Promise of a Family

She rushed to the bed at a soft cry, but Captain Nesbitt reached it before her. He stepped aside only far enough for her to slip between him and the covers. His breath brushed her nape. She ignored the pleasant shiver that rushed along her and gazed down at Lucy.

The little girl’s eyes were closed, but she was moving her head from side to side as if caught in a nightmare.

Dearest God, help her to awaken. She is only a baby, and she has endured so much already. Help me to know what is best for her.

“Should we wake her?” asked Captain Nesbitt from behind her.

“Mr. Hockbridge said we must be patient and let her come to her senses on her own.”

“Mama!” came an anguished cry from the bed as tears ran along the child’s face.

“Oh, dear!” Susanna wished she could throw all Lucy’s pain out the window. When Captain Nesbitt stretched an arm around her to offer his handkerchief again, she murmured her thanks. She wiped Lucy’s tears away as she asked Mrs. Hitchens to wet another cloth. The housekeeper quickly complied.

Susanna dropped the handkerchief and took the damp cloth. She draped it across Lucy’s forehead, including the large bump that was a deep black. The lines in her brow eased slightly, so the warmth must be comforting.

Lucy’s eyelashes fluttered, then lifted off her pale cheeks. Susanna smiled when Lucy looked up at her, confusion on her little face.

“How do you feel, Lucy?” Susanna asked.

“Head ouch,” she croaked.

“I know, sweetheart.” She looked up as Mrs. Hitchens came forward with a cup of warm water.

Slipping an arm under the child, Susanna held the cup to Lucy’s lips. She was thrilled when Lucy gulped it eagerly. Not wanting to give her too much too quickly, she drew the cup away, but Lucy’s tiny hands grasped the cup.

“Slowly,” Susanna cautioned. “There is plenty.”

Lucy nodded, then gave a soft cry.

Susanna asked Mrs. Hitchens to bring the pain powder the doctor had left. Since it was willow bark, a small dose would be safe even for a child as young as Lucy.

When another cup was held out to her, this one with the powder dissolved into the water, turning it cloudy, Susanna took it. The second her fingers closed around the cup and brushed against the hand offering it to her, a buzz like a swarm of bees swept through her.

She looked up. Captain Nesbitt’s worry threaded his forehead. She whispered her thanks, not wanting to talk more loudly because she did not trust her voice. Or her fingers that yearned to smooth those lines from his face.

Lucy wrinkled her nose when she drank from the second cup, but finished it when Susanna assured her that it would make her feel better. Mrs. Hitchens took the cup, stepping back while Susanna settled the little girl down into the pillowed nest again.

The child looked from her to the housekeeper and then to Captain Nesbitt. Her eyes widened, and she mewed in pain.

“Why don’t you close your eyes?” Susanna tucked the covers in around her. “Resting will give the powder time to work.”

“I think the sun is bothering her.” Captain Nesbitt strode around the bed, grasped the draperies on the nearest window and yanked them closed. Fabric creaked a warning, but the stream of light disappeared from across the bed. Turning, he walked back to the far side of the bed and asked, “Is that better, Lucy?”

“Papa?”

Susanna pressed her hand over her mouth to keep from chuckling when Captain Nesbitt’s expression suggested the little girl had accused him of a crime.

“No, Lucy,” she said softly. When the little girl looked at her again, she added, “He is not your papa. He is Captain Nesbitt.”

“Cap?”

“Yes,” Captain Nesbitt said before Susanna could reply. “I am Cap.”

Lucy stretched up a small hand, and he bent forward. When she patted his bewhiskered chin and smiled, Susanna’s eyes were not the only moist ones in the room. The little girl’s motions were easy and showed no sign of the trauma she had suffered.

Susanna looked away before the child could notice her tears. After her weeping on the terrace, she had not guessed she could cry more. Maybe she had used up her sad tears but still had happy ones.

Hearing Captain Nesbitt’s low, rumbling laugh, a sound she had never heard before, she wanted to hear it again and again. It invited everyone to join in. She had thought his laugh would be as clipped as his words; then she wondered how she could make any assumptions when she knew so little about him. This was not like the time she had started noticing interesting aspects of Franklin, because she had known her erstwhile betrothed since they were Lucy’s age.

Don’t think of that, she chided herself. She would not let Franklin and his betrayal into her life again.

No matter what.

He will be in your heart, reminding you of the pain you suffered, until you forgive—really forgive—him and Norah. She clenched her hands by her sides. I have tried. Even her own silent protest sounded weak. She knew that trying was not enough.

Susanna looked at the bed, where Lucy held up Captain Nesbitt’s handkerchief and waved it like a flag. When it fluttered against his mouth, he blew it away, making Lucy smile. He showed a patience with the little girl that Susanna had not expected.

Again she scolded herself. She knew nothing of Captain Nesbitt other than he had fought off the French and ended up with his ship and crew in Porthlowen Harbor. No, that was not quite true. She had seen he was a man of deep compassion and deep anger. He had a strong sense of duty and just as powerful a sense of honor. Yet, he did not mind being silly if it made an injured child feel better.

She needed to acknowledge that Captain Nesbitt might continue to be a surprise, but he and his ship would soon be gone from Porthlowen. Her life would settle back into its routine again.

A tiny hand patted her fingers on the covers as Lucy asked, “Mama?”

Now it was Susanna’s turn to be shocked. Somehow she choked out, “No, my dear Lucy.”

“Yes. Mama!” A surprisingly stubborn scowl settled on the child’s face. The motion must have hurt because she whimpered.

Susanna realized the futility of arguing with her now. What did it matter how Lucy addressed her? Once the pain was gone, Lucy would be herself again.

“Captain Nesbitt,” she said, “I am sure Lucy would love to hear about how you fill your ship with all sorts of things.”

Now she had surprised him. He gave her a peculiar look that was halfway between a frown and bafflement. When she hooked her thumb toward the door, he nodded and began to spin a tale for the child that had more to do with dolphins and mermaids than the grain his ship carried when it limped into the cove.

Susanna hurried to the door with Mrs. Hitchens following. She asked the housekeeper to have a maid fetch Mollie. As close as the twins were, she guessed Lucy would be thrilled to see her sister. And, according to Caroline, Mollie had been asking for her sister all night. Reuniting the twins would be good for both of them.

* * *

Drake brought his absurd story to a close when a maid holding Mollie’s hand arrived at the bedchamber door. He watched as Lucy turned her head to see what was happening.

She looked back at him and said, “More fish. Cap, more fish.”

“No more fish tales right now,” he said, smiling when she began to pout. “There is someone here who wants to see you.”

“Mama!” she called and held out her arms to Lady Susanna.

“Mama?” repeated Mollie, looking around eagerly. Her curls bounced on her shoulders. “Where?”

“There.” Lucy sat and pointed to Lady Susanna.