Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(96)
The words were slow and deliberate, and he waited as, with crushing slowness, the full weight of the name dawned on the daughter. Shanna’s mouth opened as if she would speak, but no words came. Her eyes turned their burning question upward to the tall captain.
“Aye, madam.” His rich voice rumbled again. “We shall have to discuss this at length, ere my own good wife disowns me for a knave.”
“Later perhaps, captain.” Orlan Trahern cut short any further conversation. “I must be on my way. If you will excuse us, sir. And will you join me, Shanna, my dear, for a ride back to the house?”
Numbly Shanna nodded her assent, unable to shape a comment. Trahern gently guided her to the rail, there pausing as he called back over his shoulder.
“Captain Beauchamp.”
Shanna flinched at the name.
“I shall send a carriage for you and your men later.”
Without waiting for a reply, the squire departed from the ship, leading his mute and confused daughter on his arm. The captain strode to the rail, leaning against it as he watched the barouche swing about and disappear around the corner of a warehouse.
Shanna paused outside the drawing room door as she recognized Captain Beauchamp’s voice replying to Pitney. Ralston interrupted, cutting him short, but that deep, confident voice was unmistakable. Shanna clenched trembling hands together, trying to calm herself, and cast a glance toward the front door where Jason stood tall and silent.
“Jason,” she asked softly. “Has Mister Ruark arrived yet?”
“No, madam. He sent a note by a boy from the mill. There has been some difficulty, and he will need to remain there.”
“The wily knave!” Shanna thought. “He’s left me to flounder about for the explanations! I don’t even know if he’s really a Beauchamp. For all I know, he might have borrowed the name. So what then is that bloody beggar’s name? And my name? Madam John Ruark?” Shanna groaned inwardly. “Heaven forbid!”
Panic almost made her flee like a coward to the safety of her chambers, but she struck down the corrosive feelings which ate her composure away.
Soothing her raging emotions with the single thought, “I am Madam Beauchamp,” Shanna smoothed the multiple yards of pale pink satin cast with the iridescent luster of pearls. Delicate pink lace, dainty as the tiny satin rosebuds which caught the billowing skirt into little tufts, cascaded to the floor between twin borders of ruching. At mid-arm the same rich lace was gathered in flounces, and a narrow satin ribbon was tied about her slim, graceful throat where the lace had been stiffened to frame the expanse of flawless skin.
Shanna was just touching a hand to her elaborately woven coiffure when the young third mate who had ushered her aboard the Sea Hawk strode near the door to set his empty glass on a small table there. When his eyes discovered her, he came to a halt and almost gaped.
“Madam Beauchamp!” he beamed, recovering himself. “What a lovely—” His eyes dipped to the high curves of her bosom displayed above her gown, and he stammered, blushed, and collected himself once more. “Ah—home you have here.”
Conversation in the room ceased and thus having been announced, Shanna could no longer hesitate. Forcing a smile, she swept gracefully into the room, lightly resting her hands on the wide panniered skirt to keep it from swaying too much. She was a vision men struggled to grasp as reality, and it was all too obvious the junior officer of the Sea Hawk was smitten. He stumbled in a parody of a bow when she paused before him, then flushed with pleasure as she bestowed the brillance of her smile on him, ignoring his clumsiness. A long sigh escaped him as she turned to her father who had come across the room to greet her. Brushing aside the gawking young men who had come with their captain, Orlan Trahern was obviously filled with pride as he presented his daughter to them. Throughout the introductions, Shanna was aware of Nathanial watching her with a slow, steady regard and was puzzled at his frown as his junior officer slipped through the press of admirers to stand beside her. She was also conscious that Ralston’s attention seemed more acute than usual, but she gave him little thought, not really caring what the man had on his mind.
The duties over, and secure on her father’s arm, Shanna paused before the colonial captain.
“Sir, it quite bemuses me how we’ve come to have the same name. Have you kin in England, mayhap?”
Nathanial Beauchamp smiled, and the brown eyes twinkled their humor as he looked down at her. “Madam, I came by the name quite honestly as my parents gave it to me. What we shall really have to discuss is how you came by it. Of course, all Beauchamps are kin in one way or another. Though we’ve had our rogues, pirates, and a blackguard or two, the name seems to recur with amazing regularity.”