Unfortunately, Chase knew who and what he was. He was not a knight, and he felt anything but noble. “Mrs. Ward, I am not Captain Frakenham.”
“No? Then who are you?”
Chase opened his mouth to answer. But a split second’s thought made him close it. He was supposed to have no memory of who he was. If he wanted the Wards to believe that and not ask incessant questions, then he couldn’t really argue about who he was not, could he?
Damn it all, perhaps he should just pretend to suddenly recall his name…but no. Word would reach his brothers within the day, if not the hour. Devon’s house was only a short distance from where Chase had been attacked. His brothers would immediately ride out and attempt to talk him out of his decision to leave England.
Still, it was a shame to leave the Wards in such a predicament. Perhaps…he frowned. What if…Good Lord, he couldn’t believe he was even considering this, but…what if he did agree to become Captain Frakenham? For a few days, at least. He could be a great help to the Wards, and he’d have a safe place to convalesce without his brothers being the wiser to his proximity to London.
The idea had some merit. The thought of traveling with an aching head held no appeal. Besides, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he disliked the thought of Miss Harriet Ward brangling with the bank official. He had no doubt she would hold her own, but at what cost? Any cost was too high. She was far too young to pay the price of her own father’s shortsightedness. Chase had a sister who was almost the same age he judged Harriet to be, and the entire situation was untenable.
Chase eyed Mrs. Ward. “Tell me more about Captain Frakenham.”
Mrs. Ward straightened her lace cap. “More? Of course! Let’s see, your name is Captain John Frakenham and you have a large ship.”
“That much, I know. Do I have any brothers or sisters?”
She bit her lip. “I’m not sure.”
“Where was I born?”
“Devonshire, perhaps. Or maybe Yorkshire. No, wait!” She beamed. “The Lake District! It’s lovely up there; I traveled through it with my uncle when I was ten, and it was just breathtaking.”
“You don’t know where I’m from.”
Her smile faded. “Well…not really. No one ever asked.” She caught his gaze and added quickly, “And you never told us. The topic simply never came up.”
“Hm. How long have I been sailing.”
“I—I—”
“And what items do I deal in? Tea? Silks? What?”
“I don’t—”
“How old am I?”
“Old?” Her gaze grew somewhat glazed. “I’m sure I don’t know. But it’s not important. All you need to remember for your interview with Mr. Gower is that you’re engaged to Harriet and stand to receive a large amount of money very soon.”
Chase wondered if he should press the issue and force Mrs. Ward to confess her deception, but then he thought he caught the glint of tears in her soft brown eyes.
His humor fled. Not tears. He could never hold his own against a crying female; it was his one weakness. When he’d been growing up and his little sister Sara had cried, he’d always given in. Always.
Sara was married now, a countess in her own right and the mother of two children. But even today, if she were to come to Chase, a tear on her cheek, he would do anything she asked. It was one of the things that drove him mad thinking about the woman he’d run down with his carriage. Had she cried? Had anyone heard her? Helped her?
Or had she been left to die alone in the middle of a cold, rain-washed street?
His throat tightened, his head aching anew. How could he live with this? How could he expect his brothers to live with it? He touched his forehead where it ached. He’d figure out what to do. As soon as he felt better. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, a surge of irritation washing through him.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I am sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to let that slip.”
A faint smile touched her lips. “That’s quite all right. Mr. Ward was renowned for just such slippage.”
Chase found himself regarding his hostess with a faint smile. It was hard to do else—the sun had shimmered her white hair into a lace-topped halo, and her eyes were amazingly like her daughter’s.
“Captain John Frakenham,” he heard himself say, as if he was trying the name on for size.
Mrs. Ward beamed and, once again, Chase was reminded of Harriet. Harriet who was even now downstairs being importuned by Gower. Though Chase had never met him, he had no doubts about the quality of man Gower must be. “I suppose I’ll do it.”
“Thank you! You will make an excellent Captain Frakenham!”
Chase looked at her.
“Oh—I—that is to say, you are Captain Frakenham so of course you’ll do just fine.”
“Hm. Well, if I’m to meet Gower, you’d best tell me everything you know about the good captain. Or rather, what everyone here knows of him.”
Her brow lowered in thought. “Well, Captain Frakenham is very handsome.”
He waited, but no more was forthcoming. After a moment, he said, “And?”
She pursed her lips. “You are also very wealthy, but I believe I told you that.”
“Numerous times.”
“Only because it is very important.”
“Indeed. What else?”
Mrs. Ward tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Oh! I know! Lucinda Carleton has said that the captain earned his money from sailing the Indian Seas, which I thought was very interesting because—”
“Lucinda Carleton?” He frowned. “Who is that?”
“A friend.”
“Of the captain’s?”
“No, she’s never met the captain. No one has. Except,” she added in a rush after sending him a guilty glance, “Harriet, of course, has met him—I mean, you, quite frequently. And all of us here at Garrett Park know him—I mean, you—very well.”
“How is it that this Lucinda Carleton heard that the captain—pardon me, I mean I—gained my fortune in such a way if she’s never met me?”
Mrs. Ward paused. “I’m not certain. She just seemed to know.”
“I see,” Chase said, though he most definitely did not. “Is there anything else?”
“Well…I heard from Lady Chudrowe that you’ve a bit of a limp caused by an injury sustained during a pirate fight.” Mrs. Ward’s smile lit the room. “Apparently, you are very brave.”
Chase regarded her flatly. “Tell me, Mrs. Ward, how many people know about the captain’s existence?”
“Why, the whole town, to be sure! Everyone has been talking about you for weeks.”
Bloody hell. It would not do to assume the identity of a well-known personae, even a fake one. That could cause undue attention. “I don’t know if this will work. Too many people seem to—”
She stood in a rush, the chair scraping the wood floor. “Everything will work just fine, Captain. Trust me. Now we really must get downstairs. I hate leaving Harriet a second longer than necessary.”
Harriet. Alone. Chase could see the very real distress in Mrs. Ward’s eyes. He supposed that he could just stay near Garrett Park while he was here. So long as he avoided town, he should be well hidden.
With a sigh, he straightened and, holding the blanket over him to keep from embarrassing Mrs. Ward with a glimpse of her guest attired in her son’s nightshirt, he swung his feet over the side of the bed. “We don’t want your daughter to suffer from the importunities of—”
“Oh no! It’s more the other way around.” Mrs. Ward bustled to the wardrobe. “Harriet has a bit of a temper. Mr. Gower will be burned to a crisp if we do not rescue him soon.”
Chase almost smiled at that. Yes, the little brown wren had a flash of fire in her. He’d seen it several times already. He pictured her lying across his lap and he was surprised to find that the image stirred him.
Mrs. Ward’s voice emerged from the wardrobe, where she was busy stirring through the neatly hung clot
hes. “Derrick collected what he could find of your clothing from the forest. The thieves apparently tore through your cases, looking for valuables. Two of your shirts were beyond repair, but everything else seems fine.”
“I’ll trust that you’ll choose something appropriate.”
She looked over her shoulder. “Appropriate?”
“For a limping, wealthy sea captain from the Indian Seas.” Chase flashed her a grin. “I’ve got an interview with a banker.”
Chapter 7
Pride is the most persistent, most stalwart, most infuriatingly stubborn passion of all. But then you St. Johns already know that.
Viscountess Brandford to her friend, Mr. Devon St. John while playing a game of billiards (which her ladyship promptly won)
Harriet rushed downstairs, her heels slapping the worn wooden steps. She was glad to get out of the sickroom. The handsome stranger was certainly sure of himself, the braggart. Harriet hopped off the bottom step and glanced at herself in the mirror.
Good heavens! How had her hair gotten into such a tangle? An instant image of herself sprawled over the lap of their guest flashed into her mind, heating her cheeks. Harriet met her own gaze in the mirror as she tugged out a pin and tried to fix her curls where they stuck out at odd angles.
“Blasted man,” she muttered aloud. It was all his fault. Had he been a gentleman and not treated her as if she was a flirtatious upstairs maid or a loose woman intent on seducing him, then Mother never would have found them in such a compromising position.
Not that he’d cared. He’d seemed rather amused by it all, the wretch. What was worse was that Harriet had almost been swayed by his wide smile and mischievous blue eyes.
But as much as Harriet resented the stranger, she preferred his company to Mr. Gower’s. Harriet didn’t like the man one bit. Only slightly more advanced in years than Harriet herself, Mr. Gower acted much, much older. He’d first come to Garrett Park three years ago, when the bank had employed him. He’d been rude, demanding, and thoroughly annoying.
Mrs. Maple, the housekeeper, came out of the sitting room, an empty plate in one hand. “Ye’d best get in there afore he asks fer another scone. I’ve none left, and there’ll be naught fer it but to give him the Sunday loaf if he requests more. He’s already eaten all of our apple tarts, too!”
Wonderful. Not only had the unpleasant banker come to disrupt the entire family, but he was nibbling his way through their pantry like some huge, overstuffed mouse. Harriet wondered if perhaps that was why she always felt so uneasy around Mr. Gower—he seemed inordinately greedy. The man was a swine; there were times when he looked at Harriet in such a way that it made her feel as if she was a particularly fat acorn and he a huge pig.
“I’ll make certain he leaves soon,” Harriet said firmly, hoping it would be that easy. She smoothed her skirts and patted her collar back into place.
Mrs. Maple’s face softened, and she reached out to smooth a bit of Harriet’s hair from her forehead. “Ye look fine, Miss Harriet. Shall I announce ye?”
“No. I will announce myself.” She flashed a grin at the housekeeper. “It will save us at least half a minute of his time.”
The front door opened and a loud clomping sounded. Harriet turned to find her brother Stephen making his way through the front door. His left leg was heavily wrapped, his crutches barely long enough to allow his feet to clear. He came to a halt when he saw Harriet. A distinctly guilty look flashed across his face before he managed to clear it away. “Oh! There you are! How’s the patient?”
“He’s fine except that he says he doesn’t remember who he is.”
“Says?” Stephen’s brows shot up. “What do you mean ‘says’?”
“Just that I wonder about him. He seems far too at ease to have forgotten his identity.”
“You always did have a suspicious nature, Harri. The man’s head wound seemed rather grievous to me, so ’tis entirely possible he is telling the truth. Besides, what reason could he possibly have for telling such a whopper?”
Mrs. Maple sniffed. “Mayhap the man plans on dallyin’ about and eatin’ all our food, like Mr. Gower.”
Harriet shook her head. “His clothes are very well made and his horse alone is worth a fortune. He could afford more mutton than our entire flock could provide.”
Stephen brightened. “I just saw the horse. What a prime piece of blood and bones!”
Harriet had to smile at his excitement. Like Sophia, he had father’s more golden coloring, and his hair curled over his ears just the slightest bit. He was dressed in rough clothing, and Harriet suspected that he’d been working in the barn.
She glanced at his injured leg. “You aren’t supposed to be up on that leg more than a few moments at a time.”
Stephen gave an impatient shrug. “I’m fine. I just fixed the broken door on the grain bin.”
“If something needs done, have Jem do it.”
“He’s out with the cows. Sophia and Ophelia rode out in the cart with him.”
Mrs. Maple snorted. “If I know Jem, he’s fast asleep under a tree and the girls are doin’ all the work. If ye needed help, ye should have asked Master Derrick.”
An impish sparkle entered Stephen’s eyes. “Derrick did give me a hand. A very well served one, in fact.”
“Did he? I just saw Derrick but he didn’t mention helping you, he just said that Mr. Gower had arrived.”
Stephen’s sudden grin had a wolfish tone to it. “It’s a pity Mr. Gower couldn’t stay, but something of great urgency called him away.”
Harriet frowned. “Stephen, Mr. Gower is in the sitting room.”
Stephen’s smile disappeared. “Our sitting room?”
“Of course,” Harriet said. “Why would you think he’d left?”
“I wish he had left,” Mrs. Maple huffed. “Instead o’ eatin’ all our scones. Cook made them special fer Mrs. Ward, she did.”
“Stephen?” Harriet asked again. “You and Derrick did something to put Mr. Gower into a rage, didn’t you?”
“Us?”
She narrowed her gaze. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all? Or nothing you want to tell me about?”
Stephen shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Mr. Gower that question. Only be forewarned, his temper might be a little ragged.”
Harriet didn’t wonder at that; from what she’d seen of Mr. Gower, his temper was never good. “I asked you two not to play your tricks on him. It was all I could do to soothe his spirits when you poured glue in his hat. He had to have his hair cut just to get it off.”
Stephen grinned. “That was Derrick’s idea. Rather clever, wasn’t it? But never fear, what happened this time was purely an accident.” His lips twitched. “A humorous accident, but an accident nonetheless.”
Wonderful. Yet more joy to brighten an otherwise frustrating day. “I’ll go and see what Mr. Gower wants,” Harriet said with a heavy sigh. “If he’s already in an ill mood, he will take exception to being left to cool his heels in the sitting room.”
“You do that,” Stephen said pleasantly. “Meanwhile, I’ll go upstairs and see if Mother needs any help with our visitor. Oh, and Harriet?”
“Yes?”
“Enjoy your visit with Mr. Gower.”
There was a definite tremor of humor in Stephen’s voice. The wretch.
“That boy,” Mrs. Maple said with a disapproving shake of his head as he made his way upstairs, the crutches scraping the wood steps.
“That boy is exactly like Father.” Harriet managed a reluctant smile. “Father couldn’t resist a good joke either.”
“No, he couldn’t. He was a good man, was your father.”
“I know. I miss him every day.” Harriet sighed. “I had best see to Mr. Gower before he starts gnawing on the furniture.”
“Very well, miss. And if he dangles fer a dinner invitation, tell him he’s already eaten it all and there’s none left.”
“I shall.” Ha
rriet flashed a bright smile at the housekeeper and then made her way down the hall and let herself into the sitting room.
As soon as she shut the door, a large man turned from the window to face her. Dressed in a plain coat of brown worsted with a sober waistcoat of yellow kersey, Mr. Gower was a handsome man, if somewhat florid. Or he would have been handsome if his hair hadn’t been cut in quite such an extreme fashion.
Harriet had to bite her lip to keep from grinning at the sight as she dipped a curtsy. “Mr. Gower.”
He made a ponderous bow. “Miss Ward.”
Despite Mrs. Maple’s charge, Mr. Gower was not as fat as the Christmas pig. He was, however, of a rather beefy appearance.
“Miss Ward, might I say this is a pleasant surprise. I had thought Mrs. Ward—”
“Mother is rather busy today. I told her I’d come and visit.” Harriet pasted what she hoped was a pleasant smile on her face and held out her hand.
Mr. Gower hurried forward to press a rather damp kiss on the back of her fingers. As he did so, a wave of odor rose about him, so thick Harriet would have sworn she could see it had the light been stronger.
She blinked, forcing herself not to react to the rancid smell. What was that? Normally Mr. Gower smelled of tonic and hair treatment. But this odor was more…sheeplike. As if he’d rolled in the barn.
Harriet retrieved her hand and stilled the impulse to wipe it on her skirt. “Mr. Gower, how pleasant to see you. Please take a seat.” She sank into a chair closest to the door, cautiously edging it away from the one nearest to it.
He smiled at her as he took the seat opposite, the odor wafting with him. “I must say that this is an unexpected pleasure, Miss Ward. Usually, you aren’t present when I come to call.”
“I’ve been very busy lately.” She pressed her hand over her nose a moment, her gaze falling on the desolated tea tray and empty scone plate. “I see you’ve already had tea.”
“Indeed I have. Your cook is exceptional.”
“I will tell her you said so. Mr. Gower, to what do we owe the pleasure of this call?”