Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [86]
“ ’Tis common knowledge that my mother was French and that I spent my childhood in France. You breached no trust.”
He was relieved when she turned toward him once more. “Lord Buchanan, ours is an unusual relationship. ’Tis a temporary engagement, not a permanent position. We also travel in very different social circles. I do not wish to make assumptions or speak more freely than I ought.”
“I appreciate your candor. Still …” He exhaled, uncertain, having not charted his course in advance. “Can we not be friends, madam, at least at Bell Hill?” He picked up two wooden chairs, which looked desperately uncomfortable, and placed them close to the hearth. “Come, Mrs. Kerr. Surely you have a few minutes to spare before you begin sewing.”
She quietly took a seat. “I am at your bidding, milord.”
“If we’re to be friends, you must call me Lord Jack.” He sat as well, inching closer. “Only in private, of course.”
“ ’Twill take some getting used to,” she admitted. “Is your real name John?”
“My real name is Jacques.” He paused, realizing he’d not confessed as much in years, then shrugged, making light of it. “But ‘Jack’ seemed better suited to a British naval officer.” He leaned against his chair and found the straight wooden back even more ill fitting than the seat. If they were going to meet with any regularity, something would need to be done about the chairs.
“Mrs. Kerr, ’tis only fair you know a bit of my history.” Jack pressed his hands on his knees, gathering his thoughts, preparing to show her a canvas of his life. Certain details would be omitted, but there would be enough for a sketch, if not an oil painting. “I was born in Le Havre. My French mother raised me, while my Scottish father sailed the seas with the Royal Navy. I soon followed in his footsteps.”
“Were his boots the size of yours?” she asked, glancing down at them.
“Bigger,” he confessed, “for I am quite certain I never filled them. I began my life at sea when I was four-and-ten, as a midshipman.”
Elisabeth gasped, as he knew she would.
“Some lads were even younger,” he admitted. “The army requires its budding officers to purchase a commission. But in the navy, a first post usually comes about because of family connections.”
She tipped her head. “Then you’ve been at sea for …”
“Six-and-twenty years.” He seldom said the number aloud, finding it rather disheartening, as if he’d wasted the better part of his life. But he’d had no choice. Once his mother succumbed to fever, he had to sail. “I was five-and-thirty,” he continued, “when I joined Admiral Anson aboard the Centurion, the flagship among six fighting ships. Some four years later we returned to London, bringing home as our prize a Spanish treasure worth eight hundred thousand British pounds.”
He let the number sink in—not to impress her, but simply to help her understand his situation. “The officers shared the bulk of the prize, and several were promoted to the admiralty. But we lost more than half the men who sailed with us and all the vessels but one. Not a good bargain, I’d say.”
“Nae,” she agreed. After a quiet moment she posed the question he’d been asking himself for two years. “What are your plans now?”
Jack exhaled. “I’ve had enough of life at sea.” He did not confess the rest. That he was tired of being alone, of having no family, no wife, no children. “Within a fortnight I shall officially retire from the navy—”
“Retire?” She looked at him aghast. “And lose your pension?”
He shrugged, almost ashamed. “I’ve no need of it, Mrs. Kerr.”
“Oh. I see.”
When Charbon jumped down, Elisabeth stood. Weary of their conversation, no doubt, or appalled at the thought of someone throwing away a perfectly good pension when she had so little money of her own.
“Forgive me, but I must attend to my work,” Elisabeth told him.
He was on his feet at once, chastising himself for not rising the moment she did. Had his manners escaped him completely? “Mrs. Kerr, will you be attending the Common Riding on Friday?