Only In Her Dreams
© 2007 by Veronica Towers
All rights reserved
First Edition March 2007
DCL Publications
36 Monash Street
Melton South
Victoria
Australia
3338
www.thedarkcastlelords.com
ISBN 978-1-921347-03-0
PUBLISHED IN AUSTRALIA
Chapter 1
“Here now, Miss, I’m sorry but we be all full up,” the grubby sailor at the dock said without looking up from his ship’s manifest.
Sarah Montague paused on the crowded foul smelling dock and set her bags down. She reached up and smoothed a lock of her curly, light brown hair back into her battered bonnet and straightened herself to her full five feet, five inches and looked straight into the man’s eyes. “I paid for my passage on this ship,” she said with a quiet dignity. A meager cabin on any ship in Calais was hard to come by these days after Waterloo, she thought. This enterprising American ship, looking to turn a quick profit from transporting British families home, was Sarah’s last hope to go home to England.
“Well, Miss, it seem that we be overbooked,” the man said gruffly his eyes shifting so that they did not meet hers, “I’ll refunds your blunt, never you mind.”
Sarah looked up to the satisfied face of Captain Harriman’s wife who was standing at the railing of the boat. She had never been overly fond of Sarah, but since the incident with Lieutenant Wilbur she had seemed to go out of her way to cause trouble for Sarah. Sarah dropped her gaze determined the woman would not see the tears of despair that welled in her eyes.
In all her years following her father with the Seventy-third of Foot from Australia, Ceylon, Edinburgh and finally Waterloo, Sarah had never felt such despair. When her mother and brother had died of fever she’d at least still had her father. Now she had no one. Her father had made so many friends as the quartermaster but they were either dead or seemingly avoiding her. She had no money to spare for even the cheapest accommodations here in Calais. She would need every shilling she had to make her way to London. There were funds in the bank in London, but London is not Calais, she thought in despair.
“What seems to be the trouble here?” a deep male voice said.
Sarah turned to look at the man. The late afternoon sun shone around the man who spoke, highlighting his chestnut brown hair. Sarah recognized the tall broad shouldered man as Captain Marcus Derning, the man her father died saving from looters. A glare from that rugged green-eyed visage had been known to make battle hardened soldiers stammer. Sarah noted that the glare was now being directed at the hapless sailor refusing to board her.
“Well, you sees Cap’n, I jist tol’ this woman here that we be overbooked an’ she’ll needs to take the packet tomorrow,” the ship’s mate looked up to Captain Derning trying for sincerity.
“Miss Montague can have my cabin,” Captain Derning said swiftly, “I shall sleep on deck.”
Mrs. Harriman chose to speak up, “Captain Derning, you could not possibly allow that woman to be on the same ship as my young, impressionable daughter. The creature obviously would be in her element down here at the docks.”
The inference was plain and Sarah felt her face flush as she turned to look towards the water. A tear threatened to spill from her light blue eyes.
“Madame, I do not believe that this is any of your affair,” he turned back to the ship’s mate. “You will board Miss Montague at once, or I shall take steps to remove you from your position.”
He stepped up and started to pick up the small amount of baggage holding all of Sarah’s pitiably few possessions. Sarah tried to stay his hand, “Captain Derning, I do not wish to inconvenience you, I could see if a passage is available tomorrow.”
“Nonsense, do you want to go or not?” he glared at her. A vein throbbed in his forehead next to the scabbed bullet graze he sustained at Waterloo.
“Oh, of course, I do,” Sarah had begun.
“Then let us get you on board,” he resumed gathering her bags.
“Captain, you have been wounded—I can carry my own things…” Sarah might as well have been talking to the air. The Captain ignored her and left her to trail after him up the gangplank and across the deck. Sarah followed him down a well worn set of steps to a well-appointed, though small, cabin.
“Captain,” she said hesitantly. “I thank you for your intervention. I do not know what I would have done…I believe that man would have kept my fare as well. I have few friends now. She turned towards the small porthole and looked out at the bustle of the dock. She really did not see the activity, she thought of all of the families she knew over the years that had lost a loved one in battle. She had always tried to help but it seemed that when she was in need everyone looked the other way. She shook off her self-pity and turned back to the waiting Captain.
“I will put your bags here,” he indicated a spot near the end of the bunk. “Do you have any more bags on the dock?”
Sarah looked at her possessions and wrapped her arms around herself and replied, “No, this is it. Most of the things we had in camp belonged to the army. The pots and camp equipment we did own, I sold to another family who was staying in Belgium. Not much to show for a life spent in the tail of an army, is it?”
Captain Derning raised his eyebrows at the last question not deigning to answer what was a rhetorical question. Instead he asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Yes, if you would, I don’t think they should get paid twice for this cabin,” She said thoughtfully. “Could you please see to a refund of at least part of our money?”
She saw his mouth twist in some semblance of amusement; she knew that he did not think he would be successful in obtaining their money. “I’ll see what I can do,” he replied and touched the brim of his hat as he left the room.
Sarah remembered the first time she saw him in Edinburgh when she and her father were leaving camp. Her father was escorting her to school. Captain Derning, then Lieutenant Derning, treated her as being equal in station then as well. She noticed that even though he’d lost his boyish eagerness and had become battle hardened, he never lost his ingrained sense of courtesy.
In an army camp there was a distinct pecking order: officers and their families did not associate with common soldier families, and then there were the common camp followers who were considered whores. Hardly anyone associated with the camp followers except for randy soldiers looking for a night’s entertainment. Sarah knew that many of the women who fell into the latter category were widows and orphans of fallen soldiers who had no choice if they did not want to starve.
Sarah’s father emphasized the importance of thrift and hording every coin on the chance that she might be left alone. She had learned her lessons well and did have funds set aside. But, it would have done her no good at all if the captain had not stepped in and helped her. She now, not through her own fault, was considered to be less than a common camp follower.
***
An hour after sunset, a storm blew up with torrential rain. Sarah worried about Captain Derning on deck getting drenched. She opened her valise and found her father’s rain slicker and wrapped it around her. Sarah opened her cabin door and holding the railing for balance padded up the stairs in her bare feet. She spotted him almost immediately sitting on the deck, with his large shoulders hunched forward. She watched as he opened a small, silver flask and took a drink.
She hurried over to him, her bare feet splashing on the rain washed deck. She spoke loudly to be heard over the wind, “Captain Derning, I insist that you come into the cabin with me.”
He looked up at her dismissively and looked back away determined to igno
re her summons.
“I refuse to let a man my father gave his life to save die of lung fever,” Sarah shouted firmly, attempting to take his arm.
“Miss Montague, please go back to your cabin,” Captain Derning said pulling her arm down so that he would not have to shout to be heard, “I have weathered much worse than this as a soldier.”
Sarah set her jaw stubbornly, “Very well, I shall join you here on the deck.”
She started to arrange her father’s slicker around herself when Captain Derning abruptly stood and hoisted her over his shoulder. Sarah gasped in surprise as he carried her down the steps. Captain Derning might have been a sailor instead of a foot soldier, the uneven pitch to the deck as the ship road the waves, made no problems for him. He walked the few steps over to the cabin opened the door and set her on the floor. He turned her to look at him, “Now, stay in your cabin.”
“No, it won’t work you know, I shall simply leave the cabin again,” she fixed her own baleful glare at him. “The only way you can ensure that I stay in my cabin is if you are in here with me.”
“All right,” he said grudgingly, “You win.”
“Good, here is an extra blanket, now take off your wet things,” she handed him the blanket after removing her slicker.
He looked at her with astonishment at her cheek. She again glared at him and started to tap her bare foot on the deck. He gave a sigh of resignation and motioned with his hand that she should turn her back, which she did.
With the light of the brazier casting his shadow on the wall, Sarah could see him undressing. As a young woman well used to the lack of privacy in an army encampment, she should not be moved by the shadowy motions of a man disrobing. Yet there was an unfamiliar intimacy in the small room. The isolation of the silent cabin was reinforced by the creak of the ship and the patter of the rain outside. When she saw by shadow, that he had wrapped the blanket around his form she turned.
“Now get into the bed,” she said next. He looked at her with surprise.
She walked over to a long cupboard and pulled out a large plank just big enough to fit in the middle of the built-in bed. “When I realized that this ship was actually from Boston I hoped that one of these was probably in this cabin.”
“What in the world is that?” his curiosity getting the better of him as he took it out of her hands.
“It is a bundling board. Sergeant Buchanan’s American wife told me about them,” Sarah said briskly referring to a mutual acquaintance from a unit that had been stationed in the Americas. “A courting couple or siblings could share a bed with perfect propriety using this.”
“We are neither,” he said suspiciously.
“Oh, for heavens sake!” she exclaimed stalking over and pushing him from behind. “Your virtue is safe with me, any man’s virtue is safe with me.”
He glanced at her, amused in spite of himself, “How do you know your virtue is safe with me?”
“Captain Derning, I have known you since you joined the 73rd as a raw lieutenant and know you to be an honorable man,” she said staunchly as she attempted to push his large frame over to the bed.
He reached behind him and grabbing her arm he pulled her forward and tilted her head up to look at him, “Why are you so concerned about where and how I sleep—what business is it of yours?”
“As I said before my father lost his life saving your life, I would not want his sacrifice to be in vain,” she replied not meeting his eyes, “besides you gave up your cabin for me.”
She pulled away from him and gestured impatiently towards the bed.
“No, you get in first. I will place the board and then I will sleep on the outside,” he said tiredly.
She stalked over to the bed and got between the covers. She looked up at him from the pillows with an unconscious allure, “What if I need to, ahem, get up in the middle of the night.”
“Hold it ‘til morning,” he said grimly, “This was your idea, I have to admit it has much merit. I am just setting a few rules.”
As he lay there he thought to himself--she does not act like a wanton, she acts like a practical woman used to making the most of things. He knew she was still awake by listening to her breathing, “I should think that you would want little to do with the man who caused your father’s death…”
“You did not cause his death, I did,” she said quietly turning to face the wall of the cabin.
“The rumors about you and Wilbur—they were true,” he asked wearily.
“No, they were not,” she lifted her head and pounded her pillow dismissively.
“Tell me,” he said quietly, “And then tell me how it is your fault.”
She sighed, “I thought all of the soldiers had left camp and I went down to the stream to get some water. Lieutenant Lord Edward Wilbur, younger son of the Marquis of Bremerton was waiting for me. Papa came back to camp in time to here my screams.”
“Wilbur raped you,” he said hesitantly.
“It did not get that far,” she said resignedly, “He had thrown me on my stomach and was trying to unfasten his breeches.”
“Your stomach?” he prompted.
“Papa called him a damned buggerer, and then he got the horse whip and laid into him.”
“So how is it your fault that your father was in a position to defend me,” he pushed.
“If I had been more careful then his bloody lordship would not have caught me and Papa would not have been broken in rank and given the meat wagon detail,” she said finally her shoulders stiff.
“I am sorry that you were attacked, and I am sorry that your father lost his life,” he said, “When I next see Wilbur, I shall call him out and shoot the bastard, because it is his fault that your father was where he was and able to save my life.”
She smiled to herself with real amusement, this was the strangest bit of male logic she ever heard. She closed her eyes and tried to let the rocking of the boat lull her to sleep. She was tired but her mind kept whirling like a top. She remembered the occasion she had met Captain, (at that time) then Lieutenant, Derning. He had just joined the 73rd in Edinburgh. His custom tailored uniform was all shiny and new. Obviously he had been and still was, a man of some means. I’m surprised that he had not joined a more prestigious horse unit, Sarah thought in retrospect. He had come to see her father just before he and Sarah left camp to go to school in Bath. Lieutenant Derning had assisted Sarah to ascend to the coach taking her and her father to Bath. Sarah was very surprised because not many gentlemen would deign to assist a lowly sergeant’s child. His strong patrician features had made quite an impression on her seventeen-year-old heart. She made up fantasies about him to entertain herself the entire long trip to Bath. Funny really, she thought as she drifted off to sleep, the one about him as a knight errant come to rescue her as a damsel in distress was almost coming true…
The next day dawned clear. Sarah woke up and noticed that the bundling board was gone as was Captain Derning. She had slept last night but it was a disturbed sleep in which she kept having strange dreams about Wilbur screaming at her that she must choose Captain Derning or her father. She stretched and shook her head--dreams are dreams. The good captain must have left very early to avoid the further tarnishment of her good name. Sarah sat straighter in the bed and rubbing her eyes she smiled wryly, as if he could do more than that vile man. She crossed over to her portmanteau and removed the second of her two dresses and laid it onto the bed. She put on her chemise and tied on her front fastening corset. She then fastened her petticoats. As she brushed out her hair and washed her face and hands with cold water from the ewer, there was a knock at the door.
“Miss Montague,” she heard the man say with an American nasal twang, “We are docking in Portsmouth in thirty minutes, you might want to gather your things and wait up on deck.”
Sarah needed no other invitation as she looked into the faded mirror and pinched her cheeks before she finished dressing and pinning her hair.
***
U
p on deck, Captain Derning was approached by Mrs. Harriman. “Captain Derning, will you be going to stay with your uncle the Duke?”
Captain Derning raised his eyebrows at her effrontery, he answered her dismissively, “Madame, the Duke of Allendale is a distant relation, I haven’t seen him since I was a boy.”
Emboldened by his answer, however brief, she pressed, “I suppose you have many noble connections…”
The battered bonnet and cloak of Sarah Montague as she carried her baggage up the last of the steps to the deck came into view. “Excuse me, Mrs. Harriman duty calls, her father entrusted me with seeing to her safety.”
Mrs. Harriman mumbled, “One such as her always lands on her feet.”
He ignored her comment and strode over to where Sarah was settling her bags. “Miss Montague, I trust you had a restful sleep.”
Sarah looked up at him questioningly. She replied, playing along with his statement, “Yes, I rested quite well and yourself? I imagine it was quite damp on deck, I hope you do not take an ague.”
He raised an amused eyebrow at her comment, “I imagine I stayed dry enough, is anyone to meet you here?”
“No, my cousins have no idea that I am coming, Papa’s death was so sudden,” she said with asperity, “I would be grateful for your escort to a coaching inn.”
“Miss Montague, I could not possibly allow you to weather the hazards of a young lady traveling by public conveyance alone,” he said frowningly, “Tell me where you must go and I will hire a post chaise.”
“No, really,” she stammered her thrifty little heart stopping at the expense, “I can not afford a chaise. I am sure you would wish to see your mother; I had heard that you were unable to get leave when your father died and she must be anxious to see you…”
“I could not face my mother knowing I left you to go by common coach to…where was it you were going?” he persisted.
“Your mother does not even know me,” Sarah insisted ignoring the question.
“Come now, Miss Montague,” he said exasperatedly, “Where shall you be going?”
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