Dunham

Chapter 42

42

"Marianne, I understand and respect your concerns," Marquess Rathbone said the next morning as he paced in front of Celia and her mother, seated comfortably in the library Celia had not touched since Rathbone's return. "But I am also in complete sympathy to your husband's position."

"But my lord," Mary murmured. "Surely it cannot have escaped your notice that he did not attempt any rescue at all, much less go to the lengths you have gone. What honorable man would not pursue his family's captors if he has the means to do so? You cannot imagine our suffering, and now to know he did not even bother ... "

Lord Rathbone took a deep breath and turned away from them, his hands behind his back, his head bowed.

"I don't ken that, either, Marianne," he said low. "I cannot explain it and I cannot demand an answer because he is my commanding officer. I do believe he regrets it."

Regret?

Lord Rathbone began to pace and Celia kept her face carefully down while following his every move from under her eyelashes and in her periphery, as she would not be put off her guard. Being this close to him, this involved in conversation, in truth terrified her.

But Celia was not expected to speak. She might not be capable of speech even if she were, as her heart drummed so hard and so loudly she feared Rathbone could hear it.

He went to his window and looked out upon the darkened glass that had raindrops running down it, sparkling in the candlelight. He had one hand on his hip and the other was massaging the bridge of his nose.

"I will not have her taken away from me," Mary pronounced. "Not after she has been lost to me for so long."

He sighed. "The court has decided, Marianne, and I'll not finance an appeal. She will have to—"

"My lord," came the grave voice of the butler at the door of the library. The marquess waved a hand. "You have a caller. He claims to have personal knowledge of the Lady Captain Fury."

Celia's heart nigh leapt out of her chest, but Rathbone only harrumphed. "Another one. Send him in. One of these days, someone will appear with real information. Not even my house guests who spent weeks aboard her bloody ship can give me anything useful," he grumbled.

As if the day had dawned with the express intent of making Celia's life a living hell, in was shown Marcus Zimmerman, who had endured his flogging and recuperation, but not well or with any dignity.

He approached with the affect of a penitent, his clothes ratty, his face filthy, and his cap in hand. "My lord," he said, and bowed.

"Yes, yes, yes. Who are you and how do you come to know Fury?" Zimmerman glanced at Celia and her mother, but Rathbone said, "Get on with it, man. I have more important business with these two than with you."

"I was on the Thunderstorm when she blew the blockade."

That got her uncle's attention. "Really," he drawled. "What is your name and how came you to seek a berth with her? What were your duties?"

"Marcus Zimmerman, my lord. I needed passage and funds, and was set to various chores needing great strength to accomplish."

Rathbone's mouth pursed and he studied Zimmerman for a moment until the man became more twitchy than Celia had ever seen him. "You've the look of trouble about you, Zimmerman, and whatever else she is, Fury is not careless. I can't imagine she approved of you."

"She didn't. Her bo'sun hired me."

"Aye then. Why are you here, and make it concise."

"I know where her ship is."