Wicked Captain, Wayward Wife. Sarah Mallory
Wylder, but instinct told her to beware of him.
Eve determined she would not talk to the captain but her resolve was unnecessary. By the time she had risen out of her curtsy, he had engaged Sir Benjamin in conversation, discussing with ease such diverse subjects as the efficacy of hot baths, the pleasures of hunting and the grand tour. There was nothing for her to do but to arrange her flowers in the vase Green had provided for her. She was out of reason cross that she could not deliver a snub to the laughing gentleman.
‘I saw you ride in, Captain,’ said Sir Benjamin. ‘I take it your baggage follows you?’
‘Yes, sir. Richard Granby, my valet, accompanies it in my travelling carriage.’
‘You are staying?’ Eve blurted out.
Once more those disturbingly blue eyes rested upon her.
‘I am afraid so. Will that inconvenience you?’
‘N-no…’ she faltered. ‘That is, you are staying no more than the one night, I hope.’
Sir Benjamin chuckled. ‘Take no notice of my granddaughter, Captain Wylder. She is a great one for jesting.’
‘So I have noticed, Sir Benjamin.’ He smiled across at her in a way that made Eve want to hit him.
‘Captain Wylder is making a prolonged visit with us,’ explained Sir Benjamin.
‘Really?’ Eve pinned on a brittle, sugar-sweet smile.
‘I am greatly indebted to your grandfather for allowing me to stay with you,’ Nick bowed to her. ‘I shall have plenty of time to grow used to your funning.’
Eve turned back to her flower arrangement. Her angry, jerky movements broke one of the stems and she was obliged to breathe deeply and calm herself before she continued. The butler came in with a decanter and two glasses and after that the gentlemen paid her no attention, engrossed in their discussions of hunters and bloodlines, so, as soon as she had finished, Eve muttered her excuses and made her escape.
Nick watched her leave the room, her little heels kicking up her skirts as she crossed the floor. A slight cough from Sir Benjamin made him turn and he found his host was holding out his empty glass, indicating with the lift of an eyebrow that it should be refilled. Nick hesitated and the older man winked at him. ‘Come along, my boy. My butler and my granddaughter might argue that brandy is not good for me, but you have not heard my doctor say so. Life is for living, sir, and I mean to enjoy what little time I have left.’
‘I cannot fault that philosophy, Sir Benjamin.’ Nick grinned and carried both glasses over to the decanter. ‘Miss Shawcross seems a little agitated,’ he remarked. ‘I do hope my visit is not inopportune…’
Sir Benjamin chuckled. ‘Her feathers are ruffled because I omitted to tell her you were coming.’
‘I gathered that much.’ Nick smiled to himself as he recalled his first meeting with Evelina Shawcross. ‘I am afraid I might have ruffled her feathers even more.’
‘No matter, she’ll come round.’ Sir Benjamin sipped his brandy. ‘She’s a good gel, my granddaughter. Levelheaded and with as sweet a nature as any man could wish. She’s not the flighty sort, never shown any desire to go off exploring.’ The old man sighed a little. ‘Her mother was quite the opposite. Never happier than when she was travelling the world. Took my son off all over the place when they was married. But Eve’s different, a quiet gel. She needs a husband who can give her all the comforts she has enjoyed here at Makerham. A man who will look after her properly. Can you do that, Captain?’
Nick suddenly found himself fixed with a fierce stare from those faded eyes. He returned the look steadily.
‘You know my circumstances, Sir Benjamin. I believe I can keep a wife in tolerable comfort.’
‘Yes, yes, but will you make her happy?’
Nick fought down a smile.
‘I have never had any complaints yet, sir.’
‘That’s what worries me, a good-looking dog like you. I saw the women at Tunbridge making eyes at you, throwing out lures—and some of ’em old enough to know better!’
‘But what you didn’t see was my responding to any of their—er—lures,’ replied Nick evenly. ‘Let us be clear, Sir Benjamin. I am not a monk; there have been plenty of women in my life, but none of ’em more than a flirtation. If I take a wife, she will have nothing to fear on that score.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Well, sir, if you are wishful to marry my granddaughter, then go to it. But mind you; it must be her decision. I’ll not have her coerced into anything.’
Nick raised his glass.
‘From the little I have seen of the lady, sir, I think she will make up her own mind.’
When Eve went to her room to change for dinner, her maid Martha was laying out her new gown.
‘My blue silk?’ she exclaimed. ‘Is that not a little grand for a family dinner?’
‘We must make you look your best for your visitor, miss.’
‘I am not sure the occasion warrants such a display,’ Eve objected mildly, but Martha was not to be deterred.
‘Captain Wylder is a fine gentleman, miss. Son of an earl, his man says.’
‘I know that, Martha.’
‘Ah, but did you also know that he is a hero? In the Americas he was, fighting the rebels. Captain Wyldfire they called him.’ She spread out the petticoats for Eve to step into them.
‘Martha, what have I told you about repeating servants’ gossip?’
‘This is not gossip, miss,’ Martha corrected her; ‘It is information. He was a bold and fearless captain, Mr Granby told me, always to be found where the fighting was thickest. That’s where he got the name Wyldfire, they say, because he blazed his way through the enemy lines.’
‘And who says so? His own servants, I don’t doubt.’
‘Aye, well, Mr Granby told me some of it, but William the coachman also had it from his groom, who has been with the family for ever.’
Eve gave a little huff of disbelief. ‘I believe they are all besotted with their master. I shall write to my old school-friend Maria Scott—Lady Gryfford as she is now. Her letters are always full of society gossip so I am sure she will be able to furnish me with a true account of our guest.’
‘I am sure she will, miss,’ replied Martha comfortably. ‘And I am sure it will bear out all that has been said. Well, you only have to look at him, so tall and handsome as he is. A real hero, is Captain Wyldfire.’
‘Well there will be no need for him to be a hero in this house,’ retorted Eve crossly. She glanced at the red leather box on the dressing table. ‘What is that?’
‘Your sainted mother’s sapphires.’ replied Martha. ‘Sir Benjamin ordered them to be sent up to you. He wants you to wear them tonight.’
Eve put a hand up to her bare neck. ‘G-Grandpapa sent them?’
‘Why, yes, miss. Most insistent he was.’
She stared at the box. At last she said quietly, ‘Then, of course, I must wear them.’
Nick stood by the fireplace in the little parlour and looked down at the flames leaping merrily in the hearth. One of the logs had fallen forward; he resisted the temptation to push it back into place with his toe. Richard had worked hard to coax him into his dark blue frock-coat and the knee breeches that were the required mode of evening dress for a formal dinner and he knew his trusty servant would think his efforts wasted if he was to end up with wood ash on his soft leather shoes or, even worse, spattered on his white silk stockings. Instead he picked