Marrying the Captain Page 17

  Gran met him in the hall when he returned. She put up her hand as he opened his mouth for another apology.

  “Nana’s twenty-one and of legal age, Captain Worthy.”

  He felt like a schoolboy before the headmaster, and not the veteran captain he was. “I’m sorry to dredge up so many comparisons, Mrs. Massie.”

  “This is different. I’d rather she didn’t marry a seafaring man, but you’re the best of the lot, and even Nana is entitled to a lapse in judgment.”

  He smiled because she did. His grin broadened when she kissed him on the cheek, and informed him that Nana already knew what to expect on her wedding night.

  “We sail with the tide, Mrs. Massie,” he said, his face bright red. “That’ll have to wait.”

  “Oh, really? Everyone at St. Andrews tomorrow will be praying for terrible weather. I hope you’ve tossed out a weather anchor on the Tireless.”

  He had. He wasn’t the son of a vicar for nothing.

  She sniffed the air. “Take a bath. You tars always smell so salty.”

  Oliver had blown out the candle, but wasn’t asleep yet when Nana knocked on his door. He hadn’t expected that. “Yes?” he asked, hesitant.

  “May I come in?”

  “Briefly. Briefly. A man can only stand so much.”

  She came in, closed the door behind her and pulled up a chair to his bed. Even in the gloom, he felt her excitement.

  “Mrs. Fillion just sent me a dress. Gran is taking it in right now. It’s blue.”

  The words tumbled out of her, and he smiled. He put his hands behind his head, the better not to touch her. She smelled dewy and fresh, as if she had just come from the bathroom. He could probably cajole Pete into heating some water for him in there in the morning, especially after Mrs. Massie’s admonition.

  She didn’t speak for a long moment, and he began to wonder why she had come.

  “I have a confession, Oliver.”

  The words came out so quietly he wondered if he had heard her right. She looked so serious, he thought he should lighten the mood.

  “That boy who kissed you in Miss Pym’s garden kissed you twice instead of once?”

  “Just once. It’s not that,” she said simply. “I don’t want to deceive you, mainly because I am certain you would never deceive me.”

  He felt a pang, considering that he hadn’t told her about any of his encounters with her father, and certainly not his suspicions. Some things Nana probably didn’t need to know.

  “You’d better confess then, before I decide to tickle it out of you.” He made as if to rise.

  “Oh, no!” she said. “If you did that, Gran would be really disappointed in us.”

  “Well, then?” he prompted. “I doubt it’s something we can’t clear up right now, considering the heavy weather we’ve just been through.”

  She took a deep breath. “When he was here a few weeks ago, Mr. Ramseur told me how wealthy you are. I already know.”

  “That’s it?” he asked, bewildered.

  “Yes!” She looked at him earnestly. “I don’t want you to ever think for one second that I love you because you are wealthy.”

  He couldn’t help himself. He laughed out loud. She leaned closer and put her hand over his mouth. “Hush! What will Gran and Pete think?”

  He caught her hand as she tried to remove it, and kissed her fingers. “Nana, there’s only one way to reassure me—when did you first decide you loved me?”

  She managed to extricate her hand from his grasp, but she took it only as far as his chest, where she rested it over his heart.

  “Well?”

  “I’m thinking,” she scolded him. “Don’t rush me. Oh, I know. It was that first night when I leaned you forward to put that wheat poultice around your neck.”

  He stared at her, mystified.

  “You needed me,” she said simply. “And you’re so handsome. That made me pay attention, and then I couldn’t look away from you. After a while, I didn’t want to look away ever again.” She shrugged. “Don’t laugh at that. I suppose marriages have started on stranger footings.”

  “No one ever accused me of being handsome.”

  “Then I don’t know what is wrong with the females in naval ports around the world. They must be blind. Good night, my love.”

  She left as quietly as she had come. He knew he wouldn’t sleep all night now, but after shaping his pillow into a soft ball, he rested his head on it and closed his eyes. He opened them only once in the middle of the night, when he heard a storm shriek in from the Irish Sea. He smiled. His wedding day was going to be sleety, windy and thoroughly nasty, thank the Lord. He wouldn’t dare take the Tireless out of Plymouth Sound.

  In his bath the next morning, Oliver listened to the wind howl and try to bully its way inside the Mulberry like an unwanted lodger. The pounding rain was music to his ears. After a thorough scrub, he decided there wasn’t much he could do about his briny smell. He doubted he could ever rid his body of it. At least I haven’t seawater in my veins, he thought, despite what my crew thinks.

  He sat in the bath until the water began to cool, still a little surprised at himself over the coming event. Mr. Brittle had agreed to stand up with him. His sailing master, a man at sea thirty years without mishap, could by his mere presence, reassure Nana that men did survive service with the Royal Navy.

  He and Nana had decided last night not to be foolish about seeing each other before the wedding, considering that the Mulberry was no London hotel, and concealment impossible. Even then, he was not prepared for his first glimpse of her that morning, with little seed pearls tucked here and there in her curly hair, and wearing a powder-blue short-sleeved dress with rather more exposure of her bosom than he was accustomed to observing.

  She charmed him by spinning around in her new dress, with its little flounce and puffed sleeves. “The wigmaker sent over this netting of seed pearls this morning,” she said, after another pirouette. “Gran says I must wear a shawl or I’ll catch cold. My, you look handsome.”

  “Same old me, Nana. I did get my best uniform from the Tireless last night.” He kissed her cheek and whispered, “Gran says I smell too much like salt water.”

  She sniffed. “I like it.” She took his arm then, suddenly serious. “Oliver, I’m just about scared to death.”

  “Me, too, Nana. What a pair we are.”

  They rode to St. Andrews together in a hackney, Nana bundled in her old cloak, her cheeks rosy, her wonderful eyes so bright. “I hope you have no cause to regret this,” he told her, swept out to sea by her beauty.

  “I won’t,” she said, her words spoken softly into his sleeve. “Not now.”

  When the hackney pulled up in front of the old church, he was amazed at the crowd of people going into St. Andrews. There was Matthew, grinning and looking well-scrubbed within an inch of his life.

  And there was Captain Dennison from the Goldfinch, which must have slid into port just ahead of last night’s storm. I must find a minute to talk to him, and see what the score is, he thought, his mind returning to war.

  Nana stopped as they came inside the church. “Do you know, the day after you arrived at the Mulberry, I came here with a cod in a basket and lit a candle for you? It was your pence, too.”

  He laughed out loud, which caused heads to turn, especially those of his crew, who probably had no idea that he possessed body parts and passions, much less a laugh. Even Mr. Ramseur looked startled.

  Taking a deep breath, he turned Nana over to Pete, who was dressed in his best, tucked his hat under his arm and walked toward the front of the church, to stand beside Mr. Brittle. On the way up the aisle, he stopped for a word with Dennison, who looked exhausted. “Come to the reception,” Oliver whispered. “You can tell me the news.”

  “It’s not good, but could be worse,” Dennison whispered back. “Go aft, Worthy, before I flog you!”

  “Cold feet, sir?” Mr. Brittle asked, when he reached the front.

  “Freezi
ng. Why do men do this?”

  “Because we’re men, sir. It’s the only legal way to get the women we crave.”

  He couldn’t help but smile at that, even as he watched Eleanor Maria Massie, white-faced and serious, standing beside Pete Carter, hanging on to him for dear life. Her face had not been out of his thoughts for longer than a five-minute stretch since he met her. If he died tomorrow or fifty years from now, her name would be on his lips as a last sacrament.

  As the processional began and everyone rose, he thought of the brother officers he had stood up with, men with more courage than he, obviously. The most recent had been two years ago in Portsmouth, when Captain Nathaniel Barker married his lovely lady. Six weeks later, Nate and all hands went down with their ship in the Baltic.

  I can’t do this, he thought. He must have stirred, because Mr. Brittle spoke to him out of the corner of his mouth. “Stand right there, laddie,” he whispered.

  He stood. He was glad he did, even though he seemed to hear the vicar’s questions from a long way off, and even Nana, so close, looked as though observed through the wrong end of a telescope. He gave his responses firmly, and so did Nana. And then she was his wife. He could have wept from the sheer joy of it, but that would have tried his crew beyond their capacity, so he refrained.

  And then it was down the aisle to sign the registry, then leave the church between a corridor of cheering sailors. Out in the sleet and wind, Dennison led the way to a waiting post chaise.

  “I’m not going to Admiralty with you,” Oliver said.

  “Didn’t ask you,” Dennison joked, with a wink at Nana, who blushed. “She’s a beauty. I can’t imagine where you found her.” His face became deadly serious. “You need to know what’s going on. Let me drive you the tiny distance to the Drake.”

  Oliver helped Nana into the post chaise, happy enough to be authorized now to give her a gentle boost with his hand on her rump. Nice, that.

  “Business always first, Mrs. Worthy,” Dennison said, after he directed the coachman to the Drake, three blocks away. He leaned forward across the narrow space. “Oliver, there’s trouble in Austria. Boney has gone back over the border and left the pursuit of Sir John to Marshal Soult.”

  “Slowing down, then?”

  “Only slightly. It’s a bad retreat through snow and mountains to Corunna. I’m to report to Admiralty and direct transports be sent immediately. It could be a last stand there, if we don’t supply them for Sir John’s army.”

  “We knew it was coming,” Oliver said. There’s no way that Henri Lefebvre needs to see transports languishing in Plymouth suddenly rigged out and made ready to sail. No way in the world, he thought.

  The post chaise stopped. Dennison opened the door. “Now I’m off to Exeter, Honiton, Axminster, Bridport…”

  “…Dorchester, Milbourne, Blandford and Woodyates Inn,” Oliver continued. “It’s the route to London, Nana. We’ve memorized it.” He gripped Dennison’s hand. “A word of advice, Virgil—take your news either to Lord Mulgrave or directly to Horse Guards.”

  Dennison questioned him with his eyes, but nodded. He glanced at Nana, then back to Oliver, his eyes merry. “And what about a kiss for the bride?”

  “Nana makes up her own mind,” Oliver replied. “He is a good friend, Nana love.”

  She obligingly turned a cheek in Dennison’s direction. He pulled her to him and smacked her on the lips, anyway. “Didn’t your mum warn you about sailors, Mrs. Worthy? Fair sailing, Oliver.”

  Oliver helped her out, and Dennison closed the door. “See you back at Ferrol Station!” he called. “Be gentle with him, Nana!”

  Nana pressed her hands to her cheeks. “My blushes,” she murmured. “Is he a friend?”

  “One of the best, Nana love.”

  There wasn’t time to talk with Nana, once they went inside. Mrs. Fillion whisked her away into a circle of women, which made him cringe inside, thinking of all the good advice they were offering his darling. It’s a good thing receptions aren’t held before the wedding, he decided, as his own crew gathered with other officers in Plymouth and immediately began to talk shop. He looked wistfully at Nana several times, wishing to get her away from everyone.

  And then he saw Lefebvre, laughing and chatting with other celebrants, and remembered his duty. He looked around. Captain Durfee was easy enough to spot, with his booming laugh. When an interval offered itself, he took the captain of the East India merchantman aside, but still in view of Lefebvre.

  “That’s the man,” he said, indicating with a nod of his head. “Dennison’s on his way to Admiralty with more news of the war, and the last thing we need is that Frenchman sketching what goes in and out of the Sound in the next few days.”

  Durfee looked Lefebvre up and down. “Appears the laddie is about to embark on a voyage to Bombay. Where might I find him tomorrow?”

  Oliver gave him several suggestions and Durfee nodded. “We’ll nab him before he has time to sharpen a pencil. Who knows? Maybe he’ll even make a good sailor.”

  “If he doesn’t, leave him in India,” Oliver said. “I’d prefer it.”

  “That I can do.” Durfee held out his hand. “Now, why don’t you lay aside your duty—and your uniform—and enjoy some portside comforts?”

  Oliver shook his friend’s hand, too embarrassed to say anything. Durfee went back into the public room, after a sidelong look at the Frenchman.

  Nana gave him no grief. He located her in the crowd and led her to the stairs to sit down for a brief conversation.

  “I’ll be back at the Mulberry as soon as I can, but it will probably be after dark,” he said.

  “And what if the wind changes?” she teased, her hand on his chest.

  “It won’t dare.” He nudged her shoulder, enjoying the liberty of such a casual gesture. “I suspect Mrs. Fillion and her friends have been giving you all manner of good advice.”

  She turned to look at him, her face so close to his that her eyes looked crossed. “I intend to ignore at least ninety-eight percent of it. Mrs. Fillion did mention one thing.”

  “And?”

  “Perhaps I will tell you afterward.”

  At least she didn’t seem frightened of him, Oliver thought, as he rounded up his officers for the trip to the Tireless. Pete assured him he would see Nana back to the Mulberry. None of the guests seemed surprised by his departure, but why would they? This was a navy town that moved with the rhythm of tides and winds. Puny human affairs counted little.

  He noticed then that Gran wasn’t there and asked Pete.

  “She blubbered all through the wedding and went back to the Mulberry,” he said.

  “Was she happy?” Oliver asked, uncertain.

  Pete nodded. “Over the moon. Women are strange creatures, sor, if you haven’t noticed.”

  Oliver didn’t return to the Mulberry until midnight, and wasn’t surprised to see the inn dark, with only a lamp glowing in the small foyer. On the front table was a note in Nana’s handwriting. He held it close to the lamp and smiled, amazed at how quickly she could take the chill off even a January night with a storm raging outside.

  To whom it may concern: Nana Worthy is upstairs in Captain Worthy’s old room. She is not a light sleeper, but she always wakes up in a good mood.

  The room was dark, but there was still a glow from the fireplace. He just stood in the doorway for a precious moment, savoring the sight of her in his bed. She was on her side, facing away from the door, so he could admire the curve of her hips. I’m married now, he thought. I did what I said I would never do. The enormity of his responsibility to his wife settled on him less like masonry and more like a blanket, which relieved him, since his whole life was wrapped up in duty.

  This was different from duty. He was used to dealing with forces he could not change, only bend to. He hadn’t wanted a woman who would challenge him at every turn; he didn’t need that. He had married a woman who would love him, and let him go, because she was a child of the Channel, who unders
tood external forces.

  He was out of his clothes in a minute and into his nightshirt. Nana had left him plenty of room in the bed. After locking the door, he climbed in beside her, molding himself to her shape and putting his arm over her and around her waist. Her eyes still closed, she turned her face toward his and he kissed her.

  To his amusement, she muttered something and backed herself in closer to him. He kissed her neck then, happy for her short hair, which meant he did not have to fight his way through tangles and tresses to get to it. She obliged him by unbuttoning her nightgown and sliding it off her shoulders so he could kiss her there, too.

  “Thought you weren’t coming,” she murmured, her eyes still closed. “Tried to stay awake. Failed miserably.”

  He laughed into her neck, then unbuttoned more of her nightgown so he could touch her breasts. She put her hand up involuntarily, as though to stop him, then sighed and put it on his cheek instead, as he continued his exploration.

  It had been a long time since he had enjoyed the comfort of a woman. Even then, he didn’t remember any other woman’s skin to be as soft as his wife’s. Her breasts had a pleasant weight to them now, thanks to improved menus at the Mulberry. Thank God she was no longer wand-thin. He ran an experimental hand across her ribs, pleased with the result.

  “I’m nervous,” she whispered, “but I think it’s time to make my nightgown disappear, don’t you?”

  He couldn’t have agreed more. She sat up then, and they bumped heads. She laughed softly as she pulled her nightgown off, rolled it into a ball and pitched it toward the chair by the window. “That’s so if I get cold later, I’ll be able to find it.”

  “You won’t get cold,” he assured her, pitching his nightshirt next to hers.

  He wanted to see her better, but the way she still put her hand over her breasts made him think she wasn’t ready for a lamp near the bed. That could wait. He could see her well enough in the light from the fireplace and he knew what to do.

  He settled beside her again, running his hands over her body until she accepted the idea and relaxed, giving herself over to what he hoped was the gentleness of his fingers. She did have beautiful breasts, and no objection to his kissing them. Her breath began to come faster, especially after he took a nipple in his mouth. She murmured something that sounded like his name.