about whom she’d heard disturbing rumors?
Her gaze flitted around the elegant, exotic room. At least this house was familiar to the girls. And if the new master had no fondness for them, she and the other servants did. Besides, unlike their aunt, Captain Radcliffe had no reason to harbor designs on the girls’ fortunes. “Could you delay sending that message for just a bit, sir?”
“Why on earth…?”
“Knightley Park is the children’s home—the only one they’ve ever known. If they must leave it, I would like some time to get them used to the idea, if that’s all right?”
It wasn’t all right. That much was clear from his taut, forbidding scowl.
“Please,” she added, though she doubted any amount of begging would budge a man like him. “You’ve probably spent most of your life moving from one place to another. So perhaps you can’t understand why a child who’s lost her mother and father would want to stay in a familiar place around people she’s used to.”
It was not her place to speak to the new master in such a tone. Marian could imagine Mr. Culpepper’s look of horror if he heard her.
“I understand better than you suppose, Miss Murray.” Captain Radcliffe spoke so softly, Marian wondered if she had only imagined his words.
“You do?”
He replied with a slow nod, a distant gaze and a pensive murmur that seemed to come from some well-hidden place inside him. “I was ten years old when I was sent to sea after my mother died.”
The wistful hush of his voice slid beneath Marian’s bristling defenses. Her heart went out to that wee boy. A navy ship must have been an even harsher place to grow up than the Pendergast Charity School, where she had been sent. She wondered if young Gideon Radcliffe had been blessed with good friends and strong faith to help him bear it.
But she had no right to ask such questions of a man like him. Besides, the girls were her first priority.
Perhaps she could appeal to the part of him that remembered the loss and displacement he’d suffered. “Cissy is only nine and Dolly hasn’t turned seven yet. I know you don’t mean to send them off to sea, Captain. But away-from-home is all the same, no matter where, don’t you think?”
His brows rose and his lower lip thrust out in a downward curve. “I see your point.”
Marian sensed this was as receptive as he was likely to get. “I’m not asking anything of you, Captain, except to provide us with food and houseroom until Lady Villiers returns. This place has plenty of both to spare. I will see to the girls, entirely, just the way I have since their father died. I’ll make certain they don’t disturb you.”
For a moment Captain Radcliffe stared down at the finely woven carpet. Then suddenly he lifted his head to fix her with a gaze that did see her—too clearly for her comfort. “Very well, Miss Murray. I am not such an ogre as you may suppose. I know this is their home and would have remained so if they’d had a brother.”
“I never thought you were an—”
Before she could blurt out that bald lie, the captain raised his hand to bid her not interrupt him. “Until the New Year then.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“I shall delay contacting Lady Villiers until January.” Captain Radcliffe sounded resigned to his decision. “That will allow the children to spend Christmas in the country. After that, the New Year is a time for new beginnings.”
“Perhaps so.” That sounded ungrateful. Captain Radcliffe was under no obligation to let them stay for any length of time, let alone the whole winter. “What I meant to say was…thank you, sir.”
As she hurried back to the nursery, Marian thanked God, too, for granting this reprieve. Perhaps her earlier prayers had been heard after all.
Chapter Two
After his first night in his new home, Gideon woke much later than usual. He’d slept badly—the place was far too quiet. He missed the soothing lap of the waves against the hull of his ship, the flap of sails in the wind and the mournful cries of seagulls. When he had drifted off, the face of that young midshipman had appeared to trouble him. Though the charges brought against him were entirely unfounded—of causing the death of one member of his crew and threatening others—that did not mean his conscience was clear.
An iron band of pain tightened around Gideon’s forehead when he crawled out of bed. He staggered when the floor stayed level and still beneath his feet. It had taken him a while to gain his sea legs when he’d joined his first crew, all those years ago. Now the roll of a deck was so familiar he wondered if he would ever feel comfortable on dry land. Nottinghamshire had some of the driest land in the kingdom, many miles from the ocean in any direction. Coming here had given Gideon a far more intimate understanding of what it meant to be “a fish out of water.”
Perhaps some coffee and breakfast would help. Though he’d lived on ship’s rations for more than two-thirds of his life, he could not claim they were superior to the fare available at Knightley Park.
As he washed, shaved and dressed for the day, Gideon’s thoughts turned back to his unsettling interview with Miss Murray the previous evening. The woman reminded him of a terrier—small and rather appealing, yet possessed of fierce tenacity in getting what she wanted. What in blazes had possessed him to tell her about being sent to sea after his mother’s death?
He seldom talked to anyone about his past and never about that unhappy time. Perhaps it was what she’d said about a bereaved child needing the comfort of familiar surroundings. It had struck a chord deep within him—far too deep for his liking. Before he could stop himself, the words had poured out. For an instant after he’d spoken, Gideon thought he sensed a thawing in her obvious aversion to him. Then she had turned and used that unintentional revelation as leverage to wring from him a concession he’d been reluctant to grant.
He counted himself fortunate that he had not come up against many enemy captains who were such formidable opponents as this simple Scottish governess.
It wasn’t that he begrudged his young cousins’ houseroom—quite the contrary. They had been born and lived their whole lives at Knightley Park, while he had only visited the place at Christmastime and in the summer. Though it belonged to him by law, he could not escape the conviction that they had a far stronger claim to it.
While they remained here, he would be reluctant to make many changes in the domestic arrangements they were accustomed to…no matter how sorely needed. He would always feel like an interloper in his own home, prevented from claiming the solitude and privacy he’d hoped to find at Knightley Park.
That was not his only objection to the arrangement, Gideon reminded himself as he headed off in search of breakfast. What if his young cousins needed something beyond the authority of their governess to provide? What if some harm befell them and he was held accountable? He, who had been charged with the welfare of an entire ship’s crew, shrank from the responsibility for two small girls. It vexed Gideon that he had not thought to raise some of these objections with Miss Murray last night.
It was too late now, though. He had given his word. He only hoped he would not come to regret that decision as much as he regretted some others he’d made of late.
