by Arlem Hawks
Marah went rigid. He had been kissing her.
“I allowed myself to be distracted from my duties.”
She took his hands. He didn’t squeeze hers back. “We both did. But that doesn’t mean—”
Collin swallowed and pulled his hands from her grasp. She let them go without resistance. “We both have responsibilities to see to. And I need to prepare to answer for what I’ve done. We cannot afford any more mishaps from inattentiveness.”
Marah retreated a step. Then another. That isn’t how life goes, you know. The handsome gentleman doesn’t parade in on his white horse to save the lady from all her troubles. How had she let her heart fool her? This was reality, not one of her friends’ romance novels. The gaping emptiness inside threatened to strangle her.
“Yes, sir. I apologize.”
Collin grimaced, a hand raising as though he meant to take hers. After a moment he let it drop back to his side. “Please don’t think for a moment that you did anything wrong, Marah. I let myself go too far. I forgot my place, and I know I am entirely to blame.”
Marah’s mouth had gone dry. She tugged on the sleeve that covered her aching wrist. Of all the physical things to pain her right now, she didn’t know why her wrist hurt the most. She focused on that ache, attempting to banish the hurt welling to unfathomable heights within. She’d been a fool. If she’d kept her heart under lock and key, she would not be in this predicament.
“I should be above.”
Marah set her jaw. It was fortunate they didn’t have many more days on this miserable brig. “Yes, Captain.”
His footsteps trudged from the room, but she didn’t watch him go. Burning tears gathered under her lashes, and she clamped her eyes shut to prevent them falling. The action did just the opposite, sending the tears tumbling down her dirty cheeks.
She lifted her wrist, kneading it with the other hand. As bosun she should follow him above to continue her assessment of the battle’s damage. But she didn’t want to stand in view of his miserable expression. She pulled back her sleeve to see what sort of injury she’d suffered when Adam shoved her into the cannon.
Tiny, circular bruises in a line marred one side of her wrist. Almost like a…
Marah clapped a hand over her mouth. No, it couldn’t be. She scanned the deck beneath her feet, even though it couldn’t have fallen there. She shook out her skirts but nothing fell from them. Blast it. Blast it all.
She dropped her head to her hands, unable to keep back the sobs.
The bracelet was gone.
Chapter 11
Collin found Marah at the bow. Before her stretched the English shoreline growing ever larger. By the end of the day they’d be docked at Chatham. The Manly had taken the lead back to England after hastily fixing the mainmast in the day and a half since the battle. Their repairs wouldn’t last another storm, but that wasn’t why Greetham had hurried them. He wanted to reach land first to spread the tale of his misfortune.
Stomach sinking, Collin mounted the forecastle and made his way to Marah’s side. His heart longed for conversation with her, but he could not allow it. At least not how they’d conversed before. He had no right to play with her emotions after what had happened between them.
Collin cleared his throat as he approached. She turned, then braced herself against the rail. A light drizzle heralded their arrival in port, and she wore a bonnet, he assumed to keep the wetness from her eyes. She didn’t often wear more than her light cap, as she said a bonnet blocked her vision. Collin bit his cheek. This wonderful woman. If only he hadn’t ruined everything.
“How may I be of service, sir?”
He stepped up beside her and grasped the rail. Tell her what you have to say, and then be done with it. “I will arrange for your payment to be delivered. Where do you plan to go when we arrive?”
She inched away from him until there was no possibility of an accidental touch. A wise move, though it stung him to see her attempt at disinterest. “To Josias’s apartments, but I did not plan to leave until the boat had been paid off.”
Sailors stayed on the ship until their payment was delivered after all the work was seen to. But she couldn’t stay. “I think you should leave tonight, as soon as darkness falls.”
Marah ran a hand along the rail as though stroking a loved horse. “Who will attend to the bosun’s duties?”
“I’ll hire someone.”
A mirthless smile crossed her features. “You want me gone so quickly.”
“No, no.” Waves broke against the Teaspoon’s hull below them. Their sound swallowed up his whisper. “Of course not.” He glanced around the deck where sailors swarmed in preparation. “We’ll be boarded as soon as we dock. I worry if a superior catches wind of what happened in regards to your position, you will find it difficult to secure your wages. Not to mention your widow’s pension.”
She huffed. “I already gave that up as lost.”
“All the same, I would like you to have it.” Sails snapped above them in the wind. They were making good time. Only a few more hours left in Marah’s company.
“They will find out during the court-martial regardless. What does it matter if they discover it now or later?”
Collin shook his head. “I don’t want you to testify.”
Marah’s hands flew to her hips. “And why would that be? Do you wish to protect me again? That ended very well for you the last time. I am not afraid of a line of self-important, nobbled post-captains.”
“Marah, I want you to receive your rightful pension from the navy.” He took her by the shoulders and instantly regretted it. A step closer and she would be in his arms. “You cannot testify without them uncovering what happened.” He hoped if he told them Mr. Kinsley had died soon after leaving port, they would think nothing of it. But if the court examined Marah, the interrogation could lead to questions she shouldn’t answer.
“I do not need the pension.” She didn’t pull away from him. Part of him wished she would.
“What will you do? Where will you find work?”
Her face fell.
“How will you realize your quest to secure that cottage and farm for your family?”
She reached up and slowly pulled his hands from her shoulders. “Very well.”
“The worst that will happen to me is I am expelled from the navy and left to find other work,” he said. “But I do not have a family to care for.”
She nodded and turned her back on him, shoulders rounded and head bowed. This wasn’t the stubborn woman who’d stood in his cabin denouncing him for suggesting she would be a distraction to the crew.
“I’m sorry for all of this. For the battle, and for your husband’s death. For not bridling my heart and for asserting my affections on a mourning widow.”
She studied him out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t we all deserve a chance at happiness?”
“Not fools like me.” He pursed his lips. They needed to move on before they started drawing stares from the crew and he made an even greater fool of himself.
“You told me love was not something a person earned.” She turned back to him, eyes narrowed. The wind tossed the soft curls around her face and billowed the steel-blue linen of her dress. She wasn’t one of the well-bred young ladies he and his fellow midshipmen used to gawk at in the streets while on leave. Her hands, hidden beneath her folded arms, were calloused and strong. Her face was tanned from long hours on deck. Her clothing was faded and worn. And yet he’d never glimpsed a sight more stunning.
“Perhaps I was wrong.” But how he wished he could have won her love and given her all she’d worked for. A connection with him could leave her in worse circumstances than she was. Collin dipped his head. “I must thank you for your loyalty through this voyage. And for your work. I don’t think a captain could ask for a better bosun.”
Marah blinked rapidly as though rain had splattered into her eye, though the drizzle had lessened as they spoke.
He turned to go, shoving his hand
s in his pockets. Something inside one pocket wrapped around his fingers, and he paused. He couldn’t forget that. He wrapped his fist around it and drew it out.
Collin gently took her hand and settled his fist into it. “I found this and took the liberty of repairing the clasp.” He let the bracelet slide from his hand into her palm. Then he curled her fingers around it. “I do hope you find your true love like you promised.”
A lump sprang into his throat, and before he could make a fool of himself again by kissing her trembling lips, he hurried away.
26 May 1813
Penrith St., Chatham
My dear Phoebe,
I have not written to properly congratulate you on the impending arrival of your little one. I wish you all the happiness in the world with tiny Miss or Mr. Fenwick and do hope you have not been overly ill. It has been far too long since last we saw each other, but I hope to amend that if I can.
I must beg you to forgive my silence. Things have not gone well for many months, dare I say years? I’m sure you have all guessed by now that I did not marry for love as promised. Stephen was a good man, but there was nothing between us beyond friendship. At least to start. It took his death and nine months of widowhood for me to realize I did marry a man who respected and appreciated me, which was more than I thought I deserved. It never amounted to love on my part, and I see now that I had tried too valiantly to keep my heart closed to the possibility.
I tell you all this because I would like to renew that promise to marry for only the truest love to someone with whom I can weather every storm and laugh with on the worst of days. Someone who would stop at nothing to prove his love and who sees me for who I am, not for what skill or wealth I can offer.
Thank you for your endless friendship. I promise to be a model correspondent in the future. I’ve realized how important it is to cherish those we love. Love is truly a gift meant to be treasured.
Yours, etc.,
M. Kinsley
Marah reread her last letter as it dried. Now her friends would see her for the fraud she was. Last year before their marriages, Isabel and Daphne had asked for her advice in love, mere months apart. She’d relayed what she thought they needed to hear, not what she’d learned from experience. That was not long before Stephen’s death, when his feelings had begun to change.
She folded in the sides of the letter and fit it into a little rectangle. Somehow the thought of her friends knowing the truth didn’t bother her anymore. In fact, her heart felt lighter. She didn’t have the funds for fancy wax, so she pressed a dampened sealing wafer under the edge of the paper. With a cross-hatched stamp, she finished the seal and set the letter on the stack with three others addressed to Lavinia Harcourt, Daphne Everard, and Isabel Lincroft.
I would like to renew that promise to marry for only the truest love to someone with whom I can weather every storm and laugh with on the worst of days. Someone who would stop at nothing to prove his love and who sees me for who I am, not for what skill or wealth I can offer.
Marah sighed and sat back in her chair at the writing desk in Josias’s cramped sitting room. Collin was all of those things. If only the battle with the Manly hadn’t tainted it all.
The door opened behind her, and she bolted to her feet. Josias and Eliab entered, removing their hats. They’d been called to testify in Collin’s court-martial, but she hadn’t expected them back so soon. Eliab’s usual hardened face did not surprise her, but the defeat in Josias’s eyes made her grasp the back of the chair.
“What is it? What happened?”
“They didn’t ask about you,” Eliab said. “That’s all that matters.”
Marah turned to Josias, a chill running through her despite the warmth of the room. Her half-brother wouldn’t meet her eyes. “He’ll be lucky if he keeps his commission. Greetham did well at gathering supporters to make up the court.” He hung his hat on the stand near the door. “And they pride themselves in being above politics,” he grumbled.
Government politics. The navy had its own, equally ridiculous system.
“Did they call on the watchman?” she asked. Surely they had someone who could attest to the thickness of the fog and the Manly’s failure to post her colors.
Josias shook his head. “Most of the witnesses were from the Manly’s crew. And they couldn’t find the watchman. He vanished after the Teaspoon was paid off.”
Marah ground her teeth. She should have been there. He needed someone on his side. Josias and Adam surely hadn’t testified against him, and Eliab was honest even if he disliked her affection for the commander. But none of them had been above when the battle started. No doubt Greetham had only called them to the court in an attempt to prove impartiality. She spun away, tapping her fists at her sides.
Go after him, she could practically hear Isabel urging her. It wasn’t hard to imagine all of her dear friends pressing her to go to his aid, no matter the danger to her reputation or stability. Like Count Rudolph riding off to save his love. Only in reverse, as Esmerelda would be doing the saving. In spite of herself, a tiny grin pulled at the corners of her lips. Those dear girls. How would she ever repay them?
Marah pushed the chair away and marched for the door.
“Where are you going?” Eliab asked behind her.
“Hang the pension!” She was going to stand up for what was right. And she was going to keep her promise at the same time.
Chapter 12
Collin sat in a chair before a panel of captains he’d never met in the great cabin of HMS Crimson. Behind him Greetham whispered to his father, who’d done his best to flood the court with captains loyal to him. He wouldn’t let the embarrassment of his son returning to port with a splintered mainmast go quietly. Only Captain Brenton, the president of the court-martial, seemed dedicated to neutrality. Collin was fairly certain he was the older brother of a lieutenant he knew on the Andersen, but that would hardly win him any preference.
Brenton cleared his throat, mouth set in a disapproving frown. His eyes settled on Collin’s sword, which lay on the table before them. That could not bode well for Collin. Brenton had made it clear he disagreed with Collin’s guilt, but he could not persuade the others. They hadn’t taken Riley’s testimony that the Manly fired first, not over Greetham’s gunner’s word. Talbert and Emmerson had been belowdecks for the whole of the battle and unable to contribute anything to help Collin.
All was going according to the Greethams’ plans.
The door opened behind him as the president began. “In the absence of a witness above deck at the time of the encounter… Yes, what is it, Hopkins?”
Collin turned in his seat. The marine who’d brought him in saluted at the entrance. “Sir, there is a woman here who wishes to address the court.”
Marah? He couldn’t see her behind the marine, but who else would it be? She wasn’t supposed to be here, and yet his heart leaped.
One of the captains smirked. “What could a woman have to say to the court? Did you have women aboard, Boyd?”
“Don’t record that,” Brenton muttered to the clerk taking notes. “Did she tell you her name?”
Collin turned back to the panel, clutching the sides of his chair. She’d lose her pension. If Admiral Greetham had any tout, he would not allow it. And he’d have a good argument, what with Marah lying to the navy. Why was she here? They’d agreed she wouldn’t be.
“Mrs. Kinsley, sir. Wife of the Teaspoon’s bosun.”
Brenton nodded. “Please bring her in.”
“She can hardly have anything to say that would change the decision,” Admiral Greetham said.
His son chuckled. “Is that the ill-bred trollop I met in your cabin, Boyd?”
Collin bristled. If that talk continued, he’d give the court more things to find him guilty of.
A moment later Marah strode in. The ringlets she’d taken to wearing had fallen and now framed her face in loose curls. Sweat beaded the edge of her brow and she breathed heavily. No one but Collin and Bre
nton stood when she entered.
“What evidence do you have to present to the court, Mrs. Kinsley?” Brenton asked.
She squared her shoulders. “I was above deck when the Teaspoon engaged the Manly.”
Brenton nodded. “Swear her in. I do have questions for someone who saw what happened.” He retook his seat.
“She’s in Boyd’s pocket,” the younger Greetham said, sputtering. “You cannot expect an impartial testimony.” He was silenced by a glare from Brenton and cuff from his father.
After taking oath, Marah planted her feet and straightened to her full height. She clasped her hands before her, the red bracelet boldly encircling her wrist. Ready for whatever they threw at her. Collin closed his eyes. He did not want her to do this. But now that she was here…dare he hope?
“You are Marah Kinsley, widow of Stephen Kinsley, the late bosun of the Teaspoon?” Brenton asked.
“I am, sir.”
The clerk’s pen scratched against paper. Marah stood before the line of captains like a proud little brig sailing into a storm.
“Please forgive my asking, but what was the date of your husband’s unfortunate death?” To his credit, Brenton’s voice had softened.
She answered without hesitation. “August the fifteenth, eighteen hundred and twelve.”
Brenton’s eyes narrowed. Cries of confusion echoed down the table. Collin winced. This could backfire terribly.
One captain jumped to his feet. “Who was bosun of the Teaspoon when she engaged the Manly?”
Marah glanced at Collin, then raised her chin. “I was.”
Marah paced the forecastle of the Crimson, anchored a little way from shore. The clouds had cleared enough to allow a brilliant sunset to creep through, painting the sky in a stunning array of oranges and violets. She couldn’t spare the scene much thought. As she walked, she ran her hands over the lines she passed. It felt strange knowing she’d never care for a ship’s rigging again.