Later that day
Leasing a donkey, a cart, and a driver turned out to be far easier than Marcus Higgins expected. John St. John’s ability to speak Spanish had the hired cart pulling up to the villa only an hour later, the men sitting on the back with their legs dangling over the edge.
Two other locals walked behind, a promise of pay once the crate and trunks were loaded onto the ship enough of an incentive for them to leave behind a game of dice.
“What do you suppose she’s taking to London?” Frank asked when the footman opened the front doors to the villa as the cart stuttered to a halt.
“Probably everything she owns. Everything her father owned, or what’s left of it,” Marcus replied. He felt sorry for the young woman. Before his older brother had taken over the running of the Greenley earldom, there were times Marcus imagined what might become of him and his sisters when his father died and left them all penniless.
The only two entailed properties of the Greenley earldom were Pendleton House in Mayfair and Higgins House and its farms and a village in Staffordshire. There was little left in the way of unentailed properties that could be sold to shore up the earldom’s accounts.
Marcus had thought he might one day have to work as a clerk in London to earn his living. He could stay in the capital. Or, if he couldn’t find employment there, he could join his brother in the southernmost tip of Staffordshire and live in Higgins House. Work in a nearby village. Even if he packed up everything he owned, it would barely fill a trunk.
Lady Maria was still rushing about somewhere upstairs when they entered the foyer. As promised, four trunks were stacked up and ready to be loaded. The wooden crate, not as large as Marcus feared, was missing its lid, but a quick peek inside had him giving a start.
“What is it?” Frank asked, joining Marcus.
“Looks like a bed,” he replied before his eyes rounded. “For a very small person.”
“A bassinet,” Frank said in a whisper. “Could be for a dog.”
“Looks old,” Marcus remarked. “It was probably hers.”
“Why take it to London, though? They have bassinets there.”
“Sentimental reasons, I suppose,” Marcus said with a shrug. “Probably wants to use it for her and the viscount’s children when she has them.” He dipped his head. “This isn’t right,” he murmured.
“What do you mean?”
“Putting a woman on a ship. By herself? No protection? She doesn’t even have a lady’s maid,” he said in a whisper.
Frank dared a glance up the stairs, his brows furrowing as he watched the woman in question open a valise and reach in. A moment later, she briefly held a bundle before returning it to the valise. She seemed to say something to it before rising and hurrying away.
He turned and regarded the crate once more before he sighed. “You want to go back to London, don’t you?” he asked.
Marcus screwed up his face in a grimace. “Would you hate me if I left you to travel with Sinclair and Hornsby?” he countered.
Shrugging, Frank said, “I suppose not. They have the same itinerary as we do,” he replied. “If you go back, I’ll have the cabin to myself. I won’t have to listen to you snore. And you can provide protection for...” His eyes widened before he chuckled. “She’s eventually going to be your sister by marriage.”
Marcus punched his friend’s arm. “She is,” he agreed. “I need to speak with the captain of The Pembroke Prize. Find out if he has room for me aboard ship.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Marcus allowed a shrug as he glanced down into the wooden crate. “I can try being a stowaway.”
The laborers saw to loading the trunks as Maria descended the stairs with the last two valises. She had changed into a dark red gown, and a black mantle hung from her shoulders.
When St. John rushed up to take the valises from her, she held onto one of them. “I will see to this one,” she said.
“As you wish,” he replied. “Are you sure you have everything?”
She nodded, although her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I do not know what I would have done if you had not come today,” she whispered.
St. John furrowed his brows. “Surely someone would have taken you in,” he replied.
“Me, perhaps,” she said. “But not him, too.” She indicated the valise she held.
“Him?” St. John repeated. “What? Have you a puppy in there?” he asked, thinking she might have an ankle biter like so many aristocratic women in England did.
She shook her head and reached down to open the bag. He peered down, his eyes rounding at seeing a baby wrapped in a blanket. “Who...?”
“Christopher José Antonio Arístegui de Benevides Fitzsimmons,” she said proudly.
St. John blinked. “When...?”
“A few days after you were last here,” she replied.
He scoffed, remembering how she had seemed rather plump the last time he had paid a call at the villa. “And here I thought you were eating too many cakes at tea time,” he remarked.
“I wish I could eat cake,” she replied on a sad sigh. “No money, though.”
“I’ll see to it you have enough food for the trip to London,” he assured her.
“I do wonder what Christopher will think of him?” she said as they made their way to the cart. “He is his heir.”
St. John winced. “I rather doubt he’ll be allowed to inherit,” he said in a quiet voice. “Our laws of inheritance require—”
“Marriage, yes,” she said, holding up a rolled parchment. “We wed before he had to leave for war.”
Staring at her in disbelief, St. John shook his head. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. When he noted how her expression changed to one of worry, he held out a staying hand. “He’ll be thrilled,” he assured her. “I almost wish I could be at Reardon Manor to see for myself when you introduce this one to his father,” he added with a chuckle.
He helped her up to the bench seat so she was next to the driver, the valise on her lap. After the wooden crate was loaded, the laborers helped to push the cart until it was moving and then walked behind it as it rumbled over the cobbles and down to the dock.
An hour later, Lady Maria and her luggage were loaded onto The Pembroke Prize. The captain had accepted a reasonable bribe to see to it she always had a seat at his table for meals and arrangements once they reached London for transportation to Reardon Manor. A number of letters were stuffed into her reticule, their recipients and addresses clearly written on them.
“I’ll have her there in three days,” Captain Macintosh promised.
“She carries the future Viscount Reardon in that valise,” St. John said in a low voice, not sure he wanted the rest of the crew to know there would be a baby on board.
“I’ll have him there in three days as well,” the captain said, chuckling even as he shook his head. “I don’t know how you get yourself into these situations, St. John, but you are a better man than me.”
Captain St. John merely shrugged. “I would normally expect a reward from this one, but considering I was the cause of the unfortunate situation, I feel it’s only necessary I make it right,” he explained.
The two shook hands and St. John made his way back to The Fairweather. A few minutes later, and he was in the wheelhouse, steering his ship out of port.
He had no idea he was short a passenger.