The Substitute Countess

Though he often wished to, he could not bring himself to ignore the needs of others as his father had always done. Though Jack had loved the man, he recognized the shortcomings at a very early age.

Now the welfare of many rested with Jack, just as it had aboard his own ship. Delegating that task for the last venture had proved disastrous. Responsibility was a weighty thing, but something he had to embrace. However, embracing Laurel would be no sacrifice at all. Perhaps it would prove to be the reward for his diligence.

Still, he should give her one last opportunity to assert herself or question the sanity of the plan. “I would like you to be certain, Laurel. As you said at first, you hardly know me.”

She shrugged. “Better than I know anyone else. So do you really want to?”

“Yes, of course,” he replied and did not elaborate any further for fear he would talk her out of the notion. And whyever should he do that? Their marriage would solve everyone’s needs. Hobson would be satisfied with the fairness of it, and Laurel would have the family she wanted. His mother would be delighted he was to give up the sea. As for himself, he would…well, he would live a changed life, one of wealth and privilege.

“If you will excuse me, I’ll go and speak with the vicar and to the captain for his permission to use the deck. We might as well have done with it as soon as may be.”

She frowned up at him and he immediately realized how dreadful that had sounded. He forced a hearty laugh. “You know how grooms cavil at wedding formalities.” When she shook her head slightly, he added, “No, I don’t suppose you do. I’m quaking in my boots, wondering if I’ll be able to live up to your trust in me. That’s all. Sheer nerves.”

She nodded, smiling as she smoothed the lapel of his coat and gave it a pat. “Then we must keep the ceremony simple with no fuss and bother.”

“Aye, that’s best,” he said, raising her hand to his lips and pressing a long kiss on her cold fingertips. “Until later, then.”

He strode quickly away, every fiber of his being screaming for release of tension. If only he could shed his boots and climb the rigging, haul rope or shift barrels. Any activity to dispel the feeling of confinement in his own body. He was on an edge that a bridegroom’s nerves did not explain. He suffered it almost constantly and never found an explanation.

The very next morning Laurel shook out her white muslin and spread it over the bunk in her cabin. She had only two gowns, the gray she wore every day and this one she and Sister Mary Anne had sewn for her confirmation years ago and recently altered for any dressier occasions that might occur at the Orencio household. Not that there had been any of those occasions.

There were ribbons, too, that she had already threaded through the braids that crowned her head. She might not be the most fashionably dressed of brides, but at least she wouldn’t look like the gray mouse her groom would be expecting.

Doubts about her decision had kept her awake most of the night. None she would admit to Jack, however. The way he had explained things, this truly did seem her only chance at a normal life.

He was very considerate, gallant, handsome, even titled. What more could she hope for in a husband? The very thought of having to meet numerous candidates and choose another terrified her.

According to him, any chance for such a choice would not be possible anyway, because everyone in England would believe her compromised after their trip together.

Even if she and Jack turned out to be mismatched in future, she would somehow make things work between them. He was a good man to do this for her.

She donned the crinkled muslin and smoothed it out as best she could. Her white slippers were a bit tight, having been constructed when she was but thirteen. Still, her feet had not grown much since that age. Laurel took a deep breath, pinched her cheeks, raked her teeth over her lips to induce a little color and went out to join Jack on the deck.

She smiled at his reaction. He looked rather shocked for a moment to see her wearing something different from the gray. And then pleased. His appreciative smile warmed her heart.

He looked wonderful in a coat of dark blue with gray breeches, black boots that reached his knees and incredibly white linen at his neck and wrists. Well dressed and well formed was this cousin and soon-to-be husband. The wind tossed his light brown hair about his brow, affording him a boyish charm that delighted her.

How tall and imposing he looked despite that small disarray, every inch a nobleman, every ounce a strong, capable man of the world. When she stood next to him, he made her feel small, yet in no way insignificant. Her wishes and opinions seemed to matter to him. He had been nothing but forthright, kind and considerate.

Laurel hoped this would prove to be the best decision for both of them. Jack was giving up his bachelor status, which he must surely have enjoyed enormously, to save her reputation.

Marriage would not become a total sacrifice on his part, she would see to that. She was good at organizing and very economical, both attributes that would be handy for managing a large household. After all, the convent was no more than that, and she had become adept at helping the sisters in almost every area. She would know precisely what to do.

Even more important was the fact that as a new earl, Jack would be thinking of setting up his nursery. The novels she had read indicated that every man of rank needed to wed and produce an heir. She promised herself she would, in every way possible, make this marriage as good for him as it would be for her. She would make it perfect.

The captain and the minister stood before them at the bow, flanked by a number of the crew and the half dozen other passengers. Strangers all, for there had been no time yet to form friendships or even to acquire acquaintances.

Jack held out his hand and she took it. How gallant of him to do this for her, to come for her and then to save her from scandal. What a good heart he had.

The rise and fall of the ship seemed to set the cadence for the minister’s words as he read from his book.

Hers was the first wedding she had ever attended, so Laurel hung on every word, committed to memory each promise Jack made, amazed that this outrageously handsome man, this earl, this treasured new friend and cousin, vowed so sincerely to become her husband forever. Her heart was so full of gratitude, she could scarcely breathe.

“I, Jackson Templeton Worth, take thee, Laurel Winspear Worth, to my wedded wife. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

Laurel repeated the same vows with the word obey added to her litany. She slipped cherish into her part, as well, for she meant to truly cherish this wonderfully selfless man.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” Jack said, looking down at her hand as he slid a plain gold band on her finger. “And with all my worldly goods, I thee endow.”

A brief hint of doubt intruded. How was it that he had a ring? And, so conveniently, a minister? But he could not have planned this wedding in advance. He’d had no reason to marry her before it became necessary to save her reputation, had he? No, he was a resourceful man. He’d probably bought a ring from someone, and the minister being onboard must simply be a happy coincidence.

“By the power vested in me by the Church of England and His Majesty, King George,” the minister intoned, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”

The ceremony was over and she was a wife. Jack’s wife. His countess, though he had not made their station known as yet on board the ship. She wondered about that, but he had said he was still unused to the title.

Perhaps he merely wanted to be treated equally by their fellow travelers. Laurel admitted that not being either avoided or bowed to at every turn would make for a much more pleasant journey. Jack was wise and obviously thought ahead.

“Kiss ’er, mister!” one of the crewmen shouted as the vicar closed his book. Laughter ensued as Jack leaned to touch his lips to hers. Everyone applauded and a few added whistles.

Laurel savored the sweet feel of his mouth as it lightly caressed hers. He smelled of bay rum, starch and the sea. His closeness felt lovely, though unsettling, and caused a quickening of her heartbeat as it always did. She experienced a small pang of regret when he drew away.

Moments later, after a spate of cursory congratulations, the onlookers scattered and the ship was back to business as usual.

Jack still held her hand and turned to her then. “Well, my lady. I wish I could offer you more festivities, but there is a wedding breakfast for the two of us in my cabin. I bribed the ship’s cook.”

“How wonderful,” she said, growing nervous at last. One could only dismiss thoughts of the consummation for so long. She knew vaguely what was to happen. His kiss had stirred all sorts of imaginings. Would he wait for night? Did couples even do such intimate things in the light of day? “I should have read more novels,” she muttered to herself.

“So you had novels in the convent,” he said. “Those are fairly new. How did you get them?”

“Smuggled in by the girls who came late to us. The books were few, well dog-eared and treasured.”

She stopped on the stairs. “Jack? I feel I should warn you I know very little about becoming a wife. Are you…experienced at all?”

He bit his lip and looked away. “Ah…well, somewhat. That won’t be a problem. If you like, we will wait until we land and find more comfortable accommodations. To make things official, that is. To, you know…” He actually blushed, delighting Laurel, dismissing her own qualms.

“That would be best I think. Yes, we should wait.” She hesitated before asking the next question, lest he think her too eager. “How many days will we be at sea, do you think?”

“Three or four at best. Longer if the winds aren’t with us.”

“Then we shall arrive in London?”

“We’re to put in at Plymouth, then go on to London by coach,” he explained. “Well then, shall we breakfast? A good English repast seems a proper way to begin, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed. How thoughtful you are. Women all over the world will probably wish me dead when they hear you’re leg-shackled.”

He laughed out loud, banishing some of the tension between them. “Where did you hear such a term? Aha, those infamous novels.”

To her great relief, he took her hand again and led her through the common room into his cabin. The space was minuscule, quite intimate and not conducive to any sort of formality.

There was a bunk fastened to the wall on which they would sit side by side. His small travel trunk served as a table. It had been set very simply with two plates of eggs, bread and ham, assuredly cold by this time. She didn’t mind in the least. It was his effort to please her that mattered.

Laurel could scarcely believe the events of the past three days or credit her good fortune at Jack’s coming to Spain for her and taking her to wife.

She was almost afraid to celebrate. Where had she heard that when something seemed too good to be true, it usually was?

Chapter Four

Early next morning, Jack leaned against the rail again, looking out to sea, wondering if he would ever sail again after this short yet momentous voyage.

How strange it seemed to be aboard a ship and have nothing to do. Even so, the restlessness that constantly plagued him seemed somehow less today.

He knew what he would like to be doing, but accepted the wait as his punishment for tricking Laurel into a hasty marriage. She was no lightskirt to tumble in a narrow bunk and laugh with at the inconvenience. She was his wife, an untried, convent-bred young lady with tender sensibilities.

He had not slept. Of all the men he knew, he was the last he would have figured to spend his wedding night alone. His friends would have a great laugh over that if they ever learned of it.

Especially Neville Morleigh. He smiled recalling the joint venture that had reaped such a grand profit for both. They had met aboard the Emelia when Jack served as navigator for Captain Holt, the privateer. Neville had been about some havey-cavey government business.

The two had formed an instant friendship. Later on, by combining funds, refitting an old merchantman, gaining his license to captain and a letter of marque, their privateering had gone smashingly well.

The Siren had given Neville a means to travel to almost any port so he could do whatever intelligencing he had been set to do. When they captured French ships, England had acquired the vessels while he, Neville and their crew shared the booty. Neville eventually bought out and continued his furtive work elsewhere.

He had not seen Neville since, but had read in a London paper of his friend’s marriage to a baron’s widow shortly after the war ended. Perhaps Neville had lost his profits on another venture, too, and decided to marry for money.

“Lost in thought or watching for whales?” Laurel’s cheerful question dragged him back to the present.

“Just thinking of a friend of mine with whom I sailed in times past,” he admitted, turning to smile a greeting. “Good morning. Did you pass a comfortable night?”

“Not very. Did you?”

He shook his head, laughing a little. “Not at all, but then I seldom sleep well. Shall we take a turn around deck?” Jack took her arm and they strolled, avoiding the coils of ropes and a sailor who was busy swabbing the planks. He noted that their walk seemed almost restful to him instead of being merely a thing he must do to keep her in good spirits.

The wind picked up considerably in the next quarter hour and a bank of clouds moved closer, obliterating the horizon. “We’re in for a blow,” he muttered, squinting to the east. “Best you go to your cabin.”

Her fingers dug into his arm as she looked up at him. “Please, no. I would rather face it on deck if there’s a storm.”

“Don’t be a goose,” he said. “If it’s only rain, you’ll be soaked through, and if it does get rough, you could be injured. At best, you’d be in the way.”

“You’ll come, too?”

“No, I’ll give a hand up here,” he said, speaking more calmly than the situation warranted. The ship had begun to pitch appreciably even as they spoke. The sky grew dark and drops began to pelt them.

He shrugged off his coat, slung it around her shoulders, then plopped down on a coil of rope to quickly remove his boots and stockings. He handed them to her. “Go, Laurel. Now!” he ordered as he looked up at the billowed sails and whipping flag.

“You will be careful!” she cried, hugging his boots to her chest, struggling to keep her balance as the pitch and roll grew worse. She glanced up at the crewmen who had hopped the rigging. The first mate was shouting orders.

“Hurry! Go!” Jack gave her a gentle shove in the direction of their quarters, watching for only a moment to be sure she minded.

The captain stood at the wheel, issuing orders to the first mate, who then bellowed them to pilot and crew. Jack made his way toward them to offer his services.

By the time he traversed the distance, waves were visible, rising higher than the rails, sloshing over the deck.

Laurel must be terrified. He hoped she had made it inside before getting soaked. Sharp needles of rain increased in density, nearly blinding him. He was wet to the skin. And back within his element.

They were in for it all right. He put Laurel out of mind and leaped into the fray against his oldest enemy, the weather at sea.

The mate had him helping to secure cannon when Jack heard the shout of man overboard not ten feet away. His first thought was Laurel. What if she had come back on deck and a wave had swept her over?

He grasped the end of a coil, deftly securing it around his waist with the proper knot. Already halfway over the rail, he shouted to the two men working beside him to man the rope. He saw something white bob in the water, then disappear when a heavy swell rocked the ship.

“There! I’m going in!” he shouted and dived.

Under the surface, he saw a column of white flutter and made for it. All he could think was of Laurel in her white frock, sinking without a struggle. He fought the tow, kicked until he thought his legs would break and lungs burst.

Finally, when nearly there, he pushed to the surface, dragged in a deep breath and went under again. When he reached the small body, he grabbed it with one arm and lifted, scissoring his legs, pulling upward with his free hand until he felt the welcome pelt of rain on his face.

Immediately, the rope jerked taut and he was being hauled backward. Salt stung his eyes and his hair plastered to his face like seaweed.

As he touched wood, fingers grappled at his shirt, caught and hauled him to the rope ladder. “Here, man! Let me put ’im in the net. Can ye climb?”

“Aye,” Jack rasped as he released his burden to strong hands and reached for the ladder hanging over the side. With tremendous effort and heaving for breath, he gained one flexible rung at a time until he was at the rail.

Seamen dragged him up and over and laid him on the wet deck. Jack rolled to his side and sat up. “Where—?”

“Just there, sir, pukin’ up enough brine to fill a bucket, but he’ll do,” someone said with a hearty laugh. “We’d ha’ lost pore Timmy, weren’t for you!”

Jack fell back onto the wildly rocking deck and closed his eyes. Not Laurel. He began to laugh. Would he have gone in after the boy had he known? Probably, he thought, but he would have kept his bloody head while doing it.

This preoccupation with a wife might be the death of him. He laughed harder as the rain pounded and the wind raged.

“You all right, sir?” One of the crew who pulled him in began untying the rope from around his waist.

“Aye,” Jack said, rolling over, sitting up again and slicking his hair back with both hands. He had a job to do yet. Moments later he was busy again, tying down the brights while dodging the monstrous wheels with his bare feet.

The storm abated at last and the damage proved minimal. No one had been lost and only a few sustained injuries. Weary to the bone, Jack headed for his cabin to dry off and rest. He encountered the captain on the way.

“Join me for dinner, you and your wife,” Captain Pollack said. The invitation sounded like an order, but Jack knew it for an honor.

“Very well, Captain. Thank you.” He clenched his eyes shut for a moment to clear them and proceeded to his quarters.

Laurel waited for him in the common room to which each of their cabins opened. She rose when he came inside. “It’s over,” she said, stating the obvious. The ship’s motion had grown relatively calm.

“We’re asked to dine with the captain,” he told her. “Are you well enough?”

“Very well,” she said, frowning at him. “You look done in. Was it very bad?”

“I’ve seen worse,” he admitted, passing her to reach his cabin door. “At least it blew us in the right direction.” He noted how pale she was. “Were you afraid we would die?”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t death I feared. We were taught not to fear it.”

He gave a snort of disbelief. “Well I was taught not to welcome it. So you just thought to meet it face-to-face in the gale instead of taking precaution?” He felt unreasonably angry that she hadn’t been afraid at all and he had been scared out of his bloody mind for her.

She ducked her head as she shook it. “I didn’t want to leave you out there.”

Oh. He blew out the pent-up breath he’d been holding lest he say something else that was mean and uncalled-for. “I’d better change,” he muttered and left her there in the common room.

God, he had wanted to grab her and hold her close, kiss her like a madman and declare how profoundly glad he was that it had not been her bobbing up and down in the sea.

Damn, but being married was a maddening thing, especially to a virgin you couldn’t have yet and to a girl who hadn’t sense enough to get in out of the rain.

The captain’s table was a great deal more formal than the one in the common room they had passed through to go there. Laurel marveled at the china and crystal, even finer than that of the Orencio household. The table linen was spotless and every man there was dressed formally, except Jack and a young lad clad in white.

Everyone stood when they entered. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Worth,” the captain said with a warm smile. He proceeded to introduce them to each of the five men present, all officers of the ship. And then he gestured to the young boy whom she guessed to be about thirteen. “Timothy Bromfield, my godson and cabin lad to Mr. Tomlinson, my second in command. Say your piece, Tim.”

The dark-haired boy turned wide brown eyes to her, bowed and said, “Ma’am.” Then he spoke to Jack. “Sir, I owe you my life and I thank you for your heroic deed. If ever I can repay you in any way, you must call upon me.” He smiled the sweetest smile. “They say in the Orient that if you save a life, it belongs to you.” He shrugged. “Or something equivalent to that.”

Everyone laughed, including the captain. “Well, you can’t take it with you, Mr. Worth, because we should miss this fellow aboard. And may I add my eternal gratitude. He is my brother’s only son. Should I have lost him at sea his first time out, I would have been persona non grata in my family home forever.”

Mr. Tomlinson piped in, “The way you leaped over the side and performed the rescue, one would think you’d had years at sea yourself!”

Jack smiled self-consciously. “Almost twenty years of it, sir. I began as a cabin lad myself aboard the Mosquitobit.”

Laurel paid only half attention. She still couldn’t process the fact that Jack had jumped overboard to save the boy. He had said nothing about it!

All sorts of feelings rushed through her, from hot anger that he would take such a mortal risk to abject pride in the champion he turned out to be.

But she had known already how unselfish he was, hadn’t she? Everything he had done for her proved he was heroic and this feat only seconded that. The men were raising a toast to Jack at that moment. Laurel quickly reached for her glass and joined them.

Later when they were returning to their cabins, she requested that they take a stroll about the deck rather than retire immediately. “I want to see the ocean calm or I shan’t sleep,” she said.

“A good idea,” he agreed, and led her down the gangway and up the steps.

“That was a very brave thing you did, saving young Tim,” she said.

“An impulse, I assure you. Had I stopped to think, I probably would have tossed him a buoy instead.”

Laurel knew better. She smiled up at the stars that were abundant in the clear night sky. Canvas had been unfurled and they were sailing along as if nothing had happened. Several of the other guests were out on deck, ostensibly for the same reason she had wanted to be there.

Suddenly she stopped and looked up at the wooden pole they were passing by. “The spar,” she remarked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“That is a spar, isn’t it?” she asked as she reached over to touch it lightly.

“It is. Have you read of ships then?”

She shook her head and placed her fingertips to her temple as an image occurred. “I remember it from when I sailed before. The word sounded like star to me. I thought a star was falling until someone told me differently.”

She met his puzzled gaze. “There was a flash, of lightning, I think. I suppose that was what I saw. The thing snapped, you see. Someone shouted, “Spar’s falling!” There was a huge crash and everyone began dashing about. I was knocked down.”