacy. He stood up and reached for the basket of coiled ivy.
‘I will take my leave, since you have so little family time remaining,’ he said. ‘I wish you well in your future plans.’
Good God, that sounded stiff. Life was simpler at sea.
‘Sir, have you never in your life met a practical female before?’ she asked.
‘Not one as resourceful as you, perhaps,’ he hedged. ‘Botheration, Miss Newsome, but I must know: Why are you not repining that you are a single lady of...of...?’
‘Nearly thirty,’ she said, with that lurking smile of hers he was beginning to enjoy, if the truth were told.
‘Very well, nearly thirty,’ he said, as he floundered in deep water. ‘Davey was to have been your saviour. You are heading to godforsaken Norfolk and...’
He stopped, because she was laughing. ‘Captain Everard, why do men think women cannot be resourceful?’
‘Why indeed? I stand corrected,’ he told her promptly and offered his arm, which she took. ‘All the same, I will leave this afternoon.’
They walked to the house in silence. He stopped at the door before she could open it. ‘I have to tell you: I was thinking that you would have made an excellent lieutenant on any ship I have commanded.’
Miss Newsome had a hearty laugh. He felt a mixture of pleasure and ease, just listening to her. The other sensation startled him: what a pity he hadn’t time to pursue an interest with Miss Verity Newsome.
Chapter Nine (#ud480d6bb-3198-5402-b3a9-7f97dc803e4b)
Verity reached for the doorknob, but it was pulled from her grasp.
‘Daughter! We are at sixes and sevens!’ her mother declared, taking her by the arm as if to haul her inside. ‘Come along. There is this letter to you from Sir Percy of Hipworth Hall.’
‘Perhaps he is wishing us good tidings,’ Verity said, too pleased with present company to wish to bother with her future employer right now.
‘No. Read this,’ Mama said as she thrust the letter into Verity’s hand.
‘Surely it can wait until we get inside the house,’ she said, wishing her mother could show a little more countenance around company. Mama had already opened the letter. What must Captain Everard think of them?
‘Very well,’ she grumbled. ‘My, what poor handwriting.’
Mama snatched it back. ‘Daughter, it says quite plainly that he wants you to arrive before Christmas. He wants you in three days!’
Verity took it back, squinting at the spidery handwriting, blotched as if the writer never put pen to paper, or had less patience even than Mama. ‘Such poor handwriting. I can’t read it.’
‘Hand it to me,’ Captain Everard said. ‘I have some proficiency with illegible handwriting, as found in various logs.’
Verity gave him the letter gladly. For a moment in her heretofore self-reliant life, she wanted someone to solve her problem for her. It was a new sensation and not unwelcome.
‘That’s it. He wants you in three days.’ He handed the letter back to her. He looked over her shoulder at the letter he had just returned. ‘And look here: Either this reads, “My life is in peril”, which I cannot credit, even in Norfolk, or “My wife is nonpareil”.’ He shrugged as she laughed.
‘Perhaps he wrote, “My wife is feral”,’ Verity quipped and they laughed together, which seemed to her ears a most delightful sound.
Mama would have none of it. ‘Verity. Captain Everard. Do be serious!’
Captain Everard seemed disinclined towards soberness. ‘My mother once declared me a feral child when I slurped soup from a spoon, or, heaven forbid, picked up my cereal bowl and drank the milk.’
Another slow wink and Verity laughed some more, which did not please Mama. ‘Verity, this is a house of mourning,’ she reminded her daughter.
‘I know.’ Verity felt some contrition, until she remembered how much Davey would have enjoyed this exchange. ‘Davey would have tossed in his tuppence-worth, too, Mama, you cannot deny.’
‘No, I cannot,’ Mama said after a moment’s reflection. The notion seemed to calm her. ‘My dear daughter, you must be on your way tomorrow.’ She looked at Captain Everard with apology in her expression. ‘We so wanted to keep you here with us for a few days, sir.’
So did I, Verity thought, hopeful her disappointment didn’t show on her face. She was too old to moon about over a possibility that no one had offered.
Mama wasn’t done. ‘And now I must send my child on the mail coach through stormy weather and deep snow by herself to a remote location and a questionable set of strangers.’
Verity couldn’t help noticing the interesting way Captain Everard’s dimple in his cheek could disappear and reappear when he was amused. Once those distressing black sutures were a thing of the past, he could almost be considered a handsome fellow. She saw before her a solid man, probably not inclined to flights of fancy, which made her wish for another day in his company, before he returned to war and she to her less sanguine future.
There stood Mama, her lip quivering. Verity put her arm around her mother. ‘Dearest, you know I have no qualms about solitary travel on the mail coach.’
Me, oh, my. It wasn’t going to be enough. Verity tried again, unwilling for their brief guest to see Mama in hysterics. ‘You know as well as I do that people are at their best during Christmastide.’
She held her breath, hoping Mama would proceed no further than with tear-filled eyes. Where was Papa?
Her help came from an unexpected source, considering. As she watched in big-eyed amazement, Captain Everard took her mother’s hand in his.
‘Mrs Newsome, would you feel more comfortable if I agreed to escort your daughter to Norfolk? It’s not that far and I am at leisure for nearly two complete weeks.’
‘Sir, I really don’t want to—’ she began to say, but Mama overruled Verity’s sensible reminder on the tip of her tongue that the mail coach any time of year was not generally regarded as a gypsy caravan ready to steal away unwary children or oblivious spinsters.
‘Captain Everard, that would relieve me greatly.’
‘Oh, but...’
Captain Everard clinched the matter with a single, inarguable sentence. ‘Mrs Newsome, Miss Newsome: I would be honoured to perform one last service for my second lieutenant.’
What could she say to that, especially when Mama threw herself into the captain’s arms? And here was Papa now, coming out of the book room, ledger in hand, only to look up in surprise when Mama explained that Davey’s captain had kindly agreed to escort their sole remaining child to the wilds of wintry Norfolk.
Papa astounded her by putting a spoke in the wheel of Mama’s enthusiasm.
‘I am not convinced of the propriety of this,’ he said.
‘Papa, I am perfectly safe on a mail coach,’ Verity reminded him. ‘Only last summer I went from here to Brighton to see my aunt. Alone.’ She bowed to necessity. ‘If I must have an escort, I cannot think of a better one than a post captain in the Royal Navy.’
‘I don’t think it is proper,’ Papa insisted, which made Verity want to sink through the floor with embarrassment. To her further dismay, Captain Everard’s stunned expression changed to one verging on amusement. What must he think of them?
‘What would you suggest that we do?’ the captain asked. ‘I feel inclined to agree with you that she should not travel alone and...’
‘Captain Everard, I will be thirty years old in March,’ she said. ‘Thirty. Older than some bottles of wine.’
‘You look considerably younger,’ he replied, then addressed her father. ‘Sir, what would you do if a pretty lady who barely looks four and twenty argues that she is safe on the mail coach?’
‘Overrule her, naturally,’ Papa replied.
‘Papa!’ Verity exclaimed, at a loss.
There they stood. Mama whispered in Papa’s ear. He brightened, nodded, avoided Verity’s glance and spoke to the captain.
‘Captain Everard, would you consider something a little radical?’
‘As long as it does not involve mayhem.’
‘You are all hopeless,’ Verity said.
‘Just careful, daughter,’ Papa replied. Verity saw the love and concern on his kind face. ‘Captain, would you agree to... Augusta, what does one call such an ad hoc proposition?’
‘An Engagement of Convenience,’ Mama said, as calmly as if she had suggested a turn about the garden to look at roses in July.
‘What?’
Silence reigned supreme in the Newsomes’ hall, Verity too stunned to say more, Mama and Papa nodding at each other in evident satisfaction and Captain Everard... She could not define his expression.
Papa recovered first. ‘I would have no objection to that,’ he said. ‘What say you, sir?’
Verity tried again. ‘But...but... Papa, besides being unheard of, this isn’t necessary.’
Drat Captain Everard. Why did he have to lean close enough to whisper in her ear?
‘Beg pardon, Miss Newsome,’ he whispered. ‘Too many years around big guns have made me slightly hard of hearing. Could it be that you do not wish an engagement that would be temporary in nature?’
‘Oh, I...’ Hands on her hips, she glared at him. ‘See here, sir, this is unnecessary.’
‘I think it would please your parents,’ he said.
The captain turned to her father. ‘As I see it, such an engagement would suffice for the trip to Norfolk. I can escort your daughter to Hipworth Hall, assure Sir What’s-His-Name that this is my fiancée and I am headed back to sea. Perfect.’
‘Have you all lost your senses?’ Verity asked, which meant the three of them started to laugh.
Captain Everard made it worse by taking her hands in his. ‘It’s completely unexceptional. You’ll get to Norfolk, your parents won’t worry and...’
‘Captain!’
Then he delivered the statement she had no argument against.
He squeezed her fingers gently. ‘...and I can do a final service for an excellent officer gone too soon.’
