grown under Frederick’s oversight.” Jamie paused to let his words reach the earl’s business sense.
Lord Bennington’s brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. Again he stared at Frederick’s letter, but said nothing.
Jamie decided to press on. “Milord, he has found in Rachel the perfect helpmate for who he is and what he is doing for you.” Again, Jamie permitted a cautious grin to grace his lips. “Their mutual devotion proves the truth of the proverb, ‘Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtained favor of the Lord.’” He wondered if it would be going too far to mention the similar devotion he had noticed between the earl and his countess. But Lord Bennington stiffened, and his white eyebrows bent into an accusing frown.
“And you, Templeton, where will you find your wife?”
“Ha!” Surprise and shock forced a too-loud laugh to burst forth, and heat rushed to Jamie’s face. He grasped his wayward emotions once again. “I am a seaman, milord. ’Twould be cruel to marry, only to leave my wife alone during my voyages. And of course the sea is no place for a woman.” Speaking that truth solidified his decision. He would pry from his heart every fond feeling for Lady Marianne, and marry Lady Liberty and her Glorious Cause.
Lord Bennington studied him with a hardened stare. But gradually, the old man seemed to wilt before Jamie’s eyes, and soon he slumped down into his chair as if defeated. “I’ll not doubt you again, my boy. Your honesty has proved your worthiness.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “You may go. And if you decide to accompany my reprobate son on his nightly jaunts, do remember that Robert is not Frederick.”
Several responses formed in Jamie’s mind, not the least of which was that the earl’s comment seemed to imply a measure of approval of Frederick and perhaps even Rachel. But the man appeared spent from his emotional evening, so Jamie withheld his remarks. “Very good, milord. Good evening.”
As he climbed the stairs to his third-floor suite, a grim sense of satisfaction filled him. He had gained Lord Bennington’s trust and could begin his search for information regarding Britain’s planned defenses of East Florida. And memories of his tender but short romance with Lady Marianne had been safely tucked away in a remote corner of his mind, to be fondly recalled when he was an old man.
Yet a dull ache thumped against his heart with each ascending step.
Chapter Four
“Your hair is so easy to work with, Lady Marianne.” Emma’s sweet, round face beamed as she set the silver-handled comb on the dressing table.
“My, Emma.” Marianne drew over her shoulder the long braid her maid had just plaited. As always, the work was flawless. “What makes you so happy this evening? Could it be Captain Templeton’s handsome young valet, whom I saw you talking with earlier?”
Even in the candlelight, she could see Emma’s cheeks turning pink. “Why, no, my lady. I mean—” Her smile vanished, and she chewed her lip. “We spoke for only a few moments. No more than a half hour.”
Marianne gave her a reassuring smile. “Do not fear. Mr. Quince seems a pleasant fellow. And being in the good captain’s employ, he is no doubt a man of character.” A tendril of inspiration grew in her thoughts. “You have my permission to chat with Quince as long as you both have your work completed and you meet only in the appropriate common areas of the house where anyone passing can see you. I will tell Mama you have my permission.”
Happiness once again glowed on Emma’s face. “Oh, thank you, my lady.” She curtsied and then hastened to turn down the covers on Marianne’s four-poster bed and move the coal-filled bed warmer back and forth between the sheets. Once finished, she returned the brass implement to the hearthside. “Your bed is ready, my lady. Will that be all?” She started to douse the candles beside Marianne’s reading chair.
“Leave them.” Marianne retrieved her brother’s letter from her desk drawer. “I wish to sit and read awhile.”
Emma seemed to blink away disappointment. “Shall I wait, my lady?”
“No. You may go.” Marianne pulled her woolen dressing gown around her, shivering a little against the cold night air. “I can warm the bed again if I need to. Thank you, Emma.”
Her little maid fairly danced from the room with a happiness Marianne envied. How wonderful to find a suitable man to love, one of equal rank, whom Papa and Mama would approve of without reservation. But the heart was an unruly, untamable thing, as evidenced by Frederick’s marriage and her own love for Jamie Templeton.
After she and Mama left Papa and Jamie, it had been all she could do to keep from pleading for her mother’s support for that love, especially since Mama seemed reconciled to Frederick’s marriage. But Mama had excused herself to attend to household matters, leaving Marianne to languish outside Papa’s study in hopes of seeing Jamie again. That is, until her brother’s missive began to burn in her hand. Here was her ally in the family. Frederick would support her love for Jamie, of that she was certain.
Seated now in her bedchamber in her favorite place to read, Marianne broke the seal on Frederick’s letter and unfolded the vellum page. A small, folded piece fell out, so she quickly perused the first one, which repeated the information he’d written to Papa. The details about his dear wife assured Marianne that she would love Rachel and call her “sister” the moment they met.
Wishing that meeting might happen soon, she opened the smaller page—and gasped at the first words. “You must not think to do as I have done, dear sister. For reasons I cannot now explain, other than to say it is for your own happiness and written because I am devoted to you, you must release our mutual friend from the premature vows you traded with him on his last visit to London. To continue this ill-advised alliance will bring only heartache to you both. While he is a man of blameless character, he will not make a suitable husband for the daughter of a peer of the realm. I cannot say more except that you must, you must heed my advice, my beloved sister.”
Scalding tears raced down Marianne’s cheeks. Never had she expected such a betrayal from Frederick. Had they not been the closest of friends all their lives? Had she not frequently stood beside him against their three older brothers, the sons of Papa’s first wife, when they sought to bully him? Why did he not wish for her the same happiness he had claimed for himself?
Trembling with anger and disappointment, she resisted the urge to crumple the entire letter. Frederick had signed the first page as if it were the only one, no doubt knowing she would share its contents with Mama. But she reread the second one just to be certain she had not mistaken his cruel intentions. No, she had not. So Marianne ripped the page to shreds and fed the pieces to the hearth flames, then watched as the fire’s ravenous tongues eagerly devoured them.
Childhood memories of Frederick’s devotion sprang to mind. His comfort when she fell and scraped her chin. Their forays into Papa’s chambers to spy on guests. His gentle teasing, edged with pride, when she emerged from the schoolroom and entered society. Why would he abandon her now? She knelt beside her cold bed and offered up a tearful prayer that she might understand why God would let her fall in love with Jamie and then deny them their happiness.
The response came as surely as if the Lord had spoken to her aloud. Be at peace. This is the man you will marry.
“Lord, if this is Your voice, then guide my every step.”
Joy flooded her heart—and kept her awake into the early morning hours, planning how she would bring God’s will to pass.
Following
