Her Proper Scoundrel (33 page)

“It’s yer lucky day.” The burly form of the guard swam into view. “Ye can leave.”

A chorus of jeers and shouts met the guard’s announcement. Christopher felt a flare of sympathy. The hapless residents had naught else to do but make noise.

“Lucky sod,” muttered McEllis, swiping a grimy hand across his jaw.
 

 
“Ye must have friends in ‘igh places,” whined another. “It ain’t fair.”

“Don’t forget us, captain,” mocked an unseen voice from the far corner.

“Shut yer yaps, the lot of ye.” The guard laid his hand on the club at his waist then gestured to Christopher to stand. “Don’t be wasting any more time.”

Christopher lurched to his feet and addressed his former cellmates: “The second I leave this room, gentlemen, you can rest assured, I shall think of you every day.” And he gave them a mocking bow.

Ignoring the curses showering him, he limped behind the guard. He reached out and tapped the man’s shoulders.

“I presume you will remove my shackles?”

“Aye. But not until we reach the magistrate’s chamber.”

“Then let us make haste, shall we?” Christopher increased his pace, almost shoving the guard aside in his hurry to leave the stench and noise of Newgate behind him.

The magistrate’s room was quiet save for the magistrate himself who read, lips moving silently, from a large, leather bound volume. The man glanced up to look at Christopher. A slight smile flowed across his lips then he went back to his book.

As the guard unlocked his shackles, Christopher surveyed the room. The hour was early and save for a distinguished gentleman in a beaver hat sitting on the same bench he and Josceline had sat on yesterday, the chamber was empty.

His heart sank. There was no sign of Josceline. Then how had he been released?

“She’s waiting for you in the carriage.” The distinguished gentleman got to his feet and strolled over to Christopher.

“I must beg pardon, are we acquainted?” he asked warily. The gentleman was unknown to him although he did wear a faint cloak of familiarity.

“Sadly, no.”

“Then who in blazes are you?”

The man nodded. “I would be angry too if I were in your boots.” He stretched out a hand. “I am Lord Thaddeus Candel. Your father.”

Incredulous, Christopher stared at the proffered hand. He lifted his gaze slowly to look into brown eyes. His own eyes. He looked down again at the hand still extended towards him. He swallowed hard against the lump expanding in his throat.

How did one greet one’s father for the first time? A father he had never met until this very moment, a father who had not recognized him, indeed had banished him to the Royal Navy?

Anger waged a battle with expectation within him. Now what? Would he become part of his father’s life? Or would he be shoved away again, an embarrassment to the Candel name by reason of his birth?

He started to quake with the force of it which brought forth a wave of shame at his weakness. He, who had faced enemy cannon and musket fire, had bested the sea during her stormy moods, had fought hand to hand battles on deck with fierce enemies, was at this very moment unsure of himself.

“I’m not going to let it drop until you shake it so unless you wish to sorely tire an old man, I suggest you return the favor.”

Christopher extended his hand. It wobbled like a wheel about to fall off a cart and didn’t stop wobbling until securely clasped in Thaddeus’.

“You look like your mother,” he said mildly. “I loved her, you know. I don’t expect you to forgive me but perhaps one day you will understand the choice I made.”
   

Tight-lipped, Christopher looked at the man before him and nodded once, a slight motion that barely lifted his chin.

“This is a small gesture on my part,” continued his father, gaze steady on Christopher, “a small attempt to rectify matters between us.” He handed over a package bound with a leather thong.

Christopher recognized it; his mouth fell open.
 

“The deed to the ship your brother cheated you of. She belongs to you well and truly.” A wry smile ghosted across his lips. “Both of them, I suppose. The “Bessie” and Josceline. She’s a lovely girl and you are indeed a lucky man. She fought for you. Her love for you made her as strong as any soldier.”

He lifted his walking stick and tapped it against the brim of his hat. Without a further word, he turned on his heel and strode away, his steps firm and steady against the stone floor. The gait of an important man, a man who knew he wielded power.

Christopher fought the urge to vomit. Hunger, he decided. It wasn’t the emotion of the moments boiling in his belly, it was hunger. Choking back the bile, he watched the receding back of his father and felt-.

Nothing. He felt nothing.

Bemused, he shook his head. His father. A strange notion. The man had given him life and a means to earn a living but nothing else. He was a stranger to Christopher.

Still, Thaddeus had come through for him.

Sudden warmth flushed through Christopher and his forehead and groin dampened. He tossed his thoughts to Oliver and waited for the hatred and disdain to surge, waited for the envy to bubble to the surface, waited for the familiar feelings of inadequacy to squash him.

And none of it happened.

Peace descended on him like a shower of gentle spring rain. For once, his father had sided with him. His father had recognized the injustice dealt to Christopher and had done what he could.

With amazement, Christopher realized his half brother didn’t matter anymore. The odd sensation made him feel naked and lost without the familiar emotions to cling to.

But now he could find new emotions to fill the void, emotions to build on. He could find stability in the love he felt for Josceline and the love she claimed she felt for him.

They had their ship.

They had Midland House.

They had a future.

He let out a whoop of joy and sprinted for the carriage and Josceline, clutching the deed in his hand.

Chapter Thirty

“I still say you should have rested another day,” scolded Josceline. She glowered at Christopher sitting across the table from her in the morning room.

Sunlight filtered through the freshly laundered lace curtains, dappling his face and leaving a pattern on the crisp table linens. It promised to be a fine day and pleasure welled within her – spring had well and truly arrived.
 

He cocked a familiar eyebrow at her; a small smile hopped around the edges of his mouth. “There’s nothing wrong with me, kitten. I’ve been flat on my back for two days and am bored silly. Besides, it was only four days in jail.” He patted his midriff. “I vow, it doesn’t hurt a man to lose a pound or two.”

“I know just the thing.” She leaned over the table to grab Christopher’s plate then made her way to the sideboard. Lifting first one silver lid, then another, she finally decided on the thick slices of ham. She piled high his plate with them and threw in a spoonful of scrambled eggs for good measure.

With her back to him, she didn’t see the indulgent look on Christopher’s face as he watched her, or the growing heat in his eyes as he regarded her pert bottom when she leant over the sideboard.

His face was bland as she turned back to him.

She gave him a suspicious look as if to say: I know very well what you’re thinking.

“Here.” She plopped the plate down in front of him. “See that you gain them back. I should like my husband to have a little meat on his bones.”

She didn’t move away, just stood there with her fists on her hips. Christopher glanced up at her and flashed his most winning smile. A lock of hair, mahogany in the morning sun, curved across his forehead and his eyes twinkled with good humor.

He looked precisely like a naughty little boy caught with his hand in the sugared plums. She swallowed her laughter – it would do no good to let the man think he could wheedle her into having his way.

“That will not work, Mr. Sharrington,” she said with mock severity although an answering smile tickled the corners of her mouth. She pointed to his plate. “Eat.”

He rolled his eyes skyward. “I vow, Josceline, if I had known you were such a termagant, I would have thought twice about engaging you as my governess,” he teased.

He pushed away the plate.

She pushed it back.

“Mr. Sharrington,” she began again then squealed when he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down onto his lap.

“Do you suppose if I kiss you thoroughly you will stop nagging me?”

“Really, Mr. Sharrington, where do you get these outlandish notions from?” She lifted her lips. “But if it will make you happy, please do so.”

He dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “Count yourself lucky to get off so easily, Mrs. Sharrington,” he whispered. “We have an audience.”

Josceline giggled. “I suppose Philip and Tom are here?” She slid off his lap and adjusted her yellow and white striped frock.

She had worn it today at Christopher’s request – he had told her she reminded him of sunshine that day she had visited him in Bristol Newgate. She turned to the door to find two pairs of blue eyes fastened on her. “You may come in, boys.”

The two vaulted into the room at full speed and skidded to a halt in front of the sideboard.

“When are we leaving?” Philip asked, stepping from one foot to the other like a little mechanical soldier. “To see the sailing ship?” He turned to Christopher. “You promised you would take us, you promised.”

Christopher laughed and the joyous sound sent thrills down Josceline’s back. How he had changed. The haunted, angry look no longer lurked in his eyes and his mouth no longer pinched as if he was always wearing boots two sizes too small.

He hadn’t told her yet about his encounter with Lord Thaddeus Candel but she knew he would tell her when he was ready to.

The most important thing, however, was his father giving him the papers to the “Bessie.” How Christopher had cradled that package in one bent elbow all the way home; with the other arm, he had pulled her close, holding her so tightly to him he was worse than any corset she had ever worn. And she had loved every second of it.

Tom tugged on her sleeve. “Are you coming with us, Lady Josceline?” His little face beneath the tousled blonde curls was solemn. “I should really like you to come.”

“Of course, Tom. I shan’t let you fellows have all the fun.”

Tedham poked his head in the door. “The carriage is ready, Mr. Sharrington.” He held aloft a basket covered with a linen cloth. “Mrs. Belton sent this. She said two growing boys shall be hungry in no time.”

“Splendid,” Christopher nodded. “Shall we?” He got to his feet and pointed to the door.

“So thoughtful, please give her our thanks,” Josceline murmured as she trailed behind them.

They piled into the carriage, with Philip and Tom insisting on sitting beside Josceline on the rear squabs.

“Mind you sit still and don’t bother Lady Josceline,” Christopher ordered. “If you don’t, you shan’t have pudding for lunch.”

“We’ll be good, we promise.” Philip took command. “Tom, you must not sit too close to Lady Josceline or she shall break.”

“Good heavens, I shan’t break that easily.” And she gathered the two of them close to her, wrapping her yellow shawl about them like a mother goose shepherding her goslings.

Christopher could scarce fathom the unfamiliar swell of love threatening to overcome him at the sight. His eyes prickled with emotion and he had to blink several times before leaning back to regard the trio.

They regarded him back with equal intensity.

“Is aught amiss?” Josceline’s brow wrinkled with concern.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” He leaned across to smooth away the furrows between her eyebrows then dropped his finger to trace the outline of her lips. She kissed the tip of it lightly before he pulled it away. He lifted that finger to his own mouth to kiss and blew it back at her.

“Ooooh.” Philip grimaced. “Don’t kiss. It’s disgusting.”

“Disgusting,” echoed Tom.

“Not to worry, we’ll behave,” replied Christopher, ruffling a hand through Philip’s hair. “Now let’s play a game, shall we? Let us count all the horses we see between here and Bristol.”

With the boy’s attention diverted outside, he winked at Josceline. She responded with a mock frown then burst into laughter, blushing prettily at his steady regard.

He had every intention, he decided, of gazing at her the entire trip. That would make the journey to the harbor pass very pleasantly.

* * *

The “Bessie” floated tranquilly at her berth in the harbor. The tide was in; the gang plank lowered, ready for their visit.

“Mind you do not run on the gang plank,” cautioned Christopher with a stern look to Philip and Tom. “We don’t want you ending up in the river and floating out to sea. And mind, too, not to run on the deck. It could be slippery.”

He waited a moment until the boys reached the ship proper before guiding Josceline ahead of him with a light hand on the small of her back.