“Good morning, sir.” She offered him an encouraging smile and was gratified when his expression relaxed a little. “The girls and I are very pleased to have you join us this morning.”
“Indeed.” He glanced from solemn-faced Cissy to her grinning little sister with a flicker of mild alarm in his gray eyes. “The carriage is waiting.”
Opening the great front door, he held it for Marian to usher her pupils outside.
The grounds of Knightley Park glittered with frost on this crisp, sunny November morning as the girls climbed into the carriage. When Marian followed them, her stomach sank abruptly.
She found Cissy and Dolly perched side by side in the carriage box, leaving the opposite seat empty. If Marian sat there, Captain Radcliffe would be obliged to sit beside her. The thought of being so close to him set her insides aflutter.
“Girls, budge up, please.” She tried to squeeze in beside them.
“You’re squashing me!” Dolly protested. “Why can’t you sit over there?”
“Hush!” Marian whispered. “Cissy, will you kindly move to the other seat?”
The child’s eyes widened. She shook her head.
“Then, I will,” said Dolly.
Before Marian could prevent her, the child wriggled out from between her and Cissy and bounced over to the opposite seat just as Captain Radcliffe climbed into the carriage. “It’s better than being squashed.”
The captain settled next to Dolly, with an air of reluctance similar to the one Cissy had displayed when asked to sit beside him.
One of the footmen closed the door behind them. Then, with a rattle, a lurch and the clatter of horses’ hooves, they were on their way.
Silence settled inside of the carriage box, as brittle as the thin sheet of ice on the surface of Knightley Park’s ornamental lake. Marian searched for something to say that might thaw it.
Before she could think of a suitable topic of conversation, Dolly turned toward the captain. “How do you go to church when you’re on your ship?”
“Dolly…” Marian addressed the child in a warning tone. Though Captain Radcliffe might not be the sort of seagoing tyrant she had mistakenly believed him, he probably expected the younger members of his crew to speak only when spoken to.
At first he appeared taken aback by the child’s forthright curiosity. But after a moment’s consideration he seemed to decide he might do worse than answer her question. “At sea it is not possible to go to a church building, as we are doing now. But most ships in the Royal Navy have chaplains who conduct Sunday services on deck when the weather permits or in the wardroom when it does not.”
“What’s a wardroom?”
A sterner warning rose to Marian’s lips, but before she could utter it, the captain replied, “That is what we call the officers’ mess on a ship, a sort of dining room and drawing room combined.”
Dolly digested all this new information with a look of intense concentration that Marian wished she would apply to her studies. “Your ship must be a great deal bigger than the boat we row on the lake. How many rooms does it have?”
By now Marian thought better of trying to restrain the child, for Dolly had clearly discovered one subject certain to set the captain at ease. To his credit, he did not seem to mind being bombarded with questions about all matters nautical. Marian was also favorably impressed with his answers, which were couched in simple enough terms for the children to understand without insulting their intelligence.
His discourse proved so informative that Marian found herself listening with rapt attention. It was not only what he said that engaged her interest, but the mellow resonance of his voice that made it a pleasure to listen to.
Almost before she realized it, the carriage came to a halt in front of the village church.
In the middle of an intriguing explanation of sails and rigging, the captain grew suddenly quiet again. “I can tell you more about it on the ride home, if you like.”
His features and bearing tensed as he gazed toward the other parishioners making their way into the church.
A qualm of doubt rippled through Marian’s stomach as she speculated what sort of reception awaited them. She hoped the villagers would not be as quick to misjudge Captain Radcliffe as she’d been. Otherwise, he might refuse to accompany them to church again. That would be a great calamity because she could not conceive of any other way to bring the captain and his young cousins together without deliberately disobeying his orders.
As the footman pulled open the carriage door, Captain Radcliffe seemed to steel himself for the ordeal ahead. Once the steps had been unfolded, he climbed out. Dolly bounded after him, eagerly seizing the hand he offered to help her.
Marian nodded to Cissy, who followed her sister with a reluctant air. When Marian emerged a moment later, Captain Radcliffe assisted her with thoughtful courtesy. For the fleeting instant his gloved hand clasped hers, she could not suppress a sensation of warmth that quivered up her arm. It reminded her of the previous evening when he had grasped her hand to keep her from rushing away. For hours afterward, she could not stop thinking about that brief contact between them.
“Come, girls.” Marian chided herself for succumbing to such a foolish distraction at that moment. She needed to keep her wits about her to divert the captain, if necessary, from any unpleasant reception he might receive.
She cast a swift glance around the churchyard, troubled to see a few people staring rudely in their direction. But others offered welcoming smiles.
Dolly ignored Marian’s summons. Instead she seized the captain’s hand and announced, “I’ll show you the way to our pew.”
Cissy shook her head and frowned at her governess as if to ask why she wasn’t scolding Dolly for her forwardness. But Marian had no intention of doing any such thing. Instinctively, Dolly had managed to provide the captain with the diversion he required.
Perhaps he recognized it, too, for he showed no offense at the child’s behavior. Indeed, her impudent grin provoked an answering flicker of a smile. “I appreciate your assistance. I have attended services at this church, but not for a very long time. I could not have been much older than you are now.”
“My gracious,” Dolly replied with her accustomed bluntness, “that was a long time ago!”
Marian was aghast. “Dorothy Ann Radcliffe, mind your manners!”
But the captain greeted the child’s tactless remark with an indulgent chuckle. “Do not fret, Miss Murray. I find my young cousin’s honesty refreshing. When I was her age, I remember thinking any person above five-and-twenty was hopelessly ancient.”
The man had a sense of humor, Marian noted with approval, wishing she’d perceived it earlier. It was a most desirable trait in a person responsible for bringing up children.
“Please don’t encourage her, Captain,” she murmured as they entered the vestibule. “Or I fear she may take advantage of your good nature.”
“Hush, Miss Marian.” The child raised her forefinger to her lips. “You always tell me not to make noise in church.”
Marian exchanged a glance with Captain Radcliffe that communicated exasperation on her part and barely suppressed amusement on his. Somehow that look made her feel as if she had accidentally wandered into a cozy room with a cheery fire blazing in the hearth.
They made their way into the sanctuary of golden-brown stone, bathed in the glow of sunshine filtered through the stained glass windows. Dolly led the captain up the aisle to the Radcliffe family pew, where he stood back to let “the ladies” enter first. Cissy scooted in at once and Marian followed. Dolly hung back, no doubt to claim her place beside the captain.