Ransome's Crossing (7 page)

William could not resist the advantageous opportunity now presented to him by the privacy of their surroundings. He bent and kissed
her once more, appalled at the memory of the men’s unguarded reactions—the stares, the murmuring, the neglect of their duties whenever she was in sight—to Charlotte’s brief visit to
Alexandra
yesterday and at the same time pleased by Julia’s desire to know his sister better.

Upon reentering the ballroom, William looked around for Charlotte. When he did not see his sister amongst the dancers, his concern rose. If Fairfax, or one of the other men who’d swarmed around her all evening, had invited her for a stroll in the garden…He glanced down at Julia beside him and almost smiled. He knew all too well the kinds of conversations that took place in gardens during balls.

Ned Cochrane appeared out of a knot of officers gathered near the card room. Julia excused herself and crossed the room to join her mother-in-law, Collin, and Susan.

“Have you seen my sister recently?” William asked his first officer without preamble.

“No, sir. Not since Miss Fairfax took her away after our dance. She said something about refreshments, sir.”

The knot in William’s chest eased. He was correct to have trusted Ned to keep an eye on Charlotte in his absence.

“Sir, as it is near midnight, the boys and I were preparing to take our leave.”

William snapped his gaze to the large clock in the corner. “I had no idea the hour had grown so late.” He shifted his gaze to Julia and sighed. He could not leave now, and the harbor lay at least half an hour’s carriage ride from Brampton Park. “The ship is yours for one more night, Lieutenant.”

Ned’s gaze also slid to Julia, and he grinned when he looked back at William. “Aye, aye, sir.”

William gave him a look that would have sent any other officer scurrying. Ned’s smile only widened. The officer knuckled his forehead—the salute given by the common seamen—and then flourished a bow and made his exit. The other five lieutenants inclined their heads toward William before taking their leave.

Julia’s laughter drew him across the room to join her, just in time to hear the end of Collin’s anecdote. He envied his friend’s ability to tell tales of life aboard a ship of war in a way that they were at once humorous and yet did not lose any of the gravity of the truth.

William’s arm tingled when Julia slipped her hand around his elbow. Rather than pleasure, however, all he could feel was annoyance. Once again, he’d let his emotional attachment to her get the better of him. He should be on his ship. He should be sleeping in a canvas hammock this night rather than in the large, plush bed with Julia. Where did duty to one’s wife begin and duty to the Royal Navy end? Admiral Witherington had not been able to adequately explain.

Sir Drake Pembroke. Julia had been correct. If her cousin had not sailed in and fired his broadside, trying to force Julia into marriage, their lives would not have been capsized. Julia could have gone about her life, and William could have gone about his—no interruptions, no interference, no distractions.

Except…he glanced down at the white-gloved hand tucked into the crook of his arm.

There was nothing for it. He owed Julia’s meddling cousin and aunts a debt of gratitude he’d never be able to pay. At twenty-two, he’d run from what he’d been certain God had told him to do. Twelve years later, divine intervention had come in a strange form; but though William hated feeling torn between duties as a husband and as a naval officer, he could not deny that marrying Julia had brought him more joy than he’d dreamed possible.

Silently, he repeated the vow he’d made to her, to make what years they had together the happiest she’d known—and he added a vow to God: to thank Him every day for bringing Julia back into his life.

M
ama, it is only for a month.” Charlotte flapped the letter from Lady Fairfax in the air. “And they have offered to provide transportation back to Gateacre for me at the end of the visit. I know you are anxious to return home. This way you could still leave as planned the day William sets sail, but I would be able to spend more time in society.”

Mama had to say yes. For when the invitation arrived this morning confirming the Fairfaxes planned to depart Portsmouth the day before the convoy weighed anchor—the day Charles Lott was to report for duty—Charlotte knew her plan would work.

If only Mama said yes.

“Julia believes it would be beneficial to you, and as William has raised no objections, how can I say no?” Mama smiled softly, and then tears clouded her eyes.

Charlotte rushed to her and dropped to her knees beside the chair. “What’s wrong?”

“I knew the day would come when all of my children would be gone from home, but I had hoped to have you with me a few years yet.”

Charlotte swallowed hard. Tears burning her own eyes—tears of guilt over what she was about to do. “Mama, I am not going off to live with the Fairfaxes forever.” Nay, she was instead stealing away on a ship to sail to the other side of the ocean.

“Yes.” Mama dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “It is only a month. I want you to go. It might prove to be your greatest opportunity to
meet and fall in love with a gentleman who can give you the kind of life none of the young men in Gateacre, or even in Liverpool, can.”

Charlotte swallowed back a bitter taste. Henry Winchester did not fit her mother’s ideal of a husband for her only daughter. Mama had made
that
abundantly clear when Henry had first come to Gateacre to visit his cousins.

But Charlotte loved him. And Mama had always told her to marry only for love.

The middle of Charlotte’s back tingled, and the memory of Ned Cochrane’s warm hand there as he led her through their dance rushed in with such force that she trembled.

“I can see you already fancy a certain gentleman.” Mama’s pale brow creased. “Mr. Fairfax is a fine young man, Charlotte, but…”

Charlotte worked to clear the memory of the sweetest moments she’d experienced last night from her mind and patted her mother’s clasped hands. “Do not fear. I have not set my sights on the eldest son of a baron. I am well aware of my standing in the eyes of the Fairfax family—that of a follower, someone to look up to and admire them. A personage of no consequence, whose acquaintance does not adversely affect them and may serve them well, given the fact I managed to catch the patronage of Lady Dalrymple.”

Relief eased Mama’s frown lines. “Do not forget while you are with the Fairfaxes that there are people who place more emphasis on someone’s character than her rank—and we love you for who you are. Find a young man who feels the same.”

Charlotte wanted to cry out that she had fallen in love with such a man, but Mama did not approve of him. The contradiction served to firm Charlotte’s resolve.

A bang and loud footfalls in the entry hall startled both of them. Charlotte got to her feet and turned. A man she’d never seen before charged into the sitting room.

“Where is she?” The man—who looked a good decade older than William—stopped but a few paces from Charlotte, his cheeks mottled red and his dark eyes narrowed. He had not removed his hat, and
to that affront—in addition to his rude entrance—Charlotte took umbrage on Lady Dalrymple’s behalf. After all, this was Lady Dalrymple’s home.

“Don’t just stand there like a simpleton, girl.” The man reached as if to grab Charlotte by the shoulders. She stepped back, and his hands grabbed empty air. He blinked at her as if seeing her for the first time.

Charlotte instilled all the command presence she’d been practicing for when she became a midshipman into her stance. “Sir, you will first apologize for the very rude manner of your entrance and your speech in front of my mother.”

“I…” He looked about the room. “I am in the manor house at Brampton Park, am I not?” The anger had left his voice to be replaced by confusion.

Charlotte released a shaky breath. “You are, sir. If you will calm yourself and let me know your business here, I will try to assist you with whatever—or whomever—you seek.”

He frowned at her for a long moment. “And who, pray tell, are you?”

Perhaps a show of decorum from her would remind the man of his manners—if he had any. She bent her knees in a curtsey. “I am Miss Ransome, a guest of Lady Dalrymple’s.” She moved so she no longer stood between Mama and the stranger. “And this is my mother, Mrs. Ransome.”

Mama, who’d risen as soon as the man had reached toward Charlotte, also curtseyed.

After staring at the two of them for another long moment, he sighed and jerked his tall hat off his head, revealing hair the muddy brown color of the streambed in the field behind their house in Gateacre. He inclined his head. “Lord Rotheram.”

“Oh, I see. Lady Dalrymple has been expecting you all morning.” Charlotte crossed the room to ring the bell for Mrs. Melling.

The housekeeper, apparently having been alerted by the commotion, appeared a scant heartbeat later. “Yes, miss?” Her lips drew into
a tight line when she looked beyond Charlotte and saw her ladyship’s son-in-law. She also made the proper curtsey toward the marquess. “My Lord Rotheram. I shall take you up to see Lady Dalrymple.”

As soon as the two departed, Mama collapsed into her chair, hand pressed to her heart.

“Mama? Are you ill?”

“Do not frighten me like that again, please.” Mama fanned herself with her handkerchief.

“Frighten you?” Charlotte reviewed the confrontation. She had done nothing horrible, had she?

“Lord Rotheram looked angry enough to strike you. You should not have provoked him by using such a rebuking tone.”

Charlotte let out a small laugh. “Oh, Mama! I could see by the quality of his clothing—and his boots—that he was a gentleman. And a gentleman would never strike a woman.”

Mama stood and grabbed Charlotte’s hands. “Do not believe that. Do not ever suppose that wealth and title mean a man is a true gentleman at heart. Some of the most ruthless, violent men are those parading around in expensive clothing, carrying titles of nobility. Position and privilege of birth do not make one a gentleman. It is his character, which cannot be seen so easily on the outside.”

Charlotte made sure to keep her expression earnest, as she always did whenever Mama imparted an Important Lesson like this. Charlotte knew, probably better than Mama, some men’s tendency toward ungentlemanlike behavior. She’d listened far too often to her brothers’ conversations when they were home and thought her and Mama asleep and exchanged stories of things they had seen and heard at sea. And then there were the novels her friend Eliza had managed to sneak past the mistresses at school. Charlotte recalled with fondness the many afternoons spent giggling over tales that would have made even the cantankerous old headmistress swoon when they were supposed to be concentrating on their needlework or dancing.

Best bring the conversation back around to safer mooring. “So I may go?”

Mama frowned. “Go?”

“With the Fairfaxes.” Charlotte waved Penelope’s letter in front of her.

“Yes, you may go.” Mama rubbed her forehead. “We shall have much to do. You will need at least one new gown. Your lilac day dress is too faded and frayed to be worn in such a place as the Fairfaxes’ country house.”

Though the cost for a new day dress would not be injurious to their personal finances, the idea of her mother spending money on a dress she might not ever see her daughter wear sent a pang through Charlotte’s heart. “Lady Dalrymple has been more than generous in filling out my wardrobe, Mama. I have everything I need.”

Tunics, trousers, uniform coats, the stout, round midshipman’s hat…yes, in the few times she had managed to sneak out and go into town, she had aquired all the wardrobe pieces she needed. Including the muslin to wrap around her chest—which did not need much wrapping to give her the physical appearance of an adolescent boy.

The door opened, and Charlotte and her mother stood to dip into deep curtseys when Lady Dalrymple entered the sitting room.

“Oh, tosh. I have told you that is not necessary.” She extended her hand to Mama. “I do apologize, Mrs. Ransome, for not being available to receive you when you arrived.”

Mama pressed Lady Dalrymple’s hand between hers. “No apology is necessary, my lady. The pending arrival of a grandchild is a blessing.”

“Yes.” The viscountess’s smile clouded. “Her husband is with her now, so I do not feel any guilt upon leaving her. Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, my lady,” Charlotte and her mother answered in unison.

In the hall, maids assisted each of them with their spencers, gloves, and bonnets. Charlotte thanked Martha and exchanged a furtive smile with her maid, drawing the expected remonstrative narrowing of Melling’s eyes.

A day making calls with Lady Dalrymple was not the most beneficial use of Charlotte’s time. In her exploration of the house this morning, she found the bedroom that must have been used by Mr.
Geoffrey. But before she could do more than look in and see what appeared to be an officer’s sea chest, Mama had arrived, drawing Charlotte from her quest.

On the calls, Charlotte followed Mama’s example and remained quiet except when directly addressed by one or another of the society matrons Lady Dalrymple felt it important for Charlotte to meet—those with unmarried sons of an appropriate age whom Lady Dalrymple considered to be of the proper social status. Not a baron’s son or a Royal Navy officer or a poor plantation steward amongst the lot.

Charlotte spent most of the afternoon reviewing her preparations and plans to keep from falling asleep. Lady Dalrymple extolled Charlotte’s virtues—and her handsome legacy—well enough without any assistance from Charlotte. Though the social niceties observed in these interactions made them seem civilized, was this really any different than the slave auctions Henry had written about in the first letter he’d sent her from Jamaica?

Charlotte thanked God that Julia’s father had freed the slaves at Tierra Dulce so Henry hadn’t had to compromise his values and work for a slave owner.

Their last visit was the one Charlotte had looked forward to all day. Lady Dalrymple’s carriage rolled to a stop before the impressive façade of Collin and Susan Yates’s townhouse. Having lived with the Yateses for the first few weeks in Portsmouth, Charlotte warmly greeted the wizened butler who opened the door, drawing a shocked expression from the younger man behind him.

“Pay him no heed, Miss Ransome.” Fawkes took Lady Dalrymple’s gloves and hat, and then he turned to take Mama’s. “My new apprentice will soon learn how things go here.” Fawkes winked at Charlotte.

She laughed and started to lead the viscountess upstairs.

“A letter arrived for you today, mum.”

Charlotte looked over her shoulder just in time to see Fawkes hand Mama a folded packet of paper. She paused, Lady Dalrymple with her. “What is it, Mama?”

“Why, it’s from Philip.” Mama broke the wax seal and scanned the
contents. “He will be arriving in Liverpool at the end of the week.” Mama’s face fell. “I would need to leave day after tomorrow to arrive in Gateacre in time to make the house ready for his homecoming. He cannot arrive back after so long to find no one there to greet him.”

“Then we shall do whatever must be done to get you home in time to greet your son.” Lady Dalrymple gave a quick nod as if to indicate the matter settled in her mind.

Indecision nearly tore Charlotte’s heart in pieces. She wanted to see Philip. Closest to her in age—with only seven years between them—she’d spent more of her childhood with him and missed him most of all. Yet if she returned north with Mama, she would miss the ship to Jamaica and possibly her only chance at happiness.

In the sitting room, Susan and Julia rose to greet them. Susan glowed with her usual good humor, but Julia looked nearly as low as Charlotte now felt.

“Will William be joining us for dinner?” Mama asked, sitting beside Julia on the gold-and-white striped settee.

“No, ma’am. He is returned to his ship. We shall not see much of him before we sail.”

Ah, so that explained the state of Julia’s spirits. Charlotte could sympathize—except that an ocean separated her from Henry, not merely a fifteen-minute carriage ride to the harbor.

“Oh, I see.” Mama clearly held back tears.

Charlotte explained to the others the contents of Philip’s letter, still crushed in Mama’s hand, along with the need for Mama to leave two days early.

“I will send Collin to fetch William tomorrow and tell him he must come for dinner so we can all bid you farewell and you can have time to say your goodbyes.” Susan nodded very much like Lady Dalrymple just had. “And tomorrow Julia and I will help you and Charlotte pack.”

Charlotte’s heart nearly burst out of her chest. She opened her mouth to protest, but no words would form.

“Nay. Charlotte’s plans will not change.”

She stared at Mama. “They shan’t?”

Mama gave her a gentle smile. “No. You shall go to the country with the Fairfaxes for the month as planned. Philip’s ship was decommissioned, so he has been turned out until another ship comes available. He expects to be in Gateacre for some time. So you will see him after your holiday with the Fairfaxes.”