Книга - The Substitute Countess

The Substitute Countess
Lyn Stone


SHE HAD NOTHING TO LOSE IF HE WAS LYING – ASIDE FROM HER VIRTUE… Jack Worth lives a life of roguish adventure, money-making schemes and ever-changing women. He’ll be damned if he’ll settle down and find a wife…until he inherits a noble title and estate – but without the riches. Distant cousin Laurel is the unwitting heir to all the money.Brought up in a Spanish convent, and longing for a family of her own, she’s prepared to enter into a marriage of convenience. Finding a home in Jack’s arms is more than she could have dreamt about, but deception and mistaken identities test her new-found love to the limit.










The way Jack had first seen her—face red with anger, eyes flashing, tight little chignon askew and one sleeve torn at the shoulder seam—had roused his protective instinct to the maximum. She needed him on a level that no woman ever had before.

He knew he would miss the women who welcomed him with open arms and merry laughter. This girl was not of their kind, however. Attaining regard from her would require more than he had offered the others. This time he would need to make irrevocable promises. Vows.

He only hoped he was up to the challenge. Given the fire he had seen in her, he figured she would be anything but boring.

Jack rarely met a woman he didn’t like, even the guileful ones with nefarious schemes to trap him. Now the shoe was on the other foot. He meant to marry her even should it require employing a bit of guile himself. She needed charming, and he could do that.




AUTHOR NOTE


Sometimes love takes you by surprise. It might begin with a chance meeting, an unintended altercation or, in the case of Jack and Laurel, a reluctant good deed.

A man of honour does what he should, and Jack is no exception—even when it means abandoning a life of adventure to do the right thing. After all, he benefits too. Laurel provides the greatest adventure he has yet encountered when she grants him her hand in marriage and her trust.

However, trust proves more fragile than love when deception enters the mix. The question becomes whether nobility lies in the heart or in a name. They say no good deed goes unpunished. Come see if that’s so!




The Substitute

Countess

Lyn Stone







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




About the Author


A painter of historical events, LYN STONE decided to write about them. A canvas, however detailed, limits characters to only one moment in time. ‘If a picture’s worth a thousand words, the other ninety thousand have to show up somewhere!’ An avid reader, she admits, ‘At thirteen, I fell in love with Emily Brontë’s Heathcliff and became Catherine. Next year I fell for Rhett and became Scarlett. Then I fell for the hero I’d known most of my life and finally became myself.’

After living for four years in Europe, Lyn and her husband, Allen, settled into a log house in north Alabama that is crammed to the rafters with antiques, artefacts and the stuff of future tales.



A previous novel by the same author:

THE CAPTAIN AND THE WALLFLOWER

And in Mills & Boon


Historical Undone! eBooks:

THE WIDOW AND THE RAKE

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks?Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk


This book is for my brother and sister by marriage,

Irene and Charles Stone.

You two are great inspiration for writing love stories

because yours is so enduring.

I treasure the love, humour and camaraderie

we have shared over the years.




Chapter One


London

September, 1818

Jackson Worth tugged at his new neckcloth with an impatient finger. The damned thing choked him, its starch irritating his recently shaved throat. His newly acquired title chafed even more. He stood and began to pace.

What was he to do with an earldom that came with nothing but ominous responsibilities and no wealth to support them? Damn it all, he liked his life the way it was, with only himself to manage. Most of the time, that went rather well, and when it didn’t, only he suffered the consequences.

Jack winced when he realized that was too much like his father’s outlook had been. Frustrated by the very thought, he sat down again and began tapping on the smooth wooden arms of the chair.

“You’re certain there’s no one else in line for it?” he asked Mr. Hobson, who sat behind the solicitor’s desk. “I cannot afford this, you know. Every penny I owned, other than what is in my pocket at present, was tied up in my last shipping venture.” A disaster, as he had just explained. He’d had a few of those, but one lived and learned. Nothing risked, nothing gained—that was his motto. Rather, it had been his motto.

His only ship was lost, the insurance gone to pay survivors of the crew and his investors. Devil take it, he should have captained the damn thing himself. He would recoup, of course. He had done it before, but it would take time, travel and energy. Those were three things an earl would not be able to spare while keeping a sizable estate running and its people in check and well fed.

The solicitor smiled as he laid a page of the document on the desk and turned it so that Jack could see the content. “Rest assured, there has been a thorough investigation, sir. The former Earl of Elderidge instigated the search for a male heir before he died. Your lineage is well documented through church records, proof that your father and the late earl shared a greatgreat-grandfather who was fourth Earl of Elderidge.”

“No one ever informed me of this,” Jack grumbled.

“The connection was rather remote. Perhaps your father thought it of no significance. You were abroad when I finally located your mother’s lodgings in Plymouth—hence the message left there for you to contact me as soon as you arrived in England.”

“Had I known, I might have stayed in Amsterdam,” Jack muttered.

“A petition was offered on your behalf and the lords have already met. Letters of patent have been issued. You should be gazetted soon. The title and all that it entails are yours without question.”

“Mine, eh?” Jack sighed with resignation as he shifted in his chair. “With no funds to run the estate. So what did Elderidge do with his fortune? Gamble it away?”

“No,” the solicitor answered. “He willed it to his daughter.” A sly grin lifted the old man’s prodigious mustache. “Your very distant cousin, Lady Laurel, the earl’s only child.” Hobson sat back in his chair and fingered his mustache thoughtfully. “If I might suggest it, you should retrieve the girl from the convent where his lordship placed her, woo and wed her, and thereby solve your problem as well as hers.”

“A convent? The earl was Catholic? Is that not impossible?” Not that he cared. Jack asked only to delay long enough to consider the idea just proposed.

He had not thought to marry, especially not for money. Or even love, for that matter. He enjoyed the freedom to travel, do what he liked, whenever he liked, with whomever he liked, without any permanent ties. However, push had come to shove in a most disconcerting way. He might have to entertain the thought.

Mr. Hobson shook his head. “The earl was Church of England, of course. But his first wife was Catholic.”

His voice dropped to a near whisper. “She was a cyprian, as well, and his first mistress.”

Well, that brought Jack’s eyebrows up. “You don’t say!”

Hobson nodded. “One of the fashionably impure he got with child. He eloped with her. An outrage it was, too! She died giving birth and the earl remarried within the year. His new wife, a choice more suitable, wanted nothing to do with the baby born of his misalliance, so he placed it with the Sisters at Our Lady of Cambre, near the coast of Spain.”

“Why Spain, of all places?” Jack was intrigued. He, born of a naval officer and a merchant’s daughter, could hardly imagine life as a noble. Yet he simply could not understand how a man of any station could simply give up his firstborn and relegate her to a foreign country to be brought up by strangers. And leave her there while war raged around her.

Hobson continued, explaining the situation. “Lord Elderidge had visited Spain as a young man on his grand tour, I believe. There are a number of English convents there, set up after they were disbanded here centuries ago. English Catholics often send their daughters away to convent schools. In any event, she was sent to the Sisters of Cambre as an infant and they were provided generous contributions for her care. No doubt the earl believed the girl would take vows when she reached the proper age.”

“So he died, the money stopped and the nuns gave her the boot?” Jack asked, interested in spite of himself.

Hobson shrugged. “She could have remained as a novitiate but I was informed on her last progress report that the young lady had elected to take a position as governess instead,” Hobson explained.

“I’m surprised they would allow a lady to accept work, given who she is.”

“The nuns never knew his lordship’s station in life.”

“Her father didn’t visit her?”

“She and the earl never met, save when she was a babe in arms, too young to know him. You must understand the circumstances then, sir. Elderidge had not yet inherited. He was highly pressured by his father, the earl, his new wife and his peers. Everyone wanted the entire fiasco forgotten. The child would have been a constant reminder.”

Jack rubbed his forehead and gave a huff of disbelief. “Still, it was an unconscionable thing to do, depriving her of all privileges she would have enjoyed as his daughter.”

Hobson agreed with a slow nod. “Just so, but he also spared her the disdain she would have endured because of her mother’s reputation. And he did bequeath every farthing he inherited and later amassed to her and her alone.”

“What of his second wife?” Jack asked.

“The dowager countess has her widow’s portion, of course, which was basically what she brought to the marriage. But the daughter’s inheritance is considerable, more than sufficient to see that the estate you have inherited will prosper. In fact, more than you and she together could ever spend.”

The solicitor folded his hands on the desktop as he leaned forward. “It is up to you to make things right for the young lady.”

“By marrying her and stealing the only compensation afforded her by the old blackguard who gave her away? That should earn me a proper place in hell.”

Hobson pressed his lips together in a grimace before replying, “Better you should dread hell than for her to endure it presently, sir. Your only alternative is to leave her introduction to England to the mercy of the woman who ordered her evacuation from the earl’s life when she was but a helpless infant. Make the girl a countess, as is her due, and manage her funds to best advantage. You both will benefit. It’s the right thing to do. Surely you see that.”

He pushed a leather folder across the desk. “Here is the location of the estate, the house here in town and travel funds. Two hundred pounds from her account should be sufficient to see you there and back with the heiress.”

“Me? Why must I fetch her home?”

“Who better?” Hobson smiled. “You should go there, court and wed her before she reaches England.” He added, “She will surely prove reluctant to marry you if you wait until she learns of her worth and realizes that your design is upon her fortune instead of her person. I doubt she would agree then that the marriage would be for her own good.”

Jack stood, squaring his shoulders. “What if I decline all? The earldom, estate and the marriage of convenience?”

Hobson stood as well, his face grave now. “By law, you cannot refuse the title. I strongly suggest you make the best of it, serve your country and meet your obligations. Those employed at Elderidge House and on its lands, as well as the staff here in Town, are now dependent upon you for their living…mylord.” He reached down and pushed the leather folder closer to Jack. “And so is our young Lady Laurel.”

Jack accepted the money, hefting the flat purse in his hand before tucking it away in his breast pocket.

Most men would leap at the chance. Why shouldn’t he? He had the impoverished earldom, and marriage to the heiress would ensure a secure future. No more risky ventures. No further scrabbling about for investors. Jack was no fool. “Her direction?”

“Written down for you in the folder.”

Jack shrugged. “The least I can do is release the poor girl from service and bring her home to England.”

Mr. Hobson smiled with satisfaction. “You might keep foremost in your mind, sir, that she is not a poor girl, but a ready means to your salvation.”

All right, maybe he needed saving. He would go and take a look, see if this rich little lady and her wealth could do the impossible.

“Take your hands off me!” Laurel shouted. She raised her sturdy walking shoe and stomped on the lecher’s foot. He cursed roundly and hopped backward while Laurel swept around to the far side of his writing desk. Now he stood crouched between her and the door, clenching his beefy hands, his piggy black eyes narrowed, daring her to try to escape.

She shook her fist at him. “You are no better than your sons! They don’t need a governess, sir. They could use a strict minder with a stout cane and so could you!”

He straightened and grinned his oily grin. “Usted sabe que usted esta en mi misericordia!”

“I am at no man’s mercy, sir! Certainly not yours!”

The door opened and the housekeeper stood there wide-eyed, looking from one to the other. “Señor Orencio?”

A large man pushed past the woman before she could announce him and approached Orencio, towering over him. “I have come for Miss Laurel Worth.” He turned to Laurel. “Are you she?”

She nodded once, astounded. The man knew her name.

“Pack your things and make haste. Your presence in England is required.”

“England?” she asked in a whisper.

“Aye, as soon as may be. The ship’s waiting,” he replied, his piercing gaze returning to Orencio, who must have understood some unspoken command. Her employer backed away enough to allow Laurel to pass between him and the stranger and leave the room.

She ran upstairs and quickly stuffed her few belongings into the small carpetbag she had brought with her. Her hair was mussed and her sleeve torn, but she took no time to repair either, lest her one chance at getting away should change his mind and leave without her. In minutes, she was back in the foyer, just outside the door of Orencio’s library. She clutched her bag and shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

Who in the world was this new arrival and who had sent him? He knew who she was and that she came from England. At the moment she would accept help from the devil himself to get away from Orencio’s hacienda.

The man was obviously English, disturbingly handsome and well dressed. Also very, very angry. She hoped that his anger was on her behalf because he had overheard her exchange with Orencio. She shuddered to think that was his usual demeanor. Even were that so, she was going with him.

The gentleman in question stormed out of the library just then. “Come,” he snapped as he marched to the front door, opened it and threw it wide. He didn’t wait to see whether she followed, but strode right out. Laurel ran to catch up.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked breathlessly as he yanked the bag from her grasp, caught her up by the waist and deposited her upon the seat of the open carriage.

“I told you. To the coast. Then on to England.” He tossed in her bag and climbed up to sit beside her. With a click of his tongue and slap of the reins, they were off.

“Please explain!” Laurel demanded, almost as frightened of him as of Orencio, whom she had been fending off successfully for over a week. “How do you know me?”

He passed the reins to one hand and with the other took a letter from inside his coat. “Read it.”

She broke open the seal and read the contents. It was from Mr. Hobson, the solicitor in London who had been sending money on behalf of her father all these years. He had visited her twice to ascertain her health and progress at school. Never once had he mentioned her returning to England. Until now.

“This says you are Jackson Worth, Earl of Elderidge!” She stared at him. “An earl?”

“Aye.” He visibly drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “I apologize for my gruffness. In fact, I apologize for the entire male gender. You must be horribly overset and I’ve only added to your misery.”

Laurel refolded the letter and held it crumpled in both hands. “At the moment, more stunned than overset, sir…my lord.”

“Jack will do,” he replied, calmer now but still terse.

“Mr. Hobson writes that you are my father’s heir. No one ever told me that he was a noble!” So she was baseborn, after all. A bastard and a mistake. For years, she had suspected as much. Why else would a father want his child so completely out of sight and out of mind. Well, not completely out of mind, she supposed. At least he had provided support until she was grown. That was something.

“Why did you come for me? I mean, you in particular. The task is a bit above your station, I should think.” She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and brushed another off her brow as she spoke, suddenly embarrassed for anyone to see her in such disarray.

He glanced at her then, a quick taking of her measure, she thought. Then he looked back at the road they traveled.

“I came because we are kin,” he explained. “I am your cousin. Had I known of you earlier, I would have come sooner. It was almost not soon enough, was it? I should have shot that wretch like I threatened.” He snapped the reins again.

Her cousin. She simply stared, fully taking in his sun-browned visage, wide-shouldered frame and the fine cut of his clothes. Travel dust did nothing to detract from his roguish appeal, and doubtless he knew it well.

He looked down at her travel bag and back at her. “You packed fast or perhaps had already packed before I arrived. So you were planning to leave. Where were you going?”

She didn’t bother to correct his assumption. “To the convent, where else?”

“You didn’t mean to take vows or you’d never have left in the first place.”

His presumption irritated her, as did the flutter in her stomach that his very appearance caused. She pressed a hand over her middle and inhaled to steady her nerves. “I had very little choice of destinations.”

“No matter, a different life awaits you now,” he said with a smile in his voice if not yet on his face. “I know you were not aware your father was of the nobility,” he stated. “No one at the convent was apprised of the fact, so I’m told. A shock for you, I daresay.”

She nodded and took another deep breath that caught in her throat. There were too many questions flying through her mind to get them in order.

“We need to reach the coast before dark,” he declared. With that, he snapped the reins more harshly, urging the sturdy roan to an even faster gait.

They were well down the road before her wits returned enough to realize that a total stranger, this incredibly handsome rogue, had her at his mercy. What if that letter were false? She had never met an earl, of course, but always imagined nobles having a more stately look and pleasant attitude.

Yet she had only three choices as she saw it. She could demand to be let down or returned to Orencio’s house, beg this fellow to take her straight to the convent or go with him and see what happened next. The convent would be the safest choice, but she could not bring herself to ask for it after going to such lengths to escape it. Going back to Orencio was out of the question.

“This is good of you, but I still do not understand why you would go to so much bother for a bastard cousin.”

“Bastard?” he asked with a short, mirthless laugh. “My lady, you are as legitimate as I. Whatever gave you the idea you aren’t?”

“Perhaps the fact that I was sent to a foreign country to spend my life with nuns?”

He shrugged. “Oh, well, there is that.” And he offered no explanation for it. Perhaps he did not know why, either. But wouldn’t he have had the truth of it from her father if he was the heir? This made very little sense and did nothing to ease her mind about him.

If this Jackson “Jack” Worth, supposed earl, had designs on her person, then so did Señor Orencio. If she was to be ruined by one or the other, she found she preferred the stranger. Maybe she would even prefer that fate to being immured in a nunnery for the remainder of her life. That required a divine calling and ought not to be undertaken simply for the sake of security.

As if he read her very thoughts, he turned to her, his stern and angry expression softened, now sympathetic and very serious. “You needn’t fear, my lady. I swear you will come to no harm, And I will see you safe to London, to your new home.”

Caught by the steady blue gaze and held like a rabbit in a snare, Laurel Could only nod. Why not trust him? She had nothing to lose if he was lying, aside from her virtue. That had done her little good thus far. And she had much to gain if he was telling the truth.

My lady, he had called her. Daughter of an earl. Legitimate, he had said. Could it really be true that she was born of nobility? If so, why was she never told of her circumstance before today?

“Have I other family?” she finally asked.

“Of course you do.” He grinned at her then, a singularly merry expression she had not seen thus far. “There is me. I told you we are cousins.”

Could she trust him? She supposed she might as well do that, since her other two options held no appeal. “We are truly kin?”

“We are. Why else would I be here?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. This is all so…”

“Sudden, I understand. But there’s nothing at all to worry about.” His smile looked sincere. “I’ll take care of everything for you, little cousin, and you will love England and your new life there.”

“If you say so, I suppose I must believe you.”

“I promise I will explain the details after we are settled for the voyage home. Your worries are over.”

Laurel disagreed. She had worries aplenty at the moment, and there was absolutely nothing she could do to alleviate them.




Chapter Two


Jack worried about their introduction. He had planned to charm Laurel from the outset, not appear as a threat. Unfortunately, Orencio had left him no choice.

Though the girl was doubtful Jack was who he claimed, she hadn’t refused to come with him. Her relief at leaving Orencio’s might be short-lived when she had time to reflect on it. He wished he knew what more he could say to put her fears to rest.

He had reserved his final decision until he met her, but he now thought she would do well enough as a wife. Her looks certainly were greater than passable, but more important than that was the spirit she had shown in that confrontation with her employer.

The way Jack had first seen her—face red with anger, eyes flashing, tight little chignon askew and one sleeve torn at the shoulder seam—had roused his protective instinct to the maximum. She needed him on a level that no woman ever had before.

He knew he would miss Saskia in Amsterdam, Maria in Portugal, Joanna in Jamaica and a few others who welcomed him with open arms and merry laughter. This girl was not of their kind, however. Attaining regard from her would require more than he had offered the others. This time he would need to make irrevocable promises. Vows.

He only hoped he was up to the challenge. Given the fire he had seen in her, he figured she would be anything but boring.

Jack rarely met a woman he didn’t like, even the guileful ones with nefarious schemes to trap him. Now the shoe was on the other foot, but he knew well all the means of avoiding the nuptial noose should this girl try to use them. He meant to marry her even should it require employing a bit of guile himself. She needed charming and he could do that.

“Aside from your employer’s unwelcome attention, how did you like being a governess? Was the work more difficult than expected?” he asked, assuming his most genial tone. He knew women liked questions about themselves.

“Impossible,” she replied. “The boys were too old for it. What They needed was a male tutor.”

“Or a lion tamer with a whip and chair?”

She laughed and Jack joined her, releasing some of the tension between them. He continued. “Like their father, eh? They had no discipline from that quarter, I’d wager.”

She sobered immediately. “None. He lacked even self-discipline. This was not the first time he behaved so abominably, but I’m certainly glad it is the last. I might have managed by myself, but you certainly were a great help. Thank you for the rescue.”

Jack was not all that surprised Orencio had made advances. Laurel was a fetching little thing, even in that dowdy garb of a governess.

She had handled the issue more than once, so she said. While that was admirable for an innocent with no worldly experience, it might not have turned out so well this time if he hadn’t interfered. It gave him a good feeling to know he had saved her from ruin and she seemed properly grateful for it.

Jack didn’t think it would be much of a sacrifice to marry her, assume her fortune and secure his future. And hers, too, of course. She deserved to be treated decently, especially after being dealt with in such a cavalier manner all her life. There was no reason whatsoever that they shouldn’t both profit from such an alliance.

He might not become the best husband she could have chosen, given his rough upbringing and checkered past, but she would be a countess. That had to appeal to her more than scrubbing floors in a nunnery the rest of her life or herding a passel of spoiled Spanish brats while fending off their lecherous father.

He admitted feeling a certain affinity for her already, probably because they really were cousins. Very distant cousins, he reminded himself. The girl had grit and he really admired that in anyone.

They should get on rather well unless she somehow discovered his motive. He had to make sure she did not. At least not until after the marriage. Even then, he would not want her to know. A trifle dishonest, perhaps, but he would not like to see the accusation in her eyes or the death of trust.

They spoke little more until they reached the coastal town of La Coruña where he had reserved rooms.

“Here we are, Coz,” he told her. It couldn’t hurt, reminding her of their familial relationship as often as possible in order to further her trust in him.

He helped her down, careful to offer no suggestion of interest in her body while his hands were on her waist. A tiny waist, cinched rather firmly, he noted. His hands ached to explore more of her, but he knew self-control and gentlemanly behavior were the keys to this prize.

She clutched her bag with both arms and glanced wide-eyed around the dooryard of the inn.

“We’ll stay the night here and board the ship first thing in the morning. That way we can have a good meal, a hot bath and sleep in beds that don’t rock with the waves. We’ll be at sea for days and will surely miss those comforts.”

“I know nothing about ships or sailing,” she declared.

“Then I’ll see you never take the wheel,” he quipped. He handed the horse off to a scruffy young ostler who stood waiting. “Is something amiss?” he asked her.

She bit her bottom lip as she looked up at him. “Shouldn’t I have a chaperone if we’re to stay the night here?”

“Have you the money to hire someone?” he asked.

“I have never had money of my own. Could you…?”

He feigned a sheepish expression. “I have enough for our rooms and our passage,” he admitted. Quite enough, in fact. “But my funds are limited until I return and assume the title.” Limited to what Hobson had given him, which was an ample amount indeed.

He didn’t exactly lie, he reasoned. Not his fault if she assumed he was nearly broke. He took her bag from her and escorted her inside. “Not to worry, little Coz. We’ll make do, just the two of us.”

He could seduce her tonight to ensure she would agree to marry, but that would define him as an opportunist. He certainly was that, but did not want her to see him in that light. Better to act as honorably as he knew how.

When they entered the inn, he ordered a substantial meal, and they retired to the one private area set aside for dining. Jack lifted his tankard and wondered how to begin conversing with the sheltered heiress about her future.

She didn’t wait for him to start. “Tell me of our family, Cousin Worth. Oh, I forget what’s proper.” She winced prettily at her faux pas. “I should address you as Lord Elderidge.”

“I told you that Jack will do,” he said with a short laugh. “I’m so unused to the title and it sounds so strange, I might not answer to it.”

“Then you may call me Laurel if you like. Now tell me, how are we related through our fathers?”

“We share a great-great-grandfather.” He set the tankard down carefully and smoothed out the tablecloth with the flat of his hand. “Apparently our great-grandfathers were brothers, yours the elder. Their sire was the fourth Earl of Elderidge. Since your father’s passing, I am the only living male descendent, hence the heir.”

She shook her head. “I still can hardly believe it. Who would have thought? And what of my mother? I have been told nothing of her except that she passed away before I was sent to Spain.” Laurel smiled sadly, staring off into the distance. “Yet it seems I remember her. Small things, you know? The scent of her, her voice…”

“Wishful dreams, no doubt, and perfectly understandable. Unfortunately, she died when you were born. The story is not a happy one, I fear.” He drew in a deep breath and began to repeat all that Hobson had told him about her parents.

When he had finished, he drank the remainder of his ale, avoiding her eyes, allowing her time to digest what he had related. She obviously trusted him now, and there was no doubt left in her eyes. The girl was an open book, there for the reading. Her naïveté troubled him, even if it did work to his advantage.

Jack had more to say and needed to get it said. He had only days to accomplish what he must. Might as well be blunt, he reasoned, so he simply stated it without preamble. “We should marry, Laurel.”

She almost choked on her wine. “What?”

Jack wondered what devil urged him to shock her out of that overly tranquil demeanor of hers and stoke the hidden fire he knew was there.

He cleared his throat and looked away, staring unseeing, at the doorway. “Look, I should have waited, made better arrangements beforehand, but when I learned of you, I felt this great need to come and bring you home, to offer you my protection.” He shook his head. “Familial duty seemed paramount at the time, above sensible preparation.”

“Preparation?” Though she appeared a bit rattled, he watched her draw on some inner calm and reserve that he almost envied. And somehow craved to dispel.

“Yes, well, we are to travel together now. As you pointed out, the two of us alone, with no female to accompany you, either here or onboard the ship. I have realized that once we reach England, your reputation will be in tatters unless we are wed.”

“That’s absurd!” Now her color was high, her spirit almost showing itself again. “I hardly know you! You cannot expect me to—”

“Don’t you see? It’s for your own good, Laurel. Aside from keeping your good name, there are other very important considerations.”

“Such as?” she asked, frowning.

He looked into her eyes, holding her gaze with his as he reached for her hand. “You know no one in England. Every female must be under some man’s protection all the while, for that is the law. You could not find employment without proper references. You cannot live alone.”

She remained silent, taking in his explanation and assessing it, probably trying to think of alternatives.

He added the clinching argument. “And if your reputation is sullied in any way, as it would already be if we arrived together unmarried, you can never hope to make a decent match or be accepted in society, even at a lower order. So you see, this is the best way, the only way, really.”

He plowed right ahead. “As for me, I would not be much affected. Some might term me the despoiler of an innocent, but men are seldom ostracized for that. Even so, I would hate the accusation. But you would be considered beyond the pale, quite unsuitable for any man of decent birth, even though nothing inappropriate had ever happened between us.”

“You said yourself we are cousins. There are laws…”

“The king himself wed his first cousin. The Regent did likewise. Ours is not a close kinship at all, regardless of the fact that we share a surname. Perfectly legal, I promise you. We won’t even need dispensation.”

She studied him for long moments before speaking. “And yet your eyes tell me you do not like what you view as the necessity of wedding me, Jack. Is that due to my mother’s… unfortunate past?”

“No! Absolutely not,” he rushed to assure her. “And I’m fine with a marriage of convenience. Really.” He shrugged and smiled. “One must marry, after all. This sort of union is quite the thing in English society, done all the time.”

She inclined her head and paused as if considering that. Finally she spoke again. “That’s true in Spain, as well. I’ve led a sheltered life, Jack, however reading materials were never in short supply at the convent and the nuns are a great deal more worldly than one might imagine. Few of the girls schooled there would stay on, so they had to be made aware of what to expect. The ways of the outside world are not completely foreign to me.”

“Then you must admit, though we aren’t well acquainted yet, this is our best solution.”

She worried her bottom lip with small white teeth as she frowned. “I never expected to marry for love. In fact, I never expected to marry.” She added after a short hesitation, “Now I suppose I shall wed, after all.”

“So you do not object?” he asked, almost wishing that she would. He had more arguments prepared. How could she simply accept his suggestion with such calmness and practicality? There should be some fiery debate over the matter, surely.

“I have no objection on the face of it.” She withdrew her hand and sat back in her chair. “All my life I have dreamed of family, given the absence of one. A husband, children, a home of my own were simply an impossible fantasy I seldom entertained. It seemed so far-fetched, I never even bothered to pray for it. Now here you are, offering all of it on a silver plate.”

“There’s no need to decide on the instant,” he said as the innkeeper approached with a tray. “And here is our food. For now, let’s get you fed.” He watched as she closed her eyes, moved her lips in a silent grace and crossed herself.

Would religious differences cause a problem with what he had planned? Perhaps he was borrowing stumbling blocks. Or searching for some. Damn, but he hadn’t expected it to be this easy.

Instead of pursuing his thoughts on that, he watched her eat. She tucked into the meal like a sailor on shore leave after a long voyage. “Didn’t Orencio feed you?” he asked before thinking how it sounded, that she might think he was criticizing her manners.

She pulled a wry face. “I had little time to eat in peace while I was there. The lads I tended were prone to food fights.”

“A handful, eh? Tell me about them.” Women loved to talk about themselves, he knew, so he deliberately provided the opportunity. Calculating, the way he had been doing since they met, seemed unnatural to him, but also necessary.

She talked between bites, alternately grimacing and laughing softly, pointing for emphasis with her fork. He was glad she felt more at ease in his company, but wondered at it. Perhaps it was only an act, he reasoned, a defense to cover her inner fears.

When they had finished eating, he escorted her upstairs to the chamber adjacent to his own. “Sleep well, little cousin,” he said and raised her hand to kiss the back of it. “I will call you early come morning.”

“I probably won’t sleep a wink,” she said, withdrawing her hand and staring down at it as if it were a strange object. Her next words were a near whisper. “No matter what we choose to do next, I am glad you came for me. Thank you, Jack. You are truly a godsend.”

Well, he had never been called that before. He answered with a brief nod and bade her goodnight. He wondered if he would sleep. Her calm and trusting nature was making it far too effortless for him to take advantage of her, and guilt was nudging him. Not strongly enough to make him cry off the proposal, though. As he saw it, neither of them had another viable choice. Perhaps she simply recognized that, as well.

The next morning, Jack noted that her mood had not changed overnight. She smiled up at him as if he were the Second Coming. Her quiet acceptance of the impending voyage made him wonder again if she were pretending away any trepidation.

At any rate, he was glad to see color in her cheeks and a barely subdued sparkle in those pretty brown eyes. Her features were not that remarkable, rather commonplace when taken individually. Her hair was the color of pale honey, her eyebrows and lashes several shades darker. She had an oval face, pert little nose, bright brown heavily lashed eyes and a sweetly curved and quite mobile mouth. All nice-enough attributes, but it was their combination and her ever-changing expression that lent her beauty.

Though there was nothing static about those expressions, they generally ranged from sweetly accepting to thoughtfully questioning. She obviously avoided excitement, outright anger or anything approaching hysteria. Why that bothered him, he could not say, except that he had seen the fire in her once and wondered how she kept it banked. He should ask her for lessons.

He had, of course, noted her lithe figure, too. What man would not do that if in the company of a woman he might marry.

She was small of stature, a head shorter than he, and not greatly endowed at the top, though her tiny waist made her seem so at first glance.

He could not seem to dismiss his wonder at her composure. It had to be a natural acquisition from the contemplative sisters who had raised her. Yet underneath that calm, he knew there lurked a more passionate streak in her nature. Hadn’t he glimpsed that at Orencio’s? Righteous anger, that had been, and not what Jack wished to stoke. It was the passion in her that he was looking for, of course.

Pretense or not, she treated him like her liberator now, so perhaps he really was. It gave him a sense of satisfaction to think so. And it almost justified in his mind what he definitely meant to do.




Chapter Three


The next afternoon, they stood at the rail of the Minotaur, a trade vessel on which he had purchased their passage to England, and watched the port of La Coruña grow distant.

Jack appreciated the way Laurel adapted to sea travel, as if it were some great undertaking to be quietly savored. He only hoped mal de mer didn’t claim her if the seas grew rough. At the moment she genuinely seemed to be embracing all that was new to her with an equanimity that amazed him.

“You love the sea,” she guessed, staring out at the waves.

“Grew up next to it and then on it,” he said truthfully. “As a child I dreamed of traveling to distant shores, having adventures, sailing my own ship.”

“Did you?” she asked. “And have you seen the world already?”

He inclined his head as he slapped his hands lightly against the rail. “Aye, I’ve seen most of it.”

“Then you must tell me about your travels. Have you had adventures enough?” she asked with a knowing smile. “Ready to settle now?”

“Ready as I will ever be,” he answered ruefully, unwilling to delve too deeply into what life might be like as a land-bound lord stuck with tallying rents and arguing with stuffy peers. Restricting himself to one woman.

His father had never done that, he recalled with shame. While his mother remained in Plymouth producing candles to sell and essentially supporting them with the profits from the family business she had inherited, his father sailed off constantly. He enjoyed adventures and, as Jack had learned when he went to sea with him, cavorted with other women whenever they docked in foreign ports.

Jack was no saint and had taken to bedsport as soon as he was of an age to do so, but he resented his father’s excuse for infidelity. It was an excuse, he had realized early on, not a valid reason to stray, if there existed such a reason. Marriage required fidelity.

Could he remain faithful? Well, he would have to if he was to keep his honor, Jack decided. Though he might have lied a little to attain what he must in this case, he would never cheat. A man had to draw the line somewhere.

He quickly dismissed the thought and changed the topic. “Were they kind to you at the convent?”

“Of course. Our Lady of Cambre is not only a convent, but a convent school and it afforded me an enviable education. Not all of the pupils there came as infants, nor did most of the nuns. While they probably wished for all of us to enter the order, they were aware that most would leave, return to their homes and marry.”

“But you did not expect to do so.”

She shook her head. “Never. But my point is that the sisters took us as individuals, respected and enhanced whatever natural gifts they saw in each and prepared us accordingly. I was given to understand that females are not supposed to have intellect enough to master many of the studies offered there.” She glanced up at him with a grin. “Not to boast, but I excelled at Maths. Numbers fascinate me.”

Jack pressed the heels of his hands against the rail and resisted the urge to push away and pace. He needed to curb his impatience with all of this conversation. A man of action, he would much rather live in the moment than delve into the past as they were doing. “Maths, eh? Well, I suppose you will need that knowledge when counting linens and silver.”

“Not only that. I can help you with accounts as I did Sister Josephina,” she offered with a decisive nod.

Jack felt a stab of foreboding. It would not do for her to examine their finances and discover that he had assumed her fortune. “I’m sure I can manage that on my own.”

He quickly turned from the subject of accounts. “I’ll wager your Spanish is also enviable. You have the barest trace of an accent, did you know? It’s quite charming.”

She smiled sweetly at the compliment. “How nice of you to say so. English was always prevalent, though the nuns and students were a good mix of nationalities. Languages were spoken interchangeably at times, so we received a working knowledge, if not fluency, in several tongues,” she explained. “My French is atrocious, I’m told, and my Italian, little better. What of you?”

“I know enough to get by. Trading required that.” He looked out across the sea, arms folded on the rail, the tense muscles of his legs working against the motion of the waves. How could she simply stand there, unmoving, untrammeled, perfectly tranquil in the face of such an uncertain future? Was that ability inborn or learned, he wondered again. No doubt it came with schoolroom discipline.

Her formal education certainly surpassed his. “I never went to school,” he admitted. “Mother taught me until I was seven, reading, writing, numbers and so forth. Then my father took me to sea with him as soon as he left the navy and sailed with a sea merchant.”

“Well, you had the basics everyone needs,” she said.

“Just so, and my father tutored me on board as did others with learning who had nothing better to do. I had a practical education rather than classic.”

She smoothed back a strand of hair that had come loose in the wind. The gesture was practiced, not out of any coyness, but because those errant golden curls constantly escaped the severe chignon she wore. Jack thought there might be other rebellious attributes in Laurel waiting to slip their carefully schooled containment.

She sighed as she looked out over the seas. “Practicality is a good thing, isn’t it? I never became proficient at those useful things one needs to know. For instance, I loathe sewing. We embroidered innumerable altar cloths and my stitches were always uneven. My fingers are only now recovering.”

Jack turned and lifted both of her hands to examine her fingertips. They were red from the cold so he enclosed them within his to warm them. “You need never sew another stitch. What of music? Can you play and do you dance?”

She wore a faraway expression. “No. Are those accomplishments necessary for a lady? I’ve always thought I should like to dance if I could be taught.”

“Of course you can. We will arrange for lessons,” Jack promised.

“After we are married?” she asked.

“So you are still of a mind to marry me, Laurel?” he asked, determined to keep his tone light and conversational.

She turned and cocked her head to one side. “I think so, yes. We get on well enough, don’t you think?”

He nodded. “Do you worry that your soul’s mate is out there somewhere waiting to meet you? Most women hold that hope, so I’m led to believe.”

“I told you that is only the stuff of girlish dreams,” she replied with a soft little laugh. “I will be content with a good match.”

Content and also rich and at my mercy, Jack’s conscience reminded him. Would to God, she never found out his real reason for this marriage. He did not want her feeling betrayed. She might even demand a separation if she ever learned of it. That would free him to pursue his own desires and live as he wished, of course, but at what great cost to her feelings and his honor?

“Shall we marry immediately when we arrive in England before anyone knows we’re there?” she asked.

He dared not wait that long. “The wedding itself could pose a problem,” he informed her in case she had not thought of it. He had. “You are Catholic and I am not.”

“Oh.” She looked crestfallen. Then she brightened. “Perhaps the captain could marry us before we get there. I read of that in a novel once. Is it true captains of ships can perform weddings?”

“Well, that would be a romantic tale to tell, wouldn’t it? But considering our stations, our marriage must be recognized by the Church of England and duly recorded in other than a ship’s log. What I meant to ask is if you will mind if there’s no priest, no Catholic service?”

She shot him a wry look. “Did I not suggest a ship’s captain? So if not the captain and not a priest, what shall we do?”

“There is a vicar on board.” He had seen to that, as well as to obtaining a special license and a ring, before leaving England, in the event things progressed this far. It paid to plan ahead for every contingency.

“Very well, shall we apply to the vicar?” she asked.

Jack looked out across the waves again to avoid her gaze. It could not be this uncomplicated. He was so used to fighting hard, struggling for everything he got, it was hard to accept.

Despite what looked to be trouble-free success, he kept thinking how this would impact his own life. There would be no more nights of delight in foreign ports, no further risk-taking adventures and no indulging in wild investment schemes to increase his fortune. He would be a married man, honor bound to exclusivity, tied to one woman and an estate for which he would be solely responsible. Sobering thoughts indeed, but he had already decided that’s what must be. There were others to think of now besides himself.

Though he often wished to, he could not bring himself to ignore the needs of others as his father had always done. Though Jack had loved the man, he recognized the shortcomings at a very early age.

Now the welfare of many rested with Jack, just as it had aboard his own ship. Delegating that task for the last venture had proved disastrous. Responsibility was a weighty thing, but something he had to embrace. However, embracing Laurel would be no sacrifice at all. Perhaps it would prove to be the reward for his diligence.

Still, he should give her one last opportunity to assert herself or question the sanity of the plan. “I would like you to be certain, Laurel. As you said at first, you hardly know me.”

She shrugged. “Better than I know anyone else. So do you really want to?”

“Yes, of course,” he replied and did not elaborate any further for fear he would talk her out of the notion. And whyever should he do that? Their marriage would solve everyone’s needs. Hobson would be satisfied with the fairness of it, and Laurel would have the family she wanted. His mother would be delighted he was to give up the sea. As for himself, he would…well, he would live a changed life, one of wealth and privilege.

“If you will excuse me, I’ll go and speak with the vicar and to the captain for his permission to use the deck. We might as well have done with it as soon as may be.”

She frowned up at him and he immediately realized how dreadful that had sounded. He forced a hearty laugh. “You know how grooms cavil at wedding formalities.” When she shook her head slightly, he added, “No, I don’t suppose you do. I’m quaking in my boots, wondering if I’ll be able to live up to your trust in me. That’s all. Sheer nerves.”

She nodded, smiling as she smoothed the lapel of his coat and gave it a pat. “Then we must keep the ceremony simple with no fuss and bother.”

“Aye, that’s best,” he said, raising her hand to his lips and pressing a long kiss on her cold fingertips. “Until later, then.”

He strode quickly away, every fiber of his being screaming for release of tension. If only he could shed his boots and climb the rigging, haul rope or shift barrels. Any activity to dispel the feeling of confinement in his own body. He was on an edge that a bridegroom’s nerves did not explain. He suffered it almost constantly and never found an explanation.

The very next morning Laurel shook out her white muslin and spread it over the bunk in her cabin. She had only two gowns, the gray she wore every day and this one she and Sister Mary Anne had sewn for her confirmation years ago and recently altered for any dressier occasions that might occur at the Orencio household. Not that there had been any of those occasions.

There were ribbons, too, that she had already threaded through the braids that crowned her head. She might not be the most fashionably dressed of brides, but at least she wouldn’t look like the gray mouse her groom would be expecting.

Doubts about her decision had kept her awake most of the night. None she would admit to Jack, however. The way he had explained things, this truly did seem her only chance at a normal life.

He was very considerate, gallant, handsome, even titled. What more could she hope for in a husband? The very thought of having to meet numerous candidates and choose another terrified her.

According to him, any chance for such a choice would not be possible anyway, because everyone in England would believe her compromised after their trip together.

Even if she and Jack turned out to be mismatched in future, she would somehow make things work between them. He was a good man to do this for her.

She donned the crinkled muslin and smoothed it out as best she could. Her white slippers were a bit tight, having been constructed when she was but thirteen. Still, her feet had not grown much since that age. Laurel took a deep breath, pinched her cheeks, raked her teeth over her lips to induce a little color and went out to join Jack on the deck.

She smiled at his reaction. He looked rather shocked for a moment to see her wearing something different from the gray. And then pleased. His appreciative smile warmed her heart.

He looked wonderful in a coat of dark blue with gray breeches, black boots that reached his knees and incredibly white linen at his neck and wrists. Well dressed and well formed was this cousin and soon-to-be husband. The wind tossed his light brown hair about his brow, affording him a boyish charm that delighted her.

How tall and imposing he looked despite that small disarray, every inch a nobleman, every ounce a strong, capable man of the world. When she stood next to him, he made her feel small, yet in no way insignificant. Her wishes and opinions seemed to matter to him. He had been nothing but forthright, kind and considerate.

Laurel hoped this would prove to be the best decision for both of them. Jack was giving up his bachelor status, which he must surely have enjoyed enormously, to save her reputation.

Marriage would not become a total sacrifice on his part, she would see to that. She was good at organizing and very economical, both attributes that would be handy for managing a large household. After all, the convent was no more than that, and she had become adept at helping the sisters in almost every area. She would know precisely what to do.

Even more important was the fact that as a new earl, Jack would be thinking of setting up his nursery. The novels she had read indicated that every man of rank needed to wed and produce an heir. She promised herself she would, in every way possible, make this marriage as good for him as it would be for her. She would make it perfect.

The captain and the minister stood before them at the bow, flanked by a number of the crew and the half dozen other passengers. Strangers all, for there had been no time yet to form friendships or even to acquire acquaintances.

Jack held out his hand and she took it. How gallant of him to do this for her, to come for her and then to save her from scandal. What a good heart he had.

The rise and fall of the ship seemed to set the cadence for the minister’s words as he read from his book.

Hers was the first wedding she had ever attended, so Laurel hung on every word, committed to memory each promise Jack made, amazed that this outrageously handsome man, this earl, this treasured new friend and cousin, vowed so sincerely to become her husband forever. Her heart was so full of gratitude, she could scarcely breathe.

“I, Jackson Templeton Worth, take thee, Laurel Winspear Worth, to my wedded wife. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

Laurel repeated the same vows with the word obey added to her litany. She slipped cherish into her part, as well, for she meant to truly cherish this wonderfully selfless man.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” Jack said, looking down at her hand as he slid a plain gold band on her finger. “And with all my worldly goods, I thee endow.”

A brief hint of doubt intruded. How was it that he had a ring? And, so conveniently, a minister? But he could not have planned this wedding in advance. He’d had no reason to marry her before it became necessary to save her reputation, had he? No, he was a resourceful man. He’d probably bought a ring from someone, and the minister being onboard must simply be a happy coincidence.

“By the power vested in me by the Church of England and His Majesty, King George,” the minister intoned, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”

The ceremony was over and she was a wife. Jack’s wife. His countess, though he had not made their station known as yet on board the ship. She wondered about that, but he had said he was still unused to the title.

Perhaps he merely wanted to be treated equally by their fellow travelers. Laurel admitted that not being either avoided or bowed to at every turn would make for a much more pleasant journey. Jack was wise and obviously thought ahead.

“Kiss ’er, mister!” one of the crewmen shouted as the vicar closed his book. Laughter ensued as Jack leaned to touch his lips to hers. Everyone applauded and a few added whistles.

Laurel savored the sweet feel of his mouth as it lightly caressed hers. He smelled of bay rum, starch and the sea. His closeness felt lovely, though unsettling, and caused a quickening of her heartbeat as it always did. She experienced a small pang of regret when he drew away.

Moments later, after a spate of cursory congratulations, the onlookers scattered and the ship was back to business as usual.

Jack still held her hand and turned to her then. “Well, my lady. I wish I could offer you more festivities, but there is a wedding breakfast for the two of us in my cabin. I bribed the ship’s cook.”

“How wonderful,” she said, growing nervous at last. One could only dismiss thoughts of the consummation for so long. She knew vaguely what was to happen. His kiss had stirred all sorts of imaginings. Would he wait for night? Did couples even do such intimate things in the light of day? “I should have read more novels,” she muttered to herself.

“So you had novels in the convent,” he said. “Those are fairly new. How did you get them?”

“Smuggled in by the girls who came late to us. The books were few, well dog-eared and treasured.”

She stopped on the stairs. “Jack? I feel I should warn you I know very little about becoming a wife. Are you…experienced at all?”

He bit his lip and looked away. “Ah…well, somewhat. That won’t be a problem. If you like, we will wait until we land and find more comfortable accommodations. To make things official, that is. To, you know…” He actually blushed, delighting Laurel, dismissing her own qualms.

“That would be best I think. Yes, we should wait.” She hesitated before asking the next question, lest he think her too eager. “How many days will we be at sea, do you think?”

“Three or four at best. Longer if the winds aren’t with us.”

“Then we shall arrive in London?”

“We’re to put in at Plymouth, then go on to London by coach,” he explained. “Well then, shall we breakfast? A good English repast seems a proper way to begin, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed. How thoughtful you are. Women all over the world will probably wish me dead when they hear you’re leg-shackled.”

He laughed out loud, banishing some of the tension between them. “Where did you hear such a term? Aha, those infamous novels.”

To her great relief, he took her hand again and led her through the common room into his cabin. The space was minuscule, quite intimate and not conducive to any sort of formality.

There was a bunk fastened to the wall on which they would sit side by side. His small travel trunk served as a table. It had been set very simply with two plates of eggs, bread and ham, assuredly cold by this time. She didn’t mind in the least. It was his effort to please her that mattered.

Laurel could scarcely believe the events of the past three days or credit her good fortune at Jack’s coming to Spain for her and taking her to wife.

She was almost afraid to celebrate. Where had she heard that when something seemed too good to be true, it usually was?




Chapter Four


Early next morning, Jack leaned against the rail again, looking out to sea, wondering if he would ever sail again after this short yet momentous voyage.

How strange it seemed to be aboard a ship and have nothing to do. Even so, the restlessness that constantly plagued him seemed somehow less today.

He knew what he would like to be doing, but accepted the wait as his punishment for tricking Laurel into a hasty marriage. She was no lightskirt to tumble in a narrow bunk and laugh with at the inconvenience. She was his wife, an untried, convent-bred young lady with tender sensibilities.

He had not slept. Of all the men he knew, he was the last he would have figured to spend his wedding night alone. His friends would have a great laugh over that if they ever learned of it.

Especially Neville Morleigh. He smiled recalling the joint venture that had reaped such a grand profit for both. They had met aboard the Emelia when Jack served as navigator for Captain Holt, the privateer. Neville had been about some havey-cavey government business.

The two had formed an instant friendship. Later on, by combining funds, refitting an old merchantman, gaining his license to captain and a letter of marque, their privateering had gone smashingly well.

The Siren had given Neville a means to travel to almost any port so he could do whatever intelligencing he had been set to do. When they captured French ships, England had acquired the vessels while he, Neville and their crew shared the booty. Neville eventually bought out and continued his furtive work elsewhere.

He had not seen Neville since, but had read in a London paper of his friend’s marriage to a baron’s widow shortly after the war ended. Perhaps Neville had lost his profits on another venture, too, and decided to marry for money.

“Lost in thought or watching for whales?” Laurel’s cheerful question dragged him back to the present.

“Just thinking of a friend of mine with whom I sailed in times past,” he admitted, turning to smile a greeting. “Good morning. Did you pass a comfortable night?”

“Not very. Did you?”

He shook his head, laughing a little. “Not at all, but then I seldom sleep well. Shall we take a turn around deck?” Jack took her arm and they strolled, avoiding the coils of ropes and a sailor who was busy swabbing the planks. He noted that their walk seemed almost restful to him instead of being merely a thing he must do to keep her in good spirits.

The wind picked up considerably in the next quarter hour and a bank of clouds moved closer, obliterating the horizon. “We’re in for a blow,” he muttered, squinting to the east. “Best you go to your cabin.”

Her fingers dug into his arm as she looked up at him. “Please, no. I would rather face it on deck if there’s a storm.”

“Don’t be a goose,” he said. “If it’s only rain, you’ll be soaked through, and if it does get rough, you could be injured. At best, you’d be in the way.”

“You’ll come, too?”

“No, I’ll give a hand up here,” he said, speaking more calmly than the situation warranted. The ship had begun to pitch appreciably even as they spoke. The sky grew dark and drops began to pelt them.

He shrugged off his coat, slung it around her shoulders, then plopped down on a coil of rope to quickly remove his boots and stockings. He handed them to her. “Go, Laurel. Now!” he ordered as he looked up at the billowed sails and whipping flag.

“You will be careful!” she cried, hugging his boots to her chest, struggling to keep her balance as the pitch and roll grew worse. She glanced up at the crewmen who had hopped the rigging. The first mate was shouting orders.

“Hurry! Go!” Jack gave her a gentle shove in the direction of their quarters, watching for only a moment to be sure she minded.

The captain stood at the wheel, issuing orders to the first mate, who then bellowed them to pilot and crew. Jack made his way toward them to offer his services.

By the time he traversed the distance, waves were visible, rising higher than the rails, sloshing over the deck.

Laurel must be terrified. He hoped she had made it inside before getting soaked. Sharp needles of rain increased in density, nearly blinding him. He was wet to the skin. And back within his element.

They were in for it all right. He put Laurel out of mind and leaped into the fray against his oldest enemy, the weather at sea.

The mate had him helping to secure cannon when Jack heard the shout of man overboard not ten feet away. His first thought was Laurel. What if she had come back on deck and a wave had swept her over?

He grasped the end of a coil, deftly securing it around his waist with the proper knot. Already halfway over the rail, he shouted to the two men working beside him to man the rope. He saw something white bob in the water, then disappear when a heavy swell rocked the ship.

“There! I’m going in!” he shouted and dived.

Under the surface, he saw a column of white flutter and made for it. All he could think was of Laurel in her white frock, sinking without a struggle. He fought the tow, kicked until he thought his legs would break and lungs burst.

Finally, when nearly there, he pushed to the surface, dragged in a deep breath and went under again. When he reached the small body, he grabbed it with one arm and lifted, scissoring his legs, pulling upward with his free hand until he felt the welcome pelt of rain on his face.

Immediately, the rope jerked taut and he was being hauled backward. Salt stung his eyes and his hair plastered to his face like seaweed.

As he touched wood, fingers grappled at his shirt, caught and hauled him to the rope ladder. “Here, man! Let me put ’im in the net. Can ye climb?”

“Aye,” Jack rasped as he released his burden to strong hands and reached for the ladder hanging over the side. With tremendous effort and heaving for breath, he gained one flexible rung at a time until he was at the rail.

Seamen dragged him up and over and laid him on the wet deck. Jack rolled to his side and sat up. “Where—?”

“Just there, sir, pukin’ up enough brine to fill a bucket, but he’ll do,” someone said with a hearty laugh. “We’d ha’ lost pore Timmy, weren’t for you!”

Jack fell back onto the wildly rocking deck and closed his eyes. Not Laurel. He began to laugh. Would he have gone in after the boy had he known? Probably, he thought, but he would have kept his bloody head while doing it.

This preoccupation with a wife might be the death of him. He laughed harder as the rain pounded and the wind raged.

“You all right, sir?” One of the crew who pulled him in began untying the rope from around his waist.

“Aye,” Jack said, rolling over, sitting up again and slicking his hair back with both hands. He had a job to do yet. Moments later he was busy again, tying down the brights while dodging the monstrous wheels with his bare feet.

The storm abated at last and the damage proved minimal. No one had been lost and only a few sustained injuries. Weary to the bone, Jack headed for his cabin to dry off and rest. He encountered the captain on the way.

“Join me for dinner, you and your wife,” Captain Pollack said. The invitation sounded like an order, but Jack knew it for an honor.

“Very well, Captain. Thank you.” He clenched his eyes shut for a moment to clear them and proceeded to his quarters.

Laurel waited for him in the common room to which each of their cabins opened. She rose when he came inside. “It’s over,” she said, stating the obvious. The ship’s motion had grown relatively calm.

“We’re asked to dine with the captain,” he told her. “Are you well enough?”

“Very well,” she said, frowning at him. “You look done in. Was it very bad?”

“I’ve seen worse,” he admitted, passing her to reach his cabin door. “At least it blew us in the right direction.” He noted how pale she was. “Were you afraid we would die?”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t death I feared. We were taught not to fear it.”

He gave a snort of disbelief. “Well I was taught not to welcome it. So you just thought to meet it face-to-face in the gale instead of taking precaution?” He felt unreasonably angry that she hadn’t been afraid at all and he had been scared out of his bloody mind for her.

She ducked her head as she shook it. “I didn’t want to leave you out there.”

Oh. He blew out the pent-up breath he’d been holding lest he say something else that was mean and uncalled-for. “I’d better change,” he muttered and left her there in the common room.

God, he had wanted to grab her and hold her close, kiss her like a madman and declare how profoundly glad he was that it had not been her bobbing up and down in the sea.

Damn, but being married was a maddening thing, especially to a virgin you couldn’t have yet and to a girl who hadn’t sense enough to get in out of the rain.

The captain’s table was a great deal more formal than the one in the common room they had passed through to go there. Laurel marveled at the china and crystal, even finer than that of the Orencio household. The table linen was spotless and every man there was dressed formally, except Jack and a young lad clad in white.

Everyone stood when they entered. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Worth,” the captain said with a warm smile. He proceeded to introduce them to each of the five men present, all officers of the ship. And then he gestured to the young boy whom she guessed to be about thirteen. “Timothy Bromfield, my godson and cabin lad to Mr. Tomlinson, my second in command. Say your piece, Tim.”

The dark-haired boy turned wide brown eyes to her, bowed and said, “Ma’am.” Then he spoke to Jack. “Sir, I owe you my life and I thank you for your heroic deed. If ever I can repay you in any way, you must call upon me.” He smiled the sweetest smile. “They say in the Orient that if you save a life, it belongs to you.” He shrugged. “Or something equivalent to that.”

Everyone laughed, including the captain. “Well, you can’t take it with you, Mr. Worth, because we should miss this fellow aboard. And may I add my eternal gratitude. He is my brother’s only son. Should I have lost him at sea his first time out, I would have been persona non grata in my family home forever.”

Mr. Tomlinson piped in, “The way you leaped over the side and performed the rescue, one would think you’d had years at sea yourself!”

Jack smiled self-consciously. “Almost twenty years of it, sir. I began as a cabin lad myself aboard the Mosquitobit.”

Laurel paid only half attention. She still couldn’t process the fact that Jack had jumped overboard to save the boy. He had said nothing about it!

All sorts of feelings rushed through her, from hot anger that he would take such a mortal risk to abject pride in the champion he turned out to be.

But she had known already how unselfish he was, hadn’t she? Everything he had done for her proved he was heroic and this feat only seconded that. The men were raising a toast to Jack at that moment. Laurel quickly reached for her glass and joined them.

Later when they were returning to their cabins, she requested that they take a stroll about the deck rather than retire immediately. “I want to see the ocean calm or I shan’t sleep,” she said.

“A good idea,” he agreed, and led her down the gangway and up the steps.

“That was a very brave thing you did, saving young Tim,” she said.

“An impulse, I assure you. Had I stopped to think, I probably would have tossed him a buoy instead.”

Laurel knew better. She smiled up at the stars that were abundant in the clear night sky. Canvas had been unfurled and they were sailing along as if nothing had happened. Several of the other guests were out on deck, ostensibly for the same reason she had wanted to be there.

Suddenly she stopped and looked up at the wooden pole they were passing by. “The spar,” she remarked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“That is a spar, isn’t it?” she asked as she reached over to touch it lightly.

“It is. Have you read of ships then?”

She shook her head and placed her fingertips to her temple as an image occurred. “I remember it from when I sailed before. The word sounded like star to me. I thought a star was falling until someone told me differently.”

She met his puzzled gaze. “There was a flash, of lightning, I think. I suppose that was what I saw. The thing snapped, you see. Someone shouted, “Spar’s falling!” There was a huge crash and everyone began dashing about. I was knocked down.”

Jack frowned and stared at her. “How could you remember that incident if you were only—? How old were you?” he asked.

“I have no idea,” she said with a shake of her head. “Odd that I’ve never thought of it since, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Strange indeed. Tell me, do you recall entering the convent?”

“Not at all,” she replied truthfully.

“Probably another dream,” Jack said. “You know, such as the ones you mentioned having of your mother. It stands to reason a child brought up in a ritualistic environment like a convent would exercise imagination in such a way.”

“You make the convent sound like prison and it wasn’t that at all,” she informed him. “But perhaps you are right about the dreams.”

“I wonder how you knew of the spar, though.”

Laurel wondered, too. The dream seemed so real.

“Shall I point out other parts of the ship?” Jack asked. “I’ve been a seaman for most of my life, so this is a second home to me.”

She took his arm and they continued their stroll around the deck of the brigantine. Laurel found herself searching in memory for other nautical words she might have dreamed of or learned as a child, but nothing else they passed by seemed familiar.

Only the spar and the storm.




Chapter Five


They sailed into Plymouth Harbor four days later on a gray afternoon. Laurel found the town fascinating when they disembarked, so different from the buildings in La Coruña or any others she had seen in Spain. When she began to ask about the differences, Jack did not patronize her. He answered with alacrity and encouraged her to question.

“This Plymouth is the harbor where, two hundred years ago, the famous Mayflower set sail for the new world, isn’t it?” she asked, turning to look back out to sea.

“The very place. You studied about that, eh? A group of dissidents spurned Church of England ways.” He smiled as he hefted his travel trunk onto his shoulder. “They thought the rituals too Catholic.”

She lifted her bag and set off beside him down the cobbled street. “Not all aboard left England due to that,” she said, glad she could show him that she knew a little something of the world. “Saints and strangers, they were called. Whatever their reasons for leaving, weren’t they courageous to set out on such a venture, facing the unknown in a strange land?”

“Precisely what you are doing yourself,” he said with a grin. “Aren’t you the brave one!”

She smiled. “Am I? I hadn’t thought of that. The natives here are welcoming and civilized, I trust.”

“Most of them are, but it pays to watch your purse,” he advised. “In regard to scoundrels, may I offer you a bit of advice?”

“Of course,” she replied.

“Here, and especially in London, there will be very many men everywhere you go, something that will be new to you, having been reared with the sisters. If I’m not by to provide you protection, have a care around them, Laurel, even those who appear to be gentlemen.”

“For they do not always mean well,” she said, mimicking his low, serious tone of voice. “Especially beware of those from Spain with roving eyes and hands,” she added, pointedly reminding him that she had already learned that particular lesson.

He laughed. “Well then, now you know of the pickpockets, as well.”

Laurel felt safe enough since she owned no purse or anything to put into one. The only two things she treasured were within her travel bag. She held it closer, uncertain whether he had been jesting about thieves everywhere.

“Plymouth seems a lovely town from what I see.”

“I like it. My early years were spent several streets from this very spot.”

“May I see where you lived?” she asked, hoping for a better picture of the boy he had been.

“Aye, and you must meet my mother. She has a larger place now that she’s remarried, but it’s very close to our old home.”

“You have a mother!” Laurel exclaimed.

“Well, I wasn’t hatched,” Jack said with a twist of his lips.

She laughed. “You know what I meant. Never once have you mentioned she was alive. I assumed you were an orphan like me.”

“Sorry, but you never asked. So I am telling you now, you have a mother-in-law. Come, we’ll go and see if she will let me keep you.”

Laurel knew he was joking now, but worry set in nonetheless. Would his mother tolerate a Catholic daughter-in-law, one who had very little real knowledge of the world and barely looked presentable?

She hurried to keep up with Jack as he strode the smooth stones of the streets, winding through the alleyways, a beatific smile on his face.

“Just there,” he said as he stopped and pointed to a row of small shops. “We lived above the chandler’s. See the sign? Mother’s family were candle makers. She did right well during the war but sold out when she married the chemist.”

“When did your father die?” Laurel asked, wishing they had dwelt more on his family’s history. They were her kin, too, after all.

“Ten years ago. I was eighteen and sailing on my own then. All those years Da survived at sea, could climb rigging like a monkey and battle pirates and privateers better than anyone. Then he fell off a ladder while hanging a new sign over the shop when he was home on a visit. Broke his neck.” He shook his head. “An ignominious end for a born sailor.”

“That’s so sad. But your mother is happy in her new marriage?”

“Mr. Ives does right well by her, so she says. I sailed out of here on my way to fetch you, so she’ll probably be expecting me back sooner or later.”

“But not me,” Laurel guessed.

He laughed. “No, not as my wife. She’ll be shocked to silence to find me married. And glad of it, too, when she recovers.”

They walked on down the street to the chemist shop and Jack entered first, holding the door open for Laurel. He set down his trunk just inside.

A statuesque, fair-haired woman in her midfifties threw up her hands and cried, “Jackie Boy!”

Laurel noted the resemblance in their features. The mother had the same strong nose and chin. The indentations in her cheeks that could almost be deemed dimples softened her countenance just as Jack’s did. Her mother-inlaw was a tall, handsome woman with a proud carriage and a capable air about her.

Mrs. Ives rounded the counter and grasped her son in a hearty hug. “Seeing you twice in a month almost never happens!” Then she noticed Laurel and stepped a little apart from Jack, though she seemed not at all embarrassed by her open display of affection.

“Excuse me, miss. I didn’t mean to ignore you. What is it I can do for you today?”

Jack hugged his mother with one arm and gestured to Laurel. “You can welcome a daughter, Mum. This is my wife, Laurel. Laurel, my mother, Hester Ives.”

The woman’s mouth dropped open and she gaped, first at Laurel, then up at her son.

“See? I told you. She’s speechless. Not a condition we shall see again right soon.” He seemed delighted.

“Mrs. Ives, so nice to meet you,” Laurel said, hoping to break the woman’s spell. She dropped a curtsy and ducked her head.

“Wife?” his mother gasped. “Is it true? You’re not having me on, Jack?”

“Not at all. We were wed aboard ship. Isn’t she lovely, Mum?” He winked at Laurel.

“Who is she?”

Jack cleared his throat. “Daughter of the former earl. Of Elderidge. Remember I told you I was going to fetch her home from Spain?”

Mrs. Ives reached behind her to grasp the countertop with both hands. “Then you were not jesting, Jack? Do not play with me,” she warned. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Did you inherit that title or no?”

“Indeed I did, Mum. I told you there was no other male heir.”

“You jackanapes, I never took you seriously!”

“Well, you may this time. I am the earl and Laurel is my countess. She has no more experience with the nobles than I do, you see, so we decided to muddle through it all together.”

“My God. I think I might faint,” the woman declared, clenching her eyes shut and pressing a hand to her chest.

“Steady on, old girl!” Jack said, laughing. “Here. Let me close shop for you and we’ll go up and have a chat. Where’s Mr. Ives today?”

“Gone for the week to purchase stock,” she murmured, taking Jack’s arm as he led her to the stairs. “Will you stay the night, dear? Please?”

Jack looked over his shoulder at Laurel with apology in his eyes and a plea for understanding. She nodded emphatically.

“Of course, Mum, we’ll stay if you like,” he replied.

Laurel realized right away why Jack had looked a bit crestfallen at having to stay with his mother. There was only the one bedroom and a small parlor above stairs.

Mrs. Ives had declared on the way up that she and Laurel would occupy the bedroom and Jack would be relegated to the sitting room couch.

Laurel was a bit disconcerted by that herself. The longer they put off making their marriage real, the more she worried about it.

Mrs. Ives regained full voice in good time, and over tea, Laurel learned much about Jack’s early life through tales of his derring-do as a lad. She laughed even as her heart melted, seeing the lovely relationship that still existed between mother and son.

When she and the woman retired for the night, Mrs. Ives insisted that Laurel call her Mum as Jack did.

“He won’t be an easy one to live with,” she warned Laurel in a near whisper. “Jack has trouble being still, you see. Never a quiet moment around him, I swear. How he ever managed all his energy aboard ship for weeks and months at a time, I can’t imagine.”

Laurel could well imagine it. He probably had spent the time diving in after errant lads who fell overboard or climbing to the top of the mast. If there had been battles, he would have thought so much the better, but she said none of that to his mother. Instead, she tried to ease the woman’s mind about Jack’s future.

“Perhaps he has done with the sea, ma’am. He will have lands to manage now.”

The mother looked doubtful. “His da was a born seaman and did his best to make one of Jack. It’s probably in the blood anyway, so I daren’t hope you’re right.”

Laurel dared. “He is your son, too, you know.”

Mrs. Ives smiled and turned down the bed covers. “So he is and I do so wish him happy, above anything. You as well, child.”

“You have missed him, haven’t you, all these years he’s been away? Please say you’ll come and visit us often once we’re settled. You and Mr. Ives will be most welcome at any time.”

“What a dear little thing you are and so thoughtful. Jack’s chosen well, I think.”

Laurel certainly hoped so. Thus far, they got along well. And she admitted there had been a mighty attraction on her part right from the beginning.

The next morning Laurel donned her gray gown again in preparation for their journey to London. Jack’s mother had other ideas. As they drank their tea in the shop, she pleaded with Jack to stay one more day.

He hesitated and Laurel knew why. It was high time they consummated their marriage and could hardly do so in the confines of his mother’s living quarters. Laurel smiled at him and gave a small shrug to say she didn’t mind if he wanted to visit longer.

“I hate to impose longer,” he said, but finally acquiesced when Mrs. Ives insisted they stay. “Very well, one more day,” he agreed. “But then we really must go on.”

His mother beamed. “All right, but as penance for rushing your visit, you must come with me this evening. It will be the perfect practice for you, Laurel, before you get to London!” she exclaimed. “And I confess, I would enjoy showing off my new daughter.”

Laurel could tell that he didn’t want to disappoint his mother in any way, perhaps because he had spent so much time away from her. “Where are we going that’s so important?”

“To the Theatre Royal! I had planned to go one evening this week anyway. The Olander Company is doing Hamlet and our own Rose Madson is to play Ophelia! Tonight is opening night and the entire town should turn out.”

“Who is Rose Madson?” Jack asked.

“My good friend Emma Madson’s daughter, of course.” She flapped a hand. “You wouldn’t remember her, I suppose. I think she was born about the time you went to sea with your father. She was such a lovely girl. Her parents were so upset when she ran off to London to become an actress, but you can imagine how proud they are now she’s performing in her own town!”

Laurel couldn’t imagine it at all. It must be a parent’s worst nightmare. She had heard about actresses. Perhaps her information was a bit skewed, however, considering where she had gotten it. Her curiosity was piqued. “I do love Shakespeare,” she said, hoping Jack would allow them to go. “I’ve never seen a play before, but I’ve read Hamlet so many times.”

He looked speculatively at her as she waited for his answer. “I suppose we could. It might be better for you to begin with an outing more modest than some London event.” He nodded. “We shall go then.”

Mrs. Ives clapped her hands. “Wonderful! You will love the theatre, Laurel. It opened five years ago and I’ve only been the once. The building itself is so grand, I’ll wager it’s as posh as anything London has to offer.”

“I look forward to it.” She truly did, but wondered what it would be like with crowds of people and all the noise. Plymouth was the largest town she had ever visited and the passengers and crew of the ship, the most numerous crowd she had yet encountered.

While Jack went out to arrange their transportation to London for the following day and purchase tickets for the play, Laurel spent the hours helping his mother in the chemist shop.

Mrs. Ives proved good company, bragging on Laurel each time a customer came in. She assigned her small tasks anyone could do and then praised her efforts as if Laurel were the most amazing apprentice ever. They kept busy until the hour arrived to get ready for the evening.

Laurel donned her white frock and added the ribbons to her hair. Mrs. Ives was busy digging inside a trunk beside the wall. “Ah! Here it is!” She stood and approached Laurel. “Wear this,” she said, draping a soft, blue-and-white paisley shawl around Laurel’s shoulders. “Jack’s father brought it to me as a gift once when he’d been away for nearly a year. If you like it, I want you to have it.”

The soft, finely woven wool felt as supple as silk. “I’ve never felt such a wonder!” Laurel said, breathless, as she smoothed the delicate folds over her shoulder. “I’ll treasure it always.” She gave Mrs. Ives an impulsive hug. “Thank you so very much.”

“It’s only a shawl!” Mrs. Ives said, laughing and patting Laurel’s back. She stood back, looked at her and tweaked one of the ribbons in her hair. “My girl needs pretty things.”

It wasn’t the lovely gift that warmed Laurel’s heart, but the sentiment behind it. Jack’s mother liked her, called her daughter and seemed so happy to have her in the family. The shawl represented a long-held dream coming true.

“The carriage is here, ladies!” Jack called up the stairs.

“Ooh, a carriage, he says!” his mother exclaimed, her eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “Mr. Fancypants is taking us out in style!”

“Lord Fancypants,” Laurel whispered, and they laughed together like girls.

The theatre was every bit as grand as Mrs. Ives had declared, Laurel thought when they arrived. Huge columns at least thirty feet tall graced the entrance. “My word, it’s so large!”

“It’s also a hotel and has assembly rooms,” Jack told her. “The theatre’s only a part of it, but that alone can accommodate over a thousand people at once.”

“I hope they all are not here tonight,” she muttered.

He helped her and his mother out of the carriage. “I tried to get a box, but they were all taken, so we’ll have to be in the general audience.”

Laurel was nearly overcome with excitement as they threaded their way through the throngs gathered in the enormous atrium and found seats. Though the air outside had rather a chill to it, inside the theatre it proved almost stifling due to the crowded conditions.

Above them were the balconied boxes with beautifully dressed ladies and gentlemen looking down. Most held quizzing glasses, or she supposed that’s what they were. She had read of those and wondered how the distant stage would look when seen through them. She took her seat on the bench between Jack and his mother and tried to settle down for the performance.

There were two acts preceding it, a soprano who sang a tragic love song and then a trio of rather inexpert acrobats who drew loud derision from the crowds. At last the curtains closed and it grew relatively quiet as the play was announced.

Laurel grew more fascinated by the moment as the play she had read so many times came to life on the stage. The girl who played Ophelia seemed truly mad, lovely as she was, and drew tears well before her character’s death. Even Jack seemed entranced to the point of unusual stillness.

When it was over and the applause died down, Laurel released a heavy sigh. She wished their outing could go on and on. Jack ushered them out and hailed their carriage which he had arranged to come back for them after the performance.

“So, what do you think of theatre?” he asked as they waited.

Laurel grasped his mother’s hand. “Thank you for this, ma’am. It was the most glorious thing I have ever seen!”

Jack laughed. “That’s not as great a compliment as it might be if You hadn’t lived all your life behind the walls of a convent!”

“Still, it was wonderful,” she declared with a firm nod, “and you mustn’t make light of it. We should be regular theatre-goers in London.”

He winked at his mother. “You see how she stands me around, Mum? And you worried that the big city might intimidate her? Scoff at the thought. She’ll take it by storm, wait and see!”

The ride back to the chemist shop proved jolly, followed by an excellent supper of purchased meat pies and very good wine. Laurel hoped this night was a portent of happy times to come.

“This truly is the best night of my life, by far,” she said to his mother after they retired. She hugged the beautiful blue-and-white shawl once more before folding it away.

The night would have been absolutely perfect if she were retiring to bed with her husband, but Laurel knew that delay only left her something else wondrous to anticipate.

“Jack seemed to enjoy it, too,” Mrs. Ives said as she tucked her hair into her frilly nightcap. She was obviously pleased that she had suggested just the right entertainment. “I thought he might excuse himself and wander around impatiently until it was over. He had trouble sitting still for very long, even as a lad. Never left us once tonight, though, did he!”

“No, ma’am, not once. I don’t even think he thought about it.”

Mrs. Ives had put her finger on the one thing that had begun to trouble Laurel about Jack, however. He proved a most active man, not fidgety, but highly strung as if constantly poised to tackle anything that wanted doing. And if there was nothing apparent pending, he seemed to conjure something out of thin air. When he was quiet and still, it seemed somehow forced and she could sense his tension.

His very nature apparently required perpetual vigilance and a quick response to whatever happened around him, and yet, he seldom seemed exhausted. “I envy his enduring vigor. He’s so capable. And quite the hero, too, your lad,” Laurel said with a smile as she climbed into bed. “Everyone aboard the ship coming here greatly admired him and so do I.”

“Admiration is well and good, but I hope you will love my son, Laurel.” That was the last thing the mother said after the lamp was blown out and they were settled for the night.

Love. Obviously Jack had grown up with that, even though he must have been away for long stretches of time since he had gone to sea with his father. The closeness with his mother had remained constant.

Could she learn to love him?




Chapter Six


The next morning Jack had gone out to the bakery two doors away and brought back sticky buns. His mother heated water on the small brazier downstairs and made tea.

When they said goodbye, Mrs. Ives embraced Laurel as heartily as she did Jack. Then she grasped both their arms in an almost punishing grip. “Be happy, you two. Be good to one another. And do not let these titles of yours give you airs. Mind you, there’s nothing worse than haughty swells!”

“Yes, Mum,” Jack promised and nudged Laurel who answered likewise. They shared a smile.





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