Her Master and Commander

  “Yes.” The word rushed through Tristan’s lips as if they’d been just waiting for such a question. An odd pressure tightened his chest. “I love her madly. I once thought I would never again find happiness without the sea. But now that I’ve known Prudence…Christian, something has changed. I will always miss not being able to sail, but if I had the sea and not Prudence, it would not satisfy me. But if I had Prudence, but not the sea…” Tristan shrugged. “I would be the happiest man alive.”

  “Why did you not tell her that?”

  “Because I didn’t think it would matter. I thought I would marry her and then let her know how I felt.”

  Christian sighed. “Men!”

  “Hold it right there. You are a man.”

  “Yes, but I am exceptional. Unlike you, who have spent your entire life at sea with a group of male companions, I have surrounded myself with females. It has opened my eyes to many things.”

  Tristan scowled. “I worry about you sometimes.”

  “You are lucky I am here. We must put our minds together and find a way out of this fix.”

  “I wish we could. Christian, if I declare myself to her now, I will lose the funds for the men. If I don’t, she won’t ever truly believe I care more for her than the money, which I do. Without her, I don’t want the funds.”

  “This is a quandary then.” Christian frowned. “First things first. You must see her and apologize.”

  “I already tried.”

  “Do it again. And again. And again. Eventually she will see you.”

  “Only to tell me nay. She is not the type of woman to forgive lightly. I vow but I did not mean to insult her, though…I can see where it did sound ill. Horrid, even.”

  Christian nodded. “Even as a child, you were never very good at expressing yourself.”

  Tristan gave his brother a flat stare. “Thank you.”

  Christian waved a hand. “It’s what I’m here for. In my life, women are quite different from your Prudence. The bad ones won’t leave and the good ones won’t stay. Usually because of that…what is it called? Ah yes. The need for ‘steady employment.’ Really! Don’t they know I am the son of an earl? Steady employment, indeed.”

  Tristan smiled absently. “If you do not enjoy being a viscount, you could always try your hand at life on the stage. You’ve always been—” A distant thought itched. He sat a little straighter. Was there a way to show Prudence how much he loved her? “I wonder…”

  “What?” Christian asked absently, retrieving his flask and taking a sip.

  Tristan’s mind rang with sudden clarity. A thought began to form, a plan of such scope—could he?

  He put down his glass. He needed to think clearly. Very clearly, if this was to work. Slowly, he looked over at his brother. “Christian?” The first real smile of the evening touched his lips. “I need your help. I know just what must be done.”

  Christian paused, the flask halfway to his lips. “Do as you will, oh Captain Brother. I am yours to command. Just know this: If your plan does not work, I claim the right to pursue the lovely widow on my own.”

  Tristan’s smile faded. “Not while I’m alive. Now stop your posturing, you scurvy cod. We’ve work to do.”

  Chapter 20

  I have often heard it said that “man does not live by bread alone.” I find myself in full agreement. After all, what is bread without a little wine?

  A Compleat Guide for

  Being a Most Proper Butler

  by Richard Robert Reeves

  Prudence threw back the covers and kicked impatiently at the sheets. She hadn’t spoken to Tristan in an entire week. Though he came every day and asked to speak to her, she refused to see him. Which was a very good thing, she told herself repeatedly, as it allowed her time to pace obsessively and mull Tristan’s last words over and over and over.

  When she was not pacing, she was either avoiding Mother’s regretful looks and deep sighs, or lying in bed, pretending to sleep. Like now.

  “They will consign me to bedlam if I don’t stop this,” she told the chilly air in her bedchamber.

  Sighing, she rose and wrapped a shawl about her shoulders, slid her feet back into her shoes, and walked aimlessly to the window. It was actually frightfully early to be in bed. But four hours of listening to Mother wonder aloud yet again why the earl had called today and why her daughter would not receive him had proven too much for Prudence to bear.

  Sleep was, of course, an impossibility. And not just because of the early hour. She didn’t think she’d slept more than two hours at a time since the last time she’d seen Tristan.

  She leaned against the window frame and pulled the curtain open, then looked out, resting her elbows on the sill. The sun had already set on the horizon, the tree branches etched in dim relief against the moon-flooded sky.

  Restless, she hugged herself, pressing her forehead to the glass and stared sightlessly out the window.

  How was Tristan? The trustees were to have visited today. Prudence hoped he’d remembered his manners, how to address each of the trustees, how to greet them in his library—all the things that would mark him as a gentleman in the trustees’ rather shallow books.

  Of course, they would never see the real Tristan, the one who cared about his men, though he barked at them constantly. The one whose eyes darkened with pain when he spoke of his mother. The one who’d looked at her with so much tenderness…

  She moved restlessly. What was she doing, thinking of Tristan? There was no future in it, she told herself miserably. He’d asked her to marry him out of a sense of duty and nothing else. Worse, if the trustees discovered their connection, they could well cut off his income.

  She sighed, huddling beneath her shawl. She hadn’t lit any lamps, and all about her was black and still, silent except for the tick of the ormolu clock that rested on the mantel.

  The thin sliver of moonlight illuminated the garden below, and she rested her head against the window frame, absently noting the sway of the plants in the night breeze. As she watched, the gate slowly opened…

  She blinked. But it was still there, a solitary figure in a cloak backing through the gate, pulling…something tethered on a rope. She leaned forward, squinting against the dark and…she gasped. Tied to the end of the rope was a sheep!

  Prudence whirled and grabbed her morning gown from the wardrobe. She changed and ran from her room, passing Mrs. Fieldings on the stairs.

  “Where are ye goin’?” the housekeeper asked, her shriveled face pulled into a look of suspicion.

  “Someone is in the garden!”

  The housekeeper followed. “I just brushed yer cloak. ’Tis on the peg by the front door.”

  Prudence reached the bottom stair. “I don’t need a cloak. I am going to find out once and for all who is putting that sheep into our garden!”

  “’Tis a wise man as heeds the hiss of the snake.”

  “Yes, well, this snake is wearing a cloak.”

  Mrs. Fieldings sniffed. “No thief I know would wear a cloak.”

  Prudence stopped by the front door and grabbed her cloak, tossing her shawl to a side table. “Not only was the snake wearing a cloak, but it appeared to be trimmed.”

  That gave Mrs. Fieldings pause. She eyed Prudence warily. “Did ye say it was trimmed? How?”

  “I only saw it from the upper window for a few seconds, but it looked as if there was trim around the hood—” Prudence’s gaze locked onto the hooks by the door. Mother’s cloak was gone. The red one. The one trimmed in ermine.

  Prudence turned to look at Mrs. Fieldings, who had turned a curious shade of red. “Do you know anything about this?”

  The housekeeper crossed her arms over her gaunt breast. “A prudent man keeps his knowledge under lock and key, least it fall to the wayside in disarray.”

  Homilies. Prudence didn’t have time for homilies. “I suppose I shall just have to find out for myself.” She reached for the doorknob, but Mrs. Fieldings was quicker.

 
The housekeeper planted herself against the door, arms crossed, chin in the air. “Now, Madam. Better to control your temper than let fly an arrow of harm.”

  “Move.”

  “The heart of the angry shall—”

  “Mrs. Fieldings, do you see my fist? The one inside my glove?”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “Are you threatening me?”

  Prudence leaned forward. “Yes.”

  That seemed to flummox the housekeeper completely. While she was busy searching for a proper homily, Prudence reached past the woman and pulled the door open. The panel hit Mrs. Fieldings soundly in the rump, causing her to gasp and move quickly out of the way. “Well, I never!” she said, huffing as she went.

  “I daresay you haven’t, which is a great pity.” Prudence ignored the housekeeper’s shocked protests and entered into the garden.

  Walking quietly, Prudence made her way to the gate and crossed her arms. “Good evening, Mother.”

  Mother whirled, gasping. On seeing Prudence, she sagged against the garden gate, one hand to her chest, the other still tightly wound about a rope. “Goodness! You frightened me to death!”

  “I frightened you? I’m not the one skulking around, leading sheep into the garden!”

  Mother glanced over her shoulder. The rope in her hand led to a very fat, very slow-moving, and very disinterested sheep.

  “I recognize that sheep,” Prudence said.

  The sheep seemed to realize she was the topic of discussion, for she opened her mouth, revealing large, yellowed teeth, and baa’d loudly.

  Prudence shook her head. “Mother, you were the one who put the captain’s sheep in our garden all this time. Why would you do such a thing?”

  Mother made a helpless gesture. “I know this looks bad, but I didn’t—That is to say, I never thought—I really didn’t want—”

  Prudence held up a hand. “We are going inside before we freeze to death. Maybe you can make a coherent sentence then.”

  “Yes, but I…I have to feed Daffodil first.”

  Prudence raised her brows. “Daffodil?”

  “Our sheep. I mean, the earl’s sheep.” Mother had the grace to look slightly shamefaced. “I always feed her a little when she arrives. It’s the only way I can get her to follow me. Usually I just open the gate and she trots in. But for some reason, she has been very, very difficult tonight.” Mother frowned at the sheep that now stood munching on the shrubbery beside the gate. “I wonder if she’s feeling quite the thing. I have not brought her to visit lately, and she has very tender feelings.”

  “Sheep do not have feelings.”

  Mother looked affronted. “They do, too!”

  “Oh for the love of—I cannot believe you!” Prudence shook her head. “I cannot wait to hear your explanation for all of this. Feed your silly sheep and come inside. I’ll have Mrs. Fieldings make us some tea.” With that, Prudence returned to the house, where she found the housekeeper standing glumly in the hallway.

  “I warned the missus, I did! ‘Secrets are best kept in the open.’ That’s what I told her all along.”

  “You knew Mother was putting the sheep in our garden.”

  “Not at first. She was too sly for me then. But the third time, I noticed her cloak was damp and I knew she’d been out.” Mrs. Fieldings smiled with a certain moribund satisfaction. “Didn’t take me long to figure out which way the wind blew then.”

  “Mrs. Fieldings, would you please make some tea. Mother and I must talk.”

  “It’s already on. I figured ye’d be wanting some tea to calm yer nerves. I started up the fire in the sittin’ room, too, I did. Ye can have yer talk in there, just no yellin’. As soon as yer tea is done, I’m goin’ back to bed.”

  With that unsympathetic caveat, Mrs. Fieldings trudged back to the kitchen. Prudence made her way into the sitting room. Her own mother…How could she have done it?

  When Prudence thought of all the times she’d stormed over to the captain’s and berated him about his sheep, it was almost more than she could stand. Goodness, what he must have thought of her then. What he must think of her now…She closed her eyes, tears beginning to well.

  Mother entered the room, taking off her cloak as she did so. The hem of her gown was damp and bits of straw clung to one of her sleeves. “Prudence, I—I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just explain why you went to such trouble.”

  Mother wrung her hands. “Oh dear! Do not look at me like that! I didn’t mean any harm. Indeed, I had the best of intentions. I really did!”

  “You misled me.”

  “Well…a little. I didn’t lure Daffodil through the fence the first time. She appeared on her own.”

  Prudence raised her brows.

  “Do not look at me as if you think I am lying! I am telling the truth!” Mother took Prudence’s hand and led her to the settee. “Prudence, you must understand.”

  “I think I do.”

  “No, you don’t.” Mother sat, then pulled Prudence down beside her. “When we moved here, it dawned on me that while this was indeed a new beginning for me, for you it was…well, it was an exile of a sort.”

  “I was perfectly happy with my lot.” Or she had been until she’d discovered the magic of being in Tristan’s arms. Arms she’d never again feel clasped about her. A horrid lump grew in her throat.

  “Prudence,” Mother said gently, patting her hand, “I knew we were moving to an out-of-the-way place, but when we arrived, it was so desolate. So isolated. It’s not what I wanted for you. But then I saw the earl—well, he wasn’t an earl then, but he seemed so perfect for you.”

  “Perfect? He was rude and arrogant and refused to have anything to do with us!”

  “Except for that, he was perfect,” Mother amended hastily. “He is not an easy man, is he? But I knew he had to be quite kind to allow all of those wounded sailors into his home. There is something honorable and brave about him. I don’t know what it is, but…” Mother shrugged helplessly.

  Prudence knew what it was that made Tristan the one and only person you wanted to be with when things were wretched; it was his heart. He was steadfast and loving, capable of immeasurable caring. And she loved him dearly.

  Mother sighed. “I am so sorry to mislead you about the sheep. But I had to do something. The earl is stubborn and wouldn’t visit us. But he was the only man around, except for the doctor, who would not do for you at all—”

  “I thought you liked the doctor.”

  “Oh, I do. But he is far too weak for you. You’d monopolize the relationship within the hour and that would be that.”

  “Mother!”

  Mother pinkened. “Well, it’s true. You have a good bit of me in you, and that was ever my problem. Although, to be honest, I was never as outspoken as you, but that is only because I was raised so differently.”

  “I am not sure if you’re complimenting me or disparaging me.”

  “It is a compliment. Only, it does not lead to a providential marriage unless your partner is of equal strength.”

  Prudence had to smile a little at that. “Like Father.”

  “Exactly. Thank goodness he was who he was, or the marriage would have been a disaster.” Mother’s eyes grew misty. “I still miss him, you know.”

  Prudence nodded. “Sometimes, I think of Phillip, but…Mother, it doesn’t matter. None of this matters. Tristan—I mean, the earl—and I are no longer speaking.”

  “That was another thing that made me certain I’d done the right thing, when the captain became an earl! What could have been more perfect then?”

  “Mother, I don’t care if he’s an earl.”

  “I do. You deserve an earl. Even a duke.” Mother considered this a moment. “I could even see you with a prince, although having witnessed one prince up close when I was in my youth and being thoroughly disgusted—some are monstrously fat—I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

  Prudence managed a pained sigh. “Thank you for that, at least. I c
annot believe you were so secretive. I never knew you to be so.”

  “I never had any reason to be before. It is amazing what you will do for your children. I felt badly at first, though poor Daffodil is usually quite docile. All I had to do was tuck a bit of apple into my pocket and let her smell it. She’ll follow you for miles for just one bite, greedy creature.”

  Prudence squeezed Mother’s hand. “I am certain Daffodil is a good sheep. Mother, about the earl—our relationship will never be more than it is now. Please, promise me, no more tricks.”

  Mother sniffed. “You may have given up on him, but I have not.”

  “Mother, one of the trustees is Lord Ware.”

  Mother paled. “The one who told everyone you—” Mother’s lips clamped into a white line. After a moment of visible struggle, she said in a clipped voice, “I have a few choice words to tell that man.”

  “I am certain he didn’t mean what he said. He lost almost three hundred thousand pounds to Phillips’s scheme and was angry. Still, he would never countenance a connection between Tristan and myself.”

  “What does the earl have to say about that?”

  “Nothing. I will not let him.”

  “Oh, Prudence! You shouldn’t—”

  The door opened and Mrs. Fieldings came in with their tea. She plopped the tray on the table. “Well, didn’t hear no screamin’. I suppose ye got things settled, eh?”

  Mother smiled gratefully. “Almost. Thank you so much for the tea. We need something warm—”

  A knock sounded on the outside door. Prudence and Mother exchanged surprised glances.

  “Who’d come at this hour of the night?” muttered Mrs. Fieldings, leaving the room. “No good Christian would come to visit after dark.”

  The knock sounded again. Mother stood and crossed to the window. She squinted down into the night, trying to see the front door. “Oh, I can’t see a thing!”

  “Mother, come and sit down. Mrs. Fieldings has already let our visitor in. I can hear him in the hallway.” It was not Tristan’s deep voice, but another familiar one. Prudence bit her lip as the door opened.