Anne Herries - Marrying Captain Jack

‘It would offend my sense of decency where a young lady of respectable birth is concerned,’ Jack replied harshly. ‘Even if we had an understanding, which we do not, I should not expect such liberties until after the wedding. As I have no plans to marry just yet, I think we should bring this conversation to an end, Miss Tremaine.’

He had been too blunt, for she had turned bright red and rushed from the conservatory, leaving him wishing that he had chosen his words more carefully. Jack had not meant to offend her, and though she had pushed herself on him determinedly since his arrival, he had done nothing to discourage her. Indeed, she was very much the kind of lady he had been toying with the idea of marrying, because he believed she was unlikely to be easily hurt. She had come out four seasons ago, and had not yet married. He had no idea why, because she was beautiful and in possession of a small fortune, which should have been enough to secure her many offers. Either she had refused them all or for some reason her suitors had held back.

Dismissing Miss Tremaine from his thoughts, Jack went out into the garden to smoke a last cigar. He was thoughtful as he stared at the moon, remembering his dance with Miss Horne, a faint smile on his lips. There was no doubt about it, she was an enchanting child—much too young for him, of course. Besides, her mama had clearly heard those damned rumours, for why else had she intervened when he had been about to invite Lucy to take supper with him? It annoyed him that the tales should be circulating, but there was nothing he could do to refute them.

She was a careful mother, and he did not fault her for that, because he knew what perils could lie in the path of an innocent whose mother—or rather stepmother—did not care enough to protect her. Mrs Horne would take some convincing that he was a fit person to court her daughter. He could, if he chose, set her mind at rest, but for the moment he did not care to—it was not his secret and he would keep it close to his chest, as he had promised. In any case, he had no intention of paying court to Lucy Horne—even if she was the most enchanting little thing he had seen in a long time.

He had stayed on for the ball, as he had promised Drew and Marianne he would, but there was nothing to keep him here now. He would bid his hosts farewell this evening, and leave first thing in the morning. There was something he needed to do in town…

Lucy did not rise as early as usual the next morning. Her mama had given instructions that she should be allowed to sleep on, and so it was past nine when she woke. She rose, went over to the window and drew the curtains, looking out at the gardens. The sun was already quite warm, and as she opened her window the scent of blossom came to her.

She knew that her mama, Aunt Bertha and Jo would all still be in their rooms. Marianne might be stirring, for she had always liked to walk early in the morning. Lucy decided to dress and go down, though she knew that her maid was waiting for her to ring. However, there was enough cold water in her jug, left over from the previous evening, to wash her hands and face, even though it made her shiver.

Once dressed in a simple muslin gown, she went downstairs, letting herself out into the garden. She had stopped to smell a dark red rose when she saw Marianne coming towards her, a basket of cut blooms over her arm.

‘Are you up already, dearest?’ Marianne asked. ‘Mama said that you should be allowed to sleep in. I think she thought you would not rise before noon.’

‘Oh, I like to be up early,’ Lucy said. ‘As you always have, Marianne.’

‘Yes, we are alike in that,’ her sister said with an affectionate look. ‘Did you enjoy yourself last night, my love? I do not think you sat out one dance, did you?’

‘No…’ Lucy gave a gurgle of pleasure. ‘Everyone was so kind to me, Marianne. I do not know if it was because I am your sister.’

‘No, I am very sure it was not,’ Marianne replied. ‘You are lovely, dearest Lucy, both in form and nature.’

‘Mr Tristram said something of the kind,’ Lucy said with a blush. ‘I danced the supper waltz with Lord Harcourt.’ A little smile played about her soft mouth, for it had been the highlight of her evening.

‘Yes, I know,’ Marianne replied, a little frown creasing her brow. ‘He left first thing this morning. I think he had offended Miss Tremaine. I saw her looking very angry after she left him last evening.’

‘Oh…’ Lucy hesitated, then, ‘I thought perhaps he meant to ask her…I mean, that they might have an understanding…’

‘I believe she may have thought that they did,’ Marianne replied thoughtfully. ‘Jack is sometimes unwise in his manner, and she did rather push herself on him, though he did nothing to discourage her. He is a flirt, of course. I have heard people say he is a rake, though I am not sure it is true, at least not these days. He may have his…arrangements, of course, but many unmarried gentlemen do. But it is more than that, I think. I have asked Drew, but he will not say.’ She shook her head. ‘It does not matter. I like him very well, and he is always generous.’

‘Yes, he is kind. I have always thought so,’ Lucy agreed. ‘I am sorry he has gone. I did not get a chance to say goodbye to him.’

‘Well, I dare say you may see him in London when you go up with Mama next week,’ Marianne said. ‘I believe he spends much of his time in London, though he has a large and very beautiful country house—and he is a wealthy landowner and has a respected title. I dare say that was what attracted Miss Tremaine. She has held out for a title, I believe, but so far none has come her way.’

‘Oh…is that why she has not yet married?’ Lucy looked thoughtful. ‘It must be a consideration, I suppose, but I do not think it would be important if one loved a gentleman—do you, Marianne?’

‘When I fell in love with Drew, I did not know he had a title and I did not think him rich,’ Marianne said, smiling at the memory. ‘He was posing as plain Mr Beck, and the boots he wore were quite disreputable. He still clings to them now, though his valet despairs of them and he has more than a dozen pairs of new ones.’

‘Drew is Drew,’ Lucy declared with a lilting laugh. ‘There is no one like him, Marianne. Harry is very nice and kind, but Drew is wonderful. I am so glad that you fell in love with him, because I like to see you happy—and your little Andrea is gorgeous.’

‘Yes, she is, isn’t she?’ Marianne said. ‘Come, Lucy, let us go in. We can go up to the nursery and see if she is awake, because early in the morning is the best time to play with her.’

The rest of Lucy’s stay with Marianne and Drew flew by. Sometimes she caught herself thinking about Lord Harcourt, but she tried hard not to dwell on her feelings for him. After all, she had thought of him as her ‘prince’ for years without feeling heartache, and if she were strict with herself, she could pretend that nothing had changed, even though she knew that her childish dreams had become something very different. As a child she had dreamed of him, but it had all been far away, remaining just a dream, but now…seeing him, talking to him, dancing with him, had made her so much more aware of him as a man.

During her last afternoon at the Marlbeck estate, Lucy had a visitor. Mr Tristram came to call and she walked with him in the gardens for half an hour before tea. At first they spoke of inconsequential things, recalling the ball and talking of the lovely weather, which had remained fine for some days—and then he stopped walking and turned to look at her.

‘So you go to London in the morning, Miss Lucy?’

‘Yes, we leave first thing,’ Lucy said. ‘I believe we shall stop at an inn for one night—that is, Mama and I, of course. Aunt Bertha has decided to stay here and then return to her home in Cornwall. Marianne and Drew are to follow in a couple of days and we shall all be together for most of my stay in town.’