The Admiral's Penniless Bride (16 page)

‘Only if you feel inclined, ma’am,’ Thayn told her. ‘As for me, I am happy to help. I have worked so many years for the wealthy and seen little enough gratitude for what I do. Your home feels different.’

Home, is it?
Sophie thought.
This sorry, ramshackle residence?
Home. That was food for thought.

‘Thayn, think of the good we can do. If we find we cannot fill all their hours with work—and I suggest we
not try too hard to do that—I will depend upon you to fill their time with lessons.’

Thayn nodded, her eyes bright with understanding.

Sophie laughed. ‘It appears you will still be a governess here. Do you mind if your pupils are society’s dregs?’

There was no overlooking the affection on the governess’s face.
I have found an ally and an altruist
, Sophie told herself, pleased.

‘Ma’am, think of the great good you can do.’

‘We, Thayn, we,’ Sophie amended. ‘Let us go to the bookroom. The admiral said he would leave a letter there for you to present to the workhouse beadle and sufficient funds to grease his palm, should he quibble.’

Tired, but triumphant, Thayn returned at the end of the day with two urchins as thin of face as herself. Over tea on the terrace, where Sophie had sat most of the afternoon, watching Charles sitting on driftwood at the beach, his eyes on the ocean, they compared notes. Thayn told Sophie she had struck such a frugal bargain with the beadle, happy to have two more mouths off his hands, that she had enough of the admiral’s money left to purchase several bolts of cloth to make serviceable dresses and aprons for all the domestics now in Admiral Bright’s employ.

‘I confess to being no dresser, ma’am, but I can sew,’ Thayn said, as she finished her tea. ‘Your upstairs maid informs me that she is adept with a needle, as well.’

‘Have these little girls names?’

‘One is Gladys, and the other I will call Minerva, after my mother, if that is agreeable to you,’ Thayn said. She could not help herself then. ‘Ma’am, what kind of a country values children so ill as to not name the ones who might not survive babyhood?’

‘Ours, apparently,’ Sophie murmured. She gazed at
the admiral on the beach, longing suddenly to go to him because he looked so lonely. ‘Oh, I should tell you—the attic rooms are finished. May I put you in charge of assigning the female staff to wherever you think best?’ She laughed, noting with a softness in her heart that the admiral turned around at the sound of her voice. ‘Hopefully they will not mind ugly Egyptian furniture! The steward couldn’t use it all.’

Miss Thayn joined in her laughter, but sobered quickly enough. ‘Ma’am, I can imagine that it will far exceed a pallet on the floor.’

‘It will,’ Sophie agreed. ‘And now, Thayn, perhaps I had better check out my other responsibility on the beach.’

Sophie felt her heart begin to hammer in her breast as she walked down the few steps to the beach. The men had cleared away all evidence of the bonfire, but there the admiral sat. He had paced the sand for a while, then adjourned to a prominent piece of driftwood. Her heart went out to him, a man misplaced on land, weary of the sea and not totally convinced either place was his choice now.
I must remind him of his memoirs
, she thought,
if we can overlook…other matters.

He put his arm carefully around her waist. ‘Sophie, I set the rules about this marriage of convenience, didn’t I?’

‘You did,’ she agreed, wishing she did not sound so wary, wishing she had the courage to say what she was thinking, even as she marvelled at the speed with which she found herself in love. Could he ever understand that? Would he just think it was her gratitude, and not a love that was beginning to almost take her breath away? But she had to explain herself, even if it made her blush. ‘I wanted to comfort you,’ she said simply. ‘It’s a good way.’

‘It worked,’ he told her, sounding almost as shy as she felt.

‘I know,’ she replied, her voice soft. ‘You’ve been so kind to me and that was my aim.’ She took a deep breath, knowing she had never spoken so plainly to a man in her life. ‘Let me say this: neither of us is inexperienced. I don’t know about other women, but I comforted myself, too, by what I started.’

‘Good for you,’ he whispered.

I like that
, she thought. ‘I think I know your body now.’

‘It’s a basic one,’ he agreed, half smiling. ‘So is yours, but there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?’

‘Yes, most certainly,’ she replied, feeling more brave. ‘I want to know your mind, too.’ She hesitated.

‘Go on,’ he encouraged.

‘If we don’t know each other’s minds, then how dare we proceed? The result would not be happy.’

He seemed to consider the matter, his arm still around her waist. ‘I believe you are right.’ He released his grip on her. ‘Sophie, I know a lot about uncharted waters. We sail slowly, always sounding the depth.’

She thought she understood him, but saw a lee shore looming.
If he is to know my mind, I have to tell him my real name, and why I said nothing earlier
, she thought.
I have to. Would now be the time?

She opened her mouth to speak, but the admiral was ahead of her.

‘May I still bring you tea in the morning?’ He asked it so gently that she hadn’t the heart to express herself further.

‘You know you may,’ she said quietly.

‘But just tea,’ he said in haste, and the moment to confess was gone, because she had to smile and shake her head over their situation. He laughed and nudged her shoulder.
The branch creaked louder, then snapped, sending them both to the sand.

Sophie laughed, and felt disinclined to rise, especially since her husband was laughing, too.
How do these things happen?
Her head was pillowed on his chest again, but he did nothing more than hold her. The afternoon was warm. She breathed deep of the sea this time, finding it to her liking, where she thought it never would again.

‘Sophie dear, what is my remedy for life on land?’ he asked her finally, rising and helping her to her feet. He dusted sand off the back of her dress and she had only the slightest suspicion that his hand lingered overlong on her hips.

You’re a sly one, husband
, she thought, amused. ‘We already covered that. Your memoirs, sir,’ she reminded him. ‘We will begin tomorrow.’

Again there was that half-smile, plus a look of faux-resignation. ‘Very well, wife. After morning tea, it will be the bookroom. What danger can we run into in there?’

S
ophie slept soundly and didn’t wake up until her husband knocked on her door. She noticed with some suspicion that he wasn’t wearing his hook. His eyes followed her gaze and he smiled beatifically.

‘Wife, you are so suspicious,’ he scolded, his voice mild as he handed her the cup and saucer, and let drop the hook and harness on the end of her bed. ‘I’ll have you know Starkey requested a few days’ shore leave, which, he reminded me, is overdue. You’ll have to help me with my ironworks for the next few mornings.’

First came the ritual they were accustomed to now. She slid over to make room for him and drank her tea. He leaned against her legs and even started to put his hand on her hip, but changed his mind. It was all she could do to keep a straight face.

‘Wife, I have cleared the deck in the bookroom,’ he announced as she sipped, his hand chastely in his lap, to her amusement. ‘I have located paper, pen and pencil, whichever you prefer. I will endeavour to tell the whole
truth and nothing but the truth, except, possibly, where shore leave is concerned. Can’t have you thinking I am a total cad.’

‘Wretch!’ she said mildly, putting down the cup and drawing up her knees, so he had to straighten up. ‘Your scandalous past is none of my business.’

‘I suppose it is not,’ he agreed. ‘No scandal, dear. From Trafalgar to 1811, I was either milling about in the channel, or dragging my fleet into the Mediterranean, to see what mischief we could do to Boney’s sailors.’

‘You know you would do it all again in a minute, if called upon,’ Sophie ventured, watching his face.

He surprised her. ‘As to that, I wouldn’t swear on a Bible. Land has its attractions.’

They looked into each other’s eyes. Sophie felt herself growing warm again in that region south of her belly that had received such exercise only yesterday, and at about this time. She felt her delicate parts start to melt again as her brain suggested in no uncertain terms that she look away. With some reluctance, she focused her attention on the softly blowing curtain over her convenient husband’s shoulder.
Good Lord, the man has broad shoulders
, she thought.

A knock on the door simplified her efforts to abide by whatever it was they had agreed to yesterday; she still wasn’t sure.

‘The timing in this house is wretched,’ she was sure her husband muttered as he got to his feet and opened the door.

He turned his frown into an instant smile as he held the door open for one of the new workhouse girls, eyes wide and staring, who carried in a brass can of hot water.

‘I…I…wasn’t sure which door, your excellency,’ she
whispered, nearly overcome with terror. ‘I…I…tried t’em all.’

Sophie beckoned to the child. ‘You did very well… Minerva? Gladys?’

‘Minerva, mum,’ the child whispered.

Charles took the brass can by its bale and lifted it from her grasp. ‘That’s a heavy assignment,’ he said. ‘Let’s put it here on the floor by the wash basin. My madam is quite able to lift it when she needs it.’ He winked at Minerva. ‘My dear, a simple “Admiral” will suffice. I’m not as exalted as a bishop, and probably a tad more profane.’

Minerva only nodded and stared, then remembered to curtsy, as she backed towards the door. She paused and looked into the distance, as if trying to remember what came next. Her eyes lit up and she looked at Sophie again. ‘Will there be anything else, mum?’ she asked. ‘Or you, your excel…excellent Admiral?’

‘No, no, my dear,’ Sophie replied, forcing down her laughter. ‘You might tell Etienne that I will be down for breakfast in half an hour.’

It was the reply Minerva wanted, apparently. With relief in her eyes, she bobbed a curtsy and beat a hasty retreat. Charles closed the door and leaned against it, dipped his head and laughed softly. When he looked at her again, he wearing that dratted half-smile Sophie was finding so hard to resist. ‘Maybe we should send the servants to Capri instead of us. The painting is nearly done in the hall now, and most of those naughty cherubs are now under paint. This house could actually be liveable, provided we don’t get any more visits from the Leaky Tadwells of the world.’

He came back to her bed, took off his shirt and held out his harness. ‘Buckle me up, my dear. No telling who will
barge in next. I haven’t heard from the Admiralty Lords in recent months, but they might be in the vicinity.’

She did as he asked, not even trying to hide her smile. When she finished, he kissed her cheek and put himself back into his shirt. She buttoned him without a word, wondering if he would peck her cheek again and disappointed when he did not. After tucking in his shirt tails, he went to the door.

‘I’ll be ready in the bookroom when you finish breakfast.’

‘I won’t be long,’ she assured him, ready to fling back the coverlet, then deciding against it, because her nightgown had hiked up during the night.

‘Take your time over breakfast, Sophie dear. I hope you won’t think me a managing old husband, but I have encouraged Etienne to use a liberal hand with the butter and cream.’ He scratched his head with his hook. ‘It, uh, came to my attention about this time yesterday that you might want a little more padding in various venues.
Ciao, esposa.
Linger over breakfast.’

He was gone then, but not before she saw his grin. ‘You, sir, are a complete rascal,’ she murmured as she got out of bed and shook down her nightgown.
And you, Sophie, need to ask Minerva to bring you cold water with chunks of ice in it
, she scolded herself.

She had no difficulty lingering over breakfast, with buttery croissants and porridge with the clotted cream Devonshire was so renowned for, topped with raspberries. She was further encouraged by the folded note her husband had left by her place: ‘If you don’t try some of that cakey stuff with cheese on it, Etienne will go into a deep decline. Trust me: this is not something you want to witness. You should have seen him after the Battle of Basque Roads, when I
had the temerity to tell him I was too busy for breakfast. Your loving and deeply concerned spouse, His Excellency, The Admiral Who Must Be Obeyed.’

You are going to bully me with kindness
, Sophie thought, as she tucked into breakfast.

There was no putting off the bookroom, especially since it had been her suggestion as a means to keep the admiral occupied. Sophie reminded herself it was one of the conditions of their marriage—
not that anyone was precisely keeping the conditions
, she reminded herself, as she dabbed her lips and rose with what she hoped was resolution.

When she timidly opened the door, he stood by the window, rocking back and forth on his heels, as if impatient to begin. He turned around when he heard the door open and there was that half-smile again.

‘I trust you did eat some of those…those…’

‘Cheesy things?’ she asked. ‘They were delicious. Soon I will not be able to fit into those lovely clothes you have paid for.’

‘Where are those, by the way?’

‘Patience, patience,’ she admonished as she looked at the desk. ‘It takes time to sew dresses.’

She just stood there, unsure of where to sit. He indicated the desk. ‘Sit yourself down, wife, and roll up your sleeves. I intend to do enough pacing about for both of us. Let me know if it makes you dizzy.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Where should I begin?’

She did as he said, squirming to make herself comfortable. In a moment he was kneeling by her chair and reaching under the seat to turn a screw.

‘There now. That should allow your feet to touch the deck. Another turn?’

‘One more.’ His head was practically in her lap. For
some absurd reason that totally escaped her, she wanted to touch his hair. She thought of yesterday morning, when she had twined her fingers in his hair and felt her face go red. She told herself resolutely to admire his ears, think of anything but how pleasant had been that sensation, especially since her first climax had peaked when her hands were in his hair.
Heavens, Sophie, have a little temperance
, she scolded herself.

Thank goodness he stood up then. Trouble was, he didn’t move from her side. And horrors, he put his hand on her shoulder, giving her neck a quick caress with his thumb. She couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped her. Pray God he hadn’t heard it. She had never felt so finely tuned to another person in her entire life.

‘Where should I begin?’ he asked softly.

Oh, gracious, keep your hand on my neck
, she thought.
Start there.
‘Oh. Oh. I think at the beginning, don’t you?’ she managed to say.

‘Do you have a sore throat?’ he asked. ‘You sound a little strangled.’

He moved his hand from her neck and she cleared her throat. ‘It’s just an early morning frog,’ she said.

‘Well, then. Get your pen ready. I was born in Bristol in 1771, youngest child and only son of a barrister…’

And so the morning went. Sophie felt herself relaxing as she concentrated on the page in front of her. The admiral had thoughtfully provided a number of pencils, which proved more rapid than dipping nib in ink, over and over.

After a short time, Sophie knew it would take some effort to achieve efficiency. She blamed herself. In his matter-of-fact way, what her husband told her held her spellbound. More than once he had to remind her to take his dictation.

He seemed to be swallowing his impatience as she struggled to write what he said, when all she wanted to do was ask questions. He must have realised it when she gasped as he told her his father had sent him to sea at age ten, then burst into tears.

‘See here, wife, I know I told you earlier that I went to sea at ten,’ he exclaimed, throwing up his hands and ceasing his contemplation of the fireplace. ‘Come, come. You’re such a watering pot over the mundane matters of my maritime career. Oh, hang it, Sophie! I know I have a handkerchief somewhere.’

He did, and he produced it, after taking her hand and plopping her down on his lap on the sofa, where she leaned against him and bawled. ‘You’re a silly widgeon,’ he said a few minutes later, his tone much softer. ‘It’s always been that way in the navy. Sophie, you have the softest heart. How else is the navy going to train officers fit for command but to start them early? Sophie, Sophie.’

‘You were just a baby,’ she managed, when her tears had subsided and she was content to rest against his broad chest.

‘Ten? My dear, don’t tell a boy that!’ His arms tightened around her. ‘Mind the hook. It’s on your port bow,’ he cautioned, which made her chuckle in a watery way.

She sat up and blew her nose. ‘Didn’t your father want you to be a barrister?’

He brushed her hair from her eyes, anchoring it behind her ear. ‘I had a better father than most, I think. He could see I spent all my time at the docks, watching the ships and begging for my own pinnace.’ His eyes softened with the memory, and then he gently pulled her back against his chest. ‘My mother cut up stiff, just like you are doing.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘She cried, but she packed my
first sea chest and sent me off to join the fleet heading for the American War.’

‘The American War? You’re not that old,’ Sophie declared into his suit coat.

‘Beg to differ, my dear. It was 1781, and I got in on the tail-end of the navy’s humiliation by the French at Yorktown. Call it the Battle of the Capes. I spent it rushing notes from Captain Graves to his lieutenants on the gun decks.’

And dodging dead bodies and slipping on blood and gore
, he thought.
I would never do that to a child of mine.
He held her out again and looked her in the eyes. ‘Sophie, I’ve never been so frightened, but I also never wanted to be anywhere but on a quarterdeck for the rest of my life.’ He put her off his lap. ‘Now, sit at the desk and write that, will you?’

She did exactly that. Charles knew that if he held his convenient wife on his lap for many more minutes, he would end up locking the door, clearing off the desk and having his way with her in the bookroom, of all places. It took all his will to set her on her feet again and announce that he had some business elsewhere in the house.

After he had walked around the house, down to the beach and back, admired the painting in the last room on the main floor that needed it, he thought he could look in on her with complacency. She sat at the desk, tongue between her teeth, frowning at the paper as she wrote. Why would a woman look so attractive doing that? he asked himself.
Oh, hang it, Admiral
, he thought in disgust,
as far as you are concerned, Sophie Bright would look attractive scrubbing pots in the kitchen, up to her elbows in grease. You are a no-hoper.

There were worse things, he decided, as he came into
the bookroom. To his relief, Sophie was her cheerful self again. She held out the paper with a flourish. ‘I think I have captured the essence of your experience,’ she told him as he came closer. ‘Here. Read it.’ She sat back in his chair, her lovely eyes on his face, confidence in every line of her posture. She was a far cry from the frightened woman sitting in the dining room of the Drake.

She was right. He read it over again, pleased at her distinctive way with words. He sat on a corner of his desk and put the page back in front of her. ‘I couldn’t have said it better, Sophie.’

He noted how she blushed at his kind words.
You are pleased by so little
, he thought.
Perhaps that is because you have had so little.

She was still regarding him. She clasped her hands in front of her on the desk, reminding him forcefully of himself at sea and in command of a fleet.

‘Speak, oh great one,’ he teased, which made her laugh.

‘This is how we should proceed, if you’re agreeable,’ she said, speaking so thoughtfully and without even the slightest idea how lovely she looked. ‘You’ll give me the bare bones of the tale and I will ask you questions. When we have finished, I will write your story the way I see it. You can change whatever you want, of course.’

He could see no reason why not to do it her way. ‘I think you have hit upon an excellent division of labour, my dear! I will blather on about my naval career and you will do all the work. Perhaps I will show you some of my deadly dull memos to the fleet and you will see what a wise idea that is.’