The Captain's Kidnapped Beauty. Mary Nichols
she had the most expressive grey eyes. There was intelligence behind them, and humour, too, something he could admire. Was she really as competent as she appeared or was there, underneath that façade, a woman as weak and fickle as all her gender? Would she collapse in a flood of tears as soon as her self-sufficiency was put to the test? Did she really know the ins and outs of a coach-building business or was her father simply humouring a spoiled daughter? He found himself wanting to know the answers, to engage her in conversation, to find out what she was really like under that severe exterior. He felt sure such discourse would not be shallow and meaningless. It was a pity he was leaving town so soon, but then, on reflection, perhaps it was not. She was clearly not the sort for mere dalliance and he certainly did not wish for anything deeper, not after what had happened with Letitia. She had soured him for all women.
Why on earth had he suddenly thought of Letitia? He had buried that experience deep inside him where it could not surface, or so he had thought, but standing looking at half-a-dozen workmen manhandling the body of a coach with the aid of pulleys, he was suddenly back in his salad days.
He had met Letitia Cornish on a voyage out to India. Her father was a wealthy nabob and he the mere second lieutenant of an East Indiaman, plying back and forth between England and Calcutta, carrying European wines, furniture, glassware and even carriages on the outward journey, returning with spices, precious stones, ornaments, carpets and tigerskin rugs. She had been patrolling the deck and had stopped to gaze out over the stern at the wake, as if wishing she were back where she had come from. Hearing his footstep behind her, she had turned to speak to him. ‘Lieutenant, I am not in your way, am I?’
‘Not at all, Miss Cornish, but there is blow coming up and I advise you to go below. The sea is like to become very rough. Allow me to escort you.’ It was couched as a request, but she was expected to obey, which she did reluctantly. ‘It is so stuffy in the cabin,’ she said. ‘I prefer the fresh air.’
‘I fear it will become a little more than fresh,’ he had said, smiling as he accompanied her to the companionway. ‘When the storm is over, I will come and fetch you and you may take the air again.’
He had kept his word and escorted her back on deck as soon as the havoc caused by the storm had been cleared away and they were once more sailing on an even keel. She was looking white-faced, but assured him she had not been sick and would be right as rain as soon as she was up in the fresh air again. Her father had not emerged from his cabin. In spite of being a frequent traveller between England and India, he was not a good sailor and neither was Letitia’s maid and she was often left to her own devices. Thus they often met when he was on watch and she was patrolling the deck and they would stop and talk. In his eyes she was perfection with her shining golden hair and clear blue eyes.
He learned she was eighteen, a year younger than he was. Her mother had died years before; she could hardly remember her and Letitia had been brought up by her father with the help of an elderly aunt. Now she was grown up, her father was taking her to India where they expected to stay for several months while Mr Cornish assembled a new cargo to take back to England and after that she was to be brought out in London society. He told her about his life at sea, how he hoped to follow in his father’s and uncle’s footsteps and become a master mariner for the East India Company. By the time they reached Calcutta they were in love.
Her father would have none of it when Alex had approached him for permission to propose. ‘A penniless lieutenant—I should think not!’ he had said. ‘Whatever gave you the notion I would entertain a scapegrace like you for a son-in-law? After her money, are you? Think to make yourself wealthy at my expense?’
‘No, sir, certainly not, sir. I love your daughter and she loves me.’
‘Love, bah! What is that but a weak indulgence? Letitia will marry one of the young gentlemen I pick out for her when we return to London. And every one of them will have a title and some standing in society. She is wealthy enough and comely enough to take her pick. You, sir, are beneath her notice.’
Alex had been furious and had to use all his self-control not to lash out at the man, but young though he was, he knew alienating her father would not endear him to Letitia. Instead he turned on his heel and left with the man’s derisive laughter echoing in his ears. But he was not yet ready to give up. He knew Letitia liked to ride out very early in the morning before the heat became too intense and so he contrived to be out on horseback at the same time and prevailed upon her to dismount and talk to him. He had been hoping to persuade her to defy her father and run away with him. How foolish that notion was he had not realised at the time. She had tearfully refused to do any such thing. Her dear papa was always right and she would obey him as she always had.
He had not been able to understand her unquestioning acceptance of the fate laid down for her and continued to protest until the time came to part. ‘Goodbye, Alex,’ she had said and reached up to kiss his cheek and then remounted with the help of her syce and was gone, cantering away, raising the yellow dust.
She had not truly loved him or she would have defied her father, he told himself, she had been having a game with him. It was easier to be angry than admit he had a broken heart and, as his ship was loaded and made ready for the return journey, he left her behind, vowing that no woman, no matter how beautiful or how wealthy, would ever humiliate him like that again. Two years later he heard she had returned to England and married the Earl of Falsham, so her father had had his wish.
He had left the merchant service and had a spell in the cavalry in the hope that such a radical change to his way of life would cure him, but the lure of the sea was still in his blood and he had sold up and joined the navy. In due course he had become captain of a frigate, but with the end of the seven-year-long war with France two years before he had found himself with no ship and on half-pay. It was then he became involved with the Society for the Discovery and Apprehending of Criminals. And now his life was about to change again and he was not at all sure he welcomed it.
Miss Gilpin came out from the office, carrying a sheaf of papers. ‘Have you learned anything of coachmaking, Captain?’ she asked.
‘I have concluded it is a very complicated business,’ he answered. ‘I have been watching the men put the coach on its cradle. They make it look easy.’
‘They are all experienced men, Captain, though we shall miss Joe Smithson until he is well again. I collect I did not thank you properly for your help in getting him up. He is a big strong man, but you lifted him with ease.’
He bowed towards her. ‘My pleasure, Miss Gilpin.’
‘Your carriage will be ready tomorrow. My father will personally inspect it for defects before he allows it to be delivered, and of course the horses and licence have to be obtained so we cannot do it any sooner. I hope that is convenient for you.’
‘Entirely,’ he said, bowing. If he had hired a chaise instead of buying one, he might have been on his way before that, but Miss Gilpin had been right; he would need to travel back and forth frequently on society business, so it made sense to buy. ‘But I will fetch it from here. I mean to begin my journey immediately. Shall we say noon?’
She looked at her father. ‘Will you have the horses and harness by then, Papa?’
Mr Gilpin was only half-listening to their exchange, being more concerned with inspecting the half-finished coach and giving instruction to the carpenters who were to fix the moulding along the edge of its roof. ‘Yes, yes, I shall go to Tattersalls this afternoon.’
‘How will you pay?’ Charlotte turned back to Alex. ‘Credit terms can be arranged, if you wish.’
Alex resented the inference that he could not pay for anything he ordered. Just because he elected to dress simply, did not mean he was without funds. Even before inheriting his uncle’s estate he had been a wealthy man. He had earned good prize money as a sea captain and his father had left a fortune as a result of his captaincy of an East India merchantman. Each captain was allowed to carry a certain tonnage on their own account, for which privilege they paid five hundred pounds. It was money well spent; both Alex’s father and his uncle, the Marquis of Foxlees, had become exceedingly wealthy with this trade. ‘There is