Promise of a Family. Jo Ann Brown

remember the last time she—or any other female—had been invited into it.

      What a surprise! And she had hated surprises ever since she got such a public one when Franklin failed to appear for the first reading of their wedding banns.

      As if she had given voice to her astonishment, Venton said quietly, “His lordship has been reading there all afternoon, and he had planned to take his tea there.”

      “Thank you, Venton,” she replied as she walked past him. She understood what he had not said. Papa’s gout must be plaguing him again. The painful condition was the primary reason that he had turned over so many of the duties of Cothaire to her and her brother Arthur as well as her sister, Caroline, the oldest sibling, who acted as Papa’s hostess.

      The smoking room lay beyond the main dining room. Like the drawing room, where the ladies could withdraw from the table, the smoking room allowed the men to converse more easily and blow a cloud of tobacco smoke if they pleased.

      That strong odor greeted Susanna when she knocked on the door and her father called for her to enter. Chairs were arranged for the ease of conversation in front of a huge hearth. On every wall hung either swords and pistols or pictures of foxhounds and horses. Some of the portraits of horses were life-size and dominated the room.

      “Ah, my dear,” said her father with a wide smile. “Do come in.”

      Harold Trelawney, the Earl of Launceston, still had the tautly sculptured face that he had passed on to his sons. His hair, once as ebony as his children’s, was laced with silver that matched the color of his eyes. Only Susanna had inherited his silver-gray eyes; her siblings’ eyes were crystal blue like their late mother’s.

      Papa did not rise. She did not expect him to when he suffered from another acute episode of gout.

      However, another man stood from a chair that had its back to the door. Her eyes followed, astonished by the height of the dark-haired stranger. Strong muscles moved lithely beneath his navy blue coat, and her heartbeat faltered, then raced like a runaway horse. As he turned to face her, she found herself captured by the brownest eyes she had ever seen, and breathing suddenly seemed a chore. A deep tan told her that he was a man accustomed to working outside.

      As his gaze swept over her, she forced herself to breathe normally so he would not guess the unsettling effect he had on her. She could not chide him because she had been staring at him boldly. She lowered her eyes demurely and continued to appraise him from beneath her lashes.

      The lines at the corners of his eyes suggested that he smiled often and easily. Perhaps so, but he was not smiling now. His mouth was drawn into a straight line, and his ebony brows lowered in a scowl. By his sides, his hands opened and closed with what looked like impatience. Was he in a hurry to be done with whatever business had brought him to Cothaire? Or was some emotion stronger than restlessness gripping him?

      Into the silence that had settled on the room, Papa said, “This is my youngest, Lady Susanna. My dear, may I introduce you to Drake Nesbitt?”

      “How do you do, Mr. Nesbitt?” She noticed the line of dried salt on the knees of his pale brown breeches and sodden black boots. Had he been wading in the harbor without taking off his boots?

      “Captain Nesbitt,” he corrected so coolly that the temperature in the room seemed to drop a dozen degrees.

      Captain Drake Nesbitt? That explained, at least, why his clothing was stained with salt. But why was he here? Ships often sailed into Porthlowen Harbor without their captains coming to Cothaire.

      Fighting to keep her voice even, she asked, “Papa, what do you wish of me?”

      “I want you to...” He shifted, and a groan slipped past his tight lips. He motioned her to remain where she was when she started to step forward.

      Susanna complied because his left leg was already wrapped in wool cloths. She knew they had been soaked in boiled goutweed in the hope of easing his pain. There was nothing more she could do.

      “My lord,” Captain Nesbitt said, “time is of the essence.”

      She frowned at his lack of compassion.

      Before she could say anything, her father replied, “That is true. Please listen closely, Susanna, while I explain what has brought Captain Nesbitt here.” He quickly outlined an astounding tale of a small boat drifting into Porthlowen Harbor carrying a cargo of six small children.

      More than once, she swallowed a question as she glanced from Captain Nesbitt to her father and back. Captain Nesbitt nodded each time to confirm what Papa said. Not that she did not believe her father, but the tale was unbelievable.

      “Where are the children now?” she asked when her father paused.

      “Still on the shore,” Captain Nesbitt answered. “I thought to obtain some guidance before I did anything further.”

      “But those poor children must be hungry!” She frowned at Captain Nesbitt. “And frightened and filthy.”

      “That is why I ordered my crew to find something for them to eat. My greatest concern is for the youngest child. It cannot be more than a few months old, and it needs a mother’s milk.”

      Before she could answer, Papa said, “Susanna, I am certain that putting this problem in your competent hands is the best solution. I trust you and Captain Nesbitt are capable of handling it.”

      She opened her mouth to protest. To say she was the wrong one to see to the children. Her reaction had nothing to do with the many tasks she managed in the house. It had everything to do with Captain Nesbitt. She did not like how her heart seemed to beat a bit faster when he looked in her direction. Until she knew she could control that rebellious organ, which had led her to betrayal once, she preferred not to spend a single moment in his company.

      But her wishes were unimportant when her father could hardly move. She would do as Papa requested and see to the needs of those abandoned children. She reached for the bell on a table by her father’s chair and rang it. Hard.

      Baricoat appeared instantly. The butler had a knack for knowing the family would be ringing for him even before they picked up the bell.

      She gave quick orders. A footman was dispatched to have a carriage brought. Another ran to the kitchen with a request for a hearty tea to be ready for the children upon their arrival. A third headed for the village to see if one of the young mothers who had recently given birth would share her milk with a foundling. In the meantime, she had no doubts Mrs. Ford could devise something to feed the baby.

      When a maid arrived with a straw bonnet, a pair of kid gloves and a light shawl, Susanna donned them. She walked out of the room, still giving orders to check the nursery that had been closed up since she left it herself years ago. Baricoat offered to prepare a list of what needed to be done to make the nursery suitable for the children.

      “Thank you, Baricoat,” she said. Looking over her shoulder, she added, “Captain Nesbitt, aren’t you coming?”

      His mouth straightened again, but he spoke a gracious farewell to her father before following her to the entry hall. When the door was opened, a small carriage waited by the front steps.

      The coachman handed her into the carriage, then stepped aside to allow Captain Nesbitt to enter. For a moment, the captain hesitated, glancing at the seat where the coachman was settling himself and picking up the reins. Then he climbed in and sat beside her, leaving as much space between them as possible.

      She was tempted to tell him that she was no more in favor of the arrangement than he was. Instead, she called to the coachee to get them under way. The sooner she reached the village and collected the children, the sooner she could be rid of Captain Nesbitt. And the sooner she could regain her composure that was jeopardized each time Captain Nesbitt’s dark eyes caught her gaze.

      It could not be fast enough.

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