Lady Amelia's Mess and a Half

by Grace, Samantha

  At least the blasted French had one thing right, two if he counted their wine. And their pastries weren’t so bad either. Not to mention their ladies tended to be less inhibited in the boudoir. Damn. He almost envied the rotters. Although he had no cause for complaints. Amelia was a pleasant surprise between the sheets.

  He sank onto the hard chair while she inspected the quarters further. After a brief glance at the folding screen in one corner of the room, she turned to him.

  “How does the captain expect me to spend my days if I cannot leave the cabin?”

  “We’ll take daily strolls around the deck. As often as you like.” He snapped his fingers and jumped from his seat. “I almost forgot. I have a gift for you.”

  Crossing the room in two strides, he loosened the fastenings on his trunk and lifted the lid. He dug through his belongings until his fingers grazed the book spine. He lifted his offering from the trunk and held it out to her.

  Amelia accepted the leather-bound volume and reverently ran her fingers over the gilded letters. “The Plays of William Shakespeare.” Her eyes shimmered with tears when she looked up again. “I don’t deserve such a beautiful gift.”

  He frowned as he pulled her into his arms. “Of course you do.”

  She buried her face against his chest and sniffled. “No, you are the deserving one. I’m so sorry, Jake.”

  When a loud sob burst from her, he held her at arm’s length. “Amelia, whatever is the matter? Why are you crying?”

  She shook her head and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “I don’t know. I just am.”

  “I see.” In truth, he didn’t see at all, but he had learned a couple of important rules when it came to ladies and their sensibilities. Never ask a lady why she is angry. You’ll only increase her fury for not knowing what you did wrong. And when a lady cries, offer her a handkerchief and hold your tongue. Soon enough the storm would pass.

  Jake pulled an embroidered handkerchief from his jacket pocket, gave it to Amelia then tucked her up under his chin again. This time she laid her cheek against his chest and circled his waist with her arms. He held her tightly, swaying back and forth, until her tears subsided. Once she had quieted, he still embraced her, grazing his hands over her back.

  “Is everything better now?”

  She nodded and touched the handkerchief to her face.

  He released a pent-up breath. “Perhaps you would like to read to us after dinner. I’ll act out the parts.”

  Her giggle caught him by surprise and eased the tension that had been building up in his chest. She looked up at him with a tentative smile. “You would make a striking Katherina.”

  Long, even tones of a sea shanty wafted from the half deck as the seamen worked the capstan to raise the anchor. “Would you like to go topside?”

  She stepped from the circle of his arms and placed the book on the crude table beside the bed. “I don’t think Captain Hillary wishes to be reminded of my presence.”

  “Pay him no mind. He believes a woman’s place is in drawing rooms or ballrooms.”

  “And bedchambers,” she added with a touch of surliness.

  “I suppose he does, but in his defense, life at sea is rough. Daniel has been a seaman for ten years. I trust him with my life.” More importantly, Jake trusted him with Amelia’s life. “Follow his directives, love, and we will arrive safely in New Orleans.”

  “I’ll listen to the captain, but only because you ask it of me.”

  “Fair enough.”

  She yawned, her shoulders drooping on the exhale. “Do you mind if I lie down for a while? I’m not feeling myself today.”

  She didn’t seem quite herself either. If a nap would facilitate a return of her usual cheerful demeanor, he fully supported one.

  “I’ll see if Daniel could use my assistance while you rest.”

  ***

  Amelia struggled to keep her eyes open during dinner despite a long nap. The cumulative effects of the salty mist and sunshine had the same effect as a large meal, a glass of wine, and a lullaby. Even on the archaic bed waiting for her in their cabin, she expected to have no problems with falling asleep. She couldn’t recall a time when she’d been this exhausted.

  She picked at the boiled pork on her china plate. The delicate dinnerware was out of place in the stark surroundings. One feminine touch in an all-male domain. The dishes reminded her of how out of her element she was. She missed Bibi already.

  Unfortunately, the pink flowers on the plate rim did nothing to enhance the meal. The tough meat required excessive chewing, tiring her even more. Saltiness filled her mouth and the back of her throat. She fought against the urge to gag, setting her fork beside her plate.

  Captain Hillary narrowed his eyes. “We waste no food on the Cecily.”

  “She’s eating,” Jake said, coming to her rescue again. “What would not be a waste is a practice in civility while in the lady’s presence. Perhaps it would prove handy when we return to London.”

  “I have no time for ladies.”

  Amelia’s gaze darted between the men. She disliked being the cause of conflict between them.

  “The fare is more than adequate, Captain.” She picked up her fork and skewered a piece of meat then popped it into her mouth. Her stomach roiled. Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply until her stomach settled. “Mmm. My compliments… to… your cook.”

  Her stomach rumbled again. Another bite and she would toss up her accounts.

  Jake pushed his empty plate aside. “Whatever you leave, I will gladly eat. I’m famished and didn’t get my fill.”

  Amelia shot him a grateful look and passed him her meal. “I’ve had more than enough. Please, help yourself.”

  Jake accepted her offering and cleaned her plate. Wiping his mouth with his napkin, he leaned back in the chair. “What do you say to a reading this evening?”

  She would prefer going to bed, but it seemed rude to excuse herself so soon after their meal. “Reading sounds lovely.”

  “Allow me to retrieve your book.” Jake hopped up before she could protest being alone with Captain Hillary.

  When he left the cabin, the captain’s gaze bore into her. “You must eat whether you enjoy the fare or not.”

  She sat up straight. “Oh, no. You misunderstand. The food was superb—”

  “Enough. I don’t require false flattery. Either eat well, or you will not survive. Simple as that.”

  Amelia blinked, shocked by his bluntness. “I understand, Captain Hillary. I promise to consume all of my next meal.”

  He nodded, a slight smile erasing some of his sternness. “See that you do, my dear.”

  They sat in silence until Jake returned with her book of plays.

  “Will you read tonight?” she asked.

  Taking his seat again, Jake flipped the book open and leafed through several pages before settling on a play.

  “Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour draws on apace; four happy days bring in another moon: but, O, methinks, how slow this old moon wanes!”

  Amelia’s body heated and she averted her gaze. Was it a happy coincidence he had chosen this play? Their own nuptial hour would have been yesterday, and it was her fault they remained apart. She never should have married Audley.

  Jake seemed unaware of her discomfort and continued reading, changing to a falsetto when he recited Hippolyta’s lines. She chuckled in spite of feeling wretched.

  Jake peeked over the book’s edge. A smile lit his eyes. Finding her response encouraging, he adopted different voices for Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and all the characters of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Soon he stood and added movement, silly, overly dramatic gestures and fluttering eyelashes as he had to entertain the orphans.

  His interpretation of the mischievous Puck made her laugh until tears rolled down her cheeks. Even Captain Hillary chuckled on occasion, much to her surprise. He had seemed incapable of merriment earlier.

  At the end of the evening, she stretched out on the
straw mattress in the cabin and fell into a dead sleep before Jake had finished readying for bed. It was hours later when waves of nausea jolted her from sleep and sent her scrambling to locate the chamber pot in the darkness.

  She careened into the side table, knocking something heavy to the floor and waking Jake.

  “Amelia?”

  She couldn’t answer with anything other than a moan as she felt around in the black night for the folding screen. She stumbled into it, hitting her elbow, before a light flickered in the lantern. Dropping to her knees before the chamber pot, she tossed up her accounts, certain she was dying.

  Jake came around the screen, knelt beside her, and supported her weight as she emptied her stomach.

  After her retching ceased, he brushed the hair from her eyes. “Are you all right?”

  A cold sweat saturated her night rail. “I’m uncertain,” she eked out.

  He lifted her weak body, carried her back to the bed, and laid her upon it with care.

  “I’ll retrieve the surgeon,” he said.

  “No, please. I-I think I might be seasick. Allow me to rest. I’ll feel better on the morrow.”

  His brow creased as he studied her. “Are you certain?”

  She offered a half smile and closed her eyes, unable to speak. Jake moved about the cabin then closed the door as he left. She was asleep before he returned.

  When she next woke, a sunbeam thrust its way into their cabin through the pristine glass window. Jake was stretched out beside her, his arm draped across her waist. Her mouth was as dry as day-old bread, and her body ached. She stirred to relieve some of her discomfort, hoping not to wake him, but he shot upright.

  “What do you need?”

  “Water.”

  He pushed from the bed and moved to the small table to pour from a serviceable pitcher. Returning, he placed the cup on the side table then helped her sit up on the edge of the bed. He joined her on the mattress and kept his arm around her for support. The tepid liquid washed over her parched tongue as she drank every drop, easing the scratchiness in her throat.

  “I think I am better now.”

  Jake didn’t release her.

  Her stomach heaved again, and she dashed for the chamber pot, unable to keep down water even.

  As Jake assisted her back in bed, he frowned. “I’m collecting the surgeon.”

  Twenty-eight

  Amelia sized up the gentleman designated as the ship’s surgeon standing in her cabin. He looked more distinguished than she had expected. When Jake had declared his intentions to summon him, images of a raving madman wielding sharp instruments led her to protest.

  But now that the surgeon established his sanity, she was thankful Jake had retrieved the man. Although her stomach had settled over the last hour, and she was convinced whatever ailed her had passed, Jake remained skeptical. Perhaps the surgeon could help her persuade him she was well now when he allowed Jake back in the cabin.

  “As you can see, I am fine. Whatever ailment plagued me earlier, it has passed.”

  “Uh, huh. Open wide.” Amelia did as Mr. Timmons instructed, but she gagged again when he poked a stick in her mouth.

  She almost knocked him down in a rush to reach the chamber pot, but all she did was dry heave.

  “Hmm. Interesting,” the man said from the other side of the screen. “Once you’ve set yourself to rights, I have a few questions.”

  Tentatively, she peeked around the folding screen. “Yes?”

  He waved her forward. “Come along. My exam is incomplete.”

  She moved to the chair he indicated.

  Pushing her sleeves up to her elbows, he squeezed both wrists, turning each arm this way and then that, studying her skin, or perhaps her veins. Amelia was uncertain what he meant to accomplish. He took her face between his hands and swooped closer as if he might kiss her but stopped mere inches from her lips.

  “Look up,” he ordered, spreading her eyes wide with his fingers.

  Amelia looked up, hoping her compliance would end this ridiculous encounter.

  He stepped back. “I think I know what ails you. Yet I can only be certain one way.”

  “What way? What is wrong with me?”

  His lips puckered and twisted to the side, as he seemed deep in thought. “No,” he mumbled. “Perhaps there is a less improper way. Lady Audley, when were your last courses?”

  Amelia’s hand flew to her chest. “Sir, that is a delicate matter not discussed in mixed company.”

  “You mustn’t consider me a mere man. I practice medicine. That places me in a different category, like a bishop. It makes any confessions acceptable conversation topics.”

  “Confessions?”

  “Poor choice of words. I was trying to illustrate a point. Now think. When was your last menses?”

  Amelia’s entire body flushed with intense heat. He thought her with child. How ridiculous. Why, she had just had her last monthly… She searched her memory. Three—was it four? Oh, dear heavens. Six weeks ago?

  “No!” She bolted from the chair. “This cannot be happening.” Whipping around, she nailed the surgeon with a furious glare. “You are wrong. What really ails me? Do I have cholera? The plague? It’s scurvy, isn’t it? Yes, that must be it.”

  The man drew back with a puzzled frown. “You would prefer a horrid disease to carrying a child?”

  She burst into tears.

  “Yes,” he mumbled, “my diagnosis is accurate. You are already suffering from the hysteria associated with bearing a child.”

  Amelia frowned at him through her tears. “I am not hysterical.” The good Lord knew she wanted a child more than anything. And not just any man’s issue. She wanted a child with Jake, but her divorce would never be granted in time. The thought of their child legally belonging to Audley made her nauseated all over again.

  Instead of running from the cabin in fear of her sudden ill temper, the surgeon put his arms around her and led her back to the chair. “You mustn’t cry, milady. The Almighty never gives you more than you can handle.”

  Amelia wanted to shout, “Ha!” or deliver a clout to the side of his head. What manner of idiot made such a comment? He seemed as qualified for his position on ship as the cook.

  Of course, Mr. Timmons would think it was easy. He wasn’t about to destroy the life of someone he loved or ruin his child’s life. He probably thought birthing a fabulous way to spend an evening, too.

  In fury, she glared at the simpleton. “Don’t you dare tell anyone of my condition, or so help me… you… you’ll walk the plank.”

  The dreadful man laughed.

  “I’ll keep your secret safe,” he said, “but the child will give you away in time.”

  “Yes, well that is none of your concern. It’s your duty to convince Mr. Hillary that I am fit.”

  His gentle smile infuriated her even more. Honestly, where had Captain Hillary found the charlatan?

  “Eat smaller meals more often and get plenty of sleep to manage your nausea,” he said. “The sickness will go away on its own.”

  “Please, leave me.” She waved him away with an irritated flick of her hand, but before he reached the door, she added, “Thank you.”

  Under different circumstances, his diagnosis would have overjoyed her.

  ***

  Jake paced Daniel’s quarters while his brother studied navigational charts and made calculations. “I should have heeded your warnings,” Jake said.

  “Hmmph.” Daniel didn’t look up from his maps.

  “I shouldn’t have brought her along.”

  His brother glanced up briefly before returning to his work without comment this time.

  “What if she’s really ill? What if she dies?”

  Daniel’s quill clattered against the desktop. “Has anyone ever told you that you babble more than a shallow brook? Timmons will be in shortly, and you’ll realize what a ninny you are.”

  A knock at the door interrupted Jake’s pacing.

  �
�Enter,” Daniel barked.

  The surgeon meandered into his brother’s office with a smile. “Good news, gentlemen. Nothing serious ails Lady Audley.”

  Jake’s breath came out in a noisy whoosh. “Are you certain?”

  “No need to fret in the least.”

  Jake did not need to hear anything more. He flew out the door and hurried below deck. Without knocking, he burst into the cabin.

  Amelia jumped to her feet, her hand covering her heart. “Good heavens, Jake.”

  Before she could say another word, he crossed the small space and swept her into his arms, lifting her from her feet. He wouldn’t let her go, no matter if she protested or not.

  “Thank God you’re not seriously ill.” For a long time, he held her, swaying to the music in his heart. “Everything will be all right, Mia. You will see.”

  ***

  Lord Banner had died a sudden death. Heart trouble, the doctor had said, but Jasper knew the doctor had lied. The blackguard hadn’t possessed a heart. Jasper hadn’t expected his sister to mourn Banner’s death with any real conviction, so her stony expression and dry eyes at his wake hadn’t been cause for alarm.

  What did cause Jasper concern was how she continued to show no change in affect three weeks after Banner’s burial. It was as if the sister Jasper had always known had slipped into herself and disappeared.

  He studied her across the dinner table. Her face had grown gaunt, and her widow’s weeds hung on her already rail thin frame. She’d barely eaten a bite of her meal, even though Cook had prepared her favorites.

  When she pushed her plate away, Jasper followed suit, rose from his seat, and went to her side. “Let’s retire to the drawing room. I wish to speak with you on a matter of importance.”

  He assisted her from the chair and linked arms. “I’m concerned for your welfare, Fiona.”

  She patted his arm and offered a wan smile, the first glimmer he’d seen of his sister for weeks. “It’s my role to worry over you, Tub.”

  “Fuss over me is more like it,” he teased. “Or perhaps fuss at me.”

  He saw her settled into a chair in the drawing room before he took a seat.