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The Captain's Christmas Family
Deborah Hale
Napoleon himself never gave Captain Gideon Radcliffe as much trouble as Miss Marian Murray. The fiercely protective governess won't rest until she gains permission for the daughters of his late cousin to stay on at Gideon's newly inherited estate. He agrees to let Cissy and Dolly remain at Knightley Park for Christmas. But by springtime they—and Marian—must go. Marian is prepared to believe the captain a tyrant.The truth is far more complicated. Gideon is a kind yet solitary man who sees the navy as his only sanctuary. Can Marian's unwavering faith, and the children's Christmas cheer, convince him he's found safe harbor at last?
A battle of wills during a season of blessings...
Napoleon himself never gave Captain Gideon Radcliffe as much trouble as Miss Marian Murray. The fiercely protective governess won’t rest until she gains permission for the daughters of his late cousin to stay on at Gideon’s newly inherited estate. He agrees to let Cissy and Dolly remain at Knightley Park for Christmas. But by springtime they—and Marian—must go.
Marian is prepared to believe the captain a tyrant. The truth is far more complicated. Gideon is a kind yet solitary man who sees the navy as his only sanctuary. Can Marian’s unwavering faith, and the children’s Christmas cheer, convince him he’s found safe harbor at last?
“You’ve probably spent most of your life moving from one place to another. So perhaps you can’t understand why a child who’s lost her mother and father would want to stay in a familiar place around people she’s used to.”
“I understand better than you suppose, Miss Murray.” Captain Radcliffe spoke so softly, Marian wondered if she had only imagined his words.
“You do?”
He replied with a slow nod, a distant gaze and a pensive murmur that seemed to come from some well-hidden place inside him. “I was ten years old when I was set to sea after my mother died.”
The wistful hush of his voice slid beneath Marian’s bristling defenses. Her heart went out to that wee boy.
“I shall delay contacting Lady Villiers until January.” Captain Radcliffe sounded resigned to his decision. “That will allow the children to spend Christmas in the country. After that, the New Year is a time for new beginnings.”
“Thank you, sir.”
As she hurried back to the nursery, Marian thanked God, too, for granting this reprieve. Perhaps her earlier prayers had been heard
after all.
DEBORAH HALE
After a decade of tracing her ancestors to their roots in Georgian-era Britain, Golden Heart winner Deborah Hale turned to historical romance writing as a way to blend her love of the past with her desire to spin a good love story. Deborah lives in Nova Scotia, Canada, between the historic British garrison town of Halifax and the romantic Annapolis Valley of Longfellow’s Evangeline. With four children (including twins), Deborah calls writing her “sanity retention mechanism.” On good days, she likes to think it’s working.
Deborah invites you to visit her personal website at www.deborahhale.com, or find out more about her at www.Harlequin.com.
The Captain’s Christmas Family
Deborah Hale
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Thy will be done…
—Matthew 6:10
For Gloria Jackson and in memory of Rev. David Jackson, who both made worship the kind of joyful, uplifting experience it was meant to be.
Contents
Chapter One (#uedc7784b-b1ff-5769-92a7-23100bb75173)
Chapter Two (#uea5a2297-2d92-5dc8-a0b0-0d9ff5af20b2)
Chapter Three (#u161e5f0b-b296-5302-89d4-4c453cf5649b)
Chapter Four (#udef38c81-fb5a-51b6-8281-cfceb15047c4)
Chapter Five (#uf3df0a75-6496-53c1-9636-8f2a2fc21a92)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Nottinghamshire, England 1814
“He’s coming, Miss Murray!” A breathless housemaid burst into the nursery without even a knock of warning.
The book Marian Murray had been reading to her two young pupils slid from her slack fingers and down her skirts to land on the carpet with a soft thud. A tingling chill crept down her back that had nothing to do with the gray drizzle outside. The moment she’d been dreading for weeks had arrived at last…in spite of her prayers.
A new prayer formed in her thoughts now, as she strove to compose herself for the children’s sake. She hoped it would do better at gaining divine attention. Please, Lord, don’t let him be as bad as I fear and don’t let him send the girls away!
Unaware of her governess’s distress, Dolly Radcliffe leapt up, her plump young features alight with excitement. “Who’s coming, Martha? Are we to have company?”
The housemaid shook her head. “Not company, miss. It’s the new master—Captain Radcliffe. Mr. Culpepper sent me to fetch ye so we can give him a proper welcome to Knightley Park.”
“Tell Mr. Culpepper the girls and I will be down directly,” Marian replied in a Scottish burr that all her years in England had done little to soften.
Forcing her limbs to cooperate, she rose from the settee and scooped up the fallen book, smoothing its wrinkled pages.
“New master?” Dolly’s small nose wrinkled. “I thought Mr. Culpepper was master of the house now.”
“Don’t be silly.” Cissy Radcliffe rolled her wide blue-gray eyes at her younger sister’s ignorance. “Mr. Culpepper is only a servant. Knightley Park belongs to Captain Radcliffe now by en…en… Oh, what’s that word again, Miss Marian?”
“Entail, dear.” Marian plumped the bow of Cissy’s blue satin sash, wishing she had time to control Dolly’s baby-fine fair hair with a liberal application of sugar water. “Come along now, we don’t want to keep the captain waiting.”
Likely the new master would insist on the sort of strict order and discipline he’d kept aboard his ship. It would not do for her and the girls to make a bad impression by being tardy.
“What is entail?” asked Dolly, as Marian took both girls by the hands and led them out into the east wing hallway.
Marian stifled an impatient sigh. Ordinarily, she encouraged the children’s endless questions, but at the moment she did not feel equal to explaining the legalities of inheritance to a curious six-year-old.
Cissy had no such qualms. “It’s when an estate must pass to the nearest male relative. If I were a boy, I would be master of Knightley Park now. Or if little Henry had lived, he would be. But since there’s only us, and we’re girls, the estate belongs to Papa’s cousin, Captain Radcliffe.”
After a brief pause to digest the information, Dolly had another question. “Do you suppose the captain will look like Papa, since they’re cousins?”
“Were cousins,” Cissy corrected her sister. The child’s slender fingers felt like ice as she clung to Marian’s hand.
Dolly’s forehead puckered. “Do people stop being relations after they go to heaven? That doesn’t seem right.”
“You’ll find out soon enough whether Captain Radcliffe bears any family resemblance,” said Marian as they reached the bottom of the great winding staircase and joined a stream of servants pouring out the front door.
Exchanging furtive whispers, the maids smoothed down their aprons, and the footmen straightened their neck linen. They seemed curious and apprehensive about the arrival of their new master. Marian shared their qualms.
Outside, under the pillared portico, Knightley Park’s aging butler struggled to marshal his staff into decent order to greet Captain Radcliffe. Shaken by the sudden death of Cissy and Dolly’s father, Culpepper had let household discipline slip recently. Now he was paying the price, poor fellow.
Marian had too many worries of her own to spare him more than a passing flicker of sympathy.
“This way, girls.” She tugged them along behind the shifting line of servants to stand at the far end of the colonnade, a little apart from the others.
By rights, they probably should have taken a place up beside Mr. Culpepper and Mrs. Wheaton, the cook. Cissy and Dolly were the ladies of the house, in a way. At least, they had been until today. What they would be from now on, and where they would go, depended upon the man presently driving up the long, elm-lined lane toward them. Marian wanted to delay that meeting for as long as possible.
When the carriage came to a halt in front of the house, she could not stifle a shiver.
Dolly must have felt it for she edged closer. “Are you cold, Miss Marian?”
“A little,” Marian whispered back, conscious of a breathless silence that had gripped the other servants. “Drizzle like this can make midsummer seem cool, let alone October. Now, remember, bright smiles and graceful curtsies to welcome the captain.”
The carriage door swung open, and a tall, rangy figure emerged, clad in black from head to toe, relieved only by a glimpse of stark white shirt cuffs and neck linen. Marian felt a mild pang of disappointment that Captain Radcliffe had not worn his naval uniform. But, of course, he wouldn’t, under the circumstances. From rumors in the newspapers, Marian had gleaned that the captain was on leave from his command under a cloud of suspicion.
As Captain Radcliffe removed his hat, a breath of wind stirred his brown hair strewn with threads of gold. Tucking the hat under his arm, he strode slowly past the line of servants while Mr. Culpepper introduced each one. The movement of their bows and curtsies rippled down the line like an ominous wave rolling toward Marian and her young charges. Resisting an urge to draw the girls into a protective embrace, she took a step backward so they would have room to make their curtsies.
At that moment, Captain Radcliffe loomed in front of them, looking even taller than he had from a distance. His face was too long and angular to be called handsome. But it was quite striking, with a jutting nose, firm mouth and deep set, gray eyes beneath sharply arched brows.
Those brows slanted together at a fierce angle as he stared at Cissy and Dolly with a look of the most intense severity Marian had ever seen. Beneath his relentless scrutiny, Cissy lost her nerve. Her curtsy wobbled, and her squeaks of greeting sounded more terrified than welcoming. Dolly forgot to curtsy at all but stared boldly up at the captain.
Mr. Culpepper seemed not to notice as he continued his introductions. “Sir, these are the daughters of your late cousin, Miss Celia Radcliffe and Miss Dorothy. Behind them is their governess, Miss Murray.”
A clammy knot of dread bunched in the pit of Marian’s stomach as she waited for Captain Radcliffe to speak. It was the same sensation that always gripped her between a dangerous flash of lightning and the alarming crack of thunder that followed.
“Children?” His voice did sound like the rolling rumble of distant thunder, or the pounding of the sea upon a lonely, rock strewn coast. “No one said anything about children.”
The man was every bit as bad as she’d feared, if not worse. Besides all the other feelings roiling inside her, Marian felt a twinge of disappointment at the thought of another prayer unanswered. Once again, it appeared she would have to fight her own battles in defense of those she cared for. Some tiny part of her even stirred at the prospect—perhaps the blood of her warlike ancestors.
Or was it something about the captain’s presence that stirred her? Surely not!
When Cissy backed away from her formidable cousin, Marian wrapped a reassuring arm around her shoulders and reached out to tug Dolly back, as well. “Perhaps we can discuss the girls and their situation this evening after I’ve put them to bed?”
The captain seemed to take notice of her for the first time, looking her over carefully as if to assess the strength of an adversary. His scrutiny ignited a blistering blush in Marian’s cheeks. For an instant, the children and all the other servants seemed to melt away, leaving her all alone with Captain Radcliffe.
Perhaps the captain felt it, too, for he gave his head a brisk shake, collecting himself from a moment of abstraction. “Very well. Report to the bridge at eight bells of the last dog watch. That is…the Chinese drawing room at eight o’clock.”
“Yes, sir.” Marian dropped a curtsy, wondering if he expected her to salute. “Now I will take the children back indoors before they catch a chill…with your permission, of course.”
“By all means, attend to your duties.” The captain looked as if he could hardly wait for Cissy and Dolly to be out of his sight.
Marian was only too eager to obey his curt order.
“Come along, girls.” She shepherded them into the house, resisting the perverse urge to glance back at him.
Neither of the children spoke until they were halfway up the broad spiral staircase.
“The captain doesn’t look much like Papa.” Dolly sounded disappointed.
“He isn’t anything like Papa!” Cissy muttered fiercely.
“I don’t think he likes us very much.” Dolly sighed.
“I’m certain the captain doesn’t dislike you, dear.” Marian strove to convince herself as much as the children. “He was…surprised to find you here, that’s all.”
As they slipped back into the comforting familiarity of the nursery, Dolly’s grip tightened with such sudden force that it made Marian wince. “The captain won’t send us away, will he?”
“Of course not!” Marian stooped to gather her beloved young pupils into a comforting embrace.
They had been through so much in the two short years since she’d come to be their governess—first losing their mother and infant brother, then their father. She had done all she could to make them feel secure and loved, to protect them from the kind of harsh childhood she’d endured.
To herself she vowed, That man won’t send you away if there is anything I can do to prevent it!
As he waited for the mantel clock to chime eight, Gideon Radcliffe paced the rounded bay end of the Chinese drawing room, peering out each of its tall, slender windows in turn.
Even in the misty dusk, they afforded a fine view down a gently sloping knoll to the lake, which wrapped around a small, green island. Gideon had pleasant memories of boating on that lake from long-ago visits to Knightley Park when his grandfather was master. At the time, he’d enjoyed an even better view from the room directly above this one—the nursery.
That thought reminded him of his cousin’s children. He would rather have been ambushed by the combined French and Spanish fleets than by those two small girls. They could not have been more alien to his experience if they’d been a pair of mermaids. He had no idea what they might need, except to sense that he was entirely unequipped to provide it.
More than ever he felt the urgent necessity to restore his reputation, regain his command and get back to sea. He was confident he possessed the skill, experience and temperament to serve his country well in that capacity. After all these years of service, it was the only life he knew. Losing it would be worse than losing a limb—it would be like losing his very identity.
