“Perhaps so.” That sounded ungrateful. Captain Radcliffe was under no obligation to let them stay for any length of time, let alone the whole winter. “What I meant to say was…thank you, sir.”
As she hurried back to the nursery, Marian thanked God, too, for granting this reprieve. Perhaps her earlier prayers had been heard after all.
Chapter Two
After his first night in his new home, Gideon woke much later than usual. He’d slept badly—the place was far too quiet. He missed the soothing lap of the waves against the hull of his ship, the flap of sails in the wind and the mournful cries of seagulls. When he had drifted off, the face of that young midshipman had appeared to trouble him. Though the charges brought against him were entirely unfounded—of causing the death of one member of his crew and threatening others—that did not mean his conscience was clear.
An iron band of pain tightened around Gideon’s forehead when he crawled out of bed. He staggered when the floor stayed level and still beneath his feet. It had taken him a while to gain his sea legs when he’d joined his first crew, all those years ago. Now the roll of a deck was so familiar he wondered if he would ever feel comfortable on dry land. Nottinghamshire had some of the driest land in the kingdom, many miles from the ocean in any direction. Coming here had given Gideon a far more intimate understanding of what it meant to be “a fish out of water.”
Perhaps some coffee and breakfast would help. Though he’d lived on ship’s rations for more than two-thirds of his life, he could not claim they were superior to the fare available at Knightley Park.
As he washed, shaved and dressed for the day, Gideon’s thoughts turned back to his unsettling interview with Miss Murray the previous evening. The woman reminded him of a terrier—small and rather appealing, yet possessed of fierce tenacity in getting what she wanted. What in blazes had possessed him to tell her about being sent to sea after his mother’s death?
He seldom talked to anyone about his past and never about that unhappy time. Perhaps it was what she’d said about a bereaved child needing the comfort of familiar surroundings. It had struck a chord deep within him—far too deep for his liking. Before he could stop himself, the words had poured out. For an instant after he’d spoken, Gideon thought he sensed a thawing in her obvious aversion to him. Then she had turned and used that unintentional revelation as leverage to wring from him a concession he’d been reluctant to grant.
He counted himself fortunate that he had not come up against many enemy captains who were such formidable opponents as this simple Scottish governess.
It wasn’t that he begrudged his young cousins’ houseroom—quite the contrary. They had been born and lived their whole lives at Knightley Park, while he had only visited the place at Christmastime and in the summer. Though it belonged to him by law, he could not escape the conviction that they had a far stronger claim to it.
While they remained here, he would be reluctant to make many changes in the domestic arrangements they were accustomed to…no matter how sorely needed. He would always feel like an interloper in his own home, prevented from claiming the solitude and privacy he’d hoped to find at Knightley Park.
That was not his only objection to the arrangement, Gideon reminded himself as he headed off in search of breakfast. What if his young cousins needed something beyond the authority of their governess to provide? What if some harm befell them and he was held accountable? He, who had been charged with the welfare of an entire ship’s crew, shrank from the responsibility for two small girls. It vexed Gideon that he had not thought to raise some of these objections with Miss Murray last night.
It was too late now, though. He had given his word. He only hoped he would not come to regret that decision as much as he regretted some others he’d made of late.
“Dolly!” That soft but urgent cry, and the light, fleet patter of approaching footsteps jarred Gideon from his thoughts; but too late to take proper evasive action.
An instant later, the child came racing around the corner and barreled straight into him. Her head struck him in the belly, like a small blond cannonball, knocking the breath out of him. Meanwhile the collision sent her tumbling backward onto her bottom. It could not have winded her as it had Gideon, for her mouth fell open to emit an earsplitting wail that made his aching head throb. Her eyes screwed up and commenced to gush tears at a most alarming rate. The sight unnerved Gideon like nothing in his eventful naval career…with one recent exception.
Before he could catch his breath or rally his shattered composure, Marian Murray charged around the corner and swooped down to enfold her young charge. “Wist ye now, Dolly!”
She looked up at Gideon, her eyes blazing with fierce protectiveness. “What did you do to her?”
“What…?” Gideon gasped. “I…?”
That was one unjust accusation too many. Somehow he managed to suck in enough air to fuel his reply. “I did…nothing to her! That little imp ploughed into me. A few inches taller and she’d have stove in my ribs.”
Anger over a great many things that had nothing to do with the present situation came boiling out of him. “What was she doing tearing through the halls like a wild thing? Someone could have been hurt much worse.”
Now he’d done it. No doubt his rebuke would make the child howl even louder, if that were possible. Less than twenty-four hours had passed, and already he’d begun to regret his hasty decision to let the children stay.
To his amazement, Gideon realized the child was not weeping harder. Indeed, she seemed to have stopped. Her sobs had somehow turned to chuckles.
“Wild thing.” She repeated his words as if they were a most amusing compliment, then chuckled again.
“You needn’t sound so pleased with yourself.” Miss Murray helped the child to her feet and dusted her off. “Captain Radcliffe is right. You could have been hurt a good deal worse. Now tell him you’re sorry and promise it won’t happen again.”
The little scamp broke into a broad grin that was strangely infectious. “I’m sorry I bumped into you, Captain. I hope I didn’t hurt you too much. I promise I won’t run so fast around corners after this.”
“I’m not certain that running indoors at all is a good idea.” Gideon struggled to keep the corners of his mouth from curling up, as they itched to do. “You are not a filly, after all, and this is not Newmarket racecourse.”
If Miss Murray found his remark at all amusing, she certainly gave no sign. “I apologize, as well, Captain. This is all my fault. I will keep Dolly under much closer supervision from now on.”
Gideon found himself torn between a strange desire to linger there in the hallway with them and an urgent need to get away. Since the latter made far more sense, he gave a stiff nod to acknowledge her assurance and strode away in search of a strong cup of coffee to restore his composure.
“Dorothy Ann Radcliffe,” Marian muttered as she marched her young pupil back to the nursery, “you won’t be content until you make my hair turn white, will you?”
“Could I really do that, Miss Marian?” Dolly sounded far more intrigued by the possibility than chastened.
“I don’t care to find out, thank you very much.” Marian pointed to a low, three-legged stool in the corner, with which Dolly’s bottom was quite familiar. “Go sit for ten minutes and think about what you’ve done.”
“Why must I sit in the corner?” demanded the child. “When you told the Captain it was all your fault?”
“Impudence, for a start.” Marian fixed her with a stern look. “I warn you, I am not in the mood to tolerate any more of your foolishness, just now.”
Though Dolly deserved her punishment, Marian could not deny her own responsibility for what had happened. Since their father’s death, she had encouraged Dolly’s high