The Substitute Countess. Lyn Stone

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      “Well, you had the basics everyone needs,” she said.

      “Just so, and my father tutored me on board as did others with learning who had nothing better to do. I had a practical education rather than classic.”

      She smoothed back a strand of hair that had come loose in the wind. The gesture was practiced, not out of any coyness, but because those errant golden curls constantly escaped the severe chignon she wore. Jack thought there might be other rebellious attributes in Laurel waiting to slip their carefully schooled containment.

      She sighed as she looked out over the seas. “Practicality is a good thing, isn’t it? I never became proficient at those useful things one needs to know. For instance, I loathe sewing. We embroidered innumerable altar cloths and my stitches were always uneven. My fingers are only now recovering.”

      Jack turned and lifted both of her hands to examine her fingertips. They were red from the cold so he enclosed them within his to warm them. “You need never sew another stitch. What of music? Can you play and do you dance?”

      She wore a faraway expression. “No. Are those accomplishments necessary for a lady? I’ve always thought I should like to dance if I could be taught.”

      “Of course you can. We will arrange for lessons,” Jack promised.

      “After we are married?” she asked.

      “So you are still of a mind to marry me, Laurel?” he asked, determined to keep his tone light and conversational.

      She turned and cocked her head to one side. “I think so, yes. We get on well enough, don’t you think?”

      He nodded. “Do you worry that your soul’s mate is out there somewhere waiting to meet you? Most women hold that hope, so I’m led to believe.”

      “I told you that is only the stuff of girlish dreams,” she replied with a soft little laugh. “I will be content with a good match.”

      Content and also rich and at my mercy, Jack’s conscience reminded him. Would to God, she never found out his real reason for this marriage. He did not want her feeling betrayed. She might even demand a separation if she ever learned of it. That would free him to pursue his own desires and live as he wished, of course, but at what great cost to her feelings and his honor?

      “Shall we marry immediately when we arrive in England before anyone knows we’re there?” she asked.

      He dared not wait that long. “The wedding itself could pose a problem,” he informed her in case she had not thought of it. He had. “You are Catholic and I am not.”

      “Oh.” She looked crestfallen. Then she brightened. “Perhaps the captain could marry us before we get there. I read of that in a novel once. Is it true captains of ships can perform weddings?”

      “Well, that would be a romantic tale to tell, wouldn’t it? But considering our stations, our marriage must be recognized by the Church of England and duly recorded in other than a ship’s log. What I meant to ask is if you will mind if there’s no priest, no Catholic service?”

      She shot him a wry look. “Did I not suggest a ship’s captain? So if not the captain and not a priest, what shall we do?”

      “There is a vicar on board.” He had seen to that, as well as to obtaining a special license and a ring, before leaving England, in the event things progressed this far. It paid to plan ahead for every contingency.

      “Very well, shall we apply to the vicar?” she asked.

      Jack looked out across the waves again to avoid her gaze. It could not be this uncomplicated. He was so used to fighting hard, struggling for everything he got, it was hard to accept.

      Despite what looked to be trouble-free success, he kept thinking how this would impact his own life. There would be no more nights of delight in foreign ports, no further risk-taking adventures and no indulging in wild investment schemes to increase his fortune. He would be a married man, honor bound to exclusivity, tied to one woman and an estate for which he would be solely responsible. Sobering thoughts indeed, but he had already decided that’s what must be. There were others to think of now besides himself.

      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.

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