“Stephen?”

“My eldest son. He was to help with the shearing but last week, he fell from the loft and broke his leg. We cannot afford another farm hand and so…” She trailed off, her mind mulling the thorny problem. After a moment, she shoved it aside. She’d think about it later. Things might be clearer then. “That’s neither here nor there. Come, you don’t wish to hear our maudlin concerns.”

“Perhaps I could help in some way.”

“I wish you could, but the only way you could help was if you were—” Elviria looked at the man on the bed. Really looked. And what she saw sent her imagination flying.

He had dark hair, the way she’d always envisioned Captain John Frakenham, who was loosely based on a portrait she once saw at a private house in London. The picture had been of a pirate standing on the bow of a ship, the wind blowing his dark hair from his handsome face, his billowing white shirt open to reveal an exciting amount of chest, his hand resting on his sword as if he was ready to take on the world.

Now that she considered it, this man did look somewhat like that pirate. Elviria tilted her head to one side. The man’s feet touched the bottom of the bed, so he was tall, with broad shoulders and tapered hips, much as one would expect from a sea captain. Of course, he didn’t seem the nautical type, but with a little help—

Elviria caught her thoughts. Did she dare? If she could convince the man in the bed to pretend to be Captain John Frakenham for a short period of time—no more than a week or two at most—it would be enough to quiet the bank and gain the family the time they needed to get the wool to market.

But…would he? How could she even ask? She didn’t even know the poor man, and he was bound to refuse, just based on the ridiculousness of it all. He didn’t owe them a thing.

She sneaked a look at him and frowned. Beneath his polite exterior, there was something hard about him, something implacable that boded ill for her idea.

Perhaps…perhaps she shouldn’t ask him. Perhaps she should just tell him. Tell him that he was Captain John Frakenham.

The audacity of the idea held her frozen in place, her mind racing. How bold! And how…perfect.

The sudden thought of Harriet, who was even now in the sitting room with that horrid Mr. Gower, solidified Elviria’s resolve. How difficult could it be to convince this man that he was the captain? He didn’t know who he was, so what could he care? Perhaps, in a way, it would be a relief to the poor dear to know that he was someone. Someone important.

From the bed, Chase watched as a confusing flicker of emotions traced across Mrs. Ward’s expressive countenance. Something was happening. She was astonishingly silent, staring at him as if he was undergoing some sort of transformation before her very eyes. He touched the bandage to see if his wound had reopened, but it was smooth and dry.