Chapter Four
Durward drove on to the Black Lion, sardonically aware of life’s ironies. If he had not shot Foster, he would never have met Carina Jasper. If he had not shot Foster, he need have had no compunction about pursuing her.
He might, indeed, have behaved as abominably in his own way as Mansel had.
As it was, he could not, in all conscience, seduce her and leave her alone to bear the consequences.
And yet, after their surprisingly open conversation on the way back to town, he found he could well understand Mansel’s obsession.
She was...different. Funny, vital, brave and honest, even while almost at breaking point over her father and how to survive.
She had not been born to poverty, so it would be doubly hard for her.
The house was Jasper’s own, apparently, so he could not be evicted.
But without the means to eat, they could be forced to sell and from there, it was a slippery slope to the bottom.
He could not bear that for her. She needed to be away from him, from the mess her father had created for her.
Jasper should be the one protecting her, from poverty, from the insults of men like Mansel—and Durward.
Leaving his horses in the capable hands of the ostler, he hurried into the inn.
“There’s a letter for you, my lord!” the innkeeper called, hurrying after him to the stairs. “Came with the London mail.”
Durward paused to take the letter from him, his stomach twisting painfully. He could not bring himself to look at it as he stuffed it into his coat, paid the innkeeper, and continued upstairs to his room.
There, he almost tore off his cravat, and tossed it onto the bed, along with his coat. Glaring at the coat as though daring it to upset him further, he bent and retrieved the letter from his pocket.
Not Calton’s writing, he saw with relief.
It was his sister’s all but indecipherable scrawl.
Throwing himself onto the hard chair by the table, he broke the seal and began to read.
To his surprise, it made him smile, for Bethany wrote as chaotically as she spoke, bouncing from one subject to the next and assuming everyone could follow her unique connections to understand what she meant.
To make things harder, it was a long letter, written vertically as well as horizontally to avoid using a second sheet.
He gathered she had heard of the Foster duel and refused to waste her breath on scolding him for his latest idiocy.
She did not mention Foster’s health but said she had got her brother’s address from Lord Calton and demanded Durward write before leaving Harwich.
In between, was a bizarre collection of family news that made it sound as if her husband was teething and her eldest had bought a new horse who cried most of the night.
Having adjusted that to a more likely meaning in his head, he gathered their brother was again in trouble at school.
Well, there wasn’t much Durward could do about that when his ship sailed with tomorrow’s tide. Bethany and Baldeston, her husband, were better at sorting things out with the school in any case.
He skimmed the rest, something to do with a cat, a dog and a baby, though who any of them belonged to, he had no idea.
He reached for his own writing materials.
My dear Bethany, by the time you read this, I shall have sailed but will indeed keep you informed of my whereabouts.
He thought of adding that should Foster recover, he would, of course, come home, but he didn’t want to tempt an already fickle fate, and he already knew in his heart that both Foster and himself were done for.
Before I go, I want to ask your favour for the daughter of a friend.
She is in need of genteel employment as a lady’s companion or secretary or governess, perhaps.
You will know the sort of thing. She is a respectable young woman, the daughter of a ship’s captain, and granddaughter of a clergyman but through her father’s illness finds herself in indigent circumstances.
Be so good as to recommend her to any of your friends in town or country who might be seeking such a person, but for God’s sake do not mention you learned of her through me for people tend to think the worst, and in her case at least, that would be untrue. Her direction is below.
I leave Duncan in your capable hands and am about to write to Thomason as to the disposal of funds for Duncan, you, and the estates.
He paused again. How did one say goodbye to one’s sister?
He had assumed for so long that everyone would be so much better without him, and yet he could not bring himself to insult her by saying so.
It came to him that she was fond of him.
So was Duncan. They might actually miss him, almost as much as he would miss them.
But he didn’t have time for such maudlin nonsense.
Be assured I will write again when I can.
Sorry to bring this down on you all.
Ever, Durward
Hastily, he added Carina’s name and address, folded the unsatisfactory epistle and sealed it using his own signet ring. He scrawled his sister’s name and direction on the front and set it aside before beginning his letter to his man of business.
This was much simpler and easier, and it only took him a few minutes. Having sealed and directed that too, he took both letters down to the innkeeper for the first London mail coach.
Then he went to say goodbye to his horses. He had left instructions with Thomason about them, too. They would go to Durward Hall to allow Duncan to practice driving skills, on condition he minded Gregor, the head groom.
As he stroked his horses’ soft, furry noses, mingling his breath with theirs, his exile suddenly became real.
Rather than just an inconvenience that would have to be endured, he thought of everything he was leaving behind.
Home, family who loved him in spite of being better off without him.
Friends he had laughed and roared with, women he had loved.
.. Or at least enjoyed and been fond of.
Unbidden, Carina Jasper’s face swam into his mind.
A might-have-been. A sweetness all the more poignant for being unfulfilled. Perhaps she is the one I could have loved.
Idiocy. He couldn’t have been in her company for longer than an hour all in.
But perhaps the memory of her lovely face—and her Bugger off—would keep him warm at sea.
He smiled into his horse’s neck, gave each of them one last pat, and returned to his room to pack his bag before enjoying his last meal on dry land.
OF COURSE, HIS LAST brandy in the taproom turned into three, for there was always congenial company to be found there. Although he tried quite hard to conjure excitement for beginning his new life, a gloom of sadness threatened as he stood up to retire.
That was when Carina walked through the door and stood still in a halo of tobacco smoke.
For an instant he thought his confused wishful thinking had conjured an illusion, but he would never have wished such worry onto her face.
And he would never have wished her into a public taproom frequented largely by sailors.
Even as he moved toward her, she peered around the room. And she was not looking for him. She did not even see him.
“I’m looking for Captain Jasper,” she said loudly into the sudden silence.
“He hasn’t been in tonight, miss,” the tapster said.
She nodded, her shoulders drooping in defeat. She must have been round all the taprooms and alehouses in Harwich. God knew where she would go now.
Hastily, Durward followed her, catching the door before it closed behind her. “Miss Jasper. What has happened?”
She spun around. “Mr. Durward,” she said in surprise. “I mean, my lord.”
He waved that aside impatiently. “Why are you looking for the captain? Is he not home?”
“No, and I can’t find him anywhere,” she blurted in one breath. “He’s not in any of his usual haunts, although he has been in a couple of them earlier this evening. I don’t know where else to look.”
“He’s probably gone home while you were out looking,” Durward said comfortably. “Come, I’ll walk you there, and if he’s still not home, you can wait for him inside while I look for him. It will be easier for me,” he added.
He put her hand on his arm and drew her away from the inn. Although she walked obediently enough, a frown still marred her brow, making her look fierce under the inn’s lamps.
“What if he was caught by the press gangs? There’s more than one Royal Navy ship in the harbour...”
“They prefer younger men,” he soothed, without any real idea whether or not it was true.
She walked more briskly. “You’re right. He’s probably at home, furious because I’m not there to let him in.”
It was not yet eleven of the clock. Durward was not worried about him, just annoyed with him for worrying Carina with his unexplained absence.
He might have thought her level of anxiety unreasonable—after all, Jasper was a grown man, used to running his own ship and its rough and ready crew—but it was very real for all that, and his instinct was to protect her.
So he spoke calmly and cheerfully on the way to her house, ignoring the twitching curtains as they approached. But there was no huddled figure on the doorstep, none inside or at the back door.
“Tell me who his friends are, and where I might find them,” Durward said resignedly. “Also, when did you last see him?”
“This morning,” she said, scribbling down names on the back of a shop receipt with a tiny piece of pencil, “when he went to the harbour. But I have spoken to the harbour master, and he hasn’t been out to sea. The Queen Marie is still berthed and he isn’t on board. Or wasn’t when I looked.”
“I’ll look again,” Durward promised, taking the note from her. “You should wait here for him. I’ll keep reporting back until I find him.”