Authors: Susan Carroll
"You never gave me the chance to finish what I was
saying before," he said. "I wasn't going to forbid the decorations.
I'll help you hang the blasted things myself, on the mantel, the doors,
wherever you want them. I'll even stick a sprig of holly in my hat, if only you
will stop crying."
Chloe sniffed, wanting to thrust him away. But she was
overcome by the ludicrous image his words painted, the captain fiercely
sporting holly on the brim of his imposing military cockade. She smiled in
spite of herself.
"That's better," he said. He stroked his thumbs
across her face again, then cupped her chin and looked into her eyes as though
defying any more tears to run his blockade. "You might have a little more
forbearance for an old tar like me, Miss Chloe. I am not that familiar with
these holiday customs. I have spent every Christmas since I can remember on the
deck of a ship. Most times I forget what day it is unless one of my crew wishes
me a happy Christmas."
"That is the saddest thing I have ever heard,"
Chloe said, aghast. "How could one ever forget Christmas?"
"I fear the day's significance is not noted among my
tide tables." Trent smiled, giving her damp cheek one final caress before
allowing his hand to drop to his side.
"But surely when you were a child, you must have
celebrated," she said. "How old were you when you first put to
sea?"
"Almost nine."
"Nine! And your mama and papa let you go?"
"My mother died when I was born, and my father was a
quiet man who left my upbringing to my grandfather, Admiral Sefton. He obtained
me a commission in the navy as soon as he could. It was a great honor to become
a midshipman that young."
"Perhaps it was," Chloe said doubtfully. The last
thing she wanted to do was feel sympathy for Captain Trent, especially when the
man seemed so sublimely unaware that anything was missing from his life, a
wealth of Christmastide memories, the warmth of parental affection.
He appeared discomfited to have revealed this much about
himself. She noticed that he had discarded his uniform. His shirt of thin white
cambric outlined clearly the muscular play of his shoulders, the neck buttons
undone enough to reveal a small vee of bronzed chest. Never had the captain
appeared so vulnerable and at the same time so threateningly masculine.
Her heart hammered strangely and she would have felt more
comfortable retreating, but the captain showed no sign of letting her go. He regarded
her gravely, his eyes softening to the hue of mist.
"Miss Chloe, we have had a great deal of
misunderstanding between us. I fear that I can be abrupt at times. If I have
ever hurt your feelings, I assure you it was unintentional. I would like us to be
friends, but you seem to have decided this is not possible. Can you tell me
why? What is it about me that offends you?"
Chloe drew in a deep breath. Perhaps never again would the
captain be so approachable. This at last was her opening to explain about Emma,
an opportunity that must be handled with much delicacy and tact.
"I don't want you to marry my sister," she blurted
out, then winced. So much for tact.
"Why not?" Trent asked, equally as blunt. "Do
you find me that repulsive?"
"No. But you only just met Emma today. You don't even
know her except through her letters."
"That is true. I admit the circumstances surrounding
our engagement are unique. But I often wonder: How much better acquainted are
couples who have a more conventional courtship? They meet a few times at balls,
dinner parties, walks in the park." Trent gave an expressive shrug.
"I believe Emma and I have as good a chance of achieving a felicitous
marriage as they do."
"Even if Emma is already in love with someone
else?"
There now, Chloe had said it. She braced herself for Trent's
reaction—shock, disappointment, perhaps even anger. She was prepared for
anything but how calmly he received her announcement.
"Oh, that!" he said, with a dismissive wave of his
hand.
"You mean to say that you already knew? And you still
mean to make Emma marry you!"
"Let us get one thing straight, Chloe. I am not making
Emma do anything. She accepted my proposal freely. She did inform me of a
previous attachment to another young man, but circumstances rendered any marriage
between them impossible. I honor your sister for her frankness. If she can put
the past behind her, I see no reason not to do the same."
"Love cannot be so easily discarded, Captain, like it
was last year's fashion. Emma still cares deeply for this other young man
and—"
"She mentioned none of this to me," Trent
interrupted. "Nor any desire to be released from our engagement."
"Of course she wouldn't, but—"
"Then don't you think you are taking a deal too much
upon yourself to speak for her?"
"Well, I ... I ..." Chloe floundered, not able to
argue that point as strongly as she would have liked.
"I understand that you are feeling a natural anxiety on
your sister's behalf. But Emma is older, and, if you will excuse my saying so,
wiser than you. I think you had best let Emma make her own decisions without
trying to interfere."
His tone was kind but very final. He accompanied this speech
with a condescending pat on her shoulder that made Chloe grit her teeth.
"Now I shall send Mr. Doughty back to help get these
decorations up. I am glad we had this little talk, my dear. I am sure we
understand each other far better now."
"But Captain Trent—" Chloe protested.
It was of no use. The man had already bowed and was moving
toward the door. If he realized how Chloe seethed with frustration, he was
determined to ignore it.
"Oh yes, I understand you perfectly," she
muttered, waiting until the door clicked shut behind him before adding,
"Blackbeard!"
Except for last Christmas, when her heart had yet been breaking
for her father, Chloe could not remember a holiday that she had enjoyed less
than this one. The infamous Captain Trent was to blame for that.
He raised no further objections to the manner of their
celebrations at Windhaven. He even joined in after his own grave fashion,
helping to haul in the Yule log, bussing Emma's cheek underneath the mistletoe
with all due solemnity.
Not because he took any great joy in the customs, but
because he had been told this was the proper way to celebrate on Christmas Eve.
And so he did it with the same precision with which he must have charted his
course at sea or carried out the Admiralty's orders.
No one but Chloe seemed to find anything lacking in him. He
was courtesy itself and very attentive to Emma, just as a prospective
bridegroom should be. But Chloe detected no real warmth in his manner, no true
delight in Emma's company. Oh, it was wicked that he could think to marry their
Emma only out of some benighted sense of duty or propriety, when his heart held
no tenderness for her. It did not surprise Chloe that her plea for him to
release Emma had fallen on deaf ears. Of course the captain would account love
of no importance. He didn't even know what it was.
Chloe observed as much of this excruciatingly polite
courtship as she could bear, then excused herself. She retired to bed earlier
than she had any Christmas Eve since her childhood.
The next day, she dreaded attending services, seeing poor
Mr. Henry's face when he obtained his first glimpse of Captain Trent. It was a
cold, frost-hardened Christmas morning, with a chill wind whistling through the
crevices of St. Andrew's Church.
Situated on their family's pew, Chloe huddled between Lucy
and Agnes for warmth, Mr. Lathrop, Emma, and the captain seated at the other
end. One would have thought so many bodies packed together would have generated
some heat. The church was quite crowded, from the humblest villager to the
squire and his lady sporting a new velvet bonnet.
Even Mr. Henry shivered a little as he mounted the pulpit to
read out his lesson. He was better at it now than when he had first arrived two
years ago. He didn't stammer nearly as much. Perhaps he would never be gifted
with eloquence, but Chloe thought the earnestness radiating from his face more
than made up for any faltering, his eyes shining with a humble faith, a great
love for the story he related, the birth of the Christ child with His message
of hope and peace.
Despite the cold, Chloe was sorry when the services ended.
She shrank from that moment to come when greetings would be exchanged in the
vestibule. The entire parish was already buzzing about the presence of the
handsome sea captain in their midst. Although Trent had not worn his uniform to
church, Mr. Henry had to be aware of who Trent was and why he had come simply
from the way the captain offered Emma his arm.
The moment Emma approached Mr. Henry seemed so poignant,
Chloe wondered how her older sister could bear it. How wretched to be obliged
to address the man one really loved as though he were the stranger. Yet no one
could have detected any difference in Emma's cheerful smile as she complimented
Mr. Henry on his sermon. One had to have heard it in her voice, which became
just an octave softer, or noticed it in the quick way she excused herself to go
pay her respects to Squire Daniel's lady.
Agnes, Lucy, and Lathrop had managed to escape to the
waiting carriage. That left Chloe the awful task of introducing poor Mr. Henry
to his successful rival.
There could have been no more painful contrast than Mr.
Henry, in his mended robes, his face more earnest than handsome, and the
captain, with his erect military bearing and striking profile.
A moment of complete despair flashed into Mr. Henry's eyes.
But he was not the sort to slap his brow or even glower. After the barest
hesitation, he offered his hand to Trent, saying, "Welcome to Saint
Andrew's, Captain. We have all looked forward to meeting the new master of
Windhaven."
"I thank you, sir. I hope I will not prove too much of
a disappointment after Sir Phineas Waverly."
"He was a kindly soul, may God rest him. But I am sure
you will be a worthy successor. And may I offer my felicitations on your
marriage to Miss Waverly. You are a fortunate man."
Chloe thought she had never witnessed a more quiet heroism.
Anyone who did not know Mr. Henry's secret would never have guessed what such a
gallant speech must have cost him. It was obvious the captain didn't. He
accepted the clergyman's congratulations with the sort of casual thanks he
would have accorded any well-wisher.
On a sudden impulse, Chloe invited Mr. Henry to dine with
them that day.
"You know you have always shared Christmas with
us," she insisted.
"I don't know, Miss Chloe. Your sister, Miss Waverly,
is surely not expecting another guest, and—"
"Nonsense. Emma would be delighted." Chloe
continued to press the clergyman, being politely seconded in her efforts by the
unsuspecting Captain Trent. When the flustered Mr. Henry accepted at last,
Chloe wondered if she was being more kind or cruel She only knew she could not
permit Mr. Henry to give up on Emma so easily She would wager that if their
positions were reversed, Captain Trent would not permit himself to be robbed of
the woman he loved. Yet that in itself was an absurd conjecture—to think of the
captain being that desperately in love.
Having achieved her object with Mr. Henry, Chloe wriggled
her numb toes inside her boots, impatient to be gone. But she had to linger a
few moments more while Trent praised the vicar's sermon. She was astonished to
hear him trade interpretations upon a passage of biblical text. As Trent
escorted her to where the others waited at the carriage, Chloe didn't hesitate
to say so.
"You surprise me, Captain. You seem to know your Bible
so well. I would have thought Sunday another one of those days forgotten in the
navy. Is it marked down on your tide tables, then?"
"It is part of my duty to read out services to the
men," Trent replied. "There are too many storm-ridden nights when
faith in God is all a sailor has left to sustain him. "
Chloe flushed a little at this grave response, feeling
ashamed of her ill-natured question. But she still avoided being handed into
the carriage by the captain.
Trent grimaced. Any doubts he had had that his talk with
Chloe had been other than a dismal failure were speedily put to rest. Not that
he had entertained many. It had been obvious all of last evening that Chloe had
determined not to accept him into her family.
And it was all because of her childish fancy that he was
ruining Emma's life, separating her from her one true love. Chloe's conviction
on this point was so strong, it began to give Trent pause himself.
He had spent much of his Christmas Eve narrowly observing
his intended, looking for any sign her heart was breaking. But he had never
known any lady in his life more placid or cheerful than Emma Waverly. Any
desperate longings on her part had to be attributed to Chloe's romantic
imagination.
But there seemed no way of convincing Chloe of that. She
continued to treat Trent to a degree of coldness all the more marked when
contrasted to the warmth with which she greeted Mr. Henry when he joined them
for Christmas Day dinner.
Chloe persisted in singing the man's praises to the entire
company, deeply embarrassing the clergyman. Mr. Henry was so valiant, so
generous, and so scholarly. Apparently, Trent thought irritably, the man was
Aristotle, Francis of Assisi, and Saint George all rolled into one.
By the time they all sat down to dine, Trent began to
entertain the unwelcome suspicion that Chloe was infatuated with the young man.
As her guardian, Trent would be obliged to inform her that he found Mr. Henry a
most unsuitable match. Although at first Trent had though the vicar quite
likable, he now began to detect numerous flaws in the man. Mr. Henry had a weak
chin. He was too modest, too self-effacing. He blushed like a woman during the
main course of roast beef and pudding while Chloe continued to rattle on about
his nobleness of spirit.