Lucy Ashford - The Captain And His Innocent

Ellie had listened to all this with her heart pounding. Since arriving in this city, Ellie and her father hadn’t troubled to change their name, Duchamp, for it was common enough; but they’d done their utmost to conceal the fact that they were from Paris. And Ellie couldn’t recollect telling anyone, not even Madame Gavroche, their landlady, that her mother was English.

Lord Franklin was kind. He paid for an expensive doctor to visit her father, although it was far, far too late for anything to be done. He paid for the funeral and the burial, and afterwards he had taken her hand and said kindly, ‘You must come with me to England, Elise. And I promise I will do my utmost to make up for the dreadful grief you have had to face, alone.’

He never once asked her why she and her father had left Paris. He was thoughtful, he was generous; but she was wary of his generosity, and of him . Her strongest instinct was to stay in Brussels, in the little apartment above the bread shop, where Madame Gavroche and her son had been so good to her. But her dying father had pleaded with her to let Lord Franklin take her into his care.

What else could she do, but agree?

* * *

And so Ellie travelled to England—first in an expensive hired carriage to Calais, and then on Lord Franklin’s private yacht, across the Channel to Tilbury. And from there, they went on in Lord Franklin’s own carriage to his magnificent house in London. The city astonished her with the magnificence of its buildings, and she was overwhelmed by the elegance of the Mayfair house on Clarges Street in which Lord Franklin resided. And there, every possible comfort was offered to her by her new protector.

She was given her own maid. She was visited in rapid succession by a hairdresser, a modiste and a mantua maker. Soon a selection of expensive and fashionable gowns began to arrive for her. But Lord Franklin seemed—

despite his generosity—to be reluctant to let her meet anyone, or to let her go out anywhere. Once, she had asked him if he was in contact with any of her mother’s other relatives, and he replied, ‘Oh, my dear, most of them have died, or live somewhere in the north. No need to trouble yourself over them .’

Ellie was surrounded by a luxury she’d never known, but she hated being confined in that big house. Nevertheless she was determined to keep her promise to her father. Lord Franklin will keep you safe, as I have never been able to.

But her trust in Lord Franklin was badly shaken when one day she returned to her room after lunch and realised that, in her absence, someone had made a very thorough inspection of all her belongings.

She felt sick with the kind of shock and fear that she’d hoped never to feel again. To anyone else, certainly, there were no outward signs of disturbance—but she, who was used to running, used to hiding, could tell straight away. Someone—surely not her maid, who was a young, shy creature—had been through everything: every item of clothing, every personal effect in her chest of drawers and wardrobe. Ellie even felt sure that each book on her bookshelf was in a different place, if only by a fraction of an inch.

With her pulse pounding, she’d pulled out her father’s old black valise from the bottom of her wardrobe.

The lock was still intact—but if she looked closely, she could see faint scratch marks around it. Someone had been trying to get inside.

She went downstairs to find Lord Franklin. He was out a good deal of the time, either at his club or attending art auctions; but from the housekeeper she learned that, as luck would have it, he was in his study, talking to a man called Mr Appleby, who was, the housekeeper informed her, the steward at Lord Franklin’s country home, Bircham Hall.

Ellie had knocked and gone in.

‘Elise!’ Lord Franklin had turned to her, with his usual pleasant smile. ‘What can I do for you?’

Mr Appleby stood at his side; he was a little older than Lord Franklin, clad in a black coat and breeches, with cropped grey hair and with spectacles perched on the end of his nose. She glanced at him, then said to Lord Franklin, ‘Someone, my lord, has been through my possessions. Has searched my room.’ She’d meant to sound calm, but she could hear a faint tremor in her voice. ‘I would be obliged if you would question your staff. I really cannot allow this.’

Mr Appleby had looked as shocked as if she’d challenged Lord Franklin to a pistol duel. Lord Franklin himself was frowning in concern.

‘This is a grave allegation, my dear,’ he murmured. ‘But are you sure?’

‘I am completely sure. My lord.’

‘You perhaps doubt the honesty of my servants, Elise? You doubt their loyalty to me? Is anything actually missing?’

‘No! But that is not the point...’

Lord Franklin had turned to his steward. ‘Leave us a moment, would you, Appleby?’

‘Now, Elise,’ said Lord Franklin, when Mr Appleby had gone. ‘I’ve been thinking lately that perhaps London does not suit you. I’ve been wondering if you might like to live in my country house in Kent for a while—it’s in a peaceful area near to the coast and it will, I’m sure, be more restful for you than London, after the various ordeals you have endured. Do you have any objection?’

For a single wild moment, Ellie had thought of fleeing the Mayfair house, and of running back to... to where ?

His lordship was already opening the door, to indicate their interview was at an end. ‘Bircham,’ he informed her, ‘is barely sixty miles or so from London, which makes it an easy journey, if spread over two days. And you really will be most comfortable there.’ He stood by the open door, waiting for her to agree. Her father’s voice echoed insistently in her ears. Lord Franklin will keep you safe.

She had bowed her head. ‘As you wish, my lord.’

* * *

And now, here she was at Bircham Hall. It was almost six o’clock and dinner would be served shortly. She paced her room in agitation. It must be safer than France , she kept telling herself. And safer than London, where someone had searched her room—she’d been sure of it. But here, she’d found danger of an entirely different kind.

Lord Franklin’s formidable mother she felt she could deal with. But now, despite the heat of the room, she shivered afresh as she remembered the man on the road—the dark-haired man in the long coat, with the black-gloved hand—holding her father’s compass so casually. Lord Franklin is said to be a great collector of foreign objets d’art. And what could be more fitting than for him to return from the Continent with a pretty French girl in his care?

Ellie gazed at herself in the mirror, seeing her face, with her wide green eyes and dark curls and even darker lashes. Was she pretty? She’d never troubled to think about it. She’d spent months hiding from men who might be hunting her, months concealing her feminine figure with drab clothing, keeping, always, in the shadows.

But now, she remembered the way that man by the roadside had looked at her. She’d been travel-weary and full of foreboding about her future, and the sudden and silent arrival of someone she realised instantly posed as strong a threat as any she’d yet faced should have set fierce alarm bells jangling in her brain. She’d behaved stupidly, by not running straight away, back to the coach—surely he wouldn’t have dared to pursue her?

And yet, the very moment she saw him—yes, with his old, patched coat, his overlong black hair, his dagger-sharp cheekbones and his black-gloved hand—her heart had stopped and her breathing had quickened. Try as she might, she could not banish the memory of the way his blue eyes—his utterly dangerous blue eyes—had scoured her and seen through her, until her whole being had been infused with a sense that here was a kind of man she had never met before. The kind of man she had perhaps dreamed one day of meeting...