“Sailing away from Lydia without making her my wife was the worst thing I’ve ever done,” Neville added. “I knew I loved her, she declared her love for me, and her father even encouraged my suit. But, God help me, I couldn’t let her waste her life on a man like me. She deserves to be kept in the style she’s been accustomed to her whole life. I’m nothing but a marine captain, the middle of seven sons of a country squire.”
Although Richard thought he was done, he continued after a long minute. “But I was wrong. And we’ve both paid dearly for my pride.” The pain on his face was palpable. “Don’t make the same mistake I made.”
Bellingham intervened, with something on his face Richard couldn’t quiet interpret. “What we mean is the love of a woman who turns your life around and creeps into your soul—that is worth fighting for. The love of a woman like that is worth whatever you have to give up to keep her for yourself. Sometimes the very thing we have to give up is our pride.
“You’ll be back in a year or two for a long leave. If her love for you is even a small bit of what I see in your eyes, she’ll be waiting. But you can’t sail away without telling her what’s in your heart.”
Harriet surveyedthe naughty Marquess of Blandford sitting on the opposite seat of her carriage, his arms folded over his chest, his chin stuck out, and a belligerent look on his face. She’d carefully explained why it was so important for them to visit their neighbor, the Viscount Grantham. But he was having none of it.
He’d listened politely until she got to the part about where she was going to marry him and he would be Nicholas’s new father.
“He’s n-notmy father,” her son shouted. “He’llneverbe my father.” And then something odd occurred. The steely-gazed eight-year-old marquess, who had been stern to the last, let a tear slide down his cheek unheeded. “Lieutenant Bourne was s-supposed to be my new father. But y-y-you sent him away.”
Harriet’s own eyes smarted, and her cheeks glowed in shame. How did her son know so much of what was happening around him when she’d tried to shield him from as much unpleasantness as she could? Where did he get the idea that Richard would be his new father? Where indeed? Richard might not be his father, but he’d helped her son make impressive progress with his speech in the few short weeks they’d been together.
Nicholas had insisted on bringing along Max and Fleur, along with their handler, Thomas. She had a bad feeling about how the viscount would take to the family spectacle to which she’d become inured over the years. But surely he understood children and their dogs? Of course, Grantham had no children of his own, and he’d lived alone for years.
When her carriage made the turn into the long drive back to Grantham’s home, Willard Park, Nicholas gave her a weepy look. “What would your father think? A son of his who turns into a watering pot when something doesn’t go the way he thinks it should? I’m sorry, Nicholas, but life is not always fair. Sometimes we have to do the right thing which is not necessarily the thing we want to do.”
He stared back at her for a long time and then just as they rolled under the portico to disembark, he gave her a very sage, grown-up kind of reply. “We should alwayswantto do the right thing.”
He caught her momentarily off guard and she couldn’t respond, because just then, one of Grantham’s servants reached inside to help her down. She couldn’t swear to it, but she was fairly certain she’d just been bested by an eight-year-old philosopher.
Richard woke slowlyafter a night of too much wine and being chastised by his fellow officers. He stared at the ship’s beams above his cot in his small quarters. The sounds of men, um, entertaining on the middle deck floated up to him. Some of them had wives and sweethearts visiting while they were in port, because once they left, they’d be gone for a long time. Making the best of the prevailing winds, they’d sail down to the western coast of Africa for up to a year’s duty. After that, working with the trades, they’d make their way back through the West Indies and assist the Royal Navy squadron there before heading homeward to England.
He’d never really considered time at sea a problem before, but now, the months ahead yawned insurmountably before he could even get a glimpse of Harriet again. He sat up with such force, he smacked his head against a beam. He’d never have a reason to see Harriet again, because she’d be married to another man, with another title. And his home base was in Portsmouth, a number of days’ sail to the east of Falmouth. Could he face the rest of his life without so much as a look at the woman he loved? Why had he not considered that possibility when he’d decided he wasn’t worthy of her?
He dressed quickly and made his way to the top deck. Captain Neville was already on duty as officer of the deck. Richard was embarrassed to admit to his oldest friend what a lackwit he’d been. Neville took one look at him and said, “Yes, your leave is still available.”
“How can I thank you for…?”
“Just get back to your woman, do whatever you have to, and then be ready to do your duty before we weigh anchor.”
“Why? Why are you so…?”
Neville cut him off again. “Because, I don’t want to have to board a slaver with my chief sharpshooter up in the rigging not alert because he’s fretting over the woman he left behind without telling her she belongs to him. Now, get out of here before I change my mind.”
When Richard ran to get the coxswain to arrange for passage on the jolly boat to shore and then reversed directions to trot back, Neville yelled at him with an impatient wave of his arm. “I’ll take care of Captain Bellingham.”
Once Richard arrived at the quay and walked into Falmouth, he realized he had no idea where to go next. Should he just show up at the Lodge and announce she couldn’t marry the viscount because she belonged to him? That would be a particularly dangerous move with a woman who could run him through with an arrow. Maybe there was a better way to proceed. He still hadn’t arranged yet for the retrieval of his things from Rose Cottage. And Captain Thorne knew Harriet better than anyone but Sidmouth.
Viscount Grantham had madeher wait so long in his formal sitting room that Harriet had finally motioned for Thomas to take Nicholas and the mastiffs out into the park to run off some of their pent-up energy. From the way Nicholas had continued to pout, she feared he planned to make the viscount reconsider his offer of marriage.
She’d watched the boy and his dogs tumble on the lawn outside the windows for a long time when she realized with a start someone had crept up behind her. When she whirled to confront the intruder, she saw it was Grantham.
He was dressed entirely in black, complete with elegant black silk breeches and hose, more in tune with the previous century. She gave an involuntary shiver when she realized he also wore a powdered wig. He stood so close to her, the intense smell of peppermint filled her nose. What was he trying to hide that he needed that much peppermint?
“I see you have a strong, healthy boy out there, Lady Blandford.”
“Thank you. That’s my son, Nicholas.”
“I know. That’s why I had Sidmouth make arrangements for our nuptials, Lady Blandford. After all these years, I, unfortunately, still do not have an heir. It looks like you’re a good breeder.” He stood back and gave her an assessing look before actually putting his hands on her hips.
She slapped him and retreated behind one of the many settees in the cluttered room. “How dare you take liberties with my person?”
“Please,” he said. “Everyone in Falmouth knows you’ve had that strange marine from the harbor in your bed this last fortnight. And, by the way, if he’s already filled your belly, not to worry. One less chore for me.” He pulled a snuff box from beneath one sleeve ruffle, took out a pinch and stuffed it up his nostril before sneezing.
Harriet’s cheeks flamed and then blanched with anger. “Why then do you still wish a marriage if that is all the gossip?”
