Christmas Belles

  The boisterous man had even winked at Trent and suggested a reward be posted. "The lads would search a deal harder at the prospect of earning a few bobs."

  "The fact that they are serving His Majesty's Royal Navy should be reward enough," had been Trent's frigid reply. It might be his responsibility to attempt the recapture of Doughty, but he was damned if he was going to put a price on the man's head.

  His spirits not in the least dampened by Trent's rebuke, the squire led out his men with a loud "halloa," a call that was answered with a chorus of lusty cheers. Only Trent had stood by, grimly silent, as he faced the most onerous duty of any captain, steeling himself to enforce the rigid laws, which demanded severe punishment for any deserter.

  When the last of the squire's riders had vanished down the turning of the lane, Trent lingered in the quiet street and cursed Doughty's folly. Even more, he cursed himself for not keeping careful watch over one he had known to be an incorrigible rogue. Why had he ever been so stupid as to bring Doughty away from the ship in the first place? Anger surged through Trent anew. If the rascal was overtaken, Trent was prepared to put his hands about the man's throat and throttle him.

  Except that he would not have to. The navy would take care of that for him. A sick feeling crawled into the pit of Trent's stomach. He'd seen men hang before, kicking, struggling, turning black in the face unless they were fortunate enough to snap their necks at once.

  As William Trent, captain of His Majesty's Royal Navy, it was his duty to press for just such an end to Doughty's crime. But the image kept rising into his mind of Doughty's insouciant grin, and he felt iced through to the marrow of his bones. It was a weakness in him, he knew, but plain Will Trent, the man, kept hoping that somehow the jovial seaman might manage to escape.

  As near as Trent had been able to tell from the hysterical Polly, Doughty had slipped away sometime during the supper hour last evening. The silly wench had helped him pack, sneaking him extra rations from the kitchen. Between her hiccuping sobs, Trent gathered that the rascal had promised to return someday and marry Polly. Her and half a dozen other foolish maids wherever Doughty chanced to make port, Trent thought wryly. But the girl had been wailing loudly enough, so Trent had refrained from telling her that.

  Doughty had an early enough start; there was a chance that he could put a goodly distance between himself and Littledon. But Trent couldn't help reflecting that the steward would have been doing most of his traveling in the bitter cold of night most likely on foot. No horses had been taken from Windhaven, and as near as could be determined, none had vanished from any of the outlying farms either. Doughty was a resourceful rogue, but there was a chance he had already met with misfortune in the dark and was lying in a ditch somewhere half-frozen, easy prey.

  It was the most damnable dilemma. Trent could not wish Doughty "Godspeed," nor could he hope for his capture either. Never had he been so torn between his duty and his natural inclinations.

  Yet it availed him nothing, kicking his heels about the streets, debating the matter. Other things—his imminent departure and arranging the wedding for that afternoon—also required his attention.

  His mood as black as the long cape flashing about his ankles, Trent set off for the church. He felt grateful for the silence of the street, in no humor for any company. It was a gratitude he did not experience for long.

  At the turning of the lane, the figure of a man in a high-crowned hat came into view. Close at his side was a young woman bundled in a green coat, the ends of her flowing brown hair blowing loose from her bonnet.

  Lathrop and Chloe. Trent gritted his teeth and swore. The last thing he needed right now was to gaze into Chloe's beseeching eyes. Trent gave them no opportunity to approach. Picking up his pace, he headed them off at the top of the lane.

  "What the blazes are you doing here, Charles?" he snapped. "I told all of you that it was best to remain at the house. There is nothing any of you can do in this wretched business about Mr. Doughty."

  "I haven't come about Doughty," Lathrop said. "I tried to tell you earlier, Trent. I need to consult you on a personal matter."

  "Did that make it necessary to drag Chloe out on a morning like this? She already looks frozen through."

  Although Chloe was shivering, she made haste to disclaim. "I am not in the least cold, and Charles didn't drag me. I came on my own, to bring some jellies to Peggety and Mrs. Green." As if to make this thin tale more convincing, she displayed the covered basket she balanced on one arm.

  Trent glared. "I doubt Mrs. Green has a pressing need for jam at this early hour, and, Charles, at the moment I have no time to attend to any personal matters. The pair of you can just turn around and march straight back to Windhaven."

  Intending to give them no chance to argue, Trent started to stride away, but Lathrop caught his arm in a tight grip.

  "Dash it, Trent. I know you are preoccupied with Doughty's desertion, but I have to talk to you. There may not be another chance, and it's extremely important."

  Checked by his friend's earnest tone, Trent paused. Although he shook free of Lathrop's grasp, he demanded, "Well, what is it?"

  To his astonishment Lathrop blushed like a maid. Summoning a lopsided smile, he said, "You are not the only one who wants to get married.'

  Trent arched one brow. Just what the devil was that supposed to mean? Chloe began to murmur some excuse and sidle away, but Lathrop stopped her, drawing her back to his side. "No, Chloe, stay. There is no reason you should not hear this as well."

  Taking a deep breath, Lathrop looked Trent straight in the eye. "I want your permission to pay my addresses to your ward."

  Trent stared at Lathrop and Chloe, both of them eyeing him so expectantly.

  "You mean to Chloe?" he asked, feeling as if he had just taken a kick to the gut.

  "Of course not," Chloe said. "He means Lucy. He wants your permission to marry Lucy."

  "Yes! Yes, that's it exactly." Lathrop beamed, looking exceedingly grateful for Chloe's help.

  Although an odd sensation of relief coursed through Trent, it did nothing to improve his temper. He said sharply, "What utter nonsense, Lathrop. You and Lucy barely know each other."

  "We are as well acquainted as you and Emma. At least our courtship was not conducted through correspondence."

  "But my engagement is founded upon common sense," Trent said. "Not some holiday flirtation."

  Lathrop's eyes flashed. "It isn't like that at all, Trent. I am in love with Lucy. I will be to the end of my days."

  "And Lucy has also formed a lasting attachment to Charles," Chloe put in. "I can assure you of that, Captain."

  Trent raked them both with an impatient glare. "No one falls in love in only one week."

  He was surprised to see that his remark had caused Chloe to flinch. Lathrop drew himself up into a posture of wounded dignity.

  "Do I understand you, then, to be refusing your permission, sir?"

  "Don't be an ass, Charles. Of course I am not. I am only asking you and Lucy to show some good sense and take more time before rushing into anything."

  "There is no more time," Lathrop said desperately. "You are leaving today. How am I to seek your permission when you are gone to sea? It could be months, years before you return, if ever."

  "Then if I don't return, there will be nothing to stand in the way of your happiness."

  "Blast it all, Trent! You know that no one would be more grieved than I if anything were to happen to you." Lathrop removed his hat, dragging his fingers through his wavy hair in sheer frustration. "I know you have never been in love, Trent, but can you not just try to comprehend?"

  "No!" Trent did not know why Lathrop's words should sting him so, but they did. Damn it all to hell. It was Charles who understood nothing. Trent had spent half the night and all of the morning weighing a man's life in the balance. All talk of weddings, including his own, seemed trivial by comparison.

  He snarled. "I have enough other difficulties to deal with. I h
ave no patience at the moment for permitting a pair of infatuated fools to take some disastrous step."

  Lathrop pressed his lips into a taut white line, his eyes filled with hurt and anger. But he said quietly, "If that is your final word then, sir, I shall opportune you no further."

  Turning stiffly, he offered his arm to Chloe, who had been biting her lips during this entire exchange, her face a picture of silent misery.

  "Come, Chloe," Lathrop said. "I will escort you to Mrs. Green's cottage."

  "Thank you, but you go on ahead, Charles. I will catch up with you. I need a moment to speak to Captain Trent."

  "As you wish, my dear." Lathrop bowed and walked away, refusing to even look at Trent.

  Trent felt his own anger sharpened by regret and exasperation. He folded his arms across his chest, knowing he was about to face a far worse barrage on his emotions from Chloe. As soon as Lathrop was out of earshot, Trent attempted to cut her off, saying in harsh accents, "Chloe, if you mean to plead for Charles's suit, you are wasting—"

  "Oh, no," she hastened to disclaim. "This isn't about Charles and Lucy, although I do think, you are wrong about them. But never mind that for now. I wanted to speak to you about Polly."

  "Polly?" Trent was astonished into relaxing his guard a little.

  "Yes, the poor girl is terrified out of her wits. She thinks you will turn her off without a character for helping Mr. Doughty escape."

  "Is that all that's troubling you? Tell the silly chit to stop fretting. She is in no danger of losing her post."

  "Thank you. She will be so glad to hear that." Chloe gave him a grateful look, but her bright smile wavered. "There is one other thing."

  "Don't, Chloe," Trent said. But she was already fixing him with those wide, pleading blue eyes.

  "Can you not just call off the search and let Mr. Doughty go?" she asked.

  "You know I cannot."

  "But you are his captain."

  "Which means that I am more bound by the law than any other man. Do you think I want to see Doughty hang? He is the best steward I have ever had."

  "And your friend!" Chloe cried.

  "A captain cannot have friends," Trent said bitterly. "And even if he were my best friend in all the world, I still could not countenance his desertion. If it became known that I just looked the other way, I would lose the respect of my entire crew. More than one man's life depends upon the discipline I can maintain aboard my ship." His words trailed away as he despaired of ever finding a way to make her understand. He concluded wearily, "Please, Chloe. Don't make this any more difficult for me than it already is."

  She said nothing, her eyes dark and troubled. Trent feared that at any moment, she would reproach him bitterly or simply turn her back upon him and walk away. But although she looked far from comprehending, she did neither.

  She reached up and touched his cheek. "Go home and rest as soon as you can, Will," she said gently. "You look very tired."

  Astonished but grateful, Trent caught her hand. Turning it over, he found the area of her wrist left exposed by her glove and pressed a brusque kiss there. Unable to say another word, he stalked away, heading for the churchyard gate.

  He had no way of knowing that Chloe's heart went with him as she watched his rapid retreat. Perhaps she did not fully comprehend the duties of a naval captain, but the anguish in Will's face had been all too clear. She wanted so badly to rush after him.

  She always longed to soothe away the woes of those she loved, to make everything all better. The realization that she could not always do so had been one of the most bitter lessons of her life.

  She watched until Will disappeared around the side of the church. Then she hurried to catch up with Charles. He was lingering disconsolately in front of the linen draper's shop. The window was still decorated with its sprays of holly. The festive greenery seemed somehow a hollow mockery, a reminder of a day when they had all felt so much happier than now.

  Charles said not a word as she approached, merely offered her his arm. In a most despondent silence, they set off together to seek out Mrs. Green's cottage.

  It was nearly half an hour later when Trent emerged from the rectory, his business concluded. Mr. Henry had paled a little at Trent's request, but he had made no difficulty whatsoever about moving the wedding forward to that afternoon.

  Trent almost wished that the vicar had complained. Doughty's defection had left Trent so shaken, he no longer felt sure of anything. His marriage to Emma had seemed such a sensible course, but now he didn't know. As he made his way past the churchyard gate, he brought himself up short with a brisk shake. It was far too late to be harboring any such qualms. The best he could do was to hasten back to Windhaven and tell Emma that she needed to be ready for the ceremony by a quarter to five.

  Yet he could not seem to urge his feet into movement. He felt loath to return to Windhaven, dreading the prospect that the squire might already be there, gleefully dragging Doughty along like a hunter's trophy, trussed and bound.

  As unlikely as that was to happen so soon, Trent was equally reluctant to face a household of chattering women. In his present humor, there was only one lady whose company he desired.

  He gazed up the street where he had seen Chloe last, although he realized she would have been long gone. He was correct. There was no sign of her. But Lathrop was in full view, nearly knocking down some shopkeeper who was unlocking his front door. Hatless, Lathrop rushed on, not even pausing to apologize. He came tearing down the street like a madman.

  By the time he reached Trent, he was white-faced, breathless. Gripping the front of Trent's coat, Lathrop stared at him with wild eyes.

  "Charles! What the devil's amiss?" Trent felt a shaft of dread pierced him. "Chloe! Has something happened to her?"

  Lathrop managed to shake his head. "B-baby," he gasped.

  "What?" Trent said, feeling he could not have heard correctly.

  "Baby!" Lathrop fairly roared. "That infernal Green woman is having her baby "

  Relief flooded through Trent. For the first time that morning, he felt an urge to smile "Calm yourself, Charles," he said, prying his friend's clutching hands from his cloak. "It is a natural consequence when a woman becomes that ... er---interesting."

  "But the baby! It's coming all by itself."

  "It is my understanding that they usually do, Charles,"

  Lathrop eyed him reproachfully. "This is no time for jesting, Trent. Chloe is back there at that cottage with a woman who is going to give birth at any moment, and there is only a three-year-old to help."

  "What!" Trent scowled. "You left Chloe alone with a woman in labor?"

  "What was I supposed to do? Chloe told me to go fetch the midwife. Where the deuce does one go to get a midwife?" Lathrop cried, looking distractedly about him as though at any moment he might start turning over the rocks themselves in his search.

  Trent thought rapidly. "Go to the rectory and ask for Mr. Henry. If anyone would know where the midwife is to be found, it would be him. And do strive for a little more coherency, Charles."

  "And just what the blazes are you going to do?" Lathrop demanded indignantly.

  "I am going down to the cottage to help Chloe."

  Lathrop gaped at him. "You are going to try to deliver a baby?"

  "I don't know what the devil I am going to do. But the next time I am ever tempted to take leave from the sanity of my ship, shoot me!"

  After this savage request, Trent rushed off down the street himself. He had been to the Greens' cottage only once before. But in a village the size of Littledon, there was no difficulty about finding the place again.

  The cottage did not rest in the village proper but nestled on the outskirts, farther down the beach. As his boots crunched over the pebbled surface, Trent glimpsed the outline of a cold gray sea lapping the shore.

  Yet despite its bleak setting, the small stone dwelling presented a cozy appearance, wisps of smoke swirling up from its chimney. An aura of serenity enveloped t
he cottage, heedless of the sea winds buffeting the whitewashed walls and rattling the shutters.

  Yet when Trent raised his fist to hammer upon the wooden door, he detected the sound of a high-pitched wailing from within. Growing more anxious, he barely waited for a response before knocking again.

  The door was flung open, and a distraught-looking Chloe appeared on the threshold, balancing Peggety on her hip. The child had obviously been crying, but she subsided, pillowing her tear-stained face against Chloe's shoulder and earnestly sucking on two fingers.

  Chloe looked on the verge of tears herself. "Oh, Will!" she choked. "I am so very glad you have come. Did you bring the midwife with you?"

  "No, I am afraid not," Trent said, easing Chloe and the child back out of the doorway and then shutting out the fierce wind. He blinked to adjust his eyes to the darkened interior, the cottage's tiny windows affording little light. Only the fire crackling upon the hearth served to illuminate the room's meager furnishings: a table and two chairs, a wooden stool, a small cot, and a curtained doorway leading into another room.

  As Trent focused upon Chloe, he saw her eyes brimming with despair. He made haste to reassure her. "Everything will be all right. I sent Charles to see Mr. Henry. I am sure the two of them will locate the midwife and be here in a trice."

  Chloe shook her head. "They will be too late."

  "Nonsense," Trent said. His reassurance was already belied by a frantic cry coming from the next room.

  For a moment, Chloe's shoulders slumped. Then she straightened, shifting Peggety slightly in her arms. Chloe raised her head, tilting up her stubborn chin.

  "I shall just have to help Mrs. Green myself," she announced.

  "What! But, Chloe, how would you know—" Trent started to protest, but she interrupted, saying, "Here! You must look after Peggety."

  To his horror, Chloe thrust the child into his arms. Trent balanced her as stiffly as though he held a block of wood. Peggety removed her fingers from her mouth and began to howl.

  "What the deuce am I to do with her?" Trent asked, but Chloe had already vanished behind the curtain into the next room.