Chapter Five
T hat night, Duke entered the Assembly Rooms and was instantly transported back to a time when tea and coffee revived card players at seven in a spacious card room. Where music and dancing began at eight. Roses—and other flowers procured from hot houses at no trifling expense—adorned the interior ballroom. The heavenly fragrance, combined with radiant chandeliers and sconces, were symbols of civilization completely dissimilar to the scarcity he and his men faced at Castaway Cay.
The cheerfulness of the moment thrilled him, but it also heightened an urgent desire to vacate the building before he cast up his accounts.
Potter, Davies, McTavish, and more protested extravagances like these from the grave. Their ghastly ends a devilish torment he could not escape.
Father appeared before he could shift his feet. “This is a proud moment for me, my son. Mrs. Sherborn’s balls are charitable affairs. Philanthropists throughout the south come to help finance the upkeep of the Marine Walk and the Cobb, which are always in constant need of repair. We’ve raised fifteen hundred pounds thus far, but that won’t be enough.”
“Shame.”
“Ah, your bravery at San Domingo and Castaway Cay, especially the creation of a barony, helps our cause, however. Investors will come to meet the heroes of Lyme, just like the ones who wish to take the waters.”
“Indeed, we are very proud,” his mother said as she smiled at arriving acquaintances. “Why, I just heard Mrs. Sherborn say that ‘it isn’t every day a man’s son becomes a baron,’ and she is right. Look at the way people admire him.”
“And us,” Father added.
“Who would have thought it? Gregory, Baron Marmaduke of Lyme. And here I thought captaining Argus was accomplishment enough.”
“Not enough for some,” he said, thinking of his dead comrades.
The Earl of Kerridge appeared deepening a lethal wound that pierced his soul.
“Don’t blame Kerridge,” his father said straightening his cuffs. “His were the actions of a father protecting a daughter’s welfare. I might have acted the same in his place.”
He fired a warning shot off the larboard. “How can you say that? I thought you hated Lord Kerridge.”
“That isn’t so.” Except the two men had been at war with one another for years. “Well. Circumstances have changed. Your disappearance and the death of Kerridge’s son-in-law provided common ground. Pembroke was a good, honorable man. A patron of my shipping company, and the right choice for his daughter.”
He struggled to douse his anger. “You told him so?”
“Edmund,” Mother pleaded. “I beg you to take this conversation elsewhere lest someone overhear.”
“As you can see, Gregory, a lot has happened in your absence. Kerridge and I have an understanding which led to an investment in Marmaduke Shipping.” Everything began to make sense. Their relationship was monetarily beneficial to both parties. “Believe me, son, Kerridge never wished you ill. He was as startled as we were when Lady Jane agreed to marry Pembroke.”
“Strange,” his mother added, “I had thought her deeply in love with you, Gregory, until that moment.”
“Georgina.”
“Do not deny you thought the same thing, Edmund. I know for a fact that—”
“There’s Norby,” Duke said to prevent his parents from making fools of themselves. “He looks mawkish. I should go to him.”
His father nodded swiftly then took his mother’s arm. “Let’s go, Georgina, before the whole of Lyme knows my mind.”
Duke made his way to his friend as his parents weighed anchor.
“There he is,” Norby said. “The impressable Duke of Castaway Cay or should I say, Lord Marmaduke?”
“You know the difference.”
“Ah. I cannot say that I do.” Several minutes passed as they silently observed the partygoers. “I’d forgotten.”
“What?”
“Society. People, music, revelry, plenty and pleasure. It’s like I’m in a dream. Everything is familiar, and yet, entirely foreign.”
“You’re not alone.”
A footman passed carrying a tray of champagne. Norby and Duke took a glass before the music stopped and Mrs. Sherborn, flanked by her husband—the Honorable Stephen Sherborn—addressed the crowd.
“Gentlemen. Ladies. I take great pleasure in hosting Lyme’s annual Valentine’s Day ball. This year, I am honored to welcome home two sons of Lyme thought lost forever. Join me in a toast to Captain Lord Marmaduke and Captain Frazer Norby.”
The ballroom erupted in applause. “Hear! Hear!”
“My lord. Captain.” Mrs. Sherborn motioned them forward. “Would you join us?”
Declarations of unworthiness pierced Duke’s brain, every nerve heightened as his vision narrowed. I don’t deserve this. Men are dead and—
“Duke.” Norby’s hand on his shoulder banished the torment. “We must go.”
He nodded. “Aye.”
Guests parted to let them pass.
“Will you say a few words, my lord?” Mrs. Sherborn asked.
Duke gazed about the room until his eyes locked with Jane’s and the words he struggled to find began to pour from the depths of his heart. “Thank you for this warm welcome. We’re glad to be home.”
“What happened to you?” someone in attendance asked.
Duke focused on Jane, explaining, “Our ship, Argus , joined Keats’s squadron on a mission to rout the French in the West Indies. During the Battle of San Domingo, we captured an enemy ship, boarded crewmembers to sail our prize back to England, and set out to follow. Unfortunately, a gale swamped us, wrecking our ship on the reef of a deserted island.”
Norby hoisted his champagne in a mock salute. “To the Duke of Castaway Cay!”
“To Captain Eliot of HMS Minerva !” Duke interjected. “Without him, we wouldn’t be standing here.”
“To Eliot and Minerva !”
The ballroom filled with murmured questions.
“What did you eat?” someone asked.
He answered, “On dreams and whatever we could catch.”
Another question broke through the noise. “Where did you sleep?”
He saw Jane gasp and he quickly responded to prevent anyone noticing. “We salvaged timber from the wreck and built lodging.”
“And we are glad of it,” Mrs. Sherborn raised her glass. “A toast to Lord Marmaduke and Captain Norby!”
“Hear! Hear!”
“Now,” Mrs. Sherborn clasped Duke and Norby’s hands, smiling sweetly, “I do not mean to rush you off, but I’ve been told the musicians are ready for another set. Do you have a partner?”
“I do,” he said confidently handing Norby his empty glass. He looked back to where Jane had been standing, feeling buoyant of spirit and ready to proclaim his love, but she wasn’t there.
Where had she gone?
*
After several unbearable days of visiting Kerridge House and being turned away, Duke finally located Jane walking on the beach where Mr. England’s horse-drawn bathing machines were situated in warmer months. Her companion, Anne Brome, hunted for seashells further down shore with—gut-wrenching agony churned in his stomach—the boy who should have been his.
He glanced heavenward, praying for a miracle. He’d come so far that losing Jane now would surely undo him. The gray sky mirrored his mood. The brisk breeze hinted the mild temperature was about to change. Soon, waves would pummel the wall erected too near the sea, a precarious situation even for the most committed seafarer sailing in or out of the quay.
Everyone along the coast of Devon and Dorset feared a southwesterly.
He continued making his way to Jane. Salt and sand, a mist of hopes and dreams colliding as he considered making a swift retreat. But Fate plotted his course when she turned and saw him.
“You are a hard bird to catch,” he said.
She stared at him with pained eyes, her voice cold and exact. “I cannot be caged, my lord.”
“No.” He sighed with exasperation. “Every bird should be allowed to spread its wings.”
The child’s laughter drifted to them over the beating of the surf. “How can you say that after you returned home and discovered my disloyalty?”
Hearing the word out loud disturbed him, making him want to reassure her that she hadn’t done anything wrong. “It was you, who led me out of hell. Your face, your touch soothed my sunburned skin. Your lips moistened my parched mouth. For you, I planned, waking up each day hoping that this would be the day I made my way back to you. You quieted my nightmares. You gave me purpose when I was besieged with sorrow. You cannot know how much I have regretted leaving you to the caprices of life. You were forced to make choices, and you did what you thought was right.”
“You cannot know this.”
He swallowed, his raw throat threatening to close up. “I know you as surely as my next breath, and I am eager to tell you how ardently I love you.”
“You cannot possibly love me,” she said shriveling a little beneath his stare and looking away. “Not after I broke my promise and married another.”
The heartache in her words nearly undid him.
He spoke, if only to ease her torment. “There are many chambers in a woman’s heart. Who am I to question you? You who were left to wonder, to mourn, unwed, alone, never knowing if I was dead or alive.”
She met his gaze fully, daring and defiant. “I believed you would return to me, until—”
“Until what?” His chest seized.
“It’s too late.” She spun away from him. “Nothing can change the past.”
“I don’t want to change anything,” he said following her and longing to make her understand. “You are a widow and your son needs a father.”
She stiffened.
“I have accumulated land.” The words ripped out of him impatiently. “Along with a barony. I have prize money. All the things I set out to achieve, but I sacrificed you to get them.” He held his breath then said the words he longed to say. “Without you, none of it holds meaning.”
“I am a different woman than the one you left behind, Duke. I make my own decisions now. My son is the Fifth Viscount Pembroke, and I do not need your pity.”
He could see that she was trying so hard, too hard to be strong, and he was at a loss what to do next.
So this is how it would end between them.
“Lady, you cut me to the quick. I see clearly now that my internment on a deserted island has frozen your once passionate heart to ice. Forgive me if my proposal is so abominable to you. Good day.”
He turned to leave but Anne’s hysteric cry rising above the crashing waves stopped him.
Their gazes stole down the beach where Anne struggled in the surf. He searched for the boy. When he could not see him, straightaway he knew what had occurred.
Throwing off his cloak and hat, he raced into the shallows, knowing that time was of the essence before the child drowned or the undertow pulled him out.
Behind him, Jane screamed, a primal sound that shook him to his core.
Desperate now, he scanned the water until he caught sight of a bobbing head. Wading to the spot, he lifted the struggling boy into his arms before another wave pummeled them. Moving through the surf, he carried the child back to shore, a feeling of rightness gripping his bones as the scamp sputtered. He wiped hair out of the boy’s face to ensure he was unharmed, then stopped and stared in wonderment, unable to believe his eyes.
Henry had his deep-brown eyes.
“Henry!” Jane wailed, reaching for her son.
“He is well.” Relief flooded him as she stroked the boy’s head. “When did you know?”
Did the timing matter? It would have been impossible to reach him with the news.
The truth hit him hard. “He is the reason you married Pembroke.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “The only reason.”
“Did Pembroke know?”
“I am not a deceitful woman. My husband was a good man. While he knew I did not love him, he agreed to protect us. He respected you, Duke.” She smiled. “He said, marrying me provided him an opportunity to honor your heroic death.”
She gazed into his eyes as their son clung to her for warmth.
“The child.” He lifted his cloak from the sand, shook it out, and draped it over the boy. “I’m speechless.”
“Other men are capable of restoring faith in humanity, Duke.”
“But I thought—”
“Whatever you thought, you were wrong. When you returned, I could not tell you the truth knowing that I’d broken my promise, that your son would never be able to claim you as his father.”
She handed the quiet child to Brome who anxiously awaited her charge. “We must go before ’enry catches ’is death.”
Duke had no intention of letting Jane get away, however. When she moved to follow Brome, he stopped her. “You have not allowed me to speak.”
“There is nothing more to say,” she said with deceptive calm. “I have shamed you.”
“You are wrong. You are in danger of being loved more fiercely than ever. In fact, I am convinced there is nothing that could ever sever my affections. I am bound that not even death could separate us.”
She gasped.
“Good, gentle woman, do not be afraid. Heaven is here. Tempt me not. Accept my hand. Walk with me and I will raise our son to be Viscount Pembroke. Let me not have clawed my way out of the devil’s lair for naught.”
Against all odds, she took his hand in hers. “Then, ‘my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.’ ”
“ ‘I take thee at thy word.’ ” He drank in her nearness. “ ‘Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized; henceforth—’ ”
“My Marmaduke.”
The End