Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle (58 page)

Gus tried to cheer her up. “I will never forget you telling me the story of how your uncle saved Magpie from a most wretched employer, and took it upon himself to take the little fellow off the streets of London, feed him, outfit him, and send him to sea.”

At the mention of Magpie’s name, a pained expression crossed Emily’s lovely face, and in reply she could only manage a hollow “Yes.” Abruptly she strayed toward the starboard rail and, once there, peered into the blue distance, as if expecting the English coastline to materialize in the vast emptiness. Watching her, with the wind tearing at her hair and clothes, Gus couldn’t help wondering how often her mind returned to her recent past, back to the well-trodden decks of the
Isabelle
, and to the dear crewmembers with whom she had experienced so much. Gus yearned to give voice to his own turbulent emotions, to share his most precious memories of their time together on the
Isabelle
, especially those that included Dr. Braden and Magpie, and Jane Austen’s magical book,
Sense and Sensibility
, but he did not dare disturb her reverie; moreover, an ascending lump in his throat threatened the appearance of tears, and he could not tolerate a ribbing from the men who eyed them with their blatant curiosity high on the yardarms, and from all corners of the weather decks.

Long minutes passed before Emily pushed away from the rail, in a way that suggested she had had to conjure up the strength to do so, and in silence they walked along the gangway, passing by the
Impregnable
’s petty officers, marines, stewards, carpenters, gunners, ordinary sailors, and landmen, all of whom seemed intent on interrupting their chores and conversations to watch her, or awkwardly bow their heads in respect. But she seemed incognizant to all the attention, and did not speak again until they had arrived at the small door to her cabin.

“I suppose my uncle insisted I come to his breakfast table appropriately attired in gown and tiara.”

Gus lowered his voice. “His Royal Highness’s exact words were: ‘
She’s not to appear in those damnable trousers
.’” He attempted a smile, but was surprised when tears glistened in
her
eyes and, though she tried, she had difficulty fixing her gaze on him.

“When do you think we shall have our first glimpse of England?”

“If these winds prevail, perhaps as early as tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to go back home.”

“But why not?” asked Gus, knowing the entire country would be heralding her safe return, including dozens of family members.

There was a catch in her throat as she said, “Because I … I fear it.”

Gus wished he could offer her comfort, and racked his brain for a few words of encouragement, but at that precise moment, a loud voice boomed from the neighbouring cabin, as if one of the ship’s cannons had suddenly fired, startling him and causing the crutch to wobble under his arm. Was the Duke of Clarence about to fill his doorway with his portly figure, demanding an explanation as to why his breakfast was being delayed? Gus did not relish the thought of spending a night of punishment on the mizzen crosstrees. He looked up at Emily.

“You’d better hurry.”

Giving him a quick nod, Emily turned away and disappeared into her
little box
. Gus stood transfixed a moment longer, hardly daring to breathe in the event the Duke of Clarence’s sonorous notes should rise up again. Thankfully, they did not. Perhaps then it was only a servant — already within the confines of the great cabin — upon whom the duke was heaping his morning displeasure. Gus relaxed and stared sadly at Emily’s canvas door.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he whispered, “I fear it too … Em.”

8:00 A.M.

(Morning Watch, Eight Bells)

Emily’s Uncle Clarence
was well into his meal by the time she had changed into her blue-and-white-striped morning dress — the only gown in her possession — pulled her hair together in an untidy chignon, and arrived at his sun-filled cabin. Flourishing doughy fingers, he invited her to sit at the empty place setting across from him at the round oak table, and continued to munch away on toast lathered with butter and marmalade.

“I have dismissed my steward so that we may be alone, my dear, so I will ask that you serve yourself,” said the duke, his full mouth, once Emily had seated herself and arranged a linen napkin upon her lap. “As you can see there’s plenty of boiled duck and onions … oh, and bacon, and I thought you might like fruit fritters with whipped cream, so I asked Mr. Belcher to prepare them especially for you. How fortunate we were to meet those merchantmen coming from England with fresh provisions! Nothing quite like fruit fritters. Now, there is tea, but perhaps you would prefer coffee or a cup of chocolate?”

Emily recalled her customary shipboard fare prior to the time she had embarked upon the
Impregnable
for the journey home. On those lost ships, there sometimes had been little beyond a thin gruel or jellied soup. “No thank you, Uncle, tea is fine,” she said, reaching for the vibrantly patterned bone china teapot. “I’m afraid I have no appetite for boiled duck and bacon this morning.”

“You have grown monstrously thin since I last saw you at Bushy House. Why, your FitzClarence cousins shall never recognize you. But we’ll change all that when we get you home. A few fine suppers at Carlton House should do the trick.”

Emily studied her uncle as she sipped her tea; he seemed quite content to consume the breakfast feast on his own, reaching now for a rasher of bacon. “You’re not sending me to Carlton House to live with the Prince Regent, are you, Uncle?”

“God damn, Emeline, my brother is far too busy ruling England for our dear father — on account of his most unfortunate illness — to have the added worry of
you
living under his roof.”

“Would you allow me to stay with my Seaton cousins in Dorset? I should like to see how Frederick is faring.”

Her uncle’s eyes rounded in horror. “Wot? Your mother’s relation who led you astray, who forced you to take that ruinous journey across the ocean on the ill-fated
Amelia
? Certainly not!”

“I wanted to go, Uncle.”

“I’ll not have it.”

“Please, Uncle, please don’t send me to Windsor. I should go mad with no companionship beyond my ill-tempered grandmother and my poor, unmarried aunts. The dimensions and diversions of a vault would be preferable to living there.”

“Oh, well, I cannot have you living there either. It’s too far from London, and, furthermore, your presence there would be too much stimulation for my mother.”

Having expected to be sent directly to her grandparents’ home at Windsor Castle and locked up in one of its cold chambers, Emily frowned in surprise, but did not dare question him; instead, she pleaded. “I should like to live with my FitzClarence cousins at Bushy House.”

Her uncle shook his head in despair, as if he, and not his elder brother, carried the weight of England upon his shoulders. “You’ll find Bushy much altered since your days there, Emeline. It’s not the happy place it once was. I’ve … I’ve locked up Dora’s private apartments, and so many of the children are scattered, away at school, in the army, that sort of thing.”

Emily felt a stab of disappointment, and found herself sinking very low. It still upset her to think that her uncle had separated with the most excellent Dora Jordan, the woman with whom he had lived in domestic bliss for twenty years. “Do you think Aunt Dora would allow me to live with her in Cadogan Place?”

Again he shook his head. “Oh, no, that would never do. The Regent would not allow it. Besides, Dora has many troubles, many troubles of her own — too many to take on the added anxiety and expense of you.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “But you’ll have the opportunity to see her on the stage; she still performs at the new Drury Lane. No, Emeline, I have devised
other
plans for you.” He paused a moment to drain the contents of the teapot into his cup. “As you know, two days ago I ordered our escorting sloop to speed ahead home with my letters. It is my hope that, upon our arrival in Portsmouth, I’ll have news from my couriers, and will then be able to tell you the name of the family with whom you shall be residing.”

Emily’s eyes widened. “You would have me live with strangers then?”

“My dear, you have been in the company of strangers — lewd hell-hounds and sinners — for the past few months. I cannot imagine you shall have any trouble at all adjusting to this new arrangement.”

“I don’t understand.”

Her uncle set his heavily lidded blue eyes upon her, and assumed a hardened expression. “You are somewhat of an embarrassment to the family … in your … in your —” he groped a moment for the right word, “— your unmanageability.”

“You think me unmanageable?”

“Yes, my dear, in the worst way. Let us recapitulate.” The duke clapped his hands upon the table, and cleared his throat. “Without informing your
royal
family, you sailed from Portsmouth in April aboard HMS
Amelia
with your cousin, Frederick Seaton, who … you should know … will be soundly disciplined for your kidnapping once he has fully recovered his senses …”

Emily was quick to cry out in protest, but her uncle cut her off and pressed on.

“The
Amelia
was subsequently attacked, you were taken prisoner by one Thomas Trevelyan, who, I have been informed, kept you confined in his great cabin for three or four weeks — without any form of chaperone, I might add — until such time as his ship, the USS
Serendipity
, encountered HMS
Isabelle
. During a tremendous battle, while grapeshot and splinters filled the air, you escaped through Trevelyan’s broken windows, injuring your right ankle most grievously and taking a bullet in your right shoulder. You were then rescued by the Isabelles, and spent the next two weeks, in the close company of the aforementioned hell-hounds, in the ship’s hospital which was administered by a Dr. Leander Braden, who … I understand … had a salacious interest in you.”

Emily shot forward in her chair. “Uncle, that is completely false and unjust. First of all, I was
not
kidnapped by my cousin; secondly, at no time did Dr. Braden ever …”

The duke raised his hand to silence her, and though his gesture was stern his voice was not unkind. “My dear, I am far from finished. Permit me to continue.” He ripped a chunk of meat from the roasted duck carcass, stuffed it into his mouth, and slumped back upon the cushioned seat of his armchair. “While on the
Isabelle
, you caused the late Captain James Moreland much consternation as you developed a taste for laudanum, and had a penchant for climbing the shrouds and drinking ale with the sweaty, bare-shirted sailors, and while wandering the ship you incited the arousal of a some poor, young, unnamed sailor who attempted to …”

Now it was Emily’s turn to raise a hand. “Stop! Please, Uncle! Please stop this madness! I do not know who has been feeding you this information, but your version of my life over the past several weeks has been unfairly prejudiced by your sources. I told you all when we first greeted one another in Bermuda. Have you now forgotten?”

“Ah, but Emeline, I’ve heard a great deal more these past few weeks on the sea.”

“And why would you believe what
they
have to say over what I’ve already explained to you, especially when you have always been one to listen to and consider another’s point of view?”

His fleshy cheeks flushed red. “Because
you
are a woman.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” gasped Emily.

“Women tend to be fanciful, and, therefore, often don’t know their own mind.”

“I happen to be well-acquainted with mine.”

“Do you really, my dear?” He raised his voice an octave. “Furthermore, you have not been in this world long enough to have a true understanding of the nature of men … especially those who ply their trade on the sea.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Then, Emeline, tell me this: how the devil did you ever get yourself mixed up with this Thomas Trevelyan? And here I always thought you possessed sound judgement in all aspects of your life. What will the Prince Regent say when he learns his beloved niece is married to one of the greatest traitors England has ever known?”

Emily exhaled in frustration. “I am married to Trevelyan in name only. Rightly or wrongly, he assumed that being married to a granddaughter of King George would absolve him of the crimes he committed against England, and enable him to collect the fortune and titles which once belonged to his step-father, Charles DeChastain. I told you before, Uncle, I only acquiesced and went through with the ceremony to prevent Trevelyan from harming those I —” she hesitated to steady her voice, “— so that he wouldn’t harm the English prisoners he kept confined in the gaol of his ship.”

Her uncle fixed his round stare on the bowl of fruit fritters. “Hogwash! We both know Trevelyan was carrying no prisoners in his hold! I am most disappointed in you, Emeline. The fact remains,
you
married the man, therefore, I can think of only one solution for you.” Whether or not it was punishment for her to have to wait until he had popped a fritter into his mouth and savoured its exquisite qualities before he continued, Emily could not tell. “Given your unfortunate circumstances, the best we can do for you is secure an annulment, and subsequently search the Continent for an insignificant prince — perhaps an elderly widower — who has fallen upon hard times, and would therefore be overjoyed to win the favour of an English princess … so long as I can convince the Regent to provide you with a small dowry.”

Emily’s mouth fell open, her blood boiled in her ears; again she tried to protest, but as she did her uncle abruptly pushed himself away from the table and reached for his admiral’s hat. It seemed he had more pressing matters at hand, and that, as far as he was concerned, their unpleasant interview had reached its end. Helplessly, she watched as her uncle lumbered across the cabin floor and rattled the door open. His squat, bulky frame filled the small doorway, and he lingered there a moment before pronouncing his parting thought.