Nicola Cornick - A Companion Of Quality

Captain Brabant took a step toward her and Caroline backed away instinctively. One brow arched in ironic amusement as he saw her withdraw. “My dear Miss Whiston, pray do not be alarmed! You have nothing to fear from me. But—a companion! How very inappropriate!”

“I do not know how you could be the judge of such matters, sir!” Caroline snapped, forgetting that he was to all intents and purposes her host, and giving in to her indignation. “Upon my word, you have a strange concept of appropriate behavior! What is appropriate about accosting respectable ladies as they take a walk in the woods? I believe that you have been away at sea so long that you forget your manners!”

She saw him grin. It seemed an unacceptable response to her annoyance.

“Maybe that accounts for it,” he murmured. “Deprived of the improving company of the fair sex…Indeed, ma’am, I think you must be right!”

is passionate about many things: her country cottage and its garden, her two small cats, her husband and her writing. Though not necessarily in that order! She has always been fascinated by history, both as her chosen subject at university and subsequently as an engrossing hobby. She works as a university administrator and finds her writing the perfect antidote to the demands of life in a busy office.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

November, 1811

The room faced south-east and in the morning it was full of sun and the light off the sea. Now, in the dark of a November evening, the curtains were drawn against the night and the room was lit by lamp and firelight. The sound of the sea could still be heard, a faint echo through the dark. Lewis Brabant rested his head against the back of his chair and closed his eyes.

“So you’re not in any hurry to go home, then.”

Richard Slater put two glasses of brandy on the table between them and resumed his seat opposite Lewis. His tone had been mildly questioning and for a moment it seemed he would receive no answer. Then Lewis opened his eyes and smiled a little reluctantly.

“No, Richard. I’m damnably sorry to be going home at all! Given a choice, I’d rather be at sea. But there was no choice…”

“That holds true for both of us—for different reasons,” his friend said, the tiniest shade of bitterness in his voice as he cast one rueful glance down at the injured leg that still caused him to limp a little. He picked up the brandy glass and held it up in an ironic toast.

“To the landlocked!”

They clinked glasses. “You have done your prison out well,” Lewis observed, his keen blue gaze travelling around the study approvingly. The walls were panelled like the wardroom of a ship, a brass sextant shone on the table by the window, and over by the bookcases was a fine telescope in a battered leather case.

“At least I still have the smell and sound of the sea,” Richard commented, “unlike you! Northamptonshire’s a dashed odd place for an Admiral to retire! What made your father choose the county in the first place?”

Lewis shrugged. “My mother had family connections in the area and indeed, they seemed happy enough there.” He took a mouthful of brandy and paused to savour the taste. “This is very fine, Richard! French, isn’t it? Was it smuggled in for you?”

Richard grinned. “Devil a bit! A favour from a friend.”

“I know what you mean.” Lewis stretched. “Never fear, I won’t outstay my welcome here, despite the excellence of the brandy! You and your sister have been most hospitable, but I’m for London tomorrow and from there it’s but a day’s drive to Hewly.” He grimaced. “I suppose I must call it home now.”

“Fanny will be sorry to see you go so soon,” Richard murmured, “as will I. If you feel the need to see the sea again—”

“I’ll be working too hard on the estate to spare any thought for my past life!” Lewis ran a hand through his thick, fair hair. He gave his friend a rueful grin. “But perhaps you will both visit me? It would be good to see old friends…”

“Delighted, old chap!” Richard shot him a quizzical look. “Not looking forward to life amidst a parcel of women?”

Lewis put his empty glass down gently on the table between them. “Not a flattering description, Richard, but I take your point! M’sister writes that not only is she joined by our cousin Julia, but now there’s some spinsterish companion to do the knitting and fuss over the flowers! Of all the things I need—some Friday-faced female at the dinner-table!”

“Mrs Chessford could hardly be described in such terms,” Richard said slyly. “You must be eager to see her again!”

Lewis gave his friend a hard stare. “Julia’s always welcome at Hewly, I suppose, though I would deem it a little slow for her tastes!”

Richard nodded. His sister had been in London during the previous season and had returned with plenty of gossip about the dashing widow Julia Chessford. It seemed unlikely, however, that Lewis would appreciate a rehearsal of Mrs Chessford’s amours. There had been a time, Richard knew, when Lewis was more than a little smitten with Julia himself.

“How long is it since you were there?” he asked neutrally, steering the conversation away from areas that were clearly not for discussion.

Lewis sighed. “It was in ’05, just after Trafalgar. Father’s health had already started to decline then, but it was a slow process. It is only since his recent attack that he has been bedridden and incapable of directing his affairs.”

“Does he show any sign of improvement?” Richard limped over to retrieve the brandy decanter and refill their glasses.

Lewis shook his head slowly. “Lavender writes that he is occasionally well enough to sit downstairs, but he recognises no one and speaks not at all. It’s a damnable shame for so active a man.”

“Isn’t Hewly close to Steepwood Abbey?” Richard asked. He leant down to stoke the fire. “Dashed rum place, as I recall. My Uncle Rodney was a crony of Sywell and Cleeve years ago, before he forswore the drink and the gaming tables! The tales he told!”

Lewis laughed. “I don’t believe that Sywell has ever forsaken the drink and the cards—nor the women! Yes, Hewly is close by the Abbey, but I’ve never met the Marquis. By all accounts he continues to scandalise the neighbourhood. M’sister wrote that he had married his bailiff’s ward less than a year past!”

Richard looked amused. “Perhaps Cupid’s dart will strike you too, Lewis! Just the thing to help you settle down and rusticate!”

Lewis raised one eyebrow in a disbelieving grimace. “I thank you, but I do not look to take a wife! Not until I find a woman who can match my last ship!”

“The Dauntless?” Richard laughed. “What were her qualities then, old fellow? I thought she was a leaky old tub that no one else would dare put to sea in!”

“Nonsense!” Lewis grinned mockingly. “She was a beautiful ship! She was elegant and courageous and she would risk all to gain all!” His smile faded. “And until I find a woman to rival her, Richard, I shall stay single!”

Miss Caroline Whiston put her leather-bound book of Shakespearean sonnets to one side with a sigh. No one had ever compared her to a summer’s day, and if they had she would probably have boxed their ears, knowing their intentions could not be honourable. She knew of too many governesses who had made the mistake of believing in romance and had lived to regret it. Even so it would have been pleasant for once—just once—to meet a man who was neither a rake nor a worthy.