Chapter One

Chapter One

Someone’s whole life can rest on a split decision. In the time it would take to blink an eye, a person can be established or undone. Destiny is balanced on finely tipped scales.

He set his course by a moment’s pause. He made up his mind and in that single choice lives would be determined.

“Hold the coach!” he commanded.

“Yes sir!” came back the reply.

“Laurence, you know we are running late. This could mean our heads! We cannot stop here,” said his friend Bennett.

“Five minutes will not make much difference. I must see the Spartan even if it is for a few moments,” replied Laurence.

He left his uniform coat and grabbed his cloak as he stepped out of the coach.

Bennett forebodingly shook his head fearing further delay. They had already lost time on poor road conditions. The Admiralty in London would not be so understanding.

“It would mean our literal heads if we belonged to Napoleon’s navy and not his Majesty’s. The French overwork Madame Guillotine, I am told,” said Andrews.

“Their National Razor will have to shave close to turn back our hero,” Bennett added.

“Who wants to lay odds he will be gone longer than five minutes?” chirped Miles. He figured if he had to wait, that it might as well profit him.

“There’s no point in betting when we know he’ll be late,” responded Andrews.

“A female can’t turn his head, but a ship is another matter altogether,” Miles smirked.

“He’s never been on a seventy-four gunner before. He has most likely swooned in raptures by now,” Andrews said dryly.

“We may have to fetch him in a minute or two and drag him away,” suggested Bennett.

He had hardly spoken the words before Laurence was back in the coach dripping wet.

“Drive on!” he ordered.

The coach lurched forward. All three men had their mouths opened at once trying to ascertain what had happened in those few short minutes. Laurence watched them with a slight smile. He was out of breath and waited for effect.

“Did you decide on a night’s swim?” asked Bennett.

Laurence knew his friend too well to take the offered bait and made no reply.

“Did you lose your balance and fall into the sea?” teased Miles.

“Remember who you are speaking to, Miles!” said Andrews with a twinkle in his eyes. “Laurence’s footing is always sure.”

Laurence smiled through their banter. He could afford to be patient. Taking off his boots, he drained the water from them and rung out his vest.

His friends watched the procedure with impatience. They wanted answers but would have to wait. Laurence was in control and they all knew it.

“Hand me your cloak.”

“Where is yours?” asked Bennett, as he tossed his to Laurence.

“I left it to warm a young lady.”

“What!” they exclaimed at once.

Now Laurence had them where he wanted them: eating out of the palm of his hand.

“Tell us what happened!” Miles implored him.

Laurence chuckled, leaned his head back on the seat, and sighed. He was in no hurry.

“I was running down the quay when I saw a group of young people walking toward me. One silly girl was balancing on the edge. It took no great premonition on my part to see her falling into the ocean. As if on cue, she tumbled and I dove in after her feeling for her hand. When we broke to the surface, I noticed she was not breathing.”

Laurence left his friends hanging out of plain mischief. Miles’ telltale hue of frustration signaled an emanate eruption when he mercifully decided to continue his tale.

“I climbed the dinghy stairs, pitched her over my knee and pounded on her back. She expelled the water and gave a great gasp for air. Since her dress was made of light material, and the water had been very cold, I threw my cape over her and told her friends to get her into a warm bath as soon as possible. They were asking for my name as I ran back to the coach.”

“Did you give them your name?” asked Bennett.

“Was she pretty?” chimed in Miles.

“Was she heavy?” added Andrews.

“No, yes and no,” said Laurence simply.

“Is that all you are going to say about her?” asked Miles.

“Let us go back over the questions,” Laurence said methodically. “Number one: my cloak has my initials on it. Let her fancy fill in whatever name she desires. Number two: saving her life was all that mattered, I was not concerned about how she looked. Her hair partially covered her face and I did not get a clear view, for it was getting dark. It all happened very quickly you see, but since you are waiting with bated breath,” he grinned, “I shall do the best I can of recounting her appearance for you.” He paused for greater effect in the story-telling and greater irritation to Miles.

“She had black hair, a slender, graceful neck and a slight figure. I would guess her age to be anywhere from fourteen to sixteen years old. She was very pretty indeed.”

“What color were her eyes?” asked Andrews.

“She didn’t open her eyes, at least, not while I was bending over her.”

None of his friends were happy with his limited description, but Laurence had nothing more to tell them.

“Number three: she hardly weighed anything at all.”

“Then why were you out of breath?” inquired Andrews with a raised brow.

“I ran back to the coach,” he said in defense.

“Nonsense! I’ve seen you fight hard and be less out of breath than you are now,” Bennett said.

“Maybe there is more to this young lady than you are telling us,” added Miles with a quick wink at the others.

Laurence ignored the implication: his friends could think of it any way they pleased. He was confounded, however, that he was more breathless than he thought possible. He had hardly exerted himself. He chuckled at the mere suggestion that a young girl could cause a rise in his heart rate. He dismissed the thought with a shake of his head which his friends acutely noticed. They glanced at each other and grinned. Laurence turned his head away from them, and looked out the window for some needed distraction. It did not improve his thoughts or his emotions.

In the fading light, he saw a young family pass by. They were common farmers. The father had his young son up on his shoulders while his wife walked by his side. They smiled as the little boy laughed. The coach passed them quickly, but not fast enough to blot such a picture.

Laurence closed his eyes and felt a stab of pain in his heart. He had a deep longing for a family. He had no memory of a mother: the calming voice, the swish of a skirt, the fragrance of the feminine. As a little boy he would attempt to hug the housekeeper, Mrs. Elm, but she would always shoo him away. His only satisfaction came from his father who would hold and rock him to sleep.

He remembered his father was often gone. As a child, Laurence did not understand his absence until he was five years old when his father took him on board a ship. During those long days of separation, Laurence missed his father desperately. His greatest thrill was seeing a ship approaching the harbor. He should have hated the sea but he did not, could not—it stirred him deeply.

As he grew older, he perceived his father’s sadness, as if living every moment took effort. One day, Laurence burst through his father’s bedroom and found him fingering a dress that had belonged to his mother.

Captain Laurence embraced his son and began to weep. “I miss her…I miss her desperately!” he whispered to his son.

Laurence responded by tightening his arms around his father’s neck. He was only eight years old, but sensitive to people’s needs. Laurence tried his best to support his father, but could not remove the sadness from his eyes, not even with all the jokes and funny stories he could think of.

The carefree joy of his boyhood ended abruptly, adding bitterness to those sweet memories. He remembered a bleak, rainy October morning; everything moved in slow motion. The world had turned black and white; all the color had washed away. He saw his father’s casket lowered into the ground with heaps of dirt thrown on top. Part of his heart would remain buried with him. Laurence shed his last tears at his father’s grave.

Captain Edward Laurence survived his wife by ten years. He fought hard to live for his son, but it was a losing battle. When Laurence had barely turned twelve, his father gave up the long struggle. He was only thirty-nine. If ever a man died of a broken heart, it was Captain Laurence.

It was on the day they buried his father that Laurence remembered meeting his uncle for the first time. A tall, distinguished gentleman introduced himself. He knew he had an uncle because his father had often told him amusing stories of their antics as boys, but any resemblance his uncle had to his father ended with his eyes: there was no compassion in them. It sent shivers up his spine. Laurence went that very day to live with his uncle in London.

All the grief and loneliness he felt produced a drive he directed toward his studies. His nature was not prone to self-pity, but geared toward action. He learned at an early age that he could not control what happened to him. Life had acted and taken his father away. He reacted by setting his course in life through diligence and hard work. He faced life head-on leaving childhood behind.

Lord Richard Laurence was an exacting man, but he was not cruel. Laurence never experienced his unforgiving nature until later in life. He was not the kind of man that would incite affection in anyone. He was handsome but also cold and aloof; wealthy, unmarried, childless—too selfish to share his life with anyone. His one good quality was that he recognized it and never inflicted this potential misery on any woman by marrying her. He did not take in his brother’s son out of pity; mercy did not mix in his calculation. His nephew happened to be the only one who could continue the family line.

Lord Richard never forgave his brother for going to sea, and would do everything in his power to shape his nephew away from such a profession. His goal was to groom his nephew to take his place. He shrewdly factored in education, travels, and gifts to draw the boy away from his father’s world. He would experience the best life had to offer: a safety net to keep him tied to a certain standard of living. He was a master puppeteer and knew how to pull the strings. Too much was at stake to let his nephew make the choices. He had a high calling and was the last scion of two noble houses—his path was already marked out for him.

Laurence began his real education under his uncle’s guidance and had the best tutors and went to the most elite schools. At university, he excelled in many endeavors and joined several sports clubs. He was proficient in fencing, archery and boxing, and trained his body with physical discipline.

When France declared war on Britain during his first year at Oxford, he could hardly contain his anger. The conversations he had with fellow classmates about the conflict only intensified as time went on. His desire to join the Royal Navy was no longer cavalier, but in defense of what he loved.

He left Oxford at the end of his eighteenth year and wrote to his uncle who immediately disinherited him. He was on his own. No one would help him make his way, and that was how he preferred it. He had the best that education and physical training could make of him. He had done all he could on land to prepare for life at sea.

Five years had since passed and Lt. Michael Laurence was in the full vigor of youth. Tall, dark haired, black-eyed, he had a roguish appearance that made a woman look twice. He caused a riot in many of their hearts, but was always on his guard around them. He saw every single female as a threat to his chosen way of life, and felt suffocated whenever there were too many around. He believed marriage was a trap he could avoid—he knew where the snares were set.

He did not understand his transition from boyhood, when he needed a woman’s touch, to manhood, when he looked upon them as a necessary evil. Like most people, he was a mixture, with visions of family producing a struggle in him between longing and loathing.

Laurence did what he needed to survive and suppressed any desires conflicting with his love for the sea. As a man determined to remain a bachelor, he felt more than compensated. The sea was his wife, the ship was his home, and his shipmates were his family. This became his reality and identity.

Meeting Christopher Bennett initiated the first crack in the hard exterior loneliness caused in him. Thomas Andrews appeared a short time later, adding an undying cheerfulness to his life. He had brothers now, a family, and the affection he had suppressed in his nature came out in loyalty for his friends.

Laurence was a man of extremes and never did anything halfway if he decided to do it. His commitment had no half-measures—he would have given his life for his friends. The love he felt inside took the form of true brotherhood. Women could not break into that sacred fellowship and Laurence took special care to assure that they could not. He counseled and warned his friends whenever he sensed any female becoming too manipulative which happened quite often since Laurence was suspicious of them all.

His friends took it in good-humor. They knew him well and understood his watchful, protective nature. They accepted one another wholeheartedly; the strengths and weakness in their character tied them in a growing bond as the years went by.

Laurence settled on his seat more comfortably as the heat from his body dried out his clothes. He pictured her again. He had never held a woman in his arms before, except for the occasional dance, when he had to hold their hands. He never let them get too close. They were a mystery to him, but this girl was different. Her unconsciousness put him at ease, her need of rescue tore down his walls. In this exchange, everything was safe.

It was a sweet sensation to think of it. How good it felt to save someone’s life! A family in Britain would have their daughter back. He wondered about them. Her dress was of fine quality. Perhaps she was a lady. It pleased his imagination to save the life of a young girl who would grow up with some distinction. It was a miracle he found her hand to rescue her in the first place. The more he thought on it, the more amazed he was by the whole thing. He dozed off to the sounds of such thoughts.

Five years would pass before a young woman affected Laurence again.

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Over the years, Laurence attempted to reconcile with his uncle by frequent correspondence but he did not receive a reply until his twenty-fourth year. His uncle, being sick, wanted to see him and though Laurence tried his best to make it back to England, Lord Richard died before his arrival. He returned home like most officers of the Royal Navy did after the Treaty of Amiens: to half-pay and bleak outlooks.

He went to his childhood home, a cottage by the sea in Christchurch. How desolate it looked. Weeds grew where once there had been flowers. A path curved around from the road to the front door. He stood looking out to sea. No wonder he loved her since childhood: the waves lapping at the shore had been his lullaby, the seagulls his playmates. He was home, but it was no longer a home. There was no one to greet him with a loving embrace, except the imaginary ghosts of his past. Memories were not enough to live on. He felt a crushing desolation and loneliness, purposeless without his friends and the activity of life at sea.

Each day unfolded in a cacophony of monotony. He spent most of his time outdoors, only coming in to sleep and eat. It was during his stay that he received a letter from his uncle’s solicitor stating his presence was required in London at the reading of his uncle’s will.

Laurence went with a heavy heart having little hope for good news. He expected the will to be full of ranting from a man who would not forgive him. When he arrived, he found nothing but surprises. His uncle had bequeathed to him his mansion in London and his northern estate in Scarborough. The property had belonged to his grandmother, Lady Townsend. She had left her family’s holdings to her second-born son, Edward.

Laurence struggled with bitterness upon hearing the news from his uncle’s solicitor. Receiving his birthright would have spared his father so much heartache. His uncle left him with all his wealth, but Laurence felt money could never compensate for the injustice his father had suffered.

Just a few hours before, he had been a struggling seaman with a lieutenant’s salary, and now he was wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. He left the solicitor’s office in a daze, opening his uncle’s last letter addressed to him with a trembling hand.

Michael,

Upon reading this, my solicitor will have already informed you of your inheritance. I have much to atone for. Notwithstanding my behavior toward you, I have behaved shamefully toward your dear, departed father. I know I shall not recover from my illness and must stand before God and be held accountable for my actions. I am humbled and ask your pardon.

I am proud of your accomplishments, though I have never shown it to you. I do not express affection—I am not that sort of man. In spite of my treatment, you always wrote in the most affectionate way. I cherished your letters. I never praised you openly, yet in my heart, you have pleased me many times.

I hope we may still meet. I would rather talk to you of these matters than put them in writing, but in case that shall never be; I set forth my words with pen and ink.

God is just. The tables have turned as they always do. I have no fear you will waste what you have received. You are a wise and intelligent man and will do far more good with it than I have done.

You may call yourself a lieutenant and desire no higher title, but remember you are the grandson of Lord Charles Laurence, a baron. May you bring more honor to that name than I have done.

Fondly, your uncle

The bitterness in Laurence’s heart found an early grave. He had waited a long time for any sincerity from his uncle, and forgave him not on the basis of the inheritance, but on his last letter. In it, Lord Richard expressed as much affection as he was capable of giving.

Laurence could now live a life of ease, but that was not his nature. He craved the adventure. The fourteen months of peace dragged on his soul interminably and he was a racehorse chomping on the bit by the end of it. He hid his inward jubilation when England ended the treaty by declaring war on France in May 1803.

The next three years tested Laurence to the core. A different man emerged at the end of it: his bravado was gone, and the ugliness of war had taken its toll. It was not until then that he began showing signs of settling down.

He was now a captain, and had made a sizable fortune during his time at sea. He felt more pride in the wealth he had gained by his efforts than in his inheritance. He viewed his prospects for a place to settle in. He had no desire to live in London—business could call him there, but not pleasure. His longing was taking him to another place.

He hired a coach to view the southern coastline. Though the villages merged into one quaint patchwork, Lyme held his attention. The wild coast drew him. He stopped the coach and got out. The cliffs across the bay were magnificent, and the village nestled between two hills, with a river running through it swept over him in enchantment.

It was late afternoon toward the end of spring. The soft breeze teased him as he walked toward a slight bluff. He saw something white, carried by the wind, and thought at first that it was a handkerchief. A sheet of paper came directly toward him. He grabbed for it, turned it over, and began reading the following written in a fine, feminine hand:

He did not feel altogether human. He felt more than blood in his veins. The sea called out in his blood. Courage was in every pulse beat. He responded to the cry of the seagull more than the sounds of opera. The full gale of the wind seduced him more than any woman. The sea was inside him. He was made by her…shaped for her. He was a sea captain.

Laurence drew a sharp breath. How could a woman have written this? How could any female understand men like him so well? He did not think it was possible, and reasoned that a seaman’s wife or daughter must have done it. Even that concession was remarkable for him. If the handwriting had not been so clearly feminine, he would have never conceded the point. What he read he believed only a man could understand, and not just any man, but a seaman. Intrigued, he had to know who authored it.

Walking to the edge of the bluff, he looked down and saw a young lady lying on her back, asleep on a blanket. Her crumpled bonnet had a stone placed inside to anchor it from the wind. He noticed her shoes were several feet from each other as if she had tossed them pell-mell. How odd. What kind of woman would treat these feminine accoutrements so harshly?

Her knees were up, and her toes were buried in the sand. She wore a dress of purple flowered print; its hem moved around her graceful ankles. She had dark brown hair, rich in highlights, thick and long with a slender but fully formed figure. Her skin was flawless and slightly tanned. Her half-smile tantalized him. How sweet the dreams of maidenhood must be compared to his nightmares of war! The soft wind played havoc on her hair. One curl on her forehead moved to the orchestration of the breeze. How long he stood there looking down, he could not say. Time seemed to stand still.

Laurence observed carefully as if to memorize her. If he had watched any woman this closely, she would have misinterpreted him as showing interest. Because this young lady was sleeping, however, he could study her without any risk. Had he been honest with himself, he would have admitted he was more than curious now. Nevertheless, he felt secure: this was no gathering where meeting her would put him on his guard. The sea enhanced his confidence; he would have felt awkward approaching her in any other setting.

A few more pages escaped her portfolio, and one gently lifted and touched her cheek. As she stirred awake, Laurence sat down with his hands on his knees and watched how this scene would play out. He kept his page as collateral like any quick-thinking, resourceful man.

The wind was doing its damage on the few pages that had escaped and she looked like a fairy or an untamed sprite running after them. Her appearance would have shocked people of decent society. He had never seen a woman with her hair down before. Never had he seen one without shoes. Her lack of decorum only attracted him more; he had broken the rules of society too.

Engrossed in capturing her work, she never bothered to look up. She had no idea how much pleasure she was giving this observer. In a few moments, she imprisoned her escapees, binding them up with the string of her portfolio.

Laurence decided to approach her and walked down a slight sandy incline without a sound.

“I believe this is also yours.”

She turned around and saw in living form the kind of man she had created in her story. Her mouth flew open and her eyes grew wide. All she could utter was “Oh!”

Laurence hardly fared better, but he bowed as he held out the paper. She stood there looking at him until they both felt discomfort. She suddenly smiled, took the offered page, and softly said, “Thank you.”

If Laurence thought her sleeping form was bewitching, he could not match her waking form to any adjective he had ever known. He now noticed her eyes—hazel brown with green sparkles mixed in, the lashes thick and long. Their beauty mesmerized him. A tower bell sounding brought him back to the present moment.

“Sir, do you have the time?” she asked hurriedly.

Laurence took out his pocket watch. “It is nearly five o’clock,” he returned.

“Oh no! I shall be late for an important engagement!”

Now seemingly conscious of her bare head and feet, she grabbed her bonnet and began stuffing her long hair into it but to no avail. She tried to put her shoes on but they were full of sand. Her bonnet was askew and her shoes were crooked, and Laurence watched the whole procedure with delight.

“May I assist you?” he asked politely.

She bit her lip, and handed him the portfolio without a thank you. She emptied her shoes of sand, took her bonnet off, and caught herself just before she said, “Blast!” but had said just enough of the word for him to know what she meant by it and he raised his eyebrow in mock surprise.

“I hate bonnets, shoes and hairpins!” she muttered to herself.

Laurence suppressed a chuckle. She was having obvious difficulty grabbing the blanket, taking her portfolio, and balancing on her shoes. Every step she took only filled them again and she kicked up sand like a racehorse as she headed back toward the village.

Laurence ran after her crying out, “May I know the name of the lady I have assisted?”

He said it loud enough for her to hear, but she chose to ignore it. This man was too much like her story men. It was safe to like her own creations, but this captain was too real for her. This escapade was harmless enough. She would laugh over it and later fit it into one of her stories. Names were too dangerous to disclose, giving advantage she was unwilling to grant; she would rather be a mystery damsel in distress to him. She was satisfied giving him that morsel, but she was completely unaware, however, that he could not be satiated with it.

How could a woman not respond to such an entreaty? He was pursuing a woman for the first time in his life and enjoying it, but he certainly never expected to run after one—literally.

Laurence had just met a distinct personality. He had encountered the male version many times at sea, but did not know the female kind existed, and his curiosity was more than peaked. He saw her pause to let the sand out of her shoes, but before he could reach her, she was off again.

Casting a fugitive glance behind her at Laurence, she bumped right into an innkeeper.

“Jasmine, careful now!” he called out.

She was about to run past him, when she checked herself, and handed him the blanket, bonnet, and shoes.

“Be a dear and look after these. I’ll be back for them tomorrow!” She gave him a swift peck on his cheek.

“Be off with you, little gypsy!” he called after her affectionately.

She was almost out of sight by the time the captain walked up to him.

“Mr. Wiggins, at your service, sir,” said the innkeeper politely introducing himself.

Laurence nodded his head to him, “Captain Laurence,” he returned. After a pause he commented, “She’s a very unique young lady.”

Mr. Wiggins, owner of The Vaunts, gave him a sly side-glance. He was a jolly looking man, more in keeping with Saint Nicolas than a proprietor. Dealing with the public made him good at sizing people up. He would have normally been protective with any information concerning his favorite family, especially to a complete stranger, but he saw in this captain just the kind of man who could give Jasmine a run for her money. He was the sort who could possibly tame her, and in his opinion, Jasmine desperately needed taming.

“Unique is putting it mildly. Her whole family’s a bit daft…very unconventional,” Mr. Wiggins said slowly, looking at him.

Laurence was thrilled the innkeeper was free with his information.

“There’s her father now, doesn’t act like a respectable minister should. He lets his firstborn climb trees, and run around barefoot. When she was no more than two, she would track muddy prints on my nice parlor floor, as if I didn’t know who they belonged to! Only one child in this village would run around like that.”

Laurence nodded his head sympathetically.

“Well, they are the oddest family in Lyme, but the most dearly beloved. You couldn’t find four lovelier daughters anywhere: Miss Jasmine, now, just turned twenty; Miss Rose is nineteen; Miss Violet is eighteen and little Miss Daisy is seventeen. They’re the prettiest garden in all of Britain.”

Laurence smiled at the metaphor. He now knew who the lady was and where she lived. The hurricane of this encounter had blown him off course, but he found his bearings.

“I’m wondering if there’s some property for lease. I’m thinking of settling here,” he said by way of conversation.

“Well, Rev. Bertram, our vicar, might be able to help you there. He knows just about everything that is going on in this village. If you are already going that way, would you mind taking Jasmine’s, I mean, Miss Bertram’s things back to her?” he said, remembering to correct himself this time.

“Of course, I would be happy to.”

The situation was working out just the way Laurence wanted, and it brought a twinkle to his eyes. He pointed to his coach.

“Could you inform my driver that I will be lodging here for a few days?”

That brought a twinkle to the innkeeper’s eyes.

Laurence took a deep breath of salt air and turned around to view the Cobb. The ancient break water could easily withstand a band of boys that were running after their puppy. Only one lonely sloop adorned the harbor. Dinghies were everywhere as boat crews were returning with their daily catch. Fishing nets were drying out in the sun. He heard laughter coming from the tavern nearby and smiled to himself. The old salts were starting early.

He whistled gaily as he made his way through the village. Many people were out enjoying the fine weather. He tipped his hat as he went by and received the same courtesy in return. The easy manner of country folk brought back fond boyhood memories. London’s stuffiness had only been a parenthesis in his life, for he felt he was coming full circle again.

The curious town folk saw a strange sea captain carrying a lady’s shoes, bonnet and blanket. They all knew whom they belonged to and where he was going.

Laurence walked up the narrow streets and kept his eyes on the church tower. Sitting on a hill it was an easy marker, and like any good sea captain, he knew his heading. Close to the handsome stone church was a large two-story vicarage. Purple morning glory grew effusively like a bower over a large window on the right side of the main door. The beautifully kept grounds exuded a sort of gladness. Laurence stood at the entrance and his heart skipped a beat as he felt a sensation of warmth spread over him. It reminded him of his own front door as a child. Good memories came flooding back of Mrs. Elm singing in the kitchen and the fragrance of his father’s pipe coming through an open window.

A manservant answered the door, whereupon Captain Laurence gave him his card and told him he had a few items belonging to a Miss Bertram. The servant shut the door and it was opened a few moments later by the vicar himself. He had a big smile on his face and gave him a hardy handshake.

“Come in, come in, my boy!” he said in a warm, friendly voice.

His informality completely disarmed Laurence. He was ushered into a large parlor where Mrs. Bertram finished the conquest. Laurence could see where Jasmine got her beauty. Her parents seemed like people who laughed and smiled a lot—youthful and joyful.

Rev. Bertram introduced his wife with such affection that Laurence hardly knew what to make of it. Was it possible they were still in love with each other? It hit him like a lightning bolt.

“Thank you, Captain Laurence, for returning my daughter’s belongings.”

There was a musical quality in her voice. She had beautiful auburn hair with a curl hanging down over her forehead and a dimple at the corner of her mouth. Her gray eyes revealed intelligence and compassion.

Jasmine’s father had dark hair with a slight graying at the temples. The few wrinkles on his face were laugh lines. He had handsome features, but what Laurence noticed most of all was the life behind the depth of his dark eyes. He sensed the vicar had a lively wit and an active mind.

“You must stay for supper,” insisted Rev. Bertram.

“I have no wish intruding on your family time,” he replied softly.

“Nonsense! We have plenty for all and will not accept no for an answer,” said Rev. Bertram good-naturedly.

Laurence smiled and nodded.

“Good! Good!” he replied, patting Laurence on the shoulder.

His wife left the room to get the seating arrangements ready for their new guest. A few minutes passed, when the rest of the daughters arrived in the parlor. They blushed and curtsied very prettily. They were distinct in their beauty, yet Laurence could see the family resemblance: each daughter had the telltale curl and dimple.

Rose was a beauty at nineteen. At five feet four, she was taller than Jasmine and her sisters. Her raven black hair was done up in a pretty fashion. The most striking features were her deep blue eyes, the color of the sea. Her complexion was fairer than Jasmine’s, like ivory.

Violet was next to her sister in beauty with auburn hair like her mother. Her skin was fair and her eyes were as violet as her name. Laurence had never seen eyes so striking before.

Daisy entered the room last with a smile on her face. She was the shortest of the sisters, yet her slender form did not make her seem so. Her hair was golden like corn silk, and her eyes were a soft brown. Her tanned complexion exuded health.

Laurence could tell which daughters enjoyed the outdoors. The “prettiest garden in all of Britain,” Mr. Wiggins had said, and he agreed wholeheartedly—yet his favorite flower was missing.

“Please forgive my daughter her delay, Captain Laurence,” said Mrs. Bertram.

“Madam, there is nothing to pardon,” he said with a slight, gallant bow.

Just as Laurence finished his reply, they heard a carriage approaching.

“Captain Laurence, we are expecting a Mr. Dilbert who is my distant relation. You may wait for my daughter while I make our introductions outside. Come family! A new acquaintance awaits us,” Rev. Bertram said exuberantly.

Laurence gladly accepted the arrangements, and stood at the foot of the stairs. It was not long before he heard her call, “Father, I’ll be down in a minute!”

Laurence took a deep breath and willed his senses into self-control. He was doing fine until Jasmine turned the corner of the stairs. He saw perfection descending and was uncertain how to respond.

He need not have worried. Jasmine was completely surprised, and the color left her face for a moment. Her eyes narrowed—she was on her guard.

“You! What are you doing here? How do you know who I am and where I live?”

Laurence was thinking desperately of a way to put her at ease. He need not have bothered. All this time she was coming down the stairs and a few steps before the bottom, she tripped.

Laurence reached out to steady her and she almost fell into his arms.

“You don’t strike me as someone so clumsy,” he said more calmly than he felt.

This statement had an amazing affect on Jasmine putting her completely at ease. These were not the words of a probable suitor, but rather like the comments made by a bemused friend. She responded to Laurence as if she had known him all her life by lifting her dress slightly and showing him the culprits of the mishap--she had two different shoes on.

“See what calamity foot fetishes can get someone into?” he chuckled.

“Shoes are the plague of my life!” she despaired. “I keep taking them off and losing them. That is what took me so long: I could not find one matching pair.”

“Allow me to help you,” he gallantly said, producing the pair she had left earlier that day.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You went through this trouble to return my things to me.” She blushed in shame at her former interrogation. “I apologize for doubting your motivation,” she said contritely.

Laurence simply smiled and nodded his head. “Take off those shoes and put these on,” he said as he bent down, took her unmatched pair off and put her other ones on.

They heard the family coming back in, which cut short her embarrassment. Jasmine was holding her old shoes in her hand thinking of a quick hiding place. She slipped them into a large vase in the corner, stood next to him, and waited for her family.

Laurence bent down his head close to her ear and whispered, “I deduce that many a long forgotten shoe has wasted away in vases throughout this house.”

Jasmine laughed out her delight as her family entered the room with their guest.

Mr. John Dilbert was a heavy-set young man of twenty-seven about to take orders. Though only a curate, he had the favor of the most important people in his village. It had been his top priority. He had ingratiated himself in the most humbling way toward them, and expected to climb in significance choosing his profession not based on love for God, nor his fellowman, but on the supposition that a clergyman had a certain title of respectability in society. He had just enough breeding, sense, and education for public tolerance, but not enough to win friends. Just enough seemed to mark everything about him.

He had one other talent besides flattery; he was clever in calculating an opening that brought him profit. Other than this, he had nothing to recommend him. To cover his own obvious lack, he loved to talk about people of importance. He let a few names roll off his tongue as if savoring something.

It did not escape Rev. Bertram’s notice. Laurence watched the interchange of glances between husband and wife. They were communicating volumes with only their eyes, and he was spellbound.

A rumor had reached Mr. Dilbert that each daughter had a sizable dowry and he had to investigate. How much that entered into his choice for a wife, he kept secret. He decided a visit to Rev. Bertram was long overdue, and sent a letter by way of introduction. It did not bother his conscience that he had never met the family before. He imposed his good will upon them for his own needs. He heard the daughters were beautiful. How pleasing to his ego and the fire of his ambition! To have a wealthy, lovely wife added to his self-importance, and John Dilbert was ever a man who hungered for attention.

Rev. Bertram informed his wife of the contents of the letter as soon as he had read it. They saw between the lines and suspected Mr. Dilbert was not seeking them out as much as their daughters. It was unnecessary to mention anything to their girls; they did not want to prejudice them. His style of writing was similar to the pompousness of his whole bearing, and they realized what kind of man they were dealing with. Such manipulations did not alarm them, for they trusted their daughters had enough sense to reject his overtures.

The whole evening unfolded with delight as Laurence observed the interaction of the family. Everything was candid and heartwarming. There were no formalities with strangers and Laurence felt their acceptance. It was obvious the parents had raised their children with love and encouragement. Morality was firmly entrenched in their psyche, along with freedom and individuality. Rev. Bertram was more concerned about the condition of Jasmine’s heart than her feet. He cared more that God’s love motivated her actions than whether she wore her shoes or not. Even if it was for one single evening, Laurence felt honored to be there.

The family’s informality carried into supper. As hosts, Rev. and Mrs. Bertram did not sit at opposite ends of the table, but next to each other. They had been married over twenty years, yet it seemed they could not get enough of each other’s company. Laurence had never seen a couple behave so, whether young or old.

Mr. Dilbert raised his wine glass, “Sir, ma’am…I compliment you on the beauty of your daughters. I have not gazed upon their likeness in my entire parish.”

The sisters blushed while Jasmine stared at Mr. Dilbert unabashedly.

“You are excessive in your praises, Mr. Dilbert. You approach the realm of flattery with savior faire,” said Rev. Bertram with a quick wink at Jasmine.

She wiped her mouth with her napkin, and purposely avoided making eye contact with her father.

“It is a trifle and hardly worth noting at all,” the young curate replied.

“Is this an early or latent development in your character?” the vicar asked with obvious curiosity.

Mr. Dilbert pondered the question soberly as if he were taking holy orders. “I cannot recall a time when I did not find it useful.”

“I can easily imagine it, but alas, I do not have your ability and fear I am too old to change. There was a time early in my ministry where the art of flattery would have come in handily,” the vicar sighed.

Mrs. Bertram used her knee to communicate with her husband’s knee, but he chose to ignore the message.

Laurence saw a facial exchange between them and was intrigued. He put down his fork for he tasted something much better. He knew a set up when he heard one, and waited for the pièce de résistance.

Everyone at the table had detected enough in the tone and facial features of the vicar to know he was in jest except Mr. Dilbert. “I would be honored to show you how effortless it can be,” the curate beamed happy to be of service.

“Nay, do not waste your precious effort on me…I am a lost cause,” Rev. Bertram entreated.

Jasmine began choking on her food, and gasped out, “Pardon me, I need some fresh air.”

She made a hasty exit. Her sisters contained their giggles and manned their stations dutifully. Only Jasmine abandoned ship.

“Captain Laurence could you please assist my daughter?” asked Rev. Bertram with mock concern.

“It would be my pleasure, sir!” was his glad reply.

By the time he ran out the front door, Jasmine was nowhere in sight, but he followed the trail of her laughter until he found her behind a tree. It was irresistible--he could not suppress a chuckle.

“It is too much! Did you see my father’s eyes?” Jasmine said between her giggles.

“I have never seen such sparring in my life. Your father is a master.”

“I could contain myself no longer. I felt like bursting with Mr. Dilbert not having a clue.”

“I have never partaken of a conversation as delicious as the food being served.”

“Oh, that was but an appetizer, I guarantee you! My father has only started. Alas, if only I had more fortitude, I would be able to enjoy the whole meal he will dish up. You are missing the best part. Have you no endurance to enter back into the fray?” she teased him.

I think the best part is right here, thought Laurence. Not a change to his features gave a hint of his thoughts. “I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing and found the need of fresh air also.”

“It appears we have the same malady,” she said dryly. “Well, since there is plenty to go around, you may share it with me.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Not at all,” she said magnanimously playing along.

Laurence grinned.

“May I inquire as to your assessment of my family? I mean, as much as you can deduce from only a few short hours,” she asked curiously.

“I have not been bored one jot!”

“You do not think we are odd?” she probed.

“I think you are unconventional,” he replied carefully.

“It was not distasteful to you?”

“Not in the least. Do you want me to be affronted?”

“No, but I am surprised you seem so well-adjusted to it.”

“Unconventionality may not only flavor a minister’s life, it could well be tasted in a captain’s.”

He read a gleam of interest in her eyes. “I would like to be enlightened on some matters of my own, if you don’t mind, for I have noticed a few exchanges between your parents that have pricked my curiosity.”

“They often signal to each other with their eyes, but tonight my mother used her other method,” she said mysteriously.

“Please don’t leave me hanging in suspense, Miss Bertram! Consider my ignorant condition.”

She paused for an irritating moment and Laurence got a dose of his own medicine.

“They sit next to each other because they are still madly in love. She also taps him with her knee if he acts inappropriately, which can be often. Tonight, my father was in the mood.”

“So, there was communication above and below the table! I must remember this for future reference,” he remarked.

She smiled involuntarily. “I’m not sure if she sits next to him because she loves him or because he needs to be corrected all the time. It is probably both. Well, I’ll have to think on it.”

“Would you ever be so bold as to sit next to me, Miss Bertram?”

Jasmine’s laughter was like raindrops on his parched soul.

All of a sudden she burst out, “I like you, Captain! I do not know why I am saying this, but I trust you. I have an instinct concerning suitors—a dirty word to me. I don’t sense you have the slightest desire to be one.”

“Am I correct in assuming you disliked most single men and the prospect of marriage to them?” asked Laurence amazed. This was a new revelation to him. He had never known of any female who disdained marriage before. Could such a thing exist?

Jasmine simply nodded her head. “I have been pursued by suitors since I was sixteen, and have a full range of methods for getting rid of them. One does not attain the age of twenty and remain single without great effort, but the rewards are worth it.”

“What are the rewards?”

“Freedom,” was her only reply.

Their similarity of thought struck him. He believed common ground was only achievable with men. He did not think it was possible that a man and woman could look at something and see the same thing. This was the first time he looked beyond a woman’s gender into her soul. He was shocked that he could have as much in common with Jasmine’s ideas as he could with his closest friends. He felt an immediate bond. She had been candid with him, now he would respond in kind.

“Do not think only women flee while men pursue. I have been pursued by women and find it as distasteful as you do on your part.”

Jasmine’s eyes widened with disbelief. The concept of women chasing men was incomprehensible to her.

“Do not doubt me! I have endured years of balls, plays, and gatherings where women have worked their coy, manipulative schemes. They fake running, and if a man is foolish enough to pursue, he deserves his fate by their hands. I have seen through it from the beginning. I have watched friends trapped in marriages where games and trickery have been the only foundation—respect never entered the equation. These men had no hope of domestic fulfillment. Their only escape from this torment was to go to sea. I admit the whole thing has embittered me, but seeing your mother and father tonight has given me hope. Respect and love should grow for someone as time goes by. I had thought only a decrease of both were inevitable. I was wrong.”

Jasmine listened with her whole heart. He held many of the opinions she also believed. She struggled with bitterness too, but had less excuse because the example of her parent’s marriage contradicted the hypocrisy she saw around her. It never occurred to her that a man would have as much trouble with women as a woman could have with men. She was feeling a bond for someone outside her family for the first time. Commonality of thought with a man was only something she had experienced with her father. Her horizon was broadening.

They sat side by side on a bench, lost in their own thoughts for a moment. Laurence could see she was having as much trouble processing what he said, as he had with her. Unbelief seemed to be the first response and he realized that Jasmine had no frame of reference in the world of a woman’s deceit. He had just spent an evening with a mother and four daughters who had none. All their thoughts, actions, and words came from honesty and straight dealings. If Jasmine showed any scheming, it was to deter suitors, not attract them. Like Columbus, he had stumbled upon a new world.

“May I assume by our mutual aversion to courtship that you would no more pursue me than I would you?” she asked candidly.

“Absolutely! Every woman should feel safe with me. I have never met one yet who could lure me away from the sea. She has been my mother, lover and home since I was eighteen,” he said firmly.

“Then what shall we be to each other?” she asked curiously.

“Let us be friends,” he suggested. “I hold friendship as one of the truest relationships one can have. I do not make friends easily. I know of only three men I would die for, and they would do the same for me.”

“How does one have friendship with the opposite sex? I have never done this before,” she replied openly.

“Nor have I, but let us build on the same foundation I have with my closest friends. First, we always speak the truth to each other. We also have the right and responsibility to correct one another. Lastly, we pledge our friendship forever,” he concluded.

Jasmine thought through each one and realized she could make a pact with him. She did not make the commitment lightly.

“I agree to those terms,” she smiled.

“So do I…now let’s shake on it,” he said extending his hand.

They touched for the first time, but neither face changed color. They looked into each other’s eyes and smiled their good will. They were both experiencing the same kind of shock to the realization that friendship was possible between a man and a woman.

Laurence, drifting toward uncharted waters, felt thrilled at the possibilities. He never knew adventure could be a way of life in relation with a woman.

Jasmine stumbled onto foreign soil, for the first time in her life, hunger to understand men checked her innate desire to run from them.

The flame of curiosity drew these two moths together.

The sun had long set and the moon was rising when they re-entered the house. They found the family in the drawing room.

“Father, forgive us, we did not realize how late it was,” Jasmine said upon entering the room. She went to her father and gave him a kiss on his cheek, then sat down next to her mother on the sofa.

“I hope our being late does not offend you,” replied Laurence. He feared disapproval so he lowered his eyes.

“Come into my study, my boy, I need to talk with you,” said Rev. Bertram.

Jasmine looked up in alarm, but her mother smiled and continued her needlework.

Laurence dreaded the worst as he entered the office, fearing her father would forbid them seeing each other. For the first time in his life, he was interested in a relationship with a woman. Now he felt it would find its birth and death in the same evening. He braced himself for the inevitable. He did not yet know Rev. Bertram’s true nature.

“My son, I’m pleased with you.”

Laurence in his shock began to blink back tears. In place of condemnation there was acceptance.

“Thought you were being led like a sheep-to-the-slaughter, didn’t you?” he chuckled.

Laurence struck his colors and surrendered. This man could read his thoughts, and instead of that truth frightening him, it gave him comfort. He knew he could trust Rev. Bertram as he did with his closest friends. “Yes sir, I did,” he confessed.

“You have made me so happy tonight!” was his second astounding admission.

Laurence’s eyes grew wider in disbelief.

“I have seen my daughter act herself for the first time in the presence of a single man. I had almost despaired of her being happy with anyone.”

“Sir, we are friends and may only remain so. That is why we were out so long; we were making a pact of friendship,” explained Laurence.

“Friendship is the basis for good relationships. You must walk before you can run. Well, well, this is good news! Let us allow nature to run its course,” he finished wisely.

The implication of Jasmine’s father quickened his heartbeat. Laurence was a man of the probable and practical and never set his course without knowing his final destination. He could not let the opportunity pass him by.

“Sir, if this led to something more than friendship…?”

He was not bold enough to finish the sentence.

“I have called you ‘my son,’ because I think of you as a son already. This expression comes from my heart. I have no designs for you and my daughter. Your relationship is entirely your own business. I simply want to welcome you into our family.”

As Rev. Bertram said this, he spread out his arms for an embrace. Laurence hesitated for only a moment. He was six feet and Rev. Bertram was a good five inches shorter yet Laurence felt like a boy once more as he let out a deep sigh. Sensing his need, Rev. Bertram held him a moment longer.

When they stood apart again, Laurence was misty eyed. “No one has hugged me since my father died,” he said softly.

“You have been like a lost, little lamb since then, wandering with no rest. Well, you have a home now and a family as well. You have a mother and father, and I daresay, four sisters who may plague your eyes out.”

Laurence chuckled as he wiped a tear from his cheek. How could this man openly share his most precious family with him? He had only known them a few hours, yet it seemed as if he had known them his whole life. It was as if Jasmine had always been there. It was natural to be her friend. Maybe they sensed the same thing. Maybe what was happening was exceptional, even for a warm, loving family. Rev. Bertram could not have offered him anything as priceless. He would do everything in his power to shield them; it was part of his nature. The same protectiveness he had over his friends, he now felt for the Bertrams.

Laurence made up his mind. He had a family now and friendship with a young woman he respected: he would not live at a distance from them. After a moment’s pause, he asked Rev. Bertram if there was any property in Lyme for lease.

“Sir George Hamilton is a baronet who is in financial straits at the moment. He has two holdings I know he will lease both quite handsome, I might add. He is giving a lawn party tomorrow— he is a man who believes in keeping up appearances. I would have cut expenditures and retrenched; however, each person deals with their problems a different way. Come tomorrow at eight o’clock for breakfast and we shall take off together,” said Rev. Bertram.

Laurence made a polite inquiry of Mr. Dilbert’s absence. He noticed the gentleman was not in the drawing room with the rest of the family when he had come back inside with Jasmine.

“Ah, I can only surmise that he is practicing his praises, or phrases, on being introduced to lords and ladies. Alas, my sport could not wake him from his folly. It hurts to see a fellow clergyman demean his calling,” he finished sadly.

Laurence went back into the drawing room and bid the family goodnight with a smile and a slight bow.

Jasmine looked a little downcast. What had they been discussing? When would she see him again? Her face brightened back up again when her father informed the family that he would be at the lawn party the next day.

Later that night, when Rev. Bertram and his wife were alone, they talked about the happenings of the day.

“I have never acted so, before a stranger, my dear, but I felt as if I had known him all my life. It was as if he belonged to our family already. It was the oddest sensation. I hope you will not disagree with my decision.”

His wife had tears in her eyes. “I have always loved your compassion. I like the Captain. I believe you made the right choice. He may be the only chance for Jasmine. I have never worried about our other daughters—I’ve no apprehension they will remain single. Jasmine is the only one who seems to have an aversion to men.”

“She does not seem to have an aversion to Captain Laurence. When I saw the ‘captain’ on his card, I had to go out and welcome him. I know Jasmine has had a love affair with the sea all her life. I hope it will soften her heart enough to give this man a chance. Bless him! He has come further than any one else and now it will be up to his own character to win her heart. If it should not happen, I believe she is capable of liking the man and forming a friendship with him. This is a big step for our daughter.”

It was a night of new beginnings for their family. They had never invited a single man over for the evening, nor included one in the family before. It had long been their desire but they stopped matchmaking with Jasmine for she responded to any suggestion with a harder heart.

Captain Laurence, knocking innocently at the door, had no idea how novel the situation was. Greeted with exuberance and joy, his coming was the first ray of hope on the horizon of the dark jungle Jasmine made of romance.

Laurence could hardly sleep that night for the joy he felt. The need for the feminine he had hungered his whole life was being fulfilled. He did not know what he was missing, until he found it.

He closed his eyes to see the scene again: Jasmine was reading aloud a comical passage, Rose was drawing, Mrs. Bertram was doing needlework alongside Violet, and Daisy was fixing a bonnet. Would they become his dear mother and sisters? He had been alone so long, but now he had a loving family. Earlier, in the coach, he was poverty-stricken and had not known it. In one day, he had become rich and fell asleep with a sigh of contentment.