The Captain's Lady (18 page)

M
arianne stood at the railing with the five other ladies and Mr. Quince to watch the HMS
Pride
tack away, leaving the entire crew of the
Fair Winds
unharmed. When the other vessel was some distance away, even as the crew members hoisted the sails to catch the wind and carry their ship in the opposite direction, everyone cheered. All Marianne felt was desolation.

The other women now eyed her with an odd mix of expressions. Nancy gazed at her as if she were a saint, no doubt because Marianne had stopped the sailor who’d tried to assault her. Sally kissed Marianne’s hand and thanked her for saving her husband from impressment. Eleanor glared, her lips curling in disapproval, but Marianne could not guess why, for the woman had always been pleasant to her before. Molly’s posture devolved into that of a servant. Only Emma treated her no differently.

How could Marianne continue to share that cramped cabin with women who either worshipped or despised her?

“Lady Marianne.” The all too familiar voice spoke behind her. “May I have a word with you?”

She turned to see Captain Templeton standing tall and proud. No, not proud. Intense. His dark brown eyes held her gaze, and her insides began to flutter. She would not do this. She would never again succumb to his charming ways. Pushing past him, she walked toward the steps leading below, even though she dreaded returning to the airless cabin.

He gripped her arm. “May I speak with you?” It was more of a command than a question.

“Let me go.”

“Jamie, let her go.” Quince stood nearby with Emma, who sent Marianne a quivering smile.

“Stow it, Aaron.” Templeton’s handsome, well-tanned face creased with annoyance. “You have yet to answer to me for her being here. Don’t try to interfere now.”

Quince bit his lip and shrugged. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.” He put an arm around Emma and moved away.

The intensity in Templeton’s eyes increased. “I must thank you, my lady, for saving my crew from impressment. That, above all, makes your presence aboard my ship nothing short of a blessing.” He loosened his grip and winced. “Forgive me. I would not hurt you for the world.”

“But you would deceive me…deceive my father, my brothers—” She stopped, recalling the undeniable improvements in Robert’s character, little Georgie being saved from drowning, the lightened moods in family gatherings because of this man’s humor. Gulping down sudden tears, she leaned away from him, aware of the shuttered glances sent their way by the other women and the crew. “You are a liar and a brigand, a traitor and a spy.”

He had the audacity to laugh. “I do believe you’ve put an end to that latter occupation.”

She yanked her arm from his grasp…and felt the loss of his touch. Still, she would not look at him but stared off across the wide, desolate sea at the retreating HMS
Pride
. “Ha. If I could have told Captain Reading the truth about you without ruining these innocent women’s lives, I gladly would have watched you hang from your own yardarm.” No, that would have destroyed her…and Emma, too. For undoubtedly Quince was also a spy.

“But you did
not
give me away.” The mirth in his voice drew her sharp look. “To show my gratitude, you may have my cabin, so you’ll be more comfortable for the rest of the voyage. I’ll sleep in the crew’s quarters, and you’ll have access to my library and other amenities.”

She drew in a deep breath, grateful for the fresh sea air, and glanced beyond him, where the other ladies watched this little drama. No doubt they would be pleased to have a bit more space in their cabin, but it grated on her sensibilities to accept anything from this man. Yet her thoughts continued to contradict her sentiment. How could she deny that, traitor or not, he had done far more for her family than they had done for him?

“I thank you, Captain Templeton. I accept your offer. And you can be assured you will be paid for my passage when we reach my brother Frederick’s home.” She could not stop her voice from quavering. “Whenever that might be.”

Jamie watched Marianne—
Lady
Marianne, for that was the way he must think of her now and forever—walk gracefully across the rolling deck toward the ladder, her proud carriage stirring a rush of emotions within him. When she’d accosted that pompous British captain, all of Jamie’s anger toward her had dissolved, and he’d seen God’s grace clearly enacted. Profound relief flooded him as he considered the
miracle that had just unfolded. He wouldn’t try to imagine how many good people aboard this ship might have died without her interference, for he knew not one of his crewmen would have suffered his fellows to be impressed. Jamie himself would have joined the fray without a second thought for the consequences.

And now he must also forgive Quince for his part in Lady Marianne’s flight. Of course the romantic rascal had intended to secure Jamie’s happiness by sneaking her aboard the ship. Instead, now that she realized he’d been spying on her father, she’d never forgive him, and the final obstacle to a future together for them had been set in place. Because of it, Jamie felt an aching loneliness he doubted would ever go away.

Shaking off the tendrils of gloom threatening to entwine around his heart, he thanked the Lord he still could manage to do something of value for the Glorious Cause. If they could catch the right winds to help them sail against the Gulf Stream, they might reach Boston in another six or seven weeks. There he would report his findings to General Washington and receive his orders for taking the Revolution to East Florida. In the meantime, he must treat Lady Marianne with utmost care. Should they encounter another British man-of-war, he would need her continued goodwill toward the other ladies to once again avert tragedy.

Until such time, he would give her the run of the ship, for she had endured many days of confinement below deck, a fact that stung him when he thought of all she’d given up for love of him, only to face a terrible reality. He would never throw it in her face that he’d warned her, that he’d refused to court her, and only in his weakest moments had surrendered to his longing to hold her in his arms and kiss her. One thing now was certain. Because she’d stowed away,
he couldn’t escape her presence, and the rest of this voyage would shred his already tattered soul.

He’d not felt the discomfort of a crewman’s hammock for seven years, and over the next few nights, he discovered how much he’d grown since his eighteenth birthday. Either his feet or his head must hang out one end or the other, and his shoulders had grown much broader, so he felt folded in half by the canvas sling. Further, the snores of his sleeping crewmen kept him awake and cross. Never mind the smells of sweat and bilge water. He considered taking the helm at night, but a captain should be up and about in the daylight, so he must make do with whatever sleep he could get.

Over a week had passed since the incident with the
Pride,
and Jamie permitted himself some small pleasure in watching Lady Marianne walk about the deck each day. The ragged black parasol wasn’t appropriate for a lady who’d always had the best of everything, yet she seemed to take no notice. Jamie offered to bring out one of the fashionable new parasols from the cargo hold. But she snubbed him outright, refusing to answer him or accept the gift, even when the sun’s reflection on the sea colored her cheeks with a pink blush and scattered faint freckles across the bridge of her pretty porcelain nose. Surely now she must realize how much she would have sacrificed in becoming his wife. Even if he’d not been a spy and, in her eyes, a traitor, no doubt by now the foolishness of her undertaking would still have been impressed upon her.

Molly and the others ladies hovered around her. Except Eleanor, who kept her distance, though Jamie could not guess why. And his freedom-loving crew members seemed all too willing to give her the homage due to a queen. Even Quince fell under Lady Marianne’s spell and permitted Emma to attend to her former mistress’s needs. Jamie would
have laughed, except that no one but he seemed to realize how their fawning over this lady aristocrat contradicted their dearly held belief in freedom. While this couldn’t cause too much trouble as long as they were at sea, he began to wonder if she held the power to sway some of them away from the Revolution. But what nonsense that was, after all he and his crew had been through together. Too little sleep—and a broken heart—were distorting his thinking.

Marianne tried to read the books from Captain Templeton’s library, but found her mind drifting like flotsam swaying hither and thither on the ocean waves. She could not imagine what drew men to the sea. If required to spend her days sailing back and forth across the ocean, she would die of boredom. But then, to be fair, the other women, none of whom had ever sailed before, seemed to enjoy themselves without reservation once their mal de mer ceased—thanks to her ginger tea. While Marianne could not comprehend what they saw in their uncultured American husbands, she could not help but feel a few pangs of jealousy over their marital happiness, something she would never enjoy.

And then there was the strange attraction these Englishwomen had for the rebellion in the colonies, a truly contradictory behavior. Once Marianne’s identity was revealed, they showed her every courtesy her rank demanded, which placed upon her the task, indeed, the responsibility, of reclaiming their loyalty to His Majesty and England. Once the ladies were won, she would help them win over their husbands. But how to go about it? What would Mama do?

Why, she would give a ball.

During the day, Marianne heard the steady metered songs of the men as they went about their work. In the late eve
nings, the music of a fiddle, fife, flute and drum wafted from somewhere on the ship. While the unknown musicians did not possess exceptional talent, she felt certain they could manage some country dances, a hornpipe, perhaps even a minuet on the rolling deck of the ship. Of course, there must be a supper, too. She would consult with Demetrius about the extent of his food stores when he brought her dinner this very evening.

Despite the renewed sense of purpose these plans gave her, she continued to weep herself to sleep each night, for her heart ached at the realization she had never truly known Captain James Templeton. She had loved an ideal, a noble knight who did not exist, and found the real man, however charming, to be nothing but a deceitful scoundrel no better than Robert’s disgusting former friend, Tobias Pincer.

But she was her father’s daughter, and she would beat this scoundrel at his own game. She would spy on him and his crew and find out how to undercut his every move.

“D
emetrius says he will add some special spices to the salted beef and make oat cakes with raisins.” Seated at the captain’s desk, Marianne enjoyed the delight in Molly’s eyes at this pronouncement. The woman held the esteem of the other ladies, and Marianne wanted to make her an ally in her plans. “We will have
four
removes, even a fish course.” Mama would be shocked by fewer than seven removes, with twelve being her preference, but Marianne must make do with what was available. “With peas, pudding and cider, it should make a fine supper. Demetrius has some table linens, and I have given him permission to open the crate of Wedgwood china my mama shipped for my brother’s wedding gift. Demetrius and his son will serve as footmen. He says they even will wear white gloves. Can you imagine that? We will set a fine board here in my cabin.”

“Oh, my lady, how grand.” Molly breathed out the words on a sigh. “The other ladies and I will dig out our finest dresses from the packing barrels and freshen them in the breeze.” A frown flitted across her face. “I wish we could do something to help you.”

Marianne expected this offer. “Why, you can decorate this cabin and the entire ship. Hmm.” She glanced around the room with its stark furnishings. Other than a dozen or so books, two lanterns, and crossed swords mounted on the wall, not one decorative figurine or picture graced the chamber. Captain Templeton had removed his sea chest and other personal items, but his lingering woodsy scent stirred her senses.

She quickly changed the direction of her thoughts. “I would like to have flowers for the table. Do you suppose you could fashion some from bits of fabric? I understand there is a large shipment of lace, silk, cotton and other such material in the ship’s hold, all bound for a mercantile shop in East Florida. We can sprinkle the artificial blossoms with perfume.” When she reached the colony, she would pay the merchant for the fabric. “If there is any bunting to be had, we’ll drape it around the deck.”

“Aye, my lady.” Molly nodded with enthusiasm. “We’re all handy with a needle.” Another frown touched her brow. “Do you think the unmarried men will be cross not being invited to our grand supper? My Mr. Saunders says it’s not good to have a grumbling crew.”

Another concern Marianne had prepared for. “To prevent that, we shall send portions to each of them. And perhaps, if your husbands agree to let you dance with those other gentlemen, they will anticipate the festivities with the same enthusiasm as the rest of us.” Marianne tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I shall dance with them myself. That should take care of everything.”

“Indeed it should.” Molly clasped her hands to her chest as if trying to contain her glee, a response that assured Marianne her efforts would not go unrewarded.

When she sent the older woman to apprise the captain of
her desire for a ball and supper, his positive response surprised her. But then, why would he deny his crew both the anticipation of a grand event and its fruition? His compliance, along with Marianne’s new freedom to wander the ship at will, gave her all the means she required to begin winning back the crew’s loyalty to the king. Each time a pleasant memory of the captain intruded into her thoughts, she forced herself to remember God’s true purpose in permitting her ill-advised flight from her home.

“Jamie, you’re missing all the fun.” Aaron climbed the ladder and ambled across the quarterdeck. “I’d take the wheel, but we’d end up in Bermuda…or back in England.”

“We’ll head south soon enough, God willing.” Jamie squinted into the afternoon sun as he watched the empty horizon. On the main deck, Flint and the other musicians played their lively tunes, while the rest of the crew took turns dancing with the six ladies. Jamie chuckled. He was having difficulty not tapping his feet in time with their music—or laughing at the dancers. His merrymaking men, who could keep their footing in a storm or climb the sheets without misstep, all had need of Mr. Pellam’s services. But Jamie’s former dance master would be appalled to see Lady Marianne smile so beguilingly and take the roughened hand of a sailor who that very afternoon had scrubbed the deck on which they now danced.

“Seriously, Jamie.” Aaron clapped him on the shoulder. “Find someone else to take the wheel, and dance awhile. No doubt a certain young lady would be pleased to be your partner.”

“Haven’t you noticed?” Jamie gave him a wry grin. “Lady Marianne no longer speaks to me. Maybe it’s my pride, but I’ll not try again. The men shouldn’t see their
captain treated with disrespect.” Yet he wondered how he could avoid talking to her. And, in fact, longed to do so.

“They seem a bit smitten with her, don’t they?” Aaron leaned against a secured barrel and gripped a line above his head for balance. “All that will be over when we reach Boston.”

Jamie sent him a sidelong glance. “What makes you think so?” He’d worried about leaving his crew loose in London, where their loyalties might be swayed, but no other plan had presented itself. And now even Saunders and his Molly had abandoned talk of the Revolution in their adoration of Lady Marianne.

“Oh, come now.” Aaron punched Jamie’s arm. “These are good fellows, true to the Cause.”

Jamie grunted. “I’ve always thought so. But when you think of what we’re facing, what we each must give up to win this revolution, maybe they’d prefer to settle down someplace with their brides until it’s all finished. I doubt any one of them would turn down land on a Caribbean island.” He gripped and turned the wheel as a large swell rolled beneath the ship.

On the main deck, the revelers laughed as they struggled to keep their balance, even Lady Marianne. His lost love continued to surprise Jamie. She’d found her sea legs all too well.

“Whoa!” Aaron’s arms flailed about as he tried to stay upright. Jamie caught his shoulder and righted him. “Thank you, my friend. Can’t wait to get back on land. Whose idea was it for me to come with you on this mission, anyway?” His hearty laugh rang out in contradiction to his complaint. “Say, I’m going to drag someone up here to take your place. My Emma would be pleased to dance with you.” He staggered across the rolling deck and down the ladder before Jamie could stop him.

Not that he wanted to. By the time Simpson had joined him on the quarterdeck, Jamie felt the bite of mischief. If he could not have Lady Marianne for a wife, or even for a friend, he could put aside his pride and show her his goodwill, maybe reminding her of better times. In fact, he would first go below and don one of his new jackets bought on her brother’s advice.

Marianne had no choice. She must place her hand in Captain Templeton’s as they moved along the length of the dance line on the way to meet their own partners again. She did not look at him, even when he lightly squeezed her fingers. Nor even when he put his hand on her waist to swing back in the opposite direction—although a thrill shot up her spine at his touch.

“Did Mr. Pellam not tell you, Captain?” she asked above the music. “You are not to grab a lady’s waist, but merely touch it.”

His dark brown eyes twinkled with mischief, an expression she had grown to love and now must hate, as he bent close to her ear. “Forgive me. You seemed about to fall.”

A pleasant chill swept down her neck, but she attributed it to the light wind blowing over the deck. “Have you not noticed, sir? I have very little trouble regaining my footing when adversity or disappointment strikes.”

“I
have
noticed, my lady.” His grip loosened, but his smirk remained. No doubt the rascal took pride in the strength of his arms and his impressive dancing skill, but she would not give him the satisfaction of her compliments on his grace. Or on his handsome blue silk jacket and tan breeches. Or his shaving balm, a heady bergamot fragrance that brought her some relief from the smells of his unwashed crew. He bent close again. “I’ve also noticed you’ve beguiled my men.”

She shuddered away another chill and gave him a prim nod. “Indeed I have, and you would do well not to forget it.”

His laugh grated on her nerves, and she longed to slap his handsome, self-assured face. Yes, she bore the blame for being here now, but he’d never loved her. Of that she was certain. Those two times he’d kissed her—
no,
she must not think of such things. Lost in a bittersweet memory, she missed a step, only to be rescued by Jamie’s strong arms.
Captain Templeton’s
strong arms. Goodness, who had invited him to this dance? They swung around the circle, and he returned her to her partner—a Mr. Samples, whose dancing left much to be desired—while reclaiming Emma as his own partner. Her maid, her
former
maid, had the nerve to give Marianne a teasing smile. Had the whole world gone mad? What a cruel joke had been played on her by this man.

As the dance ended, she now faced a worse dilemma. When she and Molly designed the seating for the married couples, Molly had presumed the captain would take the head of the table. Marianne dared not forbid it. And now she, as hostess, must take this odious man’s arm as they proceeded to supper in his own cabin. No. She simply could not do it.

“Captain Templeton, sir.” Molly looped her arm in the captain’s, a gesture Marianne found a bit common, although she knew the warmhearted older woman meant nothing by it. “Will you and Lady Marianne lead us down to supper?”

The captain had the good grace to appear flustered when he looked at Marianne. Then a familiar teasing grin touched his lips as he patted Molly’s hand and disengaged from her. “I would be delighted, Miss Molly.” He bowed and offered Marianne his arm. “My lady.”

Molly’s hopeful smile forestalled any protest. Marianne did not curtsy, but touched the captain’s arm, albeit lightly that she might not feel its muscular strength through the silk sleeve.

He guided her down the ladder, through the long companionway toward the ship’s back—the stern, she reminded herself. In the cabin Demetrius and his son, Stavros, a boy of about ten years, waited beside the beautifully laid table, wearing the semblance of livery Marianne had suggested: brown breeches, white shirts with blue sashes angled across their chests, and white gloves. They had laid planks between the captain’s desk and a small table, arranged benches and chairs to accommodate the twelve guests, and covered the boards with a heavy ivory tablecloth, clean but a bit worn in several spots. The Wedgwood china looked exquisite, and even the tin cutlery had a sheen to it. A large bouquet of hand-sewn flowers formed an exquisite, multicolored centerpiece. The lavender perfume Marianne had given Emma for a wedding gift had been splashed upon the artificial blooms and now filled the cabin with a scent to vie with the savory fish course. As crowded as the cabin was, Marianne felt gratified to sit at the foot of the table while Captain Templeton took his place at the head—for she was as far from him as possible.

At Marianne’s nod, Demetrius and Stavros began serving, beginning with her and the captain, moving on to the first mate, and so on in descending rank. Not expecting this rough lot to exhibit proper manners, she had prepared the ladies to lead their husbands. To her surprise, Captain Templeton appeared to have done the same with his men, for they followed his example, spooning their soup without slurping and using their linen napkins often. Marianne stifled an urge to compliment the captain. After all, such
good manners were not extraordinary. Everyone should eat properly. But when he explained to Simpson that he must not speak across the table, but rather to the persons seated on either side of him, Marianne could hardly contain a smile of approval. Captain Templeton might be a traitorous scoundrel, but he was also a gentleman.

Outside the porthole, an orange-and-red sunset streaked the sky, while inside the cabin lanterns swung on hooks and cast deepening shadows around the room. Demetrius carried away the salted beef and left the cabin to fetch the final remove.

In the companionway, the sudden thump of rapid footsteps neared the cabin. Marianne turned to see a sailor dash in the door, his eyes wide.

“Cap’n Jamie, sir, a British frigate is closing fast on us from the north.”