“Are you already bored of Jamaica?”
Nerissa shook her head. “I would like to see more of the world.”
Her husband smiled at her, but there was a tinge of sadness to it. “There are dangers in travelling so much, Nerissa. But in truth, I thought that we would make a start by going back to London, and see Olivia. She will be relieved to see me, that I know, and equally astonished and pleased to meet you.”
Nerissa inclined her head to Judge Matthews who was struggling to swallow a sandwich that Cook Nancy had undoubtedly made using the latest recipes from London, probably six months out of date, and stifled a laugh. “I suppose it will be a much smoother introduction to name me as your wife, rather than mistress?”
Anthony at least had the good grace to look a little embarrassed, and now she could not stifle her giggles.
“You fool, Anthony! My, but we did get ourselves in a muddle, did we not?”
He nodded. “But not again. No, I think complete honesty and clarity is the only way forward for us. And with that in mind, our wedding tour destination.”
Nerissa held her breath, stopping in her tracks to look more closely at her husband. She could not wait to hear of their next adventure, a shared adventure with the man who had taught her not just to love, but to be loved in return.
“Anywhere,” Anthony whispered. “Anywhere from London that you wish to go. ‘Tis your decision, and I leave it to the wisest person in this marriage to decide.”
She did not have the words to say how grateful she was, so she did what she knew he would understand: she leaned forward and kissed him hard on the mouth.
There were murmurs of shock around them, but she did not care. Nothing would compare to every moment kissing Anthony.
They broke apart, finally, when a wolf whistle echoed throughout the garden.
“And no matter what catastrophe befalls us,” Anthony said in a loving whisper, “this Count and Countess will always have each other.”
Intrigued about Samuel, the Earl of Kincardine? Continue his story in his own Ravishing Regencies story in Emigrating with an Earl – read on for the first chapter…
You can also read Adena’s story in Marooned with a Marquis and Sir Moses Wandorne’s story in Beached with a Baronet!
Please do leave a review if you have enjoyed this book – I love reading your thoughts, comments, and even critiques!
You can also receive my news, special offers, and updates by signing up to my mailing list at www.subscribepage.com/emilymurdoch
Emigrating with an Earl
Chapter One
Samuel’s heart could not stop beating, but if he could not calm it down, then it was straight to prison for him.
He glanced around nonchalantly in the dawn light, trying not to make it obvious to the small gaggle of people also waiting to board the Adelaide ship that he was keeping a look out.
No Peelers as far as he could see. That was good, but it did not mean that he was safe yet. He needed to get on the Adelaide. Once he was there, once the ship had left London, then he could relax.
The sun was rising now, weak in the autumn haze but rising nonetheless, and it showed a man in his thirtieth year a little worse for wear. Tall, with blazing blue eyes that looked fiercely at anything and everything it beheld, Samuel was not a man to be crossed.
Especially today. He rubbed at his eyes, sore and crying out for rest. Unable to sleep last night in the King’s Head inn for fear of being discovered, he had left early depositing the required coin – a few shillings – on the pillow for his stay there, and crept quietly through the backstreets of London until he made it to the docks.
And he had waited. After an hour, four others had joined him in his silent vigil for the Adelaide to push out the gangplank and welcome its guests bound for the South of France. Samuel gazed at them carefully under his top hat.
Two were young men, very young; Samuel would guess no older than twenty. They looked likely to be hoping to make their fortunes, move up France in the attempt of joining the fighting. Well, mused Samuel darkly, there were worse fates.
The other two were women. One was old, very old, with a curved back and a hand leaning heavily on a walking stick. She was dressed in the latest fashions from his grandmother’s era, all bustle and corseted waist, and when their eyes met, she gazed at him with a sort of sneer only reserved for those of a lower class.
Samuel bristled silently, but calmed himself down at once. She could not possibly know, and it was a good indication that his disguise was sufficient. No one would suspect, in these old clothes, exactly who he was.
A seagull flew past, low and silent, like a ghost. Samuel shivered.
The last passenger of the Adelaide was a young woman, perhaps three and twenty. She had her eyes cast down, and Samuel recognised her instantly as the servant class. Not much to look at, from what he could see – and then she turned and caught his gaze.
A deep blush crimsoned her cheeks, and Samuel started to smile despite himself. It was always gratifying to see the effects he had on the young ladies of the ton, even when dressed like a butcher in this ridiculously cheap coat. But then he forced the smile away. He must not draw attention to himself, he must make himself as unmemorable as possible.
The smile turned into a scowl and the young lady started, obviously surprised, and she turned away. Samuel could just make out a corner of her cheek and it was still flamed red.
“Careful now!” The rough shout rang out seconds before the gangplank thudded heavily onto the dock, and the young lady started it was so close to her.
A sailor, rough around the edges and with a scraggly beard, stepped down it and gestured for the waiting passengers to embark.
With cries of youthful glee, the two boys for that was how Samuel viewed them, rushed forwards, pushing the young lady out of their way.
Samuel did not even think. He had been raised differently, evidently, and he stepped forward in one swift movement and grabbed the two lads by the shoulders.
“Ouch – blimey, mister!”
“Ladies first,” growled Samuel in an undertone. He raised his eyes to the gentlewomen, and the elderly went first, nodding her head at her perfunctorily as she passed them.
“T-Thank you,” stammered the younger of the two, and she followed her mistress onto the board without another word.
The two lads were struggling against his hold, and Samuel saw no reason to hold them any longer.
One of them shook himself and tried to straighten his collar. “And what business was it of yours, mister, to get involved?”
The petulance of youth paired with the arrogance of strength, Samuel thought, trying to suppress a grin. By God, he remembered it well.
“And if you do such a thing again,” added the second, “we will knock your block off!”
For a wild moment, Samuel felt his violent temper rising, rising and desperate to free itself from his self-control – but he bit his tongue. He must not draw attention to himself, he must not give anyone cause for concern. No one must suspect.
When they saw they would get no response, the first spat on the ground and pulled his companion with him onto the gangplank. Samuel took a deep breath, and then followed them to board the Adelaide.
“Welcome!” A man who could only be the captain was standing at the end of the gangplank on the ship, personally welcoming each of them on board. “My name is Captain Goodwin. And your name is?”
The two boys were introducing themselves, and Samuel tried to calm his breathing. Surely he would not be recognised here, so close, so close to escaping England. He glanced around the deck and saw no one who could be a Peeler, so this was not an ambush, a trap.
“And you sir?” The captain’s eyes had reached him, and he grinned happily. “Who do I have the pleasure to welcome on board my ship?”
“Who indeed?” Samuel stalled with what he hoped was a winning smile.
The captain’s smile faltered slightly. “Why yes, that was my questi
on.”
There was an element of panic rising within him now, and Samuel knew that if he was to successfully board this ship, he needed to create a suitable name. The last thing he needed was a completely false name; he remembered what his friend Éduard had said to him all too clearly…
“Never a false name, Samuel, never. Lying is a great deal easier when some of what you say is the truth.”
And Éduard would know, after all – he hunted spies all over Europe.
Samuel smiled nervously into the face of the captain. It was difficult not to laugh aloud at what this captain would say or do if he told him that he was Samuel, Earl of Kincardine, suspected murderer!
“Samuel Brown,” he said with a growing smile. “Samuel Brown, looking for a new life in the South of France. Brown. Yes.”
For a moment, he panicked that he had not been convincing enough – Brown, why on earth had he chosen Brown of all surnames? Captain Goodwin was staring at him as though he had just started to smoke at the edges, and his eyes were narrowing.
“Have…have we met before, Mr Brown?”
Samuel swallowed. “I do not think so, Captain, but I…I have a cousin who is a sailor. Perhaps I remind you of him?”
Time seemed to hang in a balance, as though it was deciding whether he would be successful or not. And then…
“Mayhaps that is it,” said Captain Goodwin breezily. “Well, off you go then, Mr Brown, just follow this man to your cabin.”
The captain turned away and started to give a few additional instructions to one of the sailors. Words such as ‘beef’ and ‘salt’ could just be heard.
Samuel blinked. He was not accustomed to being so quickly dismissed, and everything in him, every moment of his upbringing, rose up within him to say something, to demand a little more respect – but he bit it down.
He was not the Earl of Kincardine here, and it had better stay that way if he was to avoid the Peelers. He would not go to prison, he refused to be caught for the murder of Stephen.
Samuel nodded curtly at the sailor who was waiting to show him to his cabin, and they stepped across the deck, but not without passing the young woman from the dock. She was watching him closely, and for a split second, their gazes met.
A hot flush covered her cheeks and she turned away.
* * *
Margaret Berry sighed, making sure that it was a silent one that could not attract attention, as she carefully placed the blue muslin gown into the drawer. She had folded it with great care, and looked at it for a moment, slightly impressed with herself at the result.
But there was no time for selfishness. In a quiet and gentle step, she moved back to the truth and found on the top, a letter from her friend Adena – now the Marchioness of Dewsbury, or course.
I was so devastated to hear of your departure, and only hope that in time, Luke and I will be able to visit you in the depths that is France. Alas, I fear that due to our titles…
A tear fell onto the letter and smudged the final word on that page. Margaret dashed away the other tears that threatened to fall, and tried to ignore the feeling of total hopelessness that was threatening to overwhelm her.
“Taking another rest, are we? One would think that you are the invalid, and I the companion!”
Margaret leapt up as her Great Aunt Sabrina hobbled into the room with a frown on her face.
“And I see that the unpacking is not finished,” continued the older woman with her frown deepening as she cast her eye around the shared cabin. “My word, what do I keep you for, girl?”
“I was just resting for a moment, aunt,” she said softly. “I did not intent to leave the jump half done.”
Great Aunt Sabrina snorted, and dropped into the only chair in the cabin. “I should think not, we have only left the London docks five minutes ago and already you are lounging about. Did I tell you that this was a holiday? Just because you did not want to leave England, that does not give you the right to neglect your duties!”
Margaret bit down her response, which would have been that she did not want to leave but she was left with no choice. Instead, she murmured something placatory and moved back to the trunk to remove another gown for the drawer.
This was her life now, biting down her tongue and thinking of all the things that she would have said, if she had had the courage. It had been her life for years now. She had nowhere else to go, no other friend who could take her in, and that left her with –
“I did not expect such a dip in your quality, my girl,” sighed Great Aunt Sabrina, interrupting her thoughts. “I can see that gown has not been correctly folded from here. Take it out of the drawer, and do it again.”
Margaret swallowed down her retort, and the bitterness she felt, and tried to smile. “I apologise, Great Aunt Sabrina.”
Instead of placing the crisp white silk gown into the drawer, as she had been about to do, she placed it carefully on the bed, and drew out the blue muslin to fold once more.
“Hmmm.”
She could feel her Great Aunt’s gaze on the back of her head, but she would not turn around, she refused to face her if she did not need to. Any moment when she could pretend to be alone, pretend that this was her room, and her decision to come onto this ship, was a blessing. The only blessing that she could hope for.
“Well, ‘tis fair to say that I did not predict this sort of rough work when I took you in,” complained her Great Aunt, not needing a response when she criticised her companion. “Nigh on three years ago it was now, if I recall correctly, and still I am teaching you the same – not like that, girl!”
Margaret tried not to let her shoulders slump with tiredness and frustration, and shook out the gown once more. Third time was the charm, was that not the saying?
“When your parents died of tuberculosis, I took you in,” reminded Great Aunt Sabrina. “A plague it was, so many died… And I was the only one to consider taking you in, too, for there was no one else, was there?”
“And I am very grateful for it, Great Aunt Sabrina,” murmured Margaret, focusing carefully on the exact fold across the bodice.
“So you should be!” Great Aunt Sabrina spoke with triumph, as though she had scored a great point against her, forcing her to say something that she had not wished to. “Too well born for a poor house, I warrant, but you could have been a governess to a terrible earl or duke. You hear most terrible things of governesses, and I would have wanted no blood of mine to be tainted with scandal.”
Margaret said nothing, but placed the light blue muslin gown back into the drawer, and sighed inwardly when no reproach was heard. True, she would have struggled to be a governess, alone in a large house, but what difference was it, really? Companion, governess: you were a servant, living to do the bidding of another.
A little scandal may have helped to break up the monotony.
Her cheeks flushed at her very thought, and she shook her head slightly. No gentlewoman would ever consider such a thing, and she was wanton to just think it. Though her parents had died before her twentieth year, they had not raised her as a wild thing.
She would always avoid scandal like…well, like the plague.
“ – and you should feel fortunate indeed that we are bound for the South of France, one of the most elegant and refined places in the world, if you ignore the Revolution which I always do, you know,” finished her Great Aunt Sabrina. “Are you dawdling there, girl? Plenty more in the trunks to unpack, methinks.”
“Yes, Great Aunt Sabrina,” Margaret said mechanically, and turned to the white silk still lying on the bed.
London, the South of France: what difference did it make to Margaret, really? True, she had one friend in London, Adena, but now that she had married and married well, there was little chance of seeing her often. The marchioness of Dewsbury could not spend her visiting hours on a companion to a relatively wealthy elderly woman. She would be too preoccupied with dukes, and earls, and perhaps even the Regent himself.
“Did you know that
there was a murderer on board?”
Margaret started and dropped the bottle of scent that she had been holding. It dropped onto a rug and mercifully rolled until it stopped at her Great Aunt’s feet, still intact.
“Stupid girl, pay attention!”
The scolding was not unexpected, and Margaret hurried over to pick up the bottle with crimson cheeks.
“A m-murderer?” She managed, turning away to place the bottle carefully on the toilette table. A thrill went through her body at the very thought of it. A criminal, a murderer indeed, here on the Adelaide? “Is it true, the rumour?”
“And what does it matter to you?” Great Aunt Sabrina scoffed. “‘Tis naught to do with you girl. What could a murderer possibly want with you?”
Read more of Emigrating with an Earl HERE.
HISTORICAL NOTE
I always strive for accuracy with my historical books, as a historian myself, and I have done my best to make my research pertinent and accurate. Any mistakes that have slipped in must be forgiven, as I am but a lover of this era, not an expert.
About the Author
Emily Murdoch is a historian and writer. Throughout her career so far she has examined a codex and transcribed medieval sermons at the Bodleian Library in Oxford, designed part of an exhibition for the Yorkshire Museum, worked as a researcher for a BBC documentary presented by Ian Hislop, and worked at Polesden Lacey with the National Trust. She has a degree in History and English, and a Masters in Medieval Studies, both from the University of York. Emily has a medieval series, a Regency series, and a Western series published, and is currently working on several new projects.
You can follow her on twitter and instagram @emilyekmurdoch, find her on facebook at www.facebook.com/theemilyekmurdoch, and read her blog at www.emilyekmurdoch.com
Catastrophe With a Count Page 10