“Yes.” Elizabeth looked towards me.
I nodded and shifted my sight to Graham. “My only other condition is that if your association with our children ever leads to a problem, we reserve the right to end it.”
He placed his palms together. “Yes, I agree, and I appreciate this very much.”
My wife stood, prompting Graham and me to rise. “Shall you be our guest for a few days?”
“No, I had not planned to stay today. Would the third week in November be a convenient time for me to return?”
“Yes, we shall expect you then.”
“That is excellent!” He beamed at us in turn. “Well, I shall leave you both for now. Farewell, my good friends.” And with that, he vanished, leaving behind a twirling cloud of smoke.
Elizabeth’s hand flew to her throat. “My goodness, I did not expect that.”
“I took hold of her arm. “Are you well?”
"Yes, I am." She looked up at me. “Is this not a remarkable turn of events?”
“To be sure, but I should not be surprised if Graham changes his mind.”
“Do you doubt he will return?”
“No, but if the children tax his patience, he may decide to spend his time elsewhere.”
Her eyebrow arched. “O ye of little faith.”
“We are speaking ofGraham.”
She grinned. “Well, I hope he perseveres, for our children may be the making of him.”
“Indeed.”
July 1826
Pemberley
Elizabeth
I set down the letter from Jane. At the end of the month, our two eldest boys would return from Eton. The following week, my sister, Charles, and the children would come to Pemberley and spend a fortnight with us. We should be a festive group! My head tilted at the faint sounds of fervent shouts. What sort of amusement had Graham arranged for the children today?
This morning, Graham had prevailed upon me to give the children’s governess the day off, as he wanted to attend them in her stead.
Upon leaving my morning room, the animated voices of Jane and my son drew me to the blue sitting room. I paused at the doorway, and my hand covered my mouth. A blindfolded Graham lay upon his side on the rug, his wrists bound behind him with rope. My son stood pointing a stick—which I took to represent a sword—at Graham’s head. Jane crouched at Graham’s feet, tying up his ankles. All three wore paper hats—no doubt Jane’s handiwork—a three-cornered one for Graham and two-cornered ones for the children.
With masterly control, I not only refrained from laughing but affected a staid visage before striding into the room. “Jane, Graham, why have you constrained Mr. Graham?”
My children stood at attention and shared a look between them before approaching me. Jane, as she often did, came to the forefront to act as spokesman.
“Mama”—Jane leaned close, using a soft voice—“you see, Graham is Admiral Nelson, I am Captain Hardy, and this roomis our ship. Mr. Graham is the ruthless pirate Blackbeard, whom we have captured.”
“Blackbeard? But he died over forty years before Admiral Nelson was even born.” My Jane usually paid strict attention to such details.
“Yes, I know.” She gave her brother a pointed look.
My son adjusted his hat. “You see, Mama, Mr. Graham is Blackbeard’sghost.”
“Of course, that makes perfect sense.” I glanced down at Graham, who attempted to loosen the rope around his wrists. “Well, I need both of you sailors to go ashore in the hall and allow me a few minutes to interrogate your prisoner.”
