TWENTY-FOUR
He could postpone making port until it suited him, and it suited Jack to postpone until autumn, when the shipyard at Spithead would stand ready to make necessary repairs to his old warship. It also suited him to ask that leave be granted to Edmund Powell, serving with distinction in the North Sea and prepared for active duty in the Channel Fleet if an opening for a lieutenant should present itself. Lack of attention to the small details had been Jack’s downfall, and had loosened his hold on Maddie. He would not be caught unaware again.
Timing was critical, yet difficult to calculate with precision. Gauging how much slack to allow in the reins was equally risky. He had been informed that Maddie was keeping her distance from Lady Jane, but remained as close as a sister to Lucy. Good news, to be sure, but without Lady Jane’s vigilance Jack feared that Lord Sunderland would have too great, and too dangerous, an influence. The marquess from Durham County had already fired the opening volley in the Admiral’s absence. It was time to fire back.
In seeming innocence, Sunderland had gone to Farthingmill Abbey with his mother and sister to express their condolences to Maddie on her loss. Not satisfied with an adequate display of sympathy, he had the audacity to present her with a puppy that could be her companion while she remained in seclusion. He kept her talking about horses for over two hours, far too long for a social call. Jack grumbled with disgust at Sunderland’s insolence, and at his own inability to convince his daughter of the gentleman’s true intentions.
“Bad bit of business, the Leopard,” Captain Thomas said.
“What leopard is that? The Argus will have to make for Gibraltar for stores. We shall run out of wine in a fortnight. Stupid, idiotic, useless spaniel. I know what sort of man gives a girl a lap dog.”
“I was referring to the unfortunate engagement between the Leopard and the Chesapeake,” Thomas said. “The Americans took insult at our captain’s very generous refusal to accept the ship as a prize captured in battle.”
“They are an ungrateful people, Mr. Thomas, and entirely too thinskinned. Unreasonable in most every instance.”
A chill had descended on Jack’s relationship with Ethan, who had all but ceased corresponding beyond that which was necessary to manage Maddie’s affairs. That would be Stephen’s doing, of course. Thin-skinned and easily injured. Just like his father. “God damn me,” Jack muttered.
“My lord?”
Ethan’s new favorite topic was a mantra that irked Jack more than the incompetence of Gun Crew Twelve. How often would the man be compelled to remind Jack that Maddie was to return to South Carolina in February? To think that Ethan had encouraged her to build a house on the plantation she owned; it was infuriating to find oneself outflanked and enfiladed. Jack had one ally, or a portion of one at any rate. Why else would Maddie have come back when Jack had no means to compel her return?
Written words were a poor substitute for a personal encounter, but there was nothing else to be done when Jack was cruising off the coast of Africa and Mr. Powell was guarding merchant convoys headed to Russia. There would be no slap on the back, no handclasp to signify unity. Jack penned a cold, blunt note that granted his approval of Edmund’s request, and then demanded that Edmund make all due haste. He put the finishing touches on his plan as his ship sailed across the mouth of the Mediterranean in November.
Sir Anthony was waiting for him, having lingered off Gibraltar for over a week, and lingered gladly. “To think that the childhood dreams of our wives should come to pass with no influence on our part,” Tony said after they had toasted the health of the happy couple. As if he could not believe what he had just heard, he stared off into space, stunned by events.
“Since coming out, she has of course thought of marriage, as do all girls,” Jack said.
“Naturally,” Tony said. “Yet she escaped from Charleston without any entanglements?”
“Here sits an entanglement.” Jack refilled their glasses with the madeira that Maddie had sent him from her grandfather’s garret. “Whither she goest, there must I go. She will not see me left alone.”
“Nor would Edmund see you abandoned. Not his Uncle Lordship,” Tony said. “That boy has been in love with your daughter, enthralled I would say, for at least two years.”
“And good friends besides. Companions, in the true sense. What could make for a better match?”
“He is not an American. Was that not a requirement?”
The conversation paused while the cabin steward served the cheese course. “Not at all. No restrictions whatsoever. She was to follow her heart, and in that I adhered to Mr. Mahon’s wishes.”
“Speaking as Edmund’s father, I can assure her that she could find no better man. That being said, I wonder if she would not enjoy another London season before settling down.”
“Her greatest interest lies in the stud and there is no reason to curtail her venture,” Jack said. “She has largely avoided the whirl of activities in the city, which leads me to conclude that she does not care for them.”
“Not enamored with titles or nobility? As much a rebel as her mother.”
For the first time in months, Jack laughed with glee. How well he recalled Sarah’s reaction when he confessed that he was of noble birth. He had detected the same distress in Maddie, who sneered at the title pasted on her when Jack was made a viscount. Raised to revolt by her mother, and trained to be a lady by her stepfather. He was well pleased with the results. In some ways, she shared past history with Edmund, whose own mother was of colonial origins and had influenced her son’s outlook. Edmund was perhaps more like Maddie than any other man she was likely to meet.
“It will be a very quiet occasion,” Jack said.
“Given the circumstances, her grandparents’ recent demise,” Tony said. “The very people to whom she turned after her mother was lost to us. Let us drink, then, to the happy light that will soon brighten her future days.”
Recalling his reunion with Maddie two years earlier, Jack expected her to be nearly unrecognizable yet again. He found her to be changed in a different way, with the giddiness of fifteen-year-old Maddie erased. The woman who awaited him at the door of Farthingmill Abbey was calm, sedate, and fearful of a well-deserved lashing. He could tear into her for the sick desperation she had caused. He could rage about her conduct, as he had raged in his cabin when he learned of her departure. To win her over, he had to do what was unexpected, to stun her just long enough to gain the upper hand. Arms outstretched, he invited her embrace.
“Poor dear,” he whispered in her ear. “My poor lamb. Such a great loss. Thank heavens you were there to bring them comfort in their final hours.”
“I’m sorry,” Maddie said, her sobs preventing her from saying more.
“You should have told me,” he said. “Come, you must make me some very hot tea to warm my old bones, and then you shall tell me everything there is to tell about your trip.”
In the warm comfort of the drawing room, Maddie’s youthful vigor and charm returned. Worry fell away, her face took on color and she was soon the happy little creature he had missed every day that he was at sea. Her enthusiasm regarding Charleston soon wore him out, but he persevered as he did in combat when the stakes were high and weariness was fatal. Not even the lap dog’s yipping could distract him from his mission, not even the way that Maddie hugged and kissed and cooed over the smelly beast would deter him from going forward. The emerald ring on her finger sparkled in the candlelight and he caught his breath, but it was only a momentary pause. “Together again. Now, I must return this to you.” Jack undid the buttons of his waistcoat and extracted the cloisonné pin from the lining. In a manner he hoped was not overly sweet, he kissed the enamel heart and then held it out to Maddie. “My heart, entrusted to your care. Let us walk in the garden before Captain Tar soils the carpet.”
It was easy to make Maddie the center of his universe because she was, and always would be. He filled the mid-December days with activities that were designed to
amuse her and strengthen their bond. Farthingmill Abbey was lit up every night for dinner parties with the local gentry, for country dances, suppers and card parties. With only days remaining before the Powell family arrived, Jack feared that he would run out of time and lose the slight advantage he had.
“How wonderful for Mrs. Powell, to have Edmund and Mr. Powell home at the same time. A pity that Lt. Cummings cannot join Mariah. Will she be very sad, do you think? Shall I concoct some special amusement to distract her?” Maddie asked. She wrote something down on one of the many scraps of paper that she filled with menus, or ideas for gifts, or whatever else she thought needed to be done to provide a splendid holiday entertainment.
“Sadness mixed with happiness,” Jack said. “Such is the life she chose when she married Mr. Cummings. I shall be sad when you leave me.”
The pen rattled in the holder. In a instant she was at his side, protesting, clutching his arm, apologizing for giving him a fright. A matter of days, Jack calculated, but the wind was shifting and he had the weatherboard. A frown here, a sigh there, and when he judged the time to be most propitious, he fired a broadside that left Maddie dead in the water. What did he want more than anything for a Christmas gift, she had asked in all innocence, and he beat her down under a barrage of words and a fusillade of pleading. He reminisced about Charleston and the lovely Sarah Mahon. He spoke of the hopes and dreams of two colonial girls, the dreams he wove into a tapestry of guilt tricked out with duty. He would not let up. He would give no quarter.
“Will you leave the sea and choose my company if I consent?” she asked at last, after she had sobbed out every tear and worked herself into exhaustion.
“My dearest, I have no intention of being buried at sea,” he said.
“Very well.”
“You cannot imagine how happy I am,” Jack said. He took her hands and kissed them, genuine tears coursing down his weathered cheeks. “How happy your mother would be. Standing with her dearest friend, witnessing the union of their children.”
“I want you to be happy,” Maddie said.
“Dear child, how can I express the joy I felt when you declared that you would not leave me? This is how it was meant to be, your mother’s wish expressed with her dying breath.”
A look of uncertainty gave way to confusion. Maddie’s lips parted, as if she meant to continue the debate, but she had run out arguments. “I,” she said, only to pause.
“Our guests will arrive in two days time,” Jack said. “Let us make this our most splendid and joyous Christmas season.”
Nothing was certain until Boxing Day, when Edmund and Maddie went off to inspect the new stable without a chaperone. The parents sat in the drawing room, too nervous to speak for over an hour before the couple returned, evidence of passionate kisses on Maddie’s lips. She appeared thoroughly dazed when Edmund announced their engagement, as if it were all a sweet dream he did not wish to wake from. Mrs. Powell relayed one of her many fond recollections through a shower of tears, bringing the past charging back, to settle heavy in Jack’s stomach. He did not feel himself until the special license arrived on Monday, issued by Bishop Moss with his felicitations and blessings.
The local curate performed the ceremony in the drawing room at Farthingmill Abbey that afternoon, the young man proving to be overwhelmed by the honor. He stammered his way through the prayers, fidgeting and speaking in an unnatural voice. The weight of the wedding ring on the prayer book was enough to make him drop it, sending the gold band clattering to the floor. While it was unseemly for the groom to crawl on all fours, Edmund was eager to complete the formalities, adding his eyes to the hunt his brother was attempting.
As per Jack’s request, the parish registry was brought to the house, to finalize all in one stroke. Edmund signed with a bold flourish that reflected the confidence of a captain, which he soon would be. The son-in-law of an admiral would not remain a lieutenant in perpetuity. Ever the gallant, Edmund dipped the quill and gave it to Maddie. Her trembling hand hovered over the page, fingers twitching as if she could not remember how to write. A drop of ink fell, then two more, and a large black spot settled into the paper. Horrified, she dropped the quill and hid her face in her hands as she wept.
“I have made a terrible mistake,” she said.
The curate fluttered about, searching for a blotter before mumbling something about no damage being done. He closed the registry, to remove the bride’s distress. Taking on his role as husband, Edmund embraced Maddie as one would hold a frightened child, and assured her that there was no longer a need to seek perfection in all she did. She was perfection itself in his eyes. As they came apart, Maddie’s gaze remained fixed on the book. After replacing the pen in the stand, Edmund took Maddie’s elbow.
“Come, Mrs. Powell. Our guests await. Shall we go down to supper?”