Excerpt: His Vow to Keep

Chapter One

Retired Captain Gordon Coventry stared at his reflection. For a moment, the looking glass reflected an image from his past—brilliant green eyes narrowed, silently challenging him to remember a time when he was whole and had been promoted to a captaincy, a time before the naval battle that had irrevocably altered his life.

The image blurred to reflect the diminutive dark-haired beauty who’d captured his heart. The scent of lilacs surrounded him as he drew the lovely Samantha into his embrace, daring to press a kiss to her upturned lips, sealing his promise to come back and ask for her hand in marriage. As he held her to his heart, she vowed to wait for him, to write to him.

The image wavered, and he was faced with a truth he could not change. His one green eye and empty eye socket mocked him. His right arm rested in a sling—a daily reminder that he no longer possessed the same strength he used to when he’d wrap his arms around the woman he loved. The stark reality of his new status in life had nearly crippled what was left of him as he lay in a hospital bed praying for death.

Samantha had not waited for him—and she bloody well hadn’t written to him!

He fought the urge to plant his fist in the looking glass, shattering his reflection as the deadly splintered shards of the HMS Polyphemus’ main mast had shattered his life!

The knock on the door interrupted his black thoughts. He scrubbed a hand over his face, slipped the black eye patch into place and turned his back on what he could not change.

“Come in.”

Miranda Thompson, his widowed landlady, bustled into the room carrying a tray with his breakfast. Her son followed in her wake with two pitchers of water—one hot, the other cold.

He shoved his troubled thoughts and damning memories to the back of his mind and greeted the pair. “What a welcome sight on this chilly day.”

“I know it’s earlier than customary, Captain.” She placed the tray she carried on the table beneath the window. “Being as how you mentioned an early morning appointment, I wanted—”

“Don’t you mean to say, we, Mum?” her son interrupted.

Coventry smiled at him. Though still slight in build, the young man’s wiry frame belied the strength he knew the youth possessed. He’d proven it over the last two years acting as Coventry’s valet while he was in town.

“Yes, of course, Michael.” His mother smiled at her son before continuing, “We wanted to make sure you had plenty of hot water and a hearty breakfast. Can’t have you dashing off to answer the duke’s summons on an empty stomach.” She glanced out the window. “It’s starting to snow.”

He looked out of the window and back to her. “Thank you, Mrs. Thompson. It should not amount to much. No matter where I am, no matter the day, the time—or the weather, I shall always answer a summons from him. I’ve known the Duke of Wyndmere for more than a decade. His father saved my life in that hospital.”

She bit her bottom lip, reminding him of his most recent dream—a dream in which he savored the sweetness of her supple mouth. Vaguely aware that she had spoken, he blinked, and the dream evaporated. “I beg your pardon, what did you say?”

Mrs. Thompson frowned at him. “Are you ill? You’ve lost a bit of color just now. Michael, help Captain Coventry into the chair by the table.”

Coventry cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”

Michael nodded and walked past them to the smaller room and set the water pitchers on the table beside the bed. “Would you like me to shave you before or after breakfast?”

Coventry had managed on his own for a time, but usually looked a bit on the ragged side. The ribbon wrapped queue that held his hair away from his face was bloody difficult to fashion, even if he had had the full range of motion in both arms.

He retrained himself to use his left arm, but there were some tasks that he could not do. Aside from the queue, sharpening his straight razor on a leather strop had been a challenge. A brief glance at the black sling he wore reminded him of the last time he’d attempted to use his strop. One end had been fastened to a hook on the wall, while he had tied off the other end to the back of a chair. The resounding crash—when the chair hit the floor, had his landlady pounding on his door, demanding to know if he’d injured himself.

Good God that was mortifying! Summing up the situation quickly, Widow Thompson came up with the inspired idea of her son becoming Coventry’s valet. That was two years ago. The lad had learned quickly and become indispensable to him. As more and more of Coventry’s time was consumed with the duke and his family, a ragged appearance was no longer acceptable. He owed the duke and his family for his livelihood. He would not shame them.

“Shave first, I think, Michael.” Turning to his landlady, he bowed, “Thank you for delivering my breakfast and my trusted valet.”

“Your breakfast will get cold,” she admonished.

“I’d rather eat a lukewarm breakfast than have Michael try to shave my face with cold water.”

She considered his words before conceding, “I see your point. I should have waited to bring your breakfast. Shall I take it with me and keep it warm for you?”

Her concern touched a chord deep within him. Though he reveled in fact that she cared, he had never made any untoward advances, or gave any indication that he was enamored of her. He was not whole—he was but half a man. Miranda Thompson deserved more.

Steeling himself against the need to place his hand on her arm to reassure her, he murmured, “Not necessary. I’ve spent a good deal of my life eating cold food and rations not fit for human consumption.”

Her smile slipped, and he could have kicked himself. He tried not to refer to his time spent in the Royal Navy. She did not need to be reminded her husband had perished during the same battle that had crippled Coventry.

Instead of the reaction he’d feared, she was quick to reply, “Michael often wrote about the weevils in the hardtack.”

Her son grinned. “Can you imagine, pounding one of those dried biscuits on the table and watching them fall out and writhe on your plate? Worse yet, dunking the hardtack in water or coffee to soften it, and then having to skim the weevils or larvae out before you could drink it?”

Coventry coughed to cover his laugh.

The boy’s mother covered her face with her hands. “I cannot believe you’d repeat that story I told you in polite company!”

Her son laughed out loud. “The captain’s not polite—”

“Michael!” she interrupted. “Apologize at once. Captain Coventry is most definitely polite company!”

“Sorry, sir,” he mumbled.

“He is a hero from the same battle that took your father’s life,” she rasped.

Coventry saw tears gather in eyes the color of storm clouds over the English Channel. “I’m not offended at all. Please do not trouble yourselves on my account.”

Holding her gaze, he watched the tears cling to her long, dark lashes for a moment before she blinked them away. Miranda Thompson had a calm disposition, a willingness to help others, and a laugh that warmed his heart. All of which had helped him along his road to recovery.

She frowned at her son. “Nevertheless, an apology is in order.”

“I apologized, Mum.”

“It was bit underwhelming. You can do better.”

Rather than interrupt as she was instructing her son, he kept his thoughts to himself and watched the byplay with interest. He’d long admired Miranda’s strength and resolve the first time he’d seen her when she’d come to the infirmary where he and the others wounded in battle had been delivered once their ships had docked.

Her smiled never faltered as she tirelessly worked to bring a bit of cheer to those injured with her sweet smile, soft voice, and calm demeanor. Recovering from the loss of his eye and injured limb, he’d heard her mention her two-year-old son.  From that moment on, he had something else to concentrate on. Rather than feeling sorry for what had been—he concentrated on how he could keep his promise and help his friend’s widow and son.

How would she manage? Was she receiving Michael’s pension? He’d heard that there were some who were still waiting for the funds to be released. He remembered Michael had no other family but did not know if Miranda did. Coventry vowed to see that she had a place to live, food to eat, and proper care for her young son.

The Fourth Duke of Wyndmere had made all of that possible the moment he’d taken Coventry under his wing, allowing him to recover at Wyndmere Hall. He’d given him the job of seeing that his middle son, Jared, did not follow in his older brother’s footsteps down the road to perdition. The two had formed a friendship that strengthened after the death of Jared’s father and older brother, to where it was today—Coventry held the position of trusted friend and London man-of-affairs to the Sixth Duke of Wyndmere.

“I am mortal sorry to have suggested that you were not polite company, Captain.”

The young man’s words were sincerely meant. “Apology accepted. Now…about that shave.”

Mrs. Thompson shook her head at the two of them. “I shall be downstairs should either of you need me.”

“Thank you,” Coventry rumbled as he held the door for her. Closing it behind her, he watched her son sharpening the razor on the strop. “Do you think we could convince your mother to allow you to accompany me to Wyndmere Hall?”

Michael’s hand stilled. “The duke’s home?”

Coventry nodded.

“In the Lake District?”

Again, he nodded.

“Why?”

“I normally have to ask one of the duke’s servants to stand in as my valet when I visit,” he explained. “Now that you’re older—”

“I’m nearly ten and three!” Michael informed him as he straightened to his full height just a few inches shorter than Coventry.

Coventry smiled. He remembered being that age and ready to take on the world. He had no idea the world would do its best to destroy his youthful hopes and dreams. Setting those dark thoughts aside, he continued, “I would be honored if you would accompany me.”

Michael’s eyes rounded. “Would I meet the duke?”

“Assuredly.”

“And the duchess?”

“Definitely. As well as the duke’s personal guard, who would no doubt be taking your measure, having investigated you fully by the time we arrive.”

“Why would they?”

“It is the most important part of their job to see that the duke and his family are protected. There are, and have been, unscrupulous individuals who would seek to harm the duke and his family.”

Michael motioned for Coventry to sit. While he worked up a lather with warm water and a sliver of soap, he said, “I have heard rumors. Me mum’s real proud of the work you do for the duke.” He smoothed soap on the captain’s face and carefully shaved him.

When he finished, Coventry added, “I am enormously proud of the way you take care of your mother and your efficient way of handling the job of valet.”

The boy beamed and handed a damp cloth to Coventry, who wiped the excess soap from his face while the boy unwrapped his queue.

Coventry’s thoughts returned to the boy’s mother. He’d admired Miranda for years and had been instrumental in her gaining the position of landlady for the building he lived in. With what the duke paid him, he could have lived in finer lodgings, but he would not have been able to keep an eye on the pair who had become family to him. Though he never tried to take the place of the husband she lost, he made certain they had a roof over their heads, food to eat, and clothes to wear—without Miranda suspecting that he was their anonymous benefactor all these years. His need to protect Miranda and her son was only eclipsed by the overwhelming need to see her every day.

Her sweet smile had been his reason for rising to meet each day, though he’d done so with trepidation as he slowly accepted his lot in life and the fact that he would never be whole again. He was no longer able to serve King and Country or perform everyday tasks he’d never given a second thought to.

Her warm greeting, hot breakfast, and sweet smile—in spite of the fact that she faced hardships of her own without complaint, gave him the strength to face his.

There were times when he thought he’d noted a spark of interest in her storm-gray eyes, but she would blink or look away, and it would be gone, leaving him to wonder if he’d imagined it. Recently, she seemed to be wrestling with a problem that had her frowning more often than not.

He wanted to ask her about it but didn’t want to pry. Though she lived in the apartment below him, he would never think to intrude into her life more than he already had securing a situation that included a place for her and young Michael to live when they needed it most.

Unable to wait until Miranda confided her worry, he asked her son, “Is there anything bothering your mother as of late?”

The young man stopped for a moment, then continued to smooth the comb through Coventry’s long blond hair before beginning the intricate process of fastening it military style. “I think she’s worried about me striking out on my own.”

Coventry’s offer of having Michael accompany him to Wyndmere Hall would have him doing just that—leaving Miranda alone and during her favorite time of year preparing for the Christmas holiday. He could have kicked himself for not thinking it through. Every year, he accompanied them to purchase greens, and the holly and the ivy that Miranda insisted were all important.

“Do you have something in mind? Mayhap an apprenticeship to a specific trade?” He silently prayed Michael did not want to enlist in the Royal Navy.

Securing the ends of the ribbon, he stepped back. “There, all finished.”

Coventry stood knowing he would need to acknowledge the lad was on the verge of manhood, ready to take life on with both hands. He vowed to do all in his power to see that Michael would not be maimed—or give his life for the greater good. Michael’s father had sacrificed his life, but he would see to that his son did not.

A glance in the looking glass, a stroke across his clean-shaven face and he nodded. “Excellent job. My thanks.”

When Michael busied himself straightening up, Coventry prodded, “You did not answer my question.”

He paused and turned to face Coventry. “I’ve told my mum I want to join the Royal Navy just like my father.” His intense gray eyes met Coventry’s and he added, “Just like you.”

His mind whirled as Michael’s words and his own silent fears filled him. Coventry was proud of his service to his king and his country. Michael was a lad he felt responsible for, he could not countenance the young man joining the Royal Navy knowing the brutality of the sea battles, let alone life aboard one of His Majesty’s ships.

“I see. Now I understand your mother’s worry.”

“She cannot stop me.” Michael gaze held his as he challenged, “Neither can you.”

“Have you given a thought to what this might mean as far as your mother’s working and living situation?”

The younger man shrugged. “A passing one.”

“Did that passing thought include the logistics of how your mother would continue to fetch and carry water up and down the stairs for the other men who rent lodgings in the building?”

Michael’s mouth gaped open, and his eyes gave away the truth. He had not.

“Why don’t we take this one step at a time, so your mother can get used to the fact that you’re ready to go off and live your own life. Parents do understand it is an eventuality but are not often prepared to face the time when it comes.”

“How would you know? You’re not a parent.” Michael paused. “Are you?”

Coventry shook his head. “I am not. Nor was I ever married, but I was going to offer marriage to the woman who promised to wait for my return from battle.”

“Trafalgar?”

“Aye.”

Michael hesitated before asking, “Did she wait for you?”

Coventry sighed. “She did.”

“But you just said you never married.”

“When she’d heard I’d been injured, she sent her lady’s maid to see me.”

“She did not come herself?”

“No.”

“I gather her maid reported the extent of your injuries.”

“Apparently the maid collapsed outside of the hospital. Her maid’s horrified reaction was answer enough.”

“You never heard from her again, did you.”

Coventry sighed. “It was for the best. I had a long and arduous recovery ahead of me, helped along by the Duke of Wyndmere and you and your mother.”

“The current one?”

Coventry found his first smile. “Ah, no. His father, the fourth duke.”

“What happened to the fifth duke?” Michael wanted to know.

“His overwhelming desire to wager on the turn of a card and seeking the company of married women led to his untimely end.”

Michael’s eyes widened. “I see.”

Now wasn’t the time to enlighten the lad as to the scandalous end of the fourth duke. “The current duke is a man of honor, as is his brother the earl. They are cut from the same cloth as their father.”

“My mum has spoken of him now and again. He’s had some troubles, hasn’t he?”

“It is not my place to speak of such,” he told the younger man. “I can tell you he has worked tirelessly to restore his family’s good name and their coffers. I am proud to assist him as his man-of-affairs and honored to be among his close friends.”

The sound of footsteps outside his door, had Coventry drawing in a deep breath. “Before your mother arrives, will you hold off on your decision to join the navy until we return from our trip to Wyndmere Hall.”

Michael nodded, then ran a hand through his hair. “We haven’t asked Mum yet if I could accompany you.”

The knock on the door had Coventry smiling. “Now is our chance.”

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