The Trouble with Anna

Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

A WEEK IN brISTOL, AND still no fight.

Julian was spoiling for a good, bone-crushing brawl, but everyone—from the Lloyd’s assessors to his fellow shipping investors—took one look at him and backed away slowly, willing to concede anything so long as they got to leave with their limbs intact.

Julian eyed the far wall in his parlor, the finest at the Old Neptune Inn. It looked thick, sturdy—a respectable target to crunch his fist against. He’d happily take a few broken knuckles over the queasy way his stomach dropped each time his thoughts flew back to London. The seagulls cawed around him and their wings reminded him of the slant of Anna’s eyebrows. A black rock in the rain made him think of the hard misery he’d put into her eyes. It took nothing at all to conjure up her mouth, how tightly she’d held it, the telltale quiver of hurt.

Damn it!

Outside the window, the sky was a misty, brooding blue. It seemed to smudge into the river, promising wet weather and damp, seeping cold. Bristol was busy and thriving, but it was a nasty town. His ships harbored here alongside other, far uglier ships that took the long triangular trip, bringing sugar, tobacco, and, not too long ago, slaves to British shores.

There was a knock at the door and the landlord poked his face in. “Mrs. Blake is here to see you, my lord.”

Julian rose to his feet. “Send her in.”

Captain Blake had been correct to a fault and kept himself as neat as his cutters, so Julian was startled to see that the woman who peeped around the doorframe was distinctly rumpled, her hair a puff of peppery frizz, her pelisse buttoned askew, and one end of a long muffler trailing almost to the floor.

Julian bowed deeply. “I’m honored to meet you, Mrs. Blake. If only the circumstances were different.”

“I value friends now more than ever, sir. Oh dear! I’m meant to call you ‘my lord,’ aren’t I? Forgive me—I forget these things and it gives Gordon fits.” Her cheeks went hollow. “ Gave Gordon fits.”

Julian was conscious of a rare feeling of inadequacy. What did one do with grief? He’d much prefer a problem he could slash, stab, or give a stiff dressing down.

Or solve with money.

He seized on the idea with relief. Money was why they were meeting, after all. “Mrs. Blake, I promised your husband I’d look after you, and I intend to.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Blake perched lightly on the chair he indicated.

“I’ve taken the liberty of inquiring into the Captain’s financial dealings. You’ll be pleased to know he invested brilliantly. With the funds I intend to settle on you, you’re now quite a wealthy woman.” Such a queer expression came over her face that Julian paused. “Mrs. Blake?”

“My lord, I invested our funds. I’m pleased you think I’ve done well, though I’m less pleased that my bankers protect my family’s privacy so little.”

Julian’s cheeks went hot. He’d stumbled so often lately that he felt wobbly, off-kilter, unsteady—a bit like a three-legged horse. Damn it. “I beg your pardon. I’ve overstepped enormously.”

A spark of amusement lit within her. “How on earth did you ever think Gordon did well with our funds? He was much more likely to polish a coin than invest it.”

Julian gave a rueful nod. “You’re quite right.”

“Well, I suppose there’s no need to apologize for trying to help. I know it’s not usual for wives to hold the purse strings, but it makes sense in sailor circles, with our husbands gone so frequently. I wonder if more women should—we’re often more practical.”

Something split inside Julian’s chest, tearing vital organs in two. He looked at Mrs. Blake and saw Anna, sitting white-knuckled at the will reading as her future flew away from her. He blinked hard, and it was himself he saw, fifteen years old and petrified, staring down a stack of bills that shrieked whenever he got near them.

Julian clenched his jaw and handed Mrs. Blake a sheaf of papers. “This is the settlement I propose. It’s clear you’ll make excellent use of it.”

She glanced over the figures and looked up, astonished. “My word! This quite answers the question of the boys’ education. My youngest is a daredevil, just like his father. He wants to be a sailor too, but right now the thought of it—” Her breath hitched, but she took the handkerchief Julian offered with a watery laugh. “If you could see your face, my lord! I promise not to weep on you.”

“Weep on me if you will, Mrs. Blake. I counted your husband as a true friend. I trust you’ll remember that if there’s any service I can offer.”

She studied him. “Do you mean it, I wonder? I used to conduct all our business in my husband’s name, and you’d be shocked at the trouble I’m having now that he’s gone.”

“Trouble from whom?” asked Julian silkily. He wondered if he’d get his fight after all.

“There’s no need to look so murderous, my lord! I only wondered if I might use your name. In case anyone needs a little… encouragement?”

Julian reached for paper and a sharp quill and scratched out a note. “This is my direction. Use my name for encouragement, but summon me personally if you require outright enthusiasm.”

Mrs. Blake hadn’t been gone more than five minutes when another knock sounded on the door.

“Blast it! I said I wasn’t to be disturbed.”

The door opened anyway and an enormous, shaggy-haired man leaned back against the frame, his greatcoat tossed over his shoulders, his arms crossed over his chest, and his boots crossed casually as well. He looked utterly unmoved at being yelled at by an earl, like a lion yawning on the savannah as the jackals yowled. “Ramsay, damn your eyes,” he said good-naturedly. “That’s no way to greet a friend.”

“Warrick! What the hell are you doing here?”

Wolfgang Robert Latham, the twelfth Duke of Warrick, stepped into the room. “I heard about Captain Blake and knew I’d find you here stewing. Up on your feet, man. I’ve come to kidnap you.”

Julian looked out the window, where the mist had begun to spit. “It’s wet weather for riding.”

Warrick grinned. “Who said anything about riding? If we hurry, we can just catch the tide.”

The little sloop cut across the mouth of the Severn, carving a wake in the gray-brown water. On the left, curlews picked their way through mud flats and teals and wigeons sheltered under the marsh grasses, and on the right open water stretched off to Wales.

“It’s bloody freezing!” yelled Julian.

“It’s bracing!” Warrick yelled back. “Ready about?”

“Ready!”

Warrick pushed the tiller and Julian released the jib. Both men leaned out over the water as the boom swung into place and the sails caught the wind again, sending them scudding over the water. Air whooshed into Julian’s lungs and he couldn’t help but laugh into the salt spray and sky.

Anna would adore this. He’d take her—

His muscles clenched and his face went to stone.

“You look like hell, man!” yelled Warrick. He trimmed the mainsail and the sloop picked up speed, racing the gulls above.

The green cliffs of Steep Holm heaved themselves out of the water in the distance, with the island of Flat Holm a darker splotch behind it. Julian’s thoughts churned and frothed like the wake.

As they came around Steep Holm, Warrick allowed the sloop to drop speed. “Ships go down, Julian. What happened to Captain Blake is not your fault.”

“Damn it, I know that! But I can mourn the man, can’t I?”

Warrick fixed his eyes on Julian. “There’s something more bedeviling you, isn’t there?” He paused, and his voice went odd. “It’s not that sister of yours, is it—nothing’s wrong with Lady Charlotte?”

Julian looked over and narrowed his eyes. “You never fail to ask after Charlotte. How kind of you, Warrick.”

Warrick’s color rose, or perhaps it was just the wind slapping his cheeks. “They’re called manners, my friend,” he retorted. “You should try for some. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

Julian’s lips twisted, and the story poured out, with Warrick listening intently.

“Why not simply buy the girl her horses?” he asked when Julian finished. “Buy her whole damn estate and be done with it.”

Julian shook his head. “I won’t jilt her. I’m her guardian. It’s my duty to—”

“Not this again! Duty requires you to do right by those who depend on you. It doesn’t require you to give up your whole damn life.” When Julian made no reply, Warrick sighed and feathered the sails, slowing the boat even further. “Your father and your guardian both let you down, and you paid for it. Dearly. Do you intend to keep paying forever?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why on earth would you marry this girl?”

Waves lapped at the boat and a pair of redshanks wheeled above them, one diving and swooping with such grace that—Julian gave an odd, choked laugh. Was there anything that didn’t remind him of Anna? “That’s the worst part, Wolfgang—I think I want to.”

Warrick stared at him, utterly astonished. He only moved when a gust of wind came out of nowhere and yanked the mainsheet out of his hands and he had to grab for it, red-faced and spluttering. “ What did you say?”

“We might capsize if I repeat it.”

A grin split Warrick’s face. “You’ve made a fine mess, haven’t you?”

Julian gave another odd, barking laugh. “A complete cock-up.”

Warrick shrugged. “It’s not surprising.”

“What a fine friend you are,” Julian shot back, stung. “Always ready with a word of encouragement.”

“I mean it! Look at you now, itching for the mainsheet even though we both know I’m a better sailor. You insist on being in control at all times, but if you’ve fallen for the girl, you’ll have to let her in.”

“I never said I’ve fallen for her!”

“Didn’t you?” Warrick grinned, trimmed the sails, and turned the sloop into the horizon. “I believe I’m going to enjoy this. Immensely.”