Deborah Hale - The Captain's Christmas Family

When the carriage came to a halt in front of the house, she could not stifle a shiver.

Dolly must have felt it for she edged closer. “Are you cold, Miss Marian?”

“A little,” Marian whispered back, conscious of a breathless silence that had gripped the other servants. “Drizzle like this can make midsummer seem cool, let alone October. Now, remember, bright smiles and graceful curtsies to welcome the captain.”

The carriage door swung open, and a tall, rangy figure emerged, clad in black from head to toe, relieved only by a glimpse of stark white shirt cuffs and neck linen. Marian felt a mild pang of disappointment that Captain Radcliffe had not worn his naval uniform. But, of course, he wouldn’t, under the circumstances. From rumors in the newspapers, Marian had gleaned that the captain was on leave from his command under a cloud of suspicion.

As Captain Radcliffe removed his hat, a breath of wind stirred his brown hair strewn with threads of gold. Tucking the hat under his arm, he strode slowly past the line of servants while Mr. Culpepper introduced each one. The movement of their bows and curtsies rippled down the line like an ominous wave rolling toward Marian and her young charges. Resisting an urge to draw the girls into a protective embrace, she took a step backward so they would have room to make their curtsies.

At that moment, Captain Radcliffe loomed in front of them, looking even taller than he had from a distance. His face was too long and angular to be called handsome. But it was quite striking, with a jutting nose, firm mouth and deep set, gray eyes beneath sharply arched brows.

Those brows slanted together at a fierce angle as he stared at Cissy and Dolly with a look of the most intense severity Marian had ever seen. Beneath his relentless scrutiny, Cissy lost her nerve. Her curtsy wobbled, and her squeaks of greeting sounded more terrified than welcoming. Dolly forgot to curtsy at all but stared boldly up at the captain.

Mr. Culpepper seemed not to notice as he continued his introductions. “Sir, these are the daughters of your late cousin, Miss Celia Radcliffe and Miss Dorothy. Behind them is their governess, Miss Murray.”

A clammy knot of dread bunched in the pit of Marian’s stomach as she waited for Captain Radcliffe to speak. It was the same sensation that always gripped her between a dangerous flash of lightning and the alarming crack of thunder that followed.

“Children?” His voice did sound like the rolling rumble of distant thunder, or the pounding of the sea upon a lonely, rock strewn coast. “No one said anything about children.”

The man was every bit as bad as she’d feared, if not worse. Besides all the other feelings roiling inside her, Marian felt a twinge of disappointment at the thought of another prayer unanswered. Once again, it appeared she would have to fight her own battles in defense of those she cared for. Some tiny part of her even stirred at the prospect—perhaps the blood of her warlike ancestors.

Or was it something about the captain’s presence that stirred her? Surely not!

When Cissy backed away from her formidable cousin, Marian wrapped a reassuring arm around her shoulders and reached out to tug Dolly back, as well. “Perhaps we can discuss the girls and their situation this evening after I’ve put them to bed?”

The captain seemed to take notice of her for the first time, looking her over carefully as if to assess the strength of an adversary. His scrutiny ignited a blistering blush in Marian’s cheeks. For an instant, the children and all the other servants seemed to melt away, leaving her all alone with Captain Radcliffe.

Perhaps the captain felt it, too, for he gave his head a brisk shake, collecting himself from a moment of abstraction. “Very well. Report to the bridge at eight bells of the last dog watch. That is…the Chinese drawing room at eight o’clock.”

“Yes, sir.” Marian dropped a curtsy, wondering if he expected her to salute. “Now I will take the children back indoors before they catch a chill…with your permission, of course.”

“By all means, attend to your duties.” The captain looked as if he could hardly wait for Cissy and Dolly to be out of his sight.

Marian was only too eager to obey his curt order.

“Come along, girls.” She shepherded them into the house, resisting the perverse urge to glance back at him.

Neither of the children spoke until they were halfway up the broad spiral staircase.

“The captain doesn’t look much like Papa.” Dolly sounded disappointed.

“He isn’t anything like Papa!” Cissy muttered fiercely.

“I don’t think he likes us very much.” Dolly sighed.

“I’m certain the captain doesn’t dislike you, dear.” Marian strove to convince herself as much as the children. “He was…surprised to find you here, that’s all.”

As they slipped back into the comforting familiarity of the nursery, Dolly’s grip tightened with such sudden force that it made Marian wince. “The captain won’t send us away, will he?”

“Of course not!” Marian stooped to gather her beloved young pupils into a comforting embrace.

They had been through so much in the two short years since she’d come to be their governess—first losing their mother and infant brother, then their father. She had done all she could to make them feel secure and loved, to protect them from the kind of harsh childhood she’d endured.

To herself she vowed, That man won’t send you away if there is anything I can do to prevent it!

As he waited for the mantel clock to chime eight, Gideon Radcliffe paced the rounded bay end of the Chinese drawing room, peering out each of its tall, slender windows in turn.

Even in the misty dusk, they afforded a fine view down a gently sloping knoll to the lake, which wrapped around a small, green island. Gideon had pleasant memories of boating on that lake from long-ago visits to Knightley Park when his grandfather was master. At the time, he’d enjoyed an even better view from the room directly above this one—the nursery.

That thought reminded him of his cousin’s children. He would rather have been ambushed by the combined French and Spanish fleets than by those two small girls. They could not have been more alien to his experience if they’d been a pair of mermaids. He had no idea what they might need, except to sense that he was entirely unequipped to provide it.

More than ever he felt the urgent necessity to restore his reputation, regain his command and get back to sea. He was confident he possessed the skill, experience and temperament to serve his country well in that capacity. After all these years of service, it was the only life he knew. Losing it would be worse than losing a limb—it would be like losing his very identity.

“I beg your pardon, sir.” The soft lilt of a woman’s voice intruded upon Gideon’s most private thoughts. “You told me to report here at eight. Did you not hear me knock?”

“I…didn’t.” Gideon withdrew into himself, like a sea creature retreating into the shelter of its tough, rigid shell. “But do come in. I wanted to talk to you about the…children.”

“As did I, sir.” She approached with deliberate steps, halting some distance away, behind an ornate armchair.

During their first meeting, Gideon had been so taken aback by the sight of his young cousins that he’d paid little heed to their governess, beyond her hostile glare. No doubt she had read all the scurrilous gossip about him in the papers and judged him guilty of the false accusations against him. So much for his hope of finding a sanctuary at Knightley Park to escape public condemnation!

Now he forced himself to take stock of his potential adversary. Marian Murray was small and slender, her dark brown hair pinned back with strict severity. Only a single wisp had escaped to curl in a softening tendril over her left temple. With high cheekbones and a fresh complexion, her face might have been quite pleasant to look at if she ventured to smile occasionally. At the moment, her brown eyes were narrowed and her full lips compressed in an expression of barely concealed hostility, if not outright contempt.