Louise M.: The Captain's Lady

“Leave them.” Marianne retrieved her brother’s letter from her desk drawer. “I wish to sit and read awhile.”

Emma seemed to blink away disappointment. “Shall I wait, my lady?”

“No. You may go.” Marianne pulled her woolen dressing gown around her, shivering a little against the cold night air. “I can warm the bed again if I need to. Thank you, Emma.”

Her little maid fairly danced from the room with a happiness Marianne envied. How wonderful to find a suitable man to love, one of equal rank, whom Papa and Mama would approve of without reservation. But the heart was an unruly, untamable thing, as evidenced by Frederick’s marriage and her own love for Jamie Templeton.

After she and Mama left Papa and Jamie, it had been all she could do to keep from pleading for her mother’s support for that love, especially since Mama seemed reconciled to Frederick’s marriage. But Mama had excused herself to attend to household matters, leaving Marianne to languish outside Papa’s study in hopes of seeing Jamie again. That is, until her brother’s missive began to burn in her hand. Here was her ally in the family. Frederick would support her love for Jamie, of that she was certain.

Seated now in her bedchamber in her favorite place to read, Marianne broke the seal on Frederick’s letter and unfolded the vellum page. A small, folded piece fell out, so she quickly perused the first one, which repeated the information he’d written to Papa. The details about his dear wife assured Marianne that she would love Rachel and call her “sister” the moment they met.

Wishing that meeting might happen soon, she opened the smaller page—and gasped at the first words. “You must not think to do as I have done, dear sister. For reasons I cannot now explain, other than to say it is for your own happiness and written because I am devoted to you, you must release our mutual friend from the premature vows you traded with him on his last visit to London. To continue this ill-advised alliance will bring only heartache to you both. While he is a man of blameless character, he will not make a suitable husband for the daughter of a peer of the realm. I cannot say more except that you must, you must heed my advice, my beloved sister.”

Scalding tears raced down Marianne’s cheeks. Never had she expected such a betrayal from Frederick. Had they not been the closest of friends all their lives? Had she not frequently stood beside him against their three older brothers, the sons of Papa’s first wife, when they sought to bully him? Why did he not wish for her the same happiness he had claimed for himself?

Trembling with anger and disappointment, she resisted the urge to crumple the entire letter. Frederick had signed the first page as if it were the only one, no doubt knowing she would share its contents with Mama. But she reread the second one just to be certain she had not mistaken his cruel intentions. No, she had not. So Marianne ripped the page to shreds and fed the pieces to the hearth flames, then watched as the fire’s ravenous tongues eagerly devoured them.

Childhood memories of Frederick’s devotion sprang to mind. His comfort when she fell and scraped her chin. Their forays into Papa’s chambers to spy on guests. His gentle teasing, edged with pride, when she emerged from the schoolroom and entered society. Why would he abandon her now? She knelt beside her cold bed and offered up a tearful prayer that she might understand why God would let her fall in love with Jamie and then deny them their happiness.

The response came as surely as if the Lord had spoken to her aloud. Be at peace. This is the man you will marry.

“Lord, if this is Your voice, then guide my every step.”

Joy flooded her heart—and kept her awake into the early morning hours, planning how she would bring God’s will to pass.

Following an afternoon visit to an elderly pensioner who had served the Moberly family for many years, Marianne sat at supper wondering at the different opinions people held about Papa. The old servant had extolled Papa’s generosity and kindness, calling him a saint. Yet across the table from Marianne, Robert practically reclined in his chair, his usual protest against Papa’s nightly berating. Beside him sat Jamie, in the place where the ranking son should sit, his admiration of Papa obvious in his genial nods and agreeable words to everything Papa said. Doubtless Jamie had no idea that Robert should be sitting to Papa’s left. Of course Mama, as always, gazed down the length of the table at Papa with the purest devotion, a sentiment Marianne felt as deeply as a daughter could while still seeing his flaws.

Tonight the topic was the Americans and their foolish rebellion against His Majesty. Some anonymous colonist had written a pamphlet entitled “Common Sense,” which was causing considerable stir in London, and Papa seemed unable to contain his outrage.

“Common nonsense,” he huffed as he stabbed a forkful of fish and devoured it. “What do these colonists understand about the responsibilities of government?”

While he fussed between bites about His Majesty’s God-given duties to rule, and the Americans as recalcitrant children, Marianne glanced directly across the table at Jamie, whose thoughtful frown conveyed his sympathies for Papa’s remarks. Eager to turn the conversation to more pleasant topics, Marianne patted her father’s arm.

“But, dearest, if these colonies are so much trouble, why does His Majesty not simply break with them?”

From the corner of her eye, Marianne could see Jamie’s own eyes widen for an instant, but she turned her full attention to Papa. He returned a touch to her arm, along with a paternal smile.

“Ah, my dear, such innocence. You had best leave governing to the Crown and Parliament.”

Any other time, this response might have soothed Marianne. But for some odd reason, irritation scratched at her mind. She was not a child who should have no opinions, nor should she fail to seek information to enlighten her judgments. She knew of some ladies who expressed their political opinions without censure, including Mama’s acquaintance, the duchess of Devonshire.

“I agree with Marianne.” Robert’s voice lacked its usual indolence, a sign that he had not yet succumbed to his wine. “Let the colonies fend for themselves for a while without the Crown’s protection. Then when they’re attacked and plundered by every greedy country on the Continent, they’ll come crawling back under His Majesty’s rule.”

Marianne sensed the bitterness in his wily wording. His break with Papa had lasted less than three weeks before he came “crawling back.”

Papa regarded Robert for an instant, then dismissed his words with a snort and a wave of his hand. “Templeton, what do you think of this rebellion?”

While her heart ached for her brother, Marianne could now study Jamie’s well-formed face without fear of who might notice her staring at him. A sun-kissed curl had escaped from his queue and draped near his high, well-tanned left cheekbone. His straight nose bore a pale, jagged scar down one side that added character rather than disfigurement. She wondered what adventure had marked him thus, and would ask him at the first opportunity.

“I find it a great annoyance, milord.” Jamie’s brown eyes burned with indignation. “East Florida is prospering and should soon prove to be the most profitable of England’s American colonies. But shipping goods back and forth from London has become difficult since King George declared the wayward thirteen colonies to be in open rebellion. I cannot sail five hundred leagues without one of His Majesty’s men-of-war stopping me to be sure I have no contraband.”

“Hmm.” Papa leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. “Have my flag and my letter of passage been helpful?”