The Captain Claims His Lady

Chapter Two

Lizzie took the cup of water from the hand of the footman who had just drawn it from the pump and turned hastily. The rooms were particularly crowded this morning and she’d been queuing for what felt like an eternity. Grandfather would certainly think so. Waiting in his chair by the fireplace, he would be tapping his cane on the floor by now, his temper rising with each second that passed.

Though it wasn’t even as if he’d wish to leave once she’d brought him his daily dose of the water which was supposed to be the cure for his gout, since so many of his cronies were here for the season. He’d be gossiping for ages long after he’d downed his medicinal cup of water, while she would have to stand behind his chair, still as a statue lest he accuse her of fidgeting.

Nevertheless, she’d annoy him less if she made it look as if she’d completed this errand as quickly as she could.

As she stepped back to make her way out of the throng pressing round the pump, her shoulder caught on something. Something that felt rather like a brick wall. And which said, ‘Oof!’, just before she heard the distinctive sound of a cup clattering to the floor.

‘Oh, no...oh, dear,’ she said, turning to make her apologies to whoever it was she’d just stumbled into. And finding herself on a level with a very determined chin. Above that was a full-lipped mouth and above that was a rather blunt nose, sprinkled with freckles. And above that, a pair of the bluest, saddest eyes she’d ever seen.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, her cheeks heating, though the Lord alone knew why. She had to apologise so often for blundering into someone or something that she ought to be used to it by now. It was just that this man was so...tall. And so solid. Most people would have staggered back under the force of her weight, applied directly to their midriff. Or even fallen right over. In fact, it was a miracle, given that the place was full of the frail and elderly, that she hadn’t knocked anyone over yet this season.

But this man hadn’t budged as much as an inch.

Which meant they were standing far too close to each other.

She took a hasty half-step back. Immediately his facial features blurred into a pale oval topped by a neat thatch of closely cropped black hair.

‘Your cup...’ she began with mortification. It would be of no use attempting to pick it up. She had no idea where it had gone and her eyesight was too poor to bother making a search. ‘I shall go and fetch you another...’

As she made to move, something that felt like a wooden vice gripped her by the elbow.

‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ said the large man, in a firm voice. ‘I mean, that is to say,’ he said in a much lighter tone, ‘you have no need to fetch me another. No need at all.’

‘But I—’

‘No,’ he said, in that same firm tone. Then he leaned in and murmured, ‘You have just saved me from a terrible fate. Do not, I beg of you, undo your good work now.’

‘A terrible... My good... What?’

‘I know the water is supposed to be good for my health, but...’ He shrugged. With a pair of shoulders the width of a mantelpiece.

‘Oh,’ she said. Or rather, sighed. Yes, the sound that had just come out of her mouth had definitely contained far more sigh than sense.

‘May I,’ said the enormous, solid man, ‘be permitted to know your name? So that I may render due gratitude to my redeemer?’

She wasn’t sure, afterwards, if it was the slightly mocking allusion to scripture, or the jocular tone of his voice, but she suddenly felt as if she was making a bit of a fool of herself, standing so close to a man she didn’t know, and feeling all... Well, she wasn’t sure what she was feeling. Only that she’d never felt anything like it before.

And also, that no matter what he was making her feel, she really ought allow him to keep hold of her elbow in that proprietorial manner.

She lifted her chin.

And promptly thought better of saying anything cutting. He’d been so forgiving of her clumsiness. Shouldn’t she return the favour by forgiving his forwardness?

‘It is...’ No, she couldn’t simply give him her name. That was not at all the proper thing to do. Why, he could be anybody.

‘Miss...?’ he prompted her.

She ought to step away from him. Why couldn’t she? ‘Step,’ she finished. For it would indeed be a misstep to act in such a fast manner.

‘Miss Step?’ His dark brows raised. He shook his head. ‘Are you quite sure?’

‘Yes, I...’ She glanced in the direction of the fireplace and her grandfather’s chair. ‘In fact, I ought to be...’

‘Because you have the distinct look of the Cheevers family.’

‘Cheevers?’

‘Yes, I have the distinct impression you are, decidedly, Miss Cheevers.’

He ran the two words together so that it sounded as though he’d said mischievous. Her breath caught in her throat. Good heavens, was he...teasing her? Flirting with her? No, no, he couldn’t possibly be doing that. He’d looked sensible, when she’d been close enough to make out the expression on his face.

‘I am not being mischievous,’ she retorted. And then, heaven alone knew why, she succumbed to the temptation to add, ‘You are clearly Miss Taken.’

He laughed. The sound erupted from his mouth as though it had taken him completely by surprise.

‘No, no, I am no sort of Miss at all. Though clearly you believe I have committed a Miss Demeanour, by being so bold as to ask for your true name.’

‘It was a piece of rank Miss Conduct.’

‘No, not so bad as that. It was, perhaps, a touch Miss Guided.’

‘Which was why I felt obliged to use a Miss Nomer.’

‘I understand completely. But believe me, by attempting to be Miss Terious, you have only made me more determined to uncover your true identity.’

Somebody nearby cleared their throat. And she realised that the pair of them were creating a rather substantial obstacle to people trying to reach, or move away from, the pump.

The tall, blue-eyed man bowed from the waist. ‘Forgive me, Miss Teak, but I really should be moving along.’

‘Oh,’ was all she could think of say, as her spirits plummeted. Of course, a man like that was not going to stand around playing word games with the likes of her for any length of time. She might have amused him, for a moment or two. But he had eyes in his head. She was tall, she was ungainly and she had no dress sense. She didn’t think her face was actually ugly and her hair was the kind of silver blonde that men might go into raptures over, if it sprouted from the head of a smaller, dainty woman.

But she wasn’t. And it didn’t.

By the time she’d thought all those things, he’d vanished into the throng. Though she would have thought a man like him would be visible above the general run of people, being a full head taller than she was.

Her wretched eyesight. If only Grandfather would permit her to wear spectacles when she went out. But Grandfather didn’t hold with them. And she didn’t have the heart to defy him. He’d been generous enough to her over the years. Indeed, if it wasn’t for him...

She sighed, and, her cup of supposedly health-giving water held firmly in her hand, made her way back to the spot where she’d left Grandfather, holding court over a group of Bath widows and old cronies.

‘Who were you talking to, miss?’ Grandfather scowled at her over the rim of his cup as she handed it to him.

‘I have no idea,’ she admitted wistfully. ‘He didn’t give me his name.’

‘I should think not. In my day a gentleman waited to be introduced before speaking to a lady.’

‘Well, I did blunder into him and knock his cup of water out of his hand.’

‘Oh. I see. Like that, was it?’ And with that, he turned back to Mrs Hutchens and took up from where they’d left off gossiping, having clearly dismissed the entire incident.

Which was a bit depressing, actually. For a minute or two, Lizzie toyed with the idea of saying that, no, it wasn’t like that. That the tall, blue-eyed man had flirted with her outrageously. Showered her with compliments, then asked her to elope with him.

But saying any such thing would only have earned her a sharp reprimand. Grandfather knew she wasn’t the kind of girl that gentlemen ever flirted with. The only thing that might tempt a man to look beyond her gargantuan build, and her clumsiness, was an enormous dowry.

And Lizzie didn’t have a penny to her name.

Still, there was nothing to stop her from reliving the encounter in her mind. And imagining the expressions that might have been flitting across his face as they were bantering with each other. Why shouldn’t he have looked at her with admiration? Why couldn’t her dazzling wit have managed to chase the shadows from his eyes and make them twinkle with laughter?

Grandfather rudely interrupted her daydream by poking her in the leg with his cane.

‘Come on, girl, stop wool-gathering!’

It was time to leave.

‘Yes, Grandfather,’ she said meekly. But instead of trailing behind him, shoulders drooping at the prospect of facing the next stage in the daily round of Bath life, Lizzie imagined she was balancing a pile of books on her head. Because ladies were supposed to glide, gracefully, wherever they went.

And for once, Lizzie could see the point of trying to do so.

Because, who knew who might be watching her?

Chapter Three

‘And of course,’ said Lady Mainwaring, ‘I told her...’

Lizzie kept her head tilted to one side, her eyes fixed in the general direction of Bath’s most garrulous widow, while her mind wandered freely. It was one of the benefits of having such poor eyesight. People didn’t expect her to look as though she was focusing intently on them when they cornered her and tried to interest her in the latest gossip.

She did make sure she smiled at Lady Mainwaring though, because the plump little woman was one of the least terrifying of the Bath set. Lizzie was certain that she gossiped about her the moment they parted company, but she never actually said anything unkind to her face, the way so many of the other dowagers did. Lady Mainwaring had never asked her why she didn’t smarten herself up, for example, or recommended modistes who would know how to counteract her faults, or sigh and pretend to sympathise with the difficulty of finding eligible young men in Bath these days. She was too keen on keeping Lizzie up to date with what everyone else in Bath was doing.

‘Excuse me,’ said the Master of Ceremonies, bowing to both ladies and making Lizzie jump. She hadn’t noticed him approaching, so intent had she been on convincing Lady Mainwaring she was listening to her account of her latest altercation with one of the other dowagers.

‘I have here a gentleman I would wish to recommend as a dancing partner, for you, Miss Hutton.’

‘For me?’ Lizzie couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d told her she’d just won the lottery. Especially since she’d never purchased a ticket.

‘Permit me to introduce Captain Bretherton, of His Majesty’s navy,’ said the Master of Ceremonies, smoothly ignoring Lizzie’s less-than-gracious reaction, and waving to someone who, presumably from the direction of the waving, was standing just behind him.

‘Captain Bretherton?’ Of the navy? She peered beyond Mr King’s shoulder and saw an immense figure loom up out of the golden candlelit fog. And her heart skipped a beat. It was the man from the Pump Room that morning. It had to be. For there surely couldn’t be two such tall, broad men in Bath at present.

‘Miss Hutton,’ said a voice she recognised at once. A voice that sent strange feelings rippling through her whole body. Making her feel a bit like a pointer quivering in the presence of game. ‘I am charmed to make your acquaintance.’

‘Eep!’ That was the noise which escaped Lady Mainwaring’s mouth as Captain Bretherton stepped closer and bowed over her hand. Which also, coincidentally, expressed exactly what Lizzie was thinking.

‘Captain Bretherton,’ said Lizzie, dropping into a curtsy. Causing Lady Mainwaring to stagger a little as Lizzie’s elbow caught her in the midriff.

She really ought to practise curtsying more often. She had never mastered the art of controlling her elbows. It was hard enough to get her knees to dip to the approved level, while keeping her balance. Spreading her elbows wide helped her not to stagger in the rising portion of the curtsy, she’d discovered. And Lady Buntingford, who’d been the one attempting to teach her all that a lady needed to know, had said that she supposed that at least it meant she could perform the whole manoeuvre relatively smoothly, even if nobody and nothing within range of them was likely to emerge unscathed.

‘Allow me to escort you to the ballroom,’ said Captain Bretherton, as a large, gloved hand swam into view.

She took it, grateful that she couldn’t see the expression on his face. The poor man must be regretting having asked her to dance, now that he’d seen how clumsy she was.

‘You are very brave,’ came tumbling out of her mouth. And then she blushed. That was just the sort of thing she ought not to tell a man, just before he danced with her.

But then, what did it matter, really? Once he’d spent half an hour stepping over the bodies she’d no doubt strew across the dance floor, he would never come anywhere near her again.

Oh, dear. It had been so pleasant daydreaming about her encounter with him this morning. She’d actually been witty for a few moments. But now she had a horrid feeling that she was only ever going to be able to cringe when she looked back on what was likely to happen during the course of the next half-hour.

She felt his arm, upon which she’d rested her hand in the requisite manner, stiffen.

‘Brave? What do you mean?’

‘To ask me to dance,’ she confessed miserably.

‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘But it was the only way I could think of to get an introduction. Wondering what your name could really be has been tormenting me all day.’

‘Oh, well, if that is all, we don’t need to go through with it. We could just go to the tea room...’

‘Tea won’t be served for another hour at least,’ he said swiftly. ‘And...er...’

‘You have no taste for cards? Neither do I. In fact, Grandfather won’t even buy me a subscription for the card room. Says it is a waste of money.’

‘Playing cards at all is a waste of money,’ he said grimly.

She shot him a startled look. And, since the crowded room obliged them to walk very close together, she could see the clenched plane of his jaw quite distinctly.

‘Besides, I would much rather dance with you.’

‘Really? But I thought...’

‘Thought what?’

‘Well, I was just going to say that, this morning, I thought you looked quite sensible.’

A bark of laughter escaped his lips. But then he turned his head and looked down at her.

‘Sensible and brave. My, my. Two compliments in such rapid succession. Miss Hutton, you will turn my head.’

‘No, I didn’t mean, that is...’ She felt her cheeks heating as her thoughts, and her tongue, became hopelessly tangled. How she wished she had more experience of talking to men. Well, single men, who’d asked her to dance with them, that was. Then she might not be making quite such a fool of herself with this one.

‘I will make a confession,’ he said, leaning close to her ear so that his voice rippled all the way down her spine in a caressing manner.

‘Will you?’ She lost her ability to breathe properly. It felt as if her lungs were as tangled as her thoughts.

‘When I looked in upon the ballroom, earlier, and saw how few people were actually dancing, and how many were watching, my nerve almost failed.’

‘Well, it is just that there are not that many people here who are fit enough to dance. But they do enjoy watching others. And then...’

‘Giving them marks out of ten, I dare say,’ he finished for her.

‘Yes, that’s about it. And I’m terribly sorry, but—’

‘Oh, no,’ he said sternly. ‘You cannot retreat now. We are almost at the dance floor. Can you imagine what people will say if you turn and run from me?’

‘That you’ve had a narrow escape?’

‘That I’ve had...’ He turned, and took both her hands in his. ‘Miss Hutton, are you trying to warn me that you are not a good dancer?’

She nodded. Then hung her head.

She felt a gloved hand slide under her chin and lift her face. And saw him smiling down at her. Beaming, in fact. As though she’d just told him something wonderful.

‘Then, you are not going to berate me when I tread upon your toes?’

‘I... Is that what your dance partners normally do?’ When he nodded, ruefully, she welled up with indignation. ‘How rude.’

‘I shall remind you that you said that, after you have suffered the same fate.’

‘I suspect that you will be too busy regretting having asked me to dance at all to remember anything I said beforehand.’

‘Oh? Why is that?’

‘Because I have no...’ She tried to wave her hands to demonstrate her lack of coordination, only to find them still firmly clasped between his own. ‘And people do try to get out of my way, but...’

‘I can see that this is going to be an interesting experience for both of us,’ he put in.

‘And for the spectators.’ The walls would probably soon be resounding to the screams of pain from the other dancers and the laughter of those watching her mow her way through the others in her set like a scythe through ripened wheat. At least, that was how her very last dance partner had spoken of her performance after he’d returned her to her seat, mopping his brow. It was funny how people assumed, because she couldn’t see very well, that she couldn’t hear, either. They seemed to think they could talk about her freely, and often very rudely, and get away with it.

And because it was easier to pretend she hadn’t heard, than to confront them and make a scene, Lizzie had learned to keep her face frozen into what another local youth had described as being very like that adopted by a cow when chewing the cud.

And what a cud he was.

‘Yes,’ he said, turning and leading her on to the dance floor where she could see the dim outlines of other people forming a set. ‘Let us give them something worth watching.’

Chapter Four

Harry’s cravat felt too tight. And sweat was trickling down between his shoulder blades, giving him an almost uncontrollable urge to scratch at it. Or tear off his neck cloth.

It was pretty much the way he’d always felt before going into battle. The determination to go through with the grim task in spite of knowing that whatever strategy he followed, there were bound to be injuries. This time, to a young woman who would have no idea she was a deliberate target.

He gritted his teeth. He’d told Rawcliffe he’d do whatever it took. And once he’d learned how pivotal Miss Hutton was to the success of their scheme, he’d assured both him, and later Becconsall, that he was the best man for the job. Rawcliffe had assured him that this part of it would be simple, that Miss Hutton would be so grateful for any attention any eligible young man might give her, she would fall into his hands like a ripe plum. Which might be true, but he would wager that neither Lieutenant Nateby nor Captain Hambleton would be sweating like this if either of them had drawn the long straw. Or be feeling as though, at any minute, one of the assembled Bath gossips would point the finger and expose him as an impostor. Nor did it give him any comfort to reflect that the only one of the candidates Rawcliffe had summoned to that interview who would have been having a harder time, at this precise moment, would have been Lieutenant Thurnham. Because it would only have been due to his struggles to resist the lure of the card room.

Not one of the others would have been wrestling with their conscience. Not one of them would have had any qualms about laying siege to Miss Hutton’s heart, or conquering it, and then, when she’d served her purpose, walking away from her without a backward glance.

He scowled across the ballroom at the few other couples milling about as he gave her arm a squeeze. His conscience with regard to Miss Hutton might be smarting a bit, but he was fully committed to seeing this mission through to the bitter end. Therefore he had to persuade Miss Hutton that he was a genuine suitor. A suitor so smitten that he would not be able to part from her when the time came for her to leave Bath. By then, hopefully, he would have wormed his way into her affections to the extent that she would extend an invitation to spend Christmas with her and her family in Lesser Peeving. From which vantage point he would be able to continue the investigations Archie had been conducting in that area. Investigations which had resulted in his death.

He swallowed as he glanced down at the crown of Lizzie’s head, the droop of her shoulders. He’d felt sorry for her before even meeting her, because of the plan to deceive her into believing she’d captured his heart. But now he had met her...well, she was so utterly defenceless against him that when she had placed her trembling hand upon his sleeve, just now, revealing her dread at the prospect of having so many spectators mocking the way she danced, he experienced a bizarre sensation of wishing he could somehow protect her.

When he was the one she needed protecting from.

He ground his teeth. He’d always hated seeing anyone take advantage of those weaker than themselves. But he hadn’t felt such a strong surge of indignation on anyone’s behalf since the day he’d come across Tom Kellet cowering behind the buttress in the fives court. Back then, he’d been able to wade straight in and dispatch the beefy bullies who’d been taunting him. And assure the lad, who’d later gained the nickname of Archie, that he was no longer alone, that he, Harry, would always stand by him. Back then, his actions had given him a sense of self-worth he’d never known before. He’d discovered that he was not a ‘good-for-nothing’ after all.

Right now, Miss Hutton looked as though she could do with having someone to stand by her, too. Even if it was the very man who was responsible for luring her out on to the dance floor where she was afraid she was about to make a spectacle of herself.

Which didn’t surprise him actually, not when he recalled the way she’d knocked his cup of water from his hand at their first meeting. The way she’d very nearly sent her companion flying when executing the most awkward curtsy he’d ever seen, outside the theatre. It just went to confirm Lady Rawcliffe’s description of her as an awkward giantess. He’d dismissed her evaluation, up ’til then, because Lady Rawcliffe was one of those tiny, dainty, fairy-like females who always got a crick in their necks when attempting to look him in the face. The kind who always made him afraid he’d accidentally crush them if he turned round too quickly without first taking note of exactly where they were standing. But now he saw that Miss Hutton herself believed all those things Lady Rawcliffe had said of her. To the extent that she was discernibly trembling at the prospect of stepping out on to the dance floor, when other females would have been looking on it with anticipation.

Just as he was sweating with his own nerves. Which gave him an uncanny sense of kinship with her. He knew what it felt like to be robbed of the kind of pleasure most people took for granted, right enough. It had happened first in his childhood, when his family had fallen apart. And then when he’d been taken out of school just as he’d begun to find his feet. And again when the French had taken him prisoner. Each time he’d hated that feeling of being weak and helpless in the face of cruel fate and no longer able to partake in the activities others enjoyed almost by right.