Page 29 of Pride of Valor

Right now she was enjoying listening to her son recite Shakespeare’s Eighteenth Sonnet for Captain Thorne. When he started withShall I compare thee to a summer’s day?he stopped for a few seconds to concentrate before tackling theSinShall.His slow and deliberate recitation after that glided over the secondsinsummer’s day.

Even the dogs remained quiet and at rapt attention as if urging him on in his speech.

When Nicholas saw her standing in the stable door, he ran to her side. “Mama — Lieutenant Bourne really likes Papa’s shaving kit. He said it’s just what he needs for when he goes back to s-sea with all the other Marines.”

She interrupted his fast spill of words when he slipped on ansagain. “Take your time, Nicholas. Think about the letters.” She bent down to his level and smoothed back his wild shock of hair.

After a dutiful pause, he continued, more slowly. “Do you think we could go see his ship before he leaves? He said it’s up to you, that his captain and commander wouldn’t mind. And he promised.”

“What, Darling? What did he promise?”

“He’ll come back to us before I’m ready to shave.”

“We’ll see,” she said. “We’ll see.”

13

Harriet sat at the cottage table while Nicholas, Richard and Captain Thorne bit into still-steaming cookies despite her warnings against burning their mouths. They were sharing a large jug of cold milk she’d brought in the picnic hamper from the lodge.

Over the days she’d been coming to the cottage to bring Nicholas for his speech practice, not to mention to see the maddening Marine whose mere scent and teasing face turned her insides to puddles, she’d gradually been smuggling better crockery and pantry items into her old friend’s kitchen. She’d been so wrapped up before in personal concerns, she hadn’t taken the time to see how the captain had been faring on his own. She could now see how hard everything had been for him to do with the rheumatism that plagued him.

She was grateful to Richard for the prodigious wood-chopping that would surely help Thorne get through the winter. She wondered at all the energy the man was exerting. Was he trying to blunt the effect of their secret affair? Probably not. She feared she was just another woman in another port for him. If not for Sidmouth’s interference, she doubted he would have offered to marry her before he headed back to sea.

But she couldn’t forget the look on his face when she told him there was no need to post the banns. There would be no bairn, no pressing need for him to protect her reputation. The fleeting look of pain that had flashed across his face did not look like a man exultant in relief.

“What do you think of our plan?”

Harriet started at Richard’s question. “You mean about Sidmouth letting us create a theatre here at Bocollyn for Nana and Nicholas?”

“Yes. What do you say to going in to Falmouth tomorrow evening for Algernon’s production of “Othello?” Thorne leaned in and tamped at his pipe.

“Do you think this actor would actually be interested in throwing his lot in here with us?”

“Why not? He’s getting older. He’s probably tired of touring the West Country all these years. He has a family here in Exmouth, and he’s an old friend of Admiral Lord Exmouth. Perhaps we could convince Sidmouth to pay Algernon a small stipend to produce a few plays a year here at the estate.” Thorne walked away to the fireplace and stuck a small sliver of firewood into the flames to ignite the tobacco in his pipe.

Richard jumped in with another argument. “And then you wouldn’t have to worry about your grandmother getting into trouble wandering away from home to return to her early days of glory on the stage.”

“What does Sidmouth think of this cork-brained plan?”

“Well…he said he’d come along with us to Falmouth tomorrow.” The look on Richard’s face revealed more than he was saying.

Harriet suspected there was maybe a fifty-fifty chance her grumpy cousin would join them, let alone consent to opening his estate to a venue for dramatic productions. Unless…

“Nicholas and I will come along, but there’s someone else who needs to have a say in this plan.”

Three male faces stared at her open-mouthed, biscuit crumbs and milk stains on their lips. Thomas Footman was occupied brushing the mastiffs in the corner and enjoying his own plate of biscuits and mug of milk.

“The duke, after all, doesn’t live here alone. He does have a duchess. She should have the chance to voice her approval, or disapproval. Finish your biscuit, Nicholas. We have to get back to the lodge so that I can send her an invitation.”

Richard laidhis half-devoured biscuit back down on his plate. He’d already been worried about getting Sidmouth on their side. But now, Harriet seemed determined to throw down an additional gauntlet to her cousin.

Anyone else in their right mind would have realized that pushing Sidmouth and his duchess together whilst they were obviously in the middle of some sort of disagreement was a bad idea. Saints preserve Ireland, the duchess had not only left the poor duke’s bed, she’d refused to live under the same roof. He couldn’t imagine what Sidmouth had done to deserve such condemnation, nor did he want to.

But not Lady Blandford. She had to bait the ducal bear.

He’d spent the morning trying to avoid staring at her overlong. He had no idea why, but baking biscuits seemed to bring out the best in his lady love. Her face and the slight swell of her breasts above the modest neckline of her dress were flushed from the heat of the oven. And damp red tendrils had escaped to feather down her neck. The severe bun she thought kept her fiery mane under control just served to make it all the more tempting. And then the smell of cinnamon and other spices. He wanted to…

Thorne, seated next to him, gave him a sharp jab in the ribs. “Get your mind back into our battle strategy,” he mumbled low.