Dark Before the Rising Sun (23 page)

“Aye, helped lift ye into the coach himself, he did,” Kirby said. “Thought at first he'd come to finish ye off, but surprised me by lendin' a hand. A real fine gentleman, he is.”

“Have you met the duchess yet?” Dante asked as he took a spoonful of broth. When the little steward remained silent, he glanced up curiously and had his third surprise of the night. Kirby was actually blushing with embarrassment. Never before had Dante seen the little man looking so uncomfortable, even distressed. “What is wrong?”

“Nothin'.”

“Come now, Kirby,” Dante invited the other man's confidence, “you can tell me, can't you? You didn't get in an argument with the woman, did you? Lord, that would do it. I had hoped to greet Rhea's mother on a cordial note.”

“Oh, no, 'twasn't anythin' like that,” Kirby sighed. “Her Grace is the loveliest, most beautiful and kind lady I've ever laid eyes on. An angel, she is, m'lord. I can see that Lady Rhea takes after her, yes indeed.”

Dante stared, incredulous. Never had Kirby seemed so impressed by a woman. The only two women Dante ever had known the steward to accept had been Rhea Claire and Dante's mother, Elayne.

“Why, you old sea dog,” Dante murmured affectionately, and Kirby glanced up gratefully, knowing the captain would say naught of this to a living soul. “I am sorry I did not have the pleasure of meeting this paragon.”

“Ye did, only ye was unconscious at the time,” Kirby told a startled Dante. “Oh, don't worry. Ye was decent. They'd just brought ye in and laid ye on the bed when she and Lady Rhea Claire came in. Her Grace was tryin' to calm the young lady down, for ye was lookin' pretty poorly. Thought ye was dead, she did. Never seen such an upset young lady. Reckon she still loves ye,” Kirby said, sounding as if he had yet to approve of the relationship.

Dante relaxed against the pillows, feeling far better than he had since crossing bows with young Lord Robin Dominick and the other far from friendly young fellow.

“Wouldn't be lookin' so pleased if I was ye. We've still a long way to go before we're accepted by this family,” Kirby advised.

“Did Her Grace say anything?”

Kirby sniffed. “Stood here beside your bed for a while, eyein' ye good. Don't reckon them bonny eyes missed a thing about ye, m'lord. Can't say, though, they was exactly friendly, or admirin',” Kirby said, taking the empty bowl.

“If she was of a mind similar to her young son's, then I am surprised she didn't whack me on the head while I lay unconscious,” Dante said, yawning sleepily. “Are you certain she did not have a pistol tucked away in her shawl?”

“Ye wouldn't be sayin' that if ye could have seen that sweet face. Why, I don't s'pose there could be a less bloodthirsty person alive. Her Grace, bein' so small and dainty, struck me as a gentle and kindhearted lady who'd probably faint dead away at the sight of a pistol, much less know how to use one,” Kirby defended her fiercely.

“Rhea looked sweet and innocent enough at first, yet she nearly set afire our treasure map,” the captain of the
Sea Dragon
reminded the little steward. Dante Leighton yawned again, his eyelids feeling heavy as he made himself more comfortable against the pillows Kirby had just plumped beneath his shoulders.

“Ye're feelin' pretty smart about gettin' into Camareigh, ain't ye, m'lord?” the little steward demanded with a suspicious glint in his eye, for the captain wasn't above pulling a trick or two if he thought it would help him achieve his aims. “If I hadn't seen ye knocked from that horse with my own eyes and seen that bump on your head and an ankle twice its size, I would be suspectin' ye of bein' up to one of your deceptions.”

The Marquis of Jacqobi opened a lazy eye. “'Tis a pity I didn't think of it before that fire-eating brother of Rhea's did, for I would not have been quite so excessive. A sprained ankle at the most,” Dante declared, thinking he would have to have a word with Robin Dominick. Either that or develop eyes in the back of his head.

Drowsily, Dante stared into the flames, fascinated by their flickering lights. When next he woke, Rhea Claire was sitting in the rose silk chair, and the fire was but a few glowing cinders.

“Little daffadilly,” he murmured.

“Dante!” she cried in relief as she jumped to her feet.

“I've not been forgotten?” he asked as she sat down gently on the edge of the bed, her violet eyes searching his face for any sign of fever.

“Did you really think I could?” Her sweet smile changed to a different kind when she felt his arms sliding around her waist. He pulled her against his bare chest.

“I've missed you, Rhea,” Dante whispered against the softness of her golden hair. “I haven't been truly warm since you left my bed.”

“'Tis just as well then that we are reunited, for winter is coming quickly,” Rhea said, sounding so practical that Dante winced, but before he could complain of the cold welcome, she had wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his, taking the initiative away from him.

“I may be invalided because of this damned accident, but I've not lost my male instinct, no matter how unimpressed this Rawley woman is,” Dante said, his breath warm against her mouth.

Rhea laughed softly. “So you have met our Rawley?”

“Not only Rawley, but also some foul concoction called a ‘special treat,'” Dante informed her with an injured look. “I still believe the woman meant to do me in. Now,
that
is carrying loyalty too far.” Dante grinned.

“My poor sweetheart,” Rhea said. After all, she had been brought up on Mrs. Taylor's Special Treat.

“I shall expect very loving care from you if I am to recover,” he warned her.

Rhea's smile faded and her eyes clouded. “Dante, I—I do not know what to say. How can I explain my brother? He was acting out of love for me. Can you find it in your heart to forgive him? I could not bear it if you and Robin did not like one another,” Rhea told him, pleading. To her vast relief, Dante smiled. How could he condemn in another the same passion he himself felt for Rhea? He knew that he, too, could not be held accountable for his actions should anything threaten his beloved.

“You are not angry?”

“I was, but perhaps not anymore. If he would allow me, I could commiserate with this Robin about the pains and joys of loving you,” Dante admitted.

Rhea rested her head against Dante's shoulder, beginning to hope that all would be well now that Dante had arrived at Camareigh.

For Satan finds some mischief still

For idle hands to do.

—Isaac Watts

“Now, where did that mischief-maker get to?” Kirby demanded of no one in particular as he stomped along the corridor. Glancing up, he encountered the haughty, cold stares of countless, nameless Dominick ancestors gracing the walls of the Long Gallery, and he slowed his pace and proceeded more circumspectly, for it never was wise to disturb the dead.

“Warned him, I did. Won't put up with none of his usual nonsense, I said. But does that flea-bitten, rascally tom listen?” the little steward demanded of himself, a grievous look settling on his face as he glanced around the quiet room, imagining what mischief the cat was up to at that very instant. But there was no trace of Jamaica. All was quiet. He should be grateful for small favors, Kirby thanked his lucky stars, for the room wasn't in a shambles. That was more than he could say for the kitchens.

Not over an hour past he had seen the orange and white tabby being chased from the kitchen by a broom-wielding scullery maid. And upon investigating further, being prepared even to come to the miserable feline's defense should it come to that, he had found, instead, the kitchen in an uproar with the staff threatening to mutiny.

The cook, despite being tiny, was raising hell while swinging a frying pan like so much gossamer. Mrs. Peacham was in charge of an incredible domain of copper pots and pans, newly washed china, and fats dripping from savory-smelling meats roasted on spits in the giant stone hearth which occupied the whole south end of the kitchen. Steam rose from countless kettles and black iron pots, and drying herbs, hanging in bunches from the rafters, added their spicy scents to the room.

Much to Kirby's chagrin, though not his surprise, a thieving tomcat known by the name of Jamaica had sneaked into the room and, undetected until too late, licked clean a plate of freshly baked salmon, followed by a selection of kidneys and bacon. He had even managed to take a bite from a slice of beef. All of his meal had been destined for the family's breakfast.

Kirby was muttering under his breath as he left the Long Gallery and turned toward the south wing and the rooms belonging to the Dominick family and their guests. Dante was in one of those rooms, and Kirby decided that was where Jamaica had ended up. No one would dare skin an inch of fur from that feline's back while he enjoyed the protection of the captain.

Kirby had just about reached the corridor leading back into the wing when he noticed that the double doors of one of the rooms were ajar. Lying just outside the opened doors was a small piece of half-chewed meat. Kirby smiled. He had the thief cornered.

“Ah-hah! Got ye now, ye scurvy, hell-born piece of ballast!” he cried out as he jumped into the room, slamming the doors shut behind him. As he glared around, his knees nearly gave out. He was staring at the stunned face of the Duchess of Camareigh. In her lap was none other than the conniving tom himself.

“Oh…no! Your Grace!” Kirby wailed in mortification, his bright red face the picture of abject misery. “Oh,” he repeated, unable to find his wits.

Sabrina, Duchess of Camareigh, smiled. It was either that or start laughing, and that would never have done. “This
is
your cat, is it not?” she asked.

Kirby nodded miserably.

“I take it he has been up to mischief? He stole the salmon intended for breakfast?” she guessed.

Kirby's mouth dropped open. “How did ye know, Your Grace?”

The duchess laughed aloud. “I can smell it on his breath,” she told the embarrassed steward, and to his amazement, she rubbed the purring tom under his chin while speaking softly to him.

“I'll take him back to the stables, Your Grace,” Kirby offered, promising himself he'd see that the old tomcat was soundly disciplined for causing such a disruption. “The captain'll be mighty upset to think Jamaica was botherin' ye.”

“Oh, 'tis the captain's cat too?”

“Well, more his than mine. Actually, Jamaica was the mascot aboard the
Sea Dragon
, but 'twas the captain who rescued him when he found him tied up in a sack in Port Royal.”

“I can see that my son-in-law and I have at least two things in common,” the duchess remarked.

“Beggin' your pardon, Your Grace, but I don't see how ye could have much in common with the captain,” Kirby risked contradicting the duchess, his eyes shining with admiration as he stared at her. Dressed in a gown of emerald green velvet and lace, her black hair waved into delicate curls and draped with pearls, the Duchess of Camareigh looked like a queen.

“We both love Rhea, and we both have a fondness for cats,” she said with a grin that altered her appearance and made the little steward think of a mischievous child. Like her own son, Robin, in fact.

“And he does love Rhea, doesn't he, Mr. Kirby?” the duchess asked softly, completely disarming Kirby with her smile and the questioning look in those incredible violet eyes.

“Aye, Your Grace,” he said simply. “The cap'n's not been the same since he first saw her. Loves her like he does Merdraco, and like he did his mum, the Dowager Lady Jacqobi, before she died. He still reveres her memory. There be only a few things his lordship treasures in this world, and once he's given his heart to them, they're always a part of him. Reckon he'd go crazy if he lost either Rhea or Merdraco,” Kirby said firmly. He was uneasy thinking about what would happen when they got to Merdraco.

“A love like that can become obsessive,” the duchess said, thinking of Kate.

“Aye, that it can, Your Grace,” Kirby agreed. “But, if I might say so, Lady Rhea Claire, being the gentle and understandin' lady she is, might make all the difference in the world to the cap'n's future. She has already influenced the cap'n in her own quiet way, I figure she'll always be doin' it. Reckon he's not even aware of it, though.”

“How very astute of you, Mr. Kirby,” the duchess said, her smile warmer as she met the confident little man's wise eyes. “I have a feeling that you know both the captain and Rhea far better than either one may realize. You are not to be underestimated, Mr. Kirby.”

“Please, Your Grace, just Kirby,” he suggested in embarrassment. He was, after all, still the captain's steward, even though wealthy in his own right.

“Very well, Kirby, but I shall tell you now that I shall not look upon you as a servant. From what I have heard from my daughter, you may well have saved her life, and I shall always be grateful for your many kindnesses to her,” she told the flustered man. “Besides, are you not a rich man now? Will you be leaving the captain?” she inquired in what sounded deceptively like mere polite conversation.

“Oh, no, Your Grace. My place will always be by his lordship's side and with his family, at least, as long as I am wanted. I was born at Merdraco, and I'll most likely die there. I'll continue to serve the captain and Lady Rhea Claire and their heirs,” he said stoutly.

“Loyal and noble, yet not above a wee bit of larceny, I suspect. You remind me of two friends I once knew far better than I do today, which is a pity. They live near Verrick House, my old home in Sussex. They stood by me when I was in need of their very broad shoulders for support and assistance,” the duchess said with a soft chuckle, as if remembering a private joke. “Will and John Taylor. How I do miss them and the days when we…well, that is not for today,” the duchess halted. The curled form of Jamaica seemed to be reminding her of another time, and of both sad and joyful memories best left forgotten. She shook her head to clear her thoughts.

“I am honored, Your Grace,” Kirby said, bowing deeply, endearing himself to the duchess without realizing it.

“And how is your master today, Kirby? Do you think he is up to a visitor? No,” the duchess answered her own question. “I shall wait until he is not at the disadvantage. He would feel obliged to stand in my presence, would he not?” she asked innocently, but Kirby had the distinct feeling that Rawley had been telling tales about the captain and his breeches and that the Duchess of Camareigh had found the stories amusing.

“Aye, Your Grace. The captain still knows how to be a gentleman when he wants to,” Kirby said, not realizing how revealing a remark that was.

The duchess was thoughtful. “I see. Rhea has told me that he has made his living quite successfully as a privateer and smuggler these many years,” she said. “We have had several very interesting conversations about your Dante Leighton. He would seem to be a most enterprising gentleman.”

“Oh?” Kirby said, not quite knowing whether the captain was being complimented or criticized. “Aye, he is that, but he's considered quite respectable too. In the trade, that is.” Kirby came quickly to his captain's defense. “He really
was
brought up a gentleman, Your Grace.”

“You needn't defend his honor to me, Kirby. As a matter of fact, just between you and me, I have the utmost respect for a man who can make the most of adversity. Raised a gentleman, with few practical skills, Dante Leighton might have lived off others after he lost his fortune. But instead he went out and worked for the wealth he now possesses. There can be no disgrace in trying to survive as best one knows how. He can be proud of his years as a ship's captain.

“My family, before I wed His Grace, was not wealthy. We had to struggle sometimes to keep food on the table. I was forced to help in any way I could, but I was determined to survive, Kirby, and I cannot condemn another for attempting to do the same.”

Kirby was speechless. He had hardly expected to hear admiration of the captain from the Duchess of Camareigh. Something of his surprise and pleasure must have shown on his face, for the duchess felt compelled to say something further, but this time she spoke warningly.

“However, I do not condone his actions where my daughter was concerned. He took advantage of her innocence, and I shall not forgive him for that. At least I shall not until I am certain that he will make my daughter as happy as she would have been in a marriage to another man, and in less suspicious circumstances. Your Dante Leighton, Kirby, is a very handsome devil, and I suspect that he is used to having his way,” the duchess accurately accused. “My sweet Rhea Claire never had a chance, did she? No, please do not answer, for I would not ask disloyalty of you.”

“No, Your Grace,” Kirby said without guilt, “the cap'n can act like the devil. He isn't perfect, Your Grace, but underneath his arrogance and seemin' contempt for what some people would call bein' proper, he's a good man. I'd not have stayed with him all these years otherwise, Your Grace. I would've left him to his fate, whatever it might have been,” Kirby said honestly.

“Yes, I believe you would,” she said, her hands rubbing the soft fur of the pampered ship's mascot.

The duchess continued to fondle Jamaica, but her thoughts were on something else, for when she glanced up at Kirby, her expression was slightly troubled. “What
is
to be the fate of Dante Leighton, Kirby?”

Kirby ran a finger beneath his stock while he cleared his throat, unprepared to answer. Not only was he uncertain of the captain's fate, but also his speculations would cause only worry for the duchess.

“He returns to Merdraco with a purpose, does he not? He is determined, now that he is a wealthy man, to reclaim his heritage? Perhaps regain his honor?”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Kirby admitted.

“Dreaming of success is far easier than achieving it, Kirby.”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Kirby agreed. “But the cap'n—his lordship, that is—is not the same young man who ran away so many years ago. He's become a man who knows no fear when it comes to achievin' his goals. But…” Kirby hesitated, not willing to put his most troubled thoughts into words.

“Kirby?”

“Well, even though the cap'n's been involved in breakin' the law, he's never been guilty of betrayin' another, nor of cheatin' at cards, if ye understand what I'm sayin'? The captain will fight to the death to win, Your Grace, but he'll not lose his honor doin' it. But…other folks may not play so fair,” Kirby finished.

“So what you are telling me then, Kirby, is that my daughter could well find herself a widow before giving birth to her child?”

Kirby swallowed, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he faced her searching gaze. “No, Your Grace,” the little steward finally replied. “The cap'n and me, well, we've come a long way. 'Twas a struggle at times, but we made it. No, Your Grace, I have to believe now that he will succeed in becomin' master of Merdraco once again. I cannot believe that all of it will end in a cold grave on a hillside. No, Your Grace, I have to believe that the cap'n overcome anything. His enemies may do as they like, but he will succeed. He will,” Houston Kirby pronounced.

“I trust you are right, Kirby,” the duchess said slowly.

“The captain has to succeed,” Kirby repeated to himself later as he walked back along the shadowy gallery, Jamaica held firmly in his arms.

“Don't think ye could be sparin' the cap'n at least one of them nine lives of yours, d'ye, Jamaica? 'Cause I got this achin' feelin' in me bones that he's goin' to be needin' all the luck he can find if we're to come out of this with a whole skin,” the little steward muttered. The well-fed, contented tom eyed the newel post as they passed, as if he hadn't anything more to worry about than sharpening his claws.

* * *

“I'm beginning to wonder if there isn't something horribly wrong with this husband of yours, Rhea Claire. Why, 'tis nearly two weeks now since he was brought to Camareigh,” Caroline Winters complained, her displeasure increasing as she noted the lovely primrose gown Rhea was wearing. Her friend was more beautiful than ever despite the fact that she was enceinte. Even that was hard to believe, for Rhea's waist was still smaller than her own, Caroline thought in dismay while selecting another dish of rice and apple pudding.