The Captain's Christmas Family. Deborah Hale

       “Please, sir. Perhaps I have let things slide around here of late.” The man looked a proper picture of repentance. “But if you give me another chance, I’ll lick the estate into shape. So help me, I will.”

       Though he knew the importance of decisiveness in maintaining command, Gideon hesitated. Granting second chances had not worked well for him in the past. One might argue that it had contributed to his present predicament. Too often, offenders looked on such a reprieve as a sign of weakness to be further exploited. And yet, there was Dutton’s family to consider. His wife and children had done nothing wrong, but they would suffer for his conduct, perhaps more than he.

       “A fortnight.” Gideon fixed the man with his sternest scowl, so Dutton would be in no doubt this was an undeserved opportunity he had better not abuse. “I will give you that long to persuade me you are worth keeping.”

       Ignoring the man’s effusive thanks, Gideon turned on his heel and strode away. He hoped this decision would not prove as much a mistake as his last one.

       Making certain Cissy and Dolly did not disturb Captain Radcliffe was proving a great deal harder than she had expected. Marian reflected on that difficulty as she put the girls to bed one evening, a week after his arrival at Knightley Park.

       Part of the problem was the captain’s unpredictable comings and goings. She could never tell when he might be spending time in the house, out roaming the grounds or riding off around the estate. If she knew, perhaps she could have adjusted the children’s schedule of lessons to take advantage of his absences. As it was, she could not take the chance of encountering him out in the garden or on their way down to the music room.

       Since their disastrous run-in, Dolly had taken an unaccountable fancy to the captain and would no doubt pester him for attention if they met again. Cissy clearly resented his presence and might offend him with a rude remark.

       Neither of the girls took kindly to being confined to the nursery after enjoying the run of the house during their father’s time. Just that morning, the governess had overheard Cissy muttering about being “kept prisoner.”

       Marian found it difficult to discourage such an attitude, since it mirrored her own far too closely. In all her time at Knightley Park, and especially after Mr. Radcliffe’s death, she’d felt at liberty to come and go as she pleased, even free to borrow books from the well stocked library. Wistfully, she recalled the master’s hospitable answer when she’d first asked if she could.

       “By all means, Miss Murray! Those books might as well serve some better purpose than giving the maids more things to dust.”

       Since Captain Radcliffe’s arrival, she had not even dared return the last volume she’d borrowed for fear of meeting up with him. Considering the captain’s reluctance to have his young cousins around, Marian doubted he would tolerate a servant making use of his library. She knew she must soon put it back, before he noticed its absence and blamed someone else.

       Perhaps now would be a good time, with the girls off to bed and the captain occupied with his dinner.

       “I won’t be long, Martha,” she informed the nursery maid, who sat by the fire darning one of Dolly’s stockings. “Just a quick errand I have to run.”

       And run she did—first to her own room to fetch the book, then down the back stairs. She was in such a hurry that she nearly collided with the butler on the landing.

       Poor Mr. Culpepper seemed more agitated than ever. “Miss Murray, have you heard? Mr. Dutton has been threatened with dismissal! I fear I shall be put on notice next.”

       The news about the steward did not come as a great surprise to Marian. Though she was working hard to make sure Captain Radcliffe was not conscious of the girls’ presence in the house, she found herself constantly aware of his. It was as if a salty ocean breeze had blown all the way into the landlocked heart of England, bearing with it a host of unwelcome changes.

       “These naval men have most exacting standards.” Mr. Culpepper wrung his hands. “At my age, where should I go if I am turned out of Knightley Park?”

       Marian bristled at the thought of such a good and faithful servant treated so shabbily. “Has Captain Radcliffe complained about the running of the house?”

       The butler shook his head. “Not in so many words. But he is so very quiet and solemn, just the way he was as a boy. Who knows what plans he may be making? He is so little like his cousin, one would scarcely believe they could be of the same blood.”

       That was true enough. The girls’ jovial, generous father had been a down-to-earth country squire devoted to his children, his horses and his dogs. His cousin seemed distinctly uncomfortable with all three.

       “Don’t fret yourself, Mr. Culpepper. I’m sure the captain would tell you soon enough if the housekeeping was not up to his standards. He seems the type that’s quick to find fault. Silence is as close to praise as you can hope for from him.”

       The furrows of worry in the butler’s forehead relaxed a trifle. “I hope you are right, Miss Murray. I will endeavor to remain calm and go about my duties.”

       “Good.” Marian flashed him an encouraging smile, pleased that she had been able to ease his fears a little. “That’s all any of us can do, I reckon.”

       As she continued on down the stairs, Marian strove to heed her own advice, though it wasn’t easy. She would have feared the captain’s disapproval less if her position was the only thing at stake. But with the children’s welfare hanging in the balance, she could not afford to put a foot wrong.

       As she tiptoed past the dining room, the muted clink of silverware on china assured her the captain was busy eating his dinner. A few moments later, as she hurried back from the library, a sudden crash from inside the dining room made her start violently. It sounded as if a piece of china had been hurled to the floor and smashed into a hundred pieces. The noise was immediately followed by a wail of distress from Bessie, a nervous, and often clumsy, housemaid. What had the captain done to make the poor lass take on so?

       Marian marched toward the dining room, not certain how she meant to intervene but compelled to do what she could to defend the girl.

       She was about to fling open the door when she heard Bessie sob, “I’m s-sorry, s-s-ir! Have I burnt ye with that tea? I told Mr. Culpepper I’m too ham-fisted to be waiting table. Now ye’ll send me packing and I wouldn’t blame ye!”

       So it was Bessie who had fumbled a teacup. A qualm of shame gripped Marian’s stomach as she realized she had once again jumped to a most uncharitable conclusion about Captain Radcliffe.

       His reply to Bessie made Marian feel even worse. “Don’t trouble yourself. If Mr. Culpepper asks, you must tell him it was my fault. I am not accustomed to handling such delicate china. Now dry your eyes, sweep up the mess and think no more of it.”

       As Marian fled back to the nursery, her conscience chided her for all the harsh things she’d thought and said about Captain Radcliffe since his arrival. She should have been grateful to him for allowing Cissy and Dolly to stay at Knightley Park when he’d been under no obligation to keep them here. Instead, she’d compared him unfavorably with his cousin and held those differences against him. She’d resented the loss of a few petty privileges, as if they’d been hers by right rather than by favor. Worst of all, she had allowed mean-spirited rumors to poison her opinion of the man without giving him a fair opportunity to prove his worth.

       Clearly she needed to pay greater heed to her Bible, especially the part that counseled “judge not, lest ye be judged.” It might be that, in the eyes of God, Captain Radcliffe had a great deal less to answer for than she.

      Chapter Three

      Coming to Knightley Park had clearly been a huge mistake. As Gideon returned to the house after several frustrating hours reviewing the steward’s progress, he reflected on his folly.

       He had come to Nottinghamshire