Authors: Susan Carroll
Lathrop shook his head as though he could still not take it
in. "But, Trent, have you ever even met this girl?"
"No. Unfortunately, my duties have prevented me from
ever visiting Windhaven. But I have had frequent correspondence with Miss
Waverly."
"Indeed, because you receive mail so often when you are
on board ship! So how many times have you written each other? Once?
Twice?"
"Enough to conclude our marital arrangements,"
Trent said evasively. "With your romantic nature, Charles, I thought you
would find the tale of my courtship quite pleasing."
Lathrop rose to his feet and paced off a few steps, as much
as the cabin would let him. His usually smooth brow was knit with worry.
"If I saw any romance in this, mayhap I would, but what I see is
guilt."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it?" Lathrop gave him a long, searching stare
which Trent found he could not meet. "My God, Trent," he went on.
"You cannot continue to hold yourself responsible for the death of that
old man."
"Can't I? He would never have been aboard that ship but
for me."
"You tried to do him a kindness, going to a great deal
of effort, getting him that post in the diplomatic corps."
"Kindness!" Trent snorted. It had been a very
careless sort of kindness. When Sir Phineas had first approached him for his
aid, Trent had been in excellent humor, having newly acquired the stripes that
marked him as a captain with seniority. In the flush of those spirits, he had
glibly promised Sir Phineas anything. And, indeed, getting the old man his post
had proved no hardship. Just the whisper in the right ear of an influential
acquaintance in the government.
"You never expected Sir Phineas to be sent to
Portugal," Lathrop continued to argue. "Any more than you thought to
convey him on your ship. Any more than you expected to run afoul of that
Spanish man-of-war. And you did order the old man to stay below."
"Aye," Trent said wearily, knowing it was useless
to argue with Lathrop, useless to expect anyone raised outside the tradition of
the navy to understand the one simple fact. The captain was always ultimately
responsible for what happened aboard his ship, for the lives of every man, be
he crew or passenger.
"Wasn't it wonderfully convenient?" Trent sneered
with some bitterness. "To have Sir Phineas die aboard my ship, me being
his heir."
"Damnation!" Lathrop flushed a bright red.
"You know, if anyone else dared imply such a thing, I'd call them out. As
if you ever coveted that old man's ramshackle estate! I daresay it will take
half your own fortune to bring it to any kind of order."
"I daresay it would, if I meant to try. But I am more
concerned with the fate of Sir Phineas's orphaned daughters."
"So much so that you intend to sacrifice yourself on
the altar of matrimony."
"Don't be so dramatic, Charles, and do check your
agitation before you forget yourself and crack your head on one of the deck
beams." Trent added in more placating tones, "It's no good your
remonstrating with me, Charles. My course is set. I have proposed to Miss
Waverly, and she has accepted me. We will be wed at Windhaven during the
upcoming Christmas holidays."
Lathrop shot him a look seething with frustration, but he
sank back into the chair, flinging out his hands in resignation.
"I suppose it only remains for me to wish you joy,
then. Lord, won't Lady Caroline look blue when she hears of this."
"Not for very long, I trust. There was never any deep
attachment between us."
"Only because you would not permit it."
"No, I wouldn't," Trent said. "That is one of
the important lessons I learned from my grandfather, the admiral. He taught me
that a captain has no business forming close attachments, neither with his crew
nor with those he leaves behind on shore. You know well what my life is like,
Charles. A month at home, then years at sea. I have scarce been off the deck of
a ship since I was nine, one of the privileges of being an admiral's
grandson."
"Oh, aye, a rare privilege that," Lathrop
interrupted dryly.
Trent ignored him. "It would be a cruelty for me to
inspire a great love in any lady only to leave her pining for months on end.
Cruel to us both. Far better to wed without passion. I am sure Miss Waverly and
I will grow to be fond enough of each other in time. Her letters mark her to be
a most sensible young woman."
"I hope she is at least pretty. Have you ever seen a
portrait of her?"
"No, but Sir Phineas always used to speak of her as
being quite lovely."
"Fathers are ridiculously partial that way. My own sire
used to think my sisters beauties, and you know quite well that both Lydia and
Bess have more freckles than there are shells in the sea. For all you know,
Miss Waverly may be the image of her papa."
Perhaps she would be, but that meant little to Trent. It
often disturbed him that Sir Phineas's image had faded so from his memory. He
recollected little of the elderly knight except that he had had a pair of very
kindly eyes.
"Sir Phineas was an exceedingly strange old man,"
Trent mused aloud. "I must confess, at times I found him an infernal
nuisance when he was on board. He had a habit of seeking me out to talk, even
when I was taking my solitary stroll on the quarterdeck. Though God knows what
he spoke of. I can scarce remember." He gave a reluctant laugh.
"Sometimes I had the feeling he harbored the peculiar notion that I was
lonely."
"Peculiar indeed," Lathrop murmured, casting Trent
an oddly penetrating stare.
Trent gave himself a little shake as though to rid himself
of the reminiscing mood he seemed to have fallen into of late. "I didn't
mean to wax so longwinded. I ought to be explaining why I sent for you, dragged
you all the way down here to Plymouth."
"I should thing this leveler about your upcoming
marriage reason enough."
"Oh, I could have conveyed that in a letter. I fear
there is something more." Trent felt a rare surge of emotion and spoke
more gruffly to conceal it. "I should deem it a great favor if you would
travel up to Windhaven to stand up with me at my wedding."
"I should have deemed it a great insult if you hadn't
asked me." Lathrop leapt up impulsively, and Trent feared he would not
escape an embrace this time. But Lathrop expressed the force of his feelings with
a cuff to Trent's shoulder.
"You great dolt! Of course I shall come. And you must
have known that. Why else would you have `dragged me all the way to Plymouth,'
as you put it?"
"I suppose I was rather sure of your answer. I fear I
presume too much upon your good nature."
"No," Lathrop said earnestly. "You presume
upon the basis of our friendship, as well you should."
"Yes, well..." Trent gave an embarrassed cough.
"Good, That's all settled, then, though I do feel a little guilty
for taking you away from your own family at Christmastime."
"That is no hardship, believe me. My mother has invited
a parcel of her tonnish friends down from London and is busy planning a ball, a
masquerade, and all manner of other horrors. You know how I despise all that
fashionable nonsense. You have sailed to my rescue, Captain Trent. If only you
could be married every Christmas."
"Once, I trust, will suffice. I have been given a leave
of absence by the Admiralty. We have only to agree on our traveling
arrangements. By post, I thought. Could you possibly be ready to set out
today?"
"Within the hour." Lathrop retrieved his hat and
gave it a playful toss, catching it by the brim. "How long has the
Admiralty given you? One month? Two?"
"A fortnight only."
"Well! I call that a rather shabby allotment for a
man's wedding and bride trip."
"There will be no bride trip. The Admiralty is not
romantic, Charles. And even though things have not been quite so heated since
Trafalgar, there is still a war going on."
"So there is " Lathrop sobered but only for a
moment. "But not in Norfolk. There we shall cry down with the fierce god
Mars. It shall be Venus to whom we pay our court. You did say Waverly had four
daughters?" Lathrop preened a little, straightening his cravat. "Perhaps
I shall set up an agreeable flirtation with one of the younger ones."
Trent bit back a smile. Like Mr. Doughty, Lathrop fancied
himself quite a devil with the ladies. The truth was that Lathrop possessed far
too sweet a disposition to ever cut a dash as a rakehell.
All the same, Trent humored him, growling, "You had
best control your libertine propensities, Charles, and recollect that those
three young ladies are my wards. I might be forced to call you out."
"I tremble with fear, Captain," Charles mocked.
After a little more jesting in this vein, the time and place of their departure
was fixed upon, and Charles took his leave to see to his own packing.
Trent caught himself still smiling long after Lathrop had
left him. He wondered, not for the first time, how such a somber fellow as
himself had retained a friendship with a man as jovial as Charles. Perhaps
because contrary to Admiral Sefton's teachings, one did not lightly shake off
the attachments of one's youth. Trent had never had brother or sister, his
mother dying in the birthing of him. His scholarly father had seemed but a
gentle shadow passing through his life. Trent's whole world had been dominated
by the gruff old man who had been his grandfather. Rear Admiral John Sefton had
taken Trent aboard his own flagship and made him a midshipman at the tender age
of nine. Though Trent had never doubted his fierce grandfather's love for him,
the admiral had shown Trent no quarter, done nothing to spare him the rigors of
life at sea.
Only once had the admiral ever exerted his influence on
Trent's behalf. That was when the eleven¬year-old Trent had been wounded in
action, a flying splinter the size of a knife driven through his thigh.
The admiral had had Trent removed from shipboard and the
inept ship surgeon's care. He had sent his grandson to convalesce at the home
of old family acquaintances, the Lathrops. It was during those three months
that a bond had been forged between Trent and Charles Lathrop, a friendship
that had endured against all the changes of maturing, the necessarily long
separations. Rather than being at school in the manner of most boys his age and
station, eight-year-old Charles had been kept at home with a tutor because his
mama had feared for his "delicate constitution."
How anyone could have fancied Charles delicate, observing
the mad way he rode his horse at fences, Trent had not known or cared. He had
been only too glad of Charles's company.
That had been a glorious summer of hunting for birds' nests,
swimming in the pond, playing at cricket, simply being a boy instead of Mr.
Midshipman Trent of His Majesty's flagship Diana. Trent had never forgotten
those halcyon days. They remained among his fondest memories. He was still
reflecting upon them when Mr. Doughty returned to the cabin.
Trent snapped to at once, ashamed to be caught
woolgathering. While Doughty finished up the packing, Trent made haste to
finish his report.
He was just inking in his name with his usual precision when
Doughty closed up the trunk and announced, "There now. That's all square,
Cap'n."
"Very good, Mr. Doughty. Convey the trunk
topside."
"Aye, aye, sir. And I just want to be thanking you,
sir, fer taking me with you. I haven't been off this ship since they brought me
from the excises. I've never seen Norfolk, but I hear tell they have a fine
coastline. Plenty of prime coves for smuggling."
When Trent glanced up sharply, Doughty flashed a bright
smile.
"Only jesting, sir."
"I sincerely hope so, Mr. Doughty. Just as I hope you
will contain some of your enthusiasm and recollect that at the end of two
weeks, we will be back here aboard ship. Both of us."
"Indeed. O'course, sir," Doughty responded glibly.
Trent frowned, experiencing again that stirring of
uneasiness, wondering if he was making a mistake trusting the roguish steward.
He might have been wrong to request the use of Doughty's services away from the
ship. Taking him inland might set the most dreadful temptation in the man's
way.
But Trent was swiftly distracted from these troubling
thoughts. Moving to close the sea chest, Doughty let out a loud howl, followed
by a string of curses.
"What the devil is amiss now, Mr. Doughty?" Trent
demanded. "Did you smash your thumb?"
The steward's face was puckered into an expression of dismay
that appeared ludicrously childlike on such a brawny fellow.
"No, Cap'n, beggin' yer pardon, sir, but 'tis pure
calamity, that's what it is. Look what happened during that last squall that
bumped your sea chest about."
Doughty's hand trembled as he delved into the chest and drew
forth what looked like no more than a handful of crumbled stone. When it
finally occurred to Trent what had broken, he shrugged.
"It was only the figurine that Greek sea captain
insisted upon giving me," Trent said. "Just a casting of Saint
somebody or other."
"Saint Nicholas, Cap'n," Doughty said
reproachfully. "Saint Nicholas, the protector of all sailors. Oh, woe
betide! This be an ill omen, sir. Best postpone all your plans, the shore leave
and the wedding!"
"Don't be ridiculous."
Doughty was appallingly superstitious, like most seamen, and
Trent had little patience with it. He ordered the steward to dispose of the
broken pieces and then see to removing his baggage to the quarterdeck.
Although Doughty moved to obey, he shook his head darkly.
Even as he hoisted the trunk to his shoulder and left the cabin, Trent could
still hear him muttering lamentations beneath his breath, the dire prediction
that he never expected to live to see his captain exchange vows with Miss Emma
Waverly.