This was the fairy tale, Lavinia thought. Surrounded by a chorus of welcome and warm embraces. Harry and Angus all but knocked her off her feet with their hugs. Mrs. Wilcox kept brushing at her eyes with the edge of her apron. Even Mrs. Newcomb and her sister were smiling, nodding approval.
Her own laughter was edged with more unguarded emotion than she had permitted herself in a year. For all her insistence that she was not in danger, it did feel as though she had been saved from a heinous situation.
She looked around, determined to thank her rescuer, to make sure everyone understood that she was here because William Chartwell had cared enough to respond to their pleas. But he was not among the small crowd.
Dolley saw her searching the room and came over to whisper, “He’ll be back in a skip, miss.”
He raised his voice. “The captain will join the ladies for tea in the blue salon. The young gentleman are to bed.” When she made to escort the boys, Dolley stopped her.
“I will see to them tonight, miss.”
Good nights took a few more minutes. The boys grumbled when she hugged and kissed them. Clearly her embrace was an entirely different gesture from their wild greeting.
As Harry and Angus raced up the stairs, one of the staff, the one who wore a black scarf around his throat, escorted all three of the ladies across the hall.
Lavinia followed, allowing Mrs. Newcomb to lead as she was the senior lady present. It was awkward and more, for Lavinia was not at all sure how the older woman would receive her.
The few times they had met in the village had been civil enough, but the widow had never done more than exchange the most conventional of greetings. The younger of the two was virtually a twin, but lived to disagree with her sister. Lavinia did not know whether that would work in her favor or not.
The servant opened the door and stepped back. They moved across the threshold and stopped short.
“Why, this room is gorgeous!” Lavinia said in real surprise.
“I hardly knew what to expect, but never this,” Mrs. Newcomb agreed. “Who would ever imagine such an elegant feminine room in this household?”
Her sister appeared unimpressed. “Not as large as the ladies’ salon at Petworth.”
“Not large, but lovely.” Lavinia stepped farther into the room. “There is nothing like this at the Vale. This room is,” she thought a moment, “a billiard room with a card table.”
“You can easily see which of the two houses started as a bachelor establishment,” Mrs. Newcomb said with a sniff.
Lavinia nodded, admiring one of the floral murals that was almost a match for the flowered material that covered the two dainty sofas near the fireplace. “It’s rather like finding a French doll in the boy’s toy chest.”
“Indeed,” said a voice from the door. “You can understand why I have never entertained in here before, though I do believe that I have reached the age where I can appreciate the beauty of a French doll.”
The captain had changed his clothes. Was that why he had disappeared so quickly? A faultless dress coat in bottle green had replaced his casual country clothes. Breeches and a meticulously tied cravat completed his look. Yet another “costume” to help him carry off this unconventional proposition?
Her dark gray dress was hardly fashionable, but Mrs. Newcomb and her sister were dressed similarly, so she refused to feel self-conscious.
It was awkward, none of them certain which lady was hostess and which lady was guest. William escorted Mrs. Newcomb to the seat nearest the tea table and invited her sister to sit on the sofa next to him. Lavinia took the only remaining seat in the grouping, next to Mrs. Newcomb.
“Tea with good company.” Mrs. Newcomb smoothed her skirt. “What a lovely end to a busy day.”
She straightened with real offense when her sister and Lavinia laughed. Even the captain smiled.
“Really!” Mrs. Newcomb said, raising a hand to her pink cheeks. “It was not meant to be funny.”
“Oh, but, sister, it is. Each of our worlds is all confusion.” The younger of the two went on, “Miss Stewart rescued. The captain’s quiet house filled with ladies and children. Mrs. Wilcox let go from the Vale, hired here at the Rise. And you and I invited to be part of the adventure.”
Mrs. Newcomb accepted the chastisement with a strained smile. “I suppose you are right, but good manners dictate that we not dwell on the upset.” She addressed the captain. “Though I expect that this must be tame when compared to most of your experiences.”
Lavinia could not resist adding, “And I imagine very few of your missions end with tea in the blue salon.”
He bowed to them from his seat. “Much better than brandy alone in the library, dear ladies.”
The smile he gave the older woman made Lavinia stare. Sweet. It was nothing less than sweet. With a familial fondness she had not thought him capable of. In that moment she realized that while Dolley had told endless stories of sea life, she still knew nothing of his childhood, his mother, his family.
“None of this would be possible without your presence here, Mrs. Newcomb.” He glanced at Lavinia. “Thank you.”
“You are more than welcome, Captain.”
The tea came and Mrs. Newcomb poured. Once they were each settled with cups, the older lady spoke again.
“You know how welcome you are in the community, Captain. It is so unfortunate that you have not done more to cultivate the right people. If you had it would help you overcome the awkwardness of this situation.”
“Indeed.”
Lavinia had been staring at her tea, but now gave him her attention. His countenance was as bland as his single word. Lavinia could not tell if he thought himself insulted or well advised.
“But it is not too late.” Mrs. Newcomb stirred some more sugar into her tea and set the spoon down. “Do you have domestic uniforms for your staff, Captain?”
“No.”
“How unfortunate.” She made it sound an error akin to serving bad fish. “Uniforms will have to be ordered.”
“If you think it necessary.”
“The man who showed us in here wears a scarf around his neck. He must remove it. One’s staff should endeavor to look the same and the scarf marks him too individually.”
“No, Mrs. Newcomb.” The captain was smiling slightly, but there was no doubting the firmness of his refusal. “Chasen wears the scarf to cover a disfiguring burn. The scarf stays as long as he wishes it.”
It was her turn to nod.
“Then why does your butler not have a wooden arm so his loss is not so...” she hesitated, “um, so obvious?”
“Because Dolley considers his wound a badge of honor. As it is.”
The captain had not touched his tea. Lavinia wondered if he was rethinking brandy in the library.
“Whether your staff is dressed properly or not, the very first step is to invite the vicar and his wife to dinner.”
“No.” He glanced again at Lavinia. “I will call on him personally.”
“Very good, but not enough,” Mrs. Newcomb began.
Lavinia bit her lip to keep from laughing again and refused to look at Mrs. Newcomb’s sister who was making sounds that could be no less than restrained giggles. Their audience of two found the Chartwell/Newcomb struggle for authority vastly entertaining.
Mrs. Newcomb set her cup down. “Captain Chartwell, this is as much a campaign as any planned battle at sea. For Miss Stewart and her reputation, it is every bit as important as the Battle at Trafalgar. In your note you asked for more than my advice. If I recall correctly, you asked for my help.”
She waited.
Finally, the captain nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Newcomb, I did ask for your help.” His carefully neutral look gave way to something that was irony or maybe chagrin. “What I did not fully understand is that you are, in fact, an admiral in disguise.”
“An admiral? Nonsense,” her sister insisted. “Surely no higher than a commodore.”
It broke the tension and they all laughed a little.
“I learned long ago never to pretend expertise,” William said. “And where society is concerned I know less than a girl in her first Season. But I want your promise, dear lady, that when you are at sea you will no more question my orders than I will question yours.”
“Agreed.” Mrs. Newcomb began again, “You will call on the vicar and invite him, and his wife, to dinner. As soon as possible. Remember, it is not a social occasion. It is an element of our battle plan.”
“Thank the stars we have Mrs. Wilcox.”
“Part of the reason that this is exactly what to do. I know people who would pay to eat anything she would wish to feed them.”
“A veritable treasure.” The captain’s smile became a grin and Lavinia could guess what he was thinking. A treasure and soon to be a permanent part of his staff.
“As soon as the house is under control”—even Lavinia was terrified at what that implied—“I will take Miss Stewart to pick out fabric for new gowns. Two at least.” She looked at Lavinia. “You have been in mourning quite long enough.”
“Yes. An excellent idea.” The captain spoke with such enthusiasm that Lavinia wondered if he was relieved to have the gun aimed elsewhere, or if her dress was truly awful.
“And I will make it clear that I am paying for them.” Mrs. Newcomb spoke directly to Lavinia. “No one would believe that you have the money. They know your brother too well. And we cannot risk the speculation that they are a gift from the captain.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Newcomb.” It was impossible for her to be embarrassed when the older lady was so practical, though she was determined to find a way to pay her back.
“It is all part of our campaign,” she repeated. “Captain, you are to spend all your time in your library or, better yet, go to London.”
“But I have only just returned.”
“You can go again. The road does run both ways. But not before the vicar comes.”
For the first time the captain showed disappointment, but he did not argue. He had learned to accept commands in a far harder school than this. “London it is. Is there anything you ladies would like from Town?”
“I will make a list.” Mrs. Newcomb stood up then. The tea party was over. “I will do all I can to make this arrangement acceptable for as long as it must last, but I can only wonder what the gossips will make of it.”
None of them could deny that. Lavinia hoped their imaginations were not as fertile as hers.
~ ~ ~
Within three days, the captain had called on the vicar. He and his wife had been to dinner and the stories came to find them at Talford Rise.
Lavinia, Mrs. Newcomb, and her sister were to go shopping that very day, after noon, when the captain called her to the library.
He was sitting at his desk, but rose when she came into the room. Angus and Harry stood in the middle of the room, dirty and bruised.
“Have you two been fighting?” She walked around them, wincing at Harry’s swollen lip. “Well, that is stating the obvious, is it not? But why? You two are the best of friends and I can see that this is beyond a squabble.”
“Not us, Aunt Lavinia. We were defending you.”
“And the captain,” Angus said as he rubbed his bruised and bleeding knuckles.
“From whom?”
“That lying pig, Culver, and his friends.”
The fight was not over if she were to judge by the vehemence of Angus’s words.
“Culver? The surgeon’s son?”
“Him and three of his stupid friends.” Harry’s split lip gave him a lisp but she understood him. “They look worse than we do.”
“I think I broke his nose.” Angus spoke with real satisfaction.
“Oh, Angus.”
“He was saying the worst things, Aunt Lavinia.”
“What sort of things?”
She addressed the captain and he shrugged. “They have yet to be specific.”
“Insults about why the captain rescued you.”
“And how much he paid Mrs. Newcomb to pretend to be a chaperone.”
“And how you are no better than your brother.”
“And how the captain will turn you out when he is done with you.”
The captain held up both hands. “That is enough, I think. We understand.”
Lavinia knew she was blushing even though it was no worse than she expected.
“How can you be so calm?” This from an outraged Harry, near tears and too upset to try to stop them.
“Because it is not true.” Lavinia wanted to sit down and draw him down beside her, but he was almost twelve, and would say he was too old for that sort of comfort.
“It is no more than the speculation of idle minds.” The captain came around from his desk, took Angus’s hands and examined his knuckles. The boy leaned closer to him and the captain ran a hand over the boy’s tousled hair. “Angus, you met the vicar and his wife when they came to dinner.”
“Yes, sir,” Angus said.
“They have heard the story and believe it is the truth.” The captain lifted Harry’s chin and examined the bloody lip. He shook his head. “I know that hurts.”
Harry shrugged. The tears were gone. The captain squeezed the boy’s shoulder and came back to the desk.
“I understand that you felt you had no choice but to defend us.”
The boys were relieved, though Angus’s nod was far more guarded than Harry’s vigorous one.
“And because I would have done the same, I want you to know there will be no punishment from either one of us.”
“You did not start it,” she agreed with him completely on this. “It would be vastly unfair to punish you for a fight that you did not seek out.”
“Exactly,” the captain said.
Angus’s great relief was evident. Did he think that the captain was going to use the switch on him?
“I want you both to go upstairs, clean up, and change your clothes.” Lavinia came closer and considered the ill-used garments. “I think these can be salvaged if only for tree climbing.”
The captain walked to the door and opened it. “Have Dolley look at the cuts. And have Chasen give you some of the salve he uses. The surgeon gave him enough to share. It seems to cure almost anything.”
The boys left, taking any inclination to conversation with them. William watched her and she looked everywhere but at him.
“We must discuss this,” he said finally.
Lavinia knew he was right, but his words sounded so much like an order that she ignored the seat he offered and moved across the room to the door.
With her hand on the doorknob she turned back to him. He was leaning against the desk, his arms folded across his chest. “Are you going to call Mrs. Newcomb or her sister to attend us?” He straightened as he spoke.
“You know very well I am not.”
“I will do whatever makes you comfortable, Miss Stewart, but we must discuss this.” He took a few steps closer and waited for her answer.
“I think I am perfectly safe here with you.” She took in the books lining the shelves, the desk with its clean top, and the captain who was waiting for her with a bland, if not patient, look in his eyes. “After all, we have been only the two of us at the lake at midnight. You have been in my bedroom and there was the time I went after the boys when their boat overturned—” She stopped. Why was she prattling on so? It would be wiser not to remind him of that moment in his arms with her clothes soaked through.
He came over to where she was standing and reached for her. She took a startled step back, and then flushed red when she realized that he was merely reaching for the doorknob.
“No chaperone, then.” He bowed to her and closed the door.
She walked back across the floor and flopped into the chair, feeling as though she had been tricked into this discussion. “You think we should discuss this? Captain, I would rather be washing clothes with lye soap.”
“Yes, it is uncomfortable and I regret it as much as you do.” The captain spoke the perfunctory words as he returned to his desk and took his seat behind it, across from her.
He appeared every inch a landed gentleman, but his air of command was an even more permanent part of him. He was confident and in control and suddenly she found it more of a comfort than an annoyance. It went a long way to convincing her that he had a plan that would resolve the whole.
“Miss Stewart, neither of us is responsible for the boys’ fight or for any of what has brought us to this moment. It is your brother and his unconscionable behavior that is at fault.” His voice had an edge to it.
“You sound as though you would take the cat to him.”
“If he comes near here, I will.”
“He does not even know I am gone.” She did not mean to dismiss his anger. “Desmond cares more about his cattle than he does about me.”
“It may be as you say, but I have some experience with unwanted family attentions and I assure you he will never be welcome here.”
She was shocked at his vehemence. Was he talking about that visit from Lord Morgan Braedon? No matter what his reason for this strongly held view, she appreciated his support. “Thank you.”
“It is unforgivable that your brother’s indulgences should force you into behavior that is not what you would want.”
“So far it has not come to that.”
“But it has.” His smile was an apology, as though he was sorry that he had to tell her. “You are here because those who love you insisted, not because you chose to come.”
“Oh, yes. I see. But it is far easier to accept their demands than Desmond’s. I know that the children and Mrs. Wilcox truly care for me. Their only motive is my safety.”
He nodded, as though that was exactly what he thought she would say. “And that was the reason that I was able to convince you to make the choice and come to Talford Rise?”
“Yes.” He said nothing, so she went on, realizing tension as much as innate command held him straight in his chair. “But my decision was more complicated than that. The children trusted you to do what was right and so did I.”
“Good.” He said it with relief, but he did not relax. “I value your trust, Miss Stewart, and hope never to abuse it.”
“I cannot imagine how that could happen. We live in very different worlds. Our lives are entangled for the moment, by my current situation and how close our estates are,” she paused and then added the last, “and the children.” Perhaps the ties would be more difficult to lose than she at first thought.
He was quiet so long that she wondered if he was worried about the same thing. She waited, for though he might be silent, she knew this conversation was not finished. In those few moments he made his own decision and relaxed back into his chair. His eyes were less intense but no less focused on her.
“There is a belief among men of the sea, Miss Stewart. A certainty that if you want a mermaid to stay with you, then you must steal something of hers. Usually it is a brush or mirror, since they do spend an inordinate amount of time caring for their hair. As long as that item is in the man’s possession, the mermaid has no choice but to stay.” He opened his desk drawer and took out a comb.
Lavinia recognized it as one of her ivory hair combs, one of a pair that her uncle had given her after some trip.
The captain reached across the desk and placed it within easy reach.
She did not take it, held still by his expression, trying to fathom the reason for this abrupt change of subject. His eyes searched hers, his own guarded as though he would touch her soul but protect his own.
“Lavinia, there is one way to solve this gossip. Put an end to the rumor and unseemly speculation.”
“Yes, of course. I can return home in a day or two. Desmond will soon tire of the country. He always does.”
“Yes, but what will you do the next time Stewart decides to bring friends to Talford? And it will hardly stop the gossip already started.”
“You know of a more permanent solution?”
“Yes.” He folded his hands on top of the desk and leaned over them. “Marry me.”