Promise of a Family

“But not a ship.”

He was puzzled. Usually his mind could keep up with any conversation. It might be that he was paying too much attention to the sway of her skirts as she walked toward him.

“A ship, Captain Nesbitt,” she said. “A ship can easily sail from Devon or Wales or even much farther away, as you know.”

“You need not instruct me about sailing, my lady, but I would appreciate if you could enlighten me about what exactly you are talking about.”

Her cheeks went from pale to flushed in a heartbeat. Her voice became as glacial as her brother’s. “Let me put it simply. French privateers attacked The Kestrel. You halted them, Captain, but maybe another ship was not so fortunate.”

What she was trying to tell him shot like a ball through his brain. Why had he failed to see that possibility himself? He had told her, after all, that they could not discount any theory until they were certain it would not lead to the children’s families.

“I will have my men make inquiries about missing ships as well as missing children,” he said.

“Good.” She started to walk away again, and he knew he had been dismissed.

He did not move. “My lady?”

“Yes?” She kept walking.

“I hope your idea is wrong.”

She stopped but did not turn. “Why?”

“Because if it is correct...”

She spun to look at him with horrified eyes. “Please tell me that you are not about to suggest that their own parents put them in the boat.”

“No, because that is not how privateers work. They want the cargo and the ship. Once they board, the ship’s crew and passengers are doomed.” He closed the distance between them until she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. Raising his hand, he slipped the loose hair back behind her ear. He heard her breath catch, and his heart quickened like a ship driven by a gale.

It took all his willpower to ignore both her reaction and his own. His life was already too enmeshed with the events and people of Porthlowen, and he would be gone soon. But he could not leave without warning her of a truth he doubted she could imagine.

Wiping a bit of fluffy dust from her cheek, he held her gaze as he whispered, “If you are right, no ship and no port, including Porthlowen, may be safe.”

He was shocked when she pulled back with the calm smile that was beginning to annoy him. He knew that expression was aimed at covering up her true emotions because her fingers trembled. Because he had touched her or because of what he had told her?

As if she spoke of nothing more important than the color of the water in the cove, she said, “We have never been assured of safety in Porthlowen. Before the French, there were other pirates and raiders, as well as storms and droughts and sickness.”

“Very well. It seems you understand. Therefore, I will bid you a good evening, Lady Susanna.”

“Good evening, Captain.” She relented from her icy pose as she added, “I truly appreciate you bringing me the information your men have gathered. We are grateful for your continuing efforts.”

“I helped rescue those children. I would be coldhearted not to be concerned about their well-being.”

She nodded, and he wondered if she ever lost control of her tight hold on herself. Even when she had gasped at his touch on her cheek, she’d quickly reverted to her cool exterior.

Drake got his answer when her name was shouted from the hallway, and a maid burst into the nursery. The young woman’s eyes were wide with dismay as she cried, “My lady! It is Miss Lucy! She tumbled down the stairs and landed on her head. We cannot wake her.”

Alarm wiped all other emotion from Lady Susanna’s face as she pushed past him. He caught her arm, and she whipped around, fury now mixed with fear.

“Let me go!” she ordered.

“I will, but I am going with you so you don’t fall down the steps in your haste to get to her.”

She nodded. “Hurry! I need to be there when she regains her senses.”

He steered her out of the room past the maid and the footman, who exchanged worried glances. He knew their thoughts as surely as if they were his own.

What if the tiny girl never woke?

Chapter Four (#ulink_ea5ba77c-fbf3-58e3-b953-24cb5b543287)

The bedchamber was lit by only a single lamp, leaving shadows across the ceiling and huddled in the corners. At both windows, the draperies were pulled closed, even though night had claimed Porthlowen. Silence hung over the room, too heavy to be broken. The only sound was breathing from the grand tester bed set at one end of the large room. With the bed curtains pulled aside, a single person was cushioned by the thick mattress and pillows that were almost as big as she was.

Susanna sat beside the bed on a hard chair. Baricoat, as well as Venton and two other footmen, had offered to bring her an upholstered chair from another room. She had thanked them but declined. As hours passed and dawn neared, she feared a more comfortable chair would tempt her to give in to the cloying caress of exhaustion. Her back ached from slanting forward to lean her elbows on the covers, but she did not take her gaze from Lucy’s motionless body.

With her hands clasped, she had prayed the same wordless prayer since Captain Nesbitt had carried Lucy in and placed the little girl on the bed. Lucy had looked like a rag doll, limp and unresponsive. Surely God, who had watched over the children while in the jolly boat, would bring Lucy healing.

Through the night, while Susanna kept vigil by the bed, she had looked for any sign of returning consciousness. Lucy breathed slowly and shallowly as if asleep.

The doctor had been sent for immediately, and when Mr. Hockbridge came, Susanna watched him examine the little girl with gentle, capable hands. Mr. Hockbridge had taken over caring for the sick around Porthlowen the previous year. His father had been their longtime doctor, but a heart condition had forced him to step aside. The young man, whose white-blond hair was thinning, had studied in London. If there was anyone in Cornwall who could help Lucy, it would be Mr. Hockbridge.

He had left no powders other than willow bark to ease any pain Lucy felt when she awoke. His only instructions were to pray. Telling Susanna he would be back before midday and that she should send for him if the situation changed, he had bidden her a good night.

Caroline had stopped in several times. The first time, she mentioned how distraught Mollie was. Lucy’s twin had seen her sister tumble down the stairs. It had been Mollie’s cries that brought the servants running to discover what had happened.

Each time, Susanna had nothing new to tell her sister. Caroline promised to stop by again in a few hours and then went to offer what comfort she could to Mollie and the other children.

So the hours passed while Susanna sat by the bed and prayed for Lucy to open her eyes. She never shifted her gaze from the tiny form on the big bed.

When she heard soft footsteps in the gray light before dawn, Susanna paid them no mind. People had been coming in and out of the bedchamber during the night. They had cast worried glances at the bed before leaving without a word.

“Lady Susanna,” came Mrs. Hitchens’s low whisper, “forgive me for interrupting, but Captain Nesbitt wishes to know if there has been any change.”

Astonished, she glanced over her shoulder. “He has come back?”

“He never left, my lady.”

Unexpected tears filled her eyes. She had assumed that Captain Nesbitt had returned to his ship once he set Lucy on the bed as carefully as if she were made of glass. That he had remained touched her heart that was so fragile when she faced another tragedy. Maybe she had misjudged him, if he put aside his other duties to wait for news about a child he barely knew.

“May I give him a message, my lady?” Mrs. Hitchens prompted.

Susanna came to her feet, wincing as her back protested moving after being in one position for hours. “No, I will deliver it myself. Where is he?”

“In the drawing room.”

“Thank you.”

“My lady?” The housekeeper glanced toward the bed.