Promise of a Family

“No change.” She smiled sadly at Mrs. Hitchens, whose kind heart must be aching, too.

“Poor lamb. I will sit with her until you return.”

“If—”

“If there is any change at all, I will send for you immediately.”

Thanking the housekeeper again, Susanna went downstairs. The drawing room was to the right of the entry foyer, set past the stairs so the windows offered a beautiful view of the gardens on the hillsides rising toward the moor.

The room was nearly as dark as the bedchamber. She saw no one inside. Had Captain Nesbitt taken his leave or perhaps fallen asleep? That made no sense, because Mrs. Hitchens would not have dawdled bringing his message. She stifled a yawn and knew it would take her only seconds to surrender to sleep.

Going back into the hallway, she picked up a lamp and returned to the drawing room. The light spread before her, restoring color in the Aubusson rug. The red lines edging a pattern of white roses seemed overly bright. Out of the darkness appeared two chairs upholstered in red-and-white silk, followed by a matching settee. The elegant white marble hearth glittered in the lamplight.

The room was deserted.

She was about to call Captain Nesbitt’s name when she noticed the French window leading onto the terrace was ajar. Crossing the room, she set her lamp on a table. She opened the door wider and saw Captain Nesbitt leaning his hands on the back of a stone bench. There, he could see the village, the cliffs that curved toward each other in a giant C to protect the cove, and the sea.

“This is my favorite view,” she said as she walked out onto the stone terrace.

“I can see why your ancestors built this house here.” Slowly he faced her. “How is Lucy?”

“There is no change. If I did not know better, I would say she is sleeping. She looks so peaceful.”

“What did the doctor say?”

She sighed. “He said the only things we can do now are wait and pray.”

“Not the prescription I had hoped he would give.”

“Prayer is always the best prescription, Captain.”

He leaned against the bench and folded his arms over his chest. His strong jaw was covered in a low mat of black whiskers that only emphasized its stubborn lines. “I cannot disagree with that, but I have found the results are not always something you can count on.”

“You don’t believe in God?”

“Quite the opposite. I believe in Him. I simply don’t know if He believes in me.”

She stared at him. The night was receding as the sun rose over the eastern hills, but his eyes still were dark pools that she could not read. “I believe that He hears our prayers, especially the ones from our hearts, and I have been praying all night.”

“If prayer is the answer, it should come soon with the number of people praying for her. I have heard murmured prayers from every direction while I paced through the house.”

“And you, Captain? Have you been praying?” Again she wished she could read the expression hidden in his shadowed eyes.

“Yes, but I hope others have better luck than I in getting their prayers answered.”

“All prayers are answered.”

“You sound so sure.”

“I am.”

He turned his head to stare out at the sea. “I wish I could be.”

“All you need to do is have faith.”

“You make it sound so simple.” His terse laugh was laced with regret. “I have not found it to be.”

“Surely you have felt God’s presence in your life. What about when you were attacked by those privateers?”

“I thought The Kestrel and all its crew were bound for the bottom of the sea.” He smiled as she started to reply. “I know what you are going to say. That by the grace of God we survived, and you may be right, but in the middle of that battle, there was nothing but death and dying.”

Susanna pressed her hands to her abruptly roiling stomach, wishing she had never brought up the privateers. She did not want to think of death. She wanted to concentrate on life and how they could bring one small child out of a coma to embrace it.

A sob burst out of her before she could halt it. Putting her hands over her face, she wept, too tired to hold back her tears any longer. Her fear of not knowing what else she could do to help little Lucy pressed down on her.

Wide, gentle hands drew her against a wool coat that smelled of salt and fresh air off the water. Beneath the wool, a strong chest held a heart that beat steadily as she gripped his coat and released her fear and frustration.

When her last tears were gone, Susanna drew back and wiped her hand against her face. Captain Nesbitt held out a handkerchief. She hesitated and then took it, as embarrassment overwhelmed her. She had lost control of her emotions in front of this handsome man. How could she ever look at him again without thinking of his muscular arms around her, offering her comfort?

“I am sorry,” she whispered, staring at her feet. “I usually hold myself together better than that.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“That is kind of you to say.”

He lifted his handkerchief out of her hand and dabbed it against her cheeks to catch a pair of vagrant tears. Bending so his eyes were level with hers, he said nothing. Now the shadows had been banished, she could see the emotions within his dark brown eyes. Raw, unabashed sorrow at the accident that had left Lucy senseless. He must be able to see the same in her own eyes, she realized, and she lowered them, not wanting to share such a private part of herself with a man who was barely more than a stranger.

She was unsure when the light touch of the handkerchief collecting her tears altered to slow, feathery strokes along her face. Quivers flitted along her like seabirds darting at the waves. In spite of herself, she raised her eyes to his again. The potent emotions in them had only grown stronger, and she wondered how long anyone could look into his eyes without becoming lost in them.

“My lady! Lady Susanna!” called a bellow from the house.

Susanna stepped away from Captain Nesbitt, one unsteady step and then another, as if waking from a dream. Had she fallen asleep on her feet? She would rather think that than believe she had intentionally stood so close to him, allowing him to caress her face with his handkerchief.

He placed his handkerchief beneath his coat as her name was shouted again.

“You might want to answer,” he said in an emotionless tone.

She wished her voice could be as calm, but it was not when she called that she was on the terrace.

Venton peered past the French windows. His eyes narrowed slightly when he saw she was not alone, but he said, “My lady! Come! Right away!”

“Is it Lucy?”

“She is waking up.”

Gathering up her skirts, she ran into the house. She heard Captain Nesbitt’s boots behind her. She did not look back as she ran up the stairs.

In the bedroom, the draperies had been thrown open. Sunlight washed across the bed. For a moment, when she saw Lucy lying in the pillows, Susanna feared the child had lost consciousness again.