Read Online The Captain's Lady by Louise M. Gouge - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louise M. Gouge
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Hurts. Never thought—”
“Shh.” Marianne rushed to him. “Rest easy, Robert dear.” She dampened another fresh cloth for his forehead. “You’re safe at home.”
He turned his bloodshot eyes toward her. “Merry.” Then beyond her. “Miss Kendall. Ian.” A wry smile lifted one corner of his lips. “I say, have you all kept vigil? Am I going to die?” A sardonic tone accompanied his gaze around the room. “What, Father did not come to bid me farewell?”
“No, Robert.” Her heart aching for him, Marianne applied the compress. “We did not wake him.”
“No, of course not.” Robert grunted. “By all means, do not disturb the patriarch.” His bitter tone cut into her. “FineChristian father that he is.” He closed his eyes and leaned into the cold cloth as she pressed it against his temple.
She swallowed an urge to reprimand him. “Shh. You must rest.”
“Hmm.” He rolled his head toward Jamie. “I say, Templeton, how did you enjoy your first night out in London?” He chuckled, then coughed and again clutched at his injury.
Standing on the opposite side of the bed, Jamie glanced at Marianne and then frowned down at Robert. “Can’t say I’d like to repeat it.” Again he looked at her, this time with a question in his eyes.
Without a word spoken, she understood him and quietly resumed her place beside Grace. Surely after this night, Jamie would see how well they worked together. How they could communicate without speaking. How their very souls were knit together in purpose.
A sense of urgency pulsed through Jamie. Many times he’d seen a wounded man become receptive toward God’s call at the height of his pain, only to recover and forget his mortality. Jamie had not a single doubt that the Lord had permitted this attack to capture Moberly’s attention. But where to begin? Jamie already had learned much from Reverend Bentley’s tutoring, especially that these aristocrats could take offense if wrongly addressed. But he must not lose this opportunity. Wisdom, please, Lord.
“You must forgive us for not waking Lord Bennington. Our main concern was tending your wounds and seeing you rested.”
Moberly shrugged against his pillow. “I doubt he would have been concerned.” The pain ripping across his face appeared more like damaged emotions than an injured body.
Jamie sat on the edge of the bed, hoping to set a mood offamiliarity. Hoping Moberly would not be offended. “My friend, even the tenderest of earthly fathers can disappoint us.”
Moberly snorted, then cried out and grabbed his chest. “What is this? What happened to me?” Teeth gritted, he shoved away the goose down cover and clawed at his nightshirt.
Jamie grasped his hands. “I recommend you leave it alone, sir. You received a nasty knife wound, but Blevins stitched it together very nicely. Let’s don’t break it open.”
Moberly’s eyes widened. He touched the area with his fingertips. “Right over my heart. I might’ve died.” He slumped back and looked vacantly toward the bed’s canopy. “I might have died.”
“God’s mercy was on you,” Jamie said. “No mistaking that.”
“Yes,” Moberly whispered. His gaze returned to Jamie. “Yes.” A stronger tone. “Thank God. And you.” His eyes grew red and moist. “You saved my life.”
Jamie leaned a bit closer. “Perhaps. But I was merely God’s instrument. You’re right to thank Him.”
Moberly gave out a mirthless laugh. “But why would He bother when my own father regards me as a parasite and cares not whether I live or die?”
His words slammed into Jamie’s heart. How could anyone understand why Lord Bennington treated his sons so callously? “My friend, God desires to be a father to you. He longs to save your eternal soul. This is why you didn’t die in the street last night.”
Moberly appeared to consider the idea, and fear filled his face. “No. I have waited too long, done too much—”
“No.” Jamie gripped his arm
“Shh.” Marianne rushed to him. “Rest easy, Robert dear.” She dampened another fresh cloth for his forehead. “You’re safe at home.”
He turned his bloodshot eyes toward her. “Merry.” Then beyond her. “Miss Kendall. Ian.” A wry smile lifted one corner of his lips. “I say, have you all kept vigil? Am I going to die?” A sardonic tone accompanied his gaze around the room. “What, Father did not come to bid me farewell?”
“No, Robert.” Her heart aching for him, Marianne applied the compress. “We did not wake him.”
“No, of course not.” Robert grunted. “By all means, do not disturb the patriarch.” His bitter tone cut into her. “FineChristian father that he is.” He closed his eyes and leaned into the cold cloth as she pressed it against his temple.
She swallowed an urge to reprimand him. “Shh. You must rest.”
“Hmm.” He rolled his head toward Jamie. “I say, Templeton, how did you enjoy your first night out in London?” He chuckled, then coughed and again clutched at his injury.
Standing on the opposite side of the bed, Jamie glanced at Marianne and then frowned down at Robert. “Can’t say I’d like to repeat it.” Again he looked at her, this time with a question in his eyes.
Without a word spoken, she understood him and quietly resumed her place beside Grace. Surely after this night, Jamie would see how well they worked together. How they could communicate without speaking. How their very souls were knit together in purpose.
A sense of urgency pulsed through Jamie. Many times he’d seen a wounded man become receptive toward God’s call at the height of his pain, only to recover and forget his mortality. Jamie had not a single doubt that the Lord had permitted this attack to capture Moberly’s attention. But where to begin? Jamie already had learned much from Reverend Bentley’s tutoring, especially that these aristocrats could take offense if wrongly addressed. But he must not lose this opportunity. Wisdom, please, Lord.
“You must forgive us for not waking Lord Bennington. Our main concern was tending your wounds and seeing you rested.”
Moberly shrugged against his pillow. “I doubt he would have been concerned.” The pain ripping across his face appeared more like damaged emotions than an injured body.
Jamie sat on the edge of the bed, hoping to set a mood offamiliarity. Hoping Moberly would not be offended. “My friend, even the tenderest of earthly fathers can disappoint us.”
Moberly snorted, then cried out and grabbed his chest. “What is this? What happened to me?” Teeth gritted, he shoved away the goose down cover and clawed at his nightshirt.
Jamie grasped his hands. “I recommend you leave it alone, sir. You received a nasty knife wound, but Blevins stitched it together very nicely. Let’s don’t break it open.”
Moberly’s eyes widened. He touched the area with his fingertips. “Right over my heart. I might’ve died.” He slumped back and looked vacantly toward the bed’s canopy. “I might have died.”
“God’s mercy was on you,” Jamie said. “No mistaking that.”
“Yes,” Moberly whispered. His gaze returned to Jamie. “Yes.” A stronger tone. “Thank God. And you.” His eyes grew red and moist. “You saved my life.”
Jamie leaned a bit closer. “Perhaps. But I was merely God’s instrument. You’re right to thank Him.”
Moberly gave out a mirthless laugh. “But why would He bother when my own father regards me as a parasite and cares not whether I live or die?”
His words slammed into Jamie’s heart. How could anyone understand why Lord Bennington treated his sons so callously? “My friend, God desires to be a father to you. He longs to save your eternal soul. This is why you didn’t die in the street last night.”
Moberly appeared to consider the idea, and fear filled his face. “No. I have waited too long, done too much—”
“No.” Jamie gripped his arm
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