The captain answered, as though he had been meant to hear, “Only should you wish it, Lady Holsworthy, though I daresay you will find a surfeit of men who would like you to be able to protect yourself, since they will be held responsible should you be placed in danger.”
“Oh! But… I’m sure I… I could never use a weapon.”
Myron chided gently, “Pray, do not decide today how you will live the rest of your life aboard ship, my lady. There is much to understand before you can decide what you will wish to learn.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Following the captain across the deck, she was directed toward a series of closed doorways with glass insets, curtained to shut out prying eyes.
“On the starboard side—”
“That is to your right, my dear,” Myron explained.
“On the starboard side,” Captain Johnson stressed, “is Lord Holsworthy’s cabin.”
He opened the set of doors to a fair-sized room, far larger than she had expected, paneled in dark wood, contained a writing desk and a bunk built into the wall, less than half the width of her bed at Brittlestep Manor. The room also contained a large cannon, taking up no less than a quarter of the space.
“Must we live with guns in our quarters?” She swallowed hard. “And such large ones.”
Myron nodded with a grim look. “This is a sixty-gun ship. There are no cabins that do not also house cannon, my dear, and I beg you recall it is for your own protection.”
“Yes, my lord. Of course.”
She stepped over to an interior door and said, “What is behind here?”
“Here, my lady,” the captain continued, opening it for her, “we have carved out an ordnance-free sitting room for you, and office for Lord Holsworthy.”
Painted in a delicate green, with an amber-hued Persian carpet reaching from wall to wall, this area had been designed to accommodate their family life. An escritoire sat to one side, a larger partner’s desk to the other, and a clutch of armchairs and a loveseat in the center. A drop-leaf table hugged the back wall, providing a place to take a meal, beside a door leading to a small balcony that could only be accessed through their quarters.
“What a lovely balcony! What a wonderful place to have tea and think.”
Even the jaded-looking captain smiled at that. “The stern gallery, my lady. Balconies exist only on land.”
“Oh, of course. I suppose eventually, I will learn the language?”
“I think it inevitable,” Myron said with a smile.
Another interior door, this time between two floor-to-ceiling gated shelves, according to the captain, led to “Her Ladyship’s cabin.” At her nervous grin, he unlocked the door, handed her the key, and pushed the door open. “Lord Holsworthy asked that—” The poor man’s ears were burning again.
“I wished you to have a place on board that you could call your own, my sweet, and I asked the princess’ advice in the decoration. I hope you find it pleasing.”
“Oh, yes!”
Bella felt the smile reach from ear to ear when she took in the room, decorated as lavishly as any in Charlotte’s parents’ home, the same narrow bunk as Myron’s, draped in gold muslin and not designed for two. Oil lamps lit the space, which might be illuminated further were she to open the curtains, but then anyone walking across the deck could see into her rooms. The gun so evident in Myron’s chamber was hidden by a dressing screen in hers.
The chamber was carpeted with a thick oriental rug, the walls painted a deep shade of blue. Her books were aligned on shelves that took up half a wall, kept safely in place behind gold chains that ran across each shelf from side to side. The comfortable chair covered in gold brocade turned from side to side, but was attached firmly to the floor, and the top of the candle stand next to it—which made it a reading nook, as far as Bella was concerned—was ringed with delicate brass to keep anything from falling off. An armoire and trunk stood open, her dresses neatly hanging on sprung hooks, boots and belts and bags neatly folded and secured, so her clothing wouldn’t fly around the cabin if the ship were tossed about in a storm.
“How very clever it all is! I would never have thought to make certain everything was kept in its place.”
The two bedchambers and sitting room conjoined a very large dining room that would serve to feed everyone in turns daily, and in between times, men might meet to plot out their duties. Without much trouble, though, Bella could see, it could be transformed to serve as a venue for a formal dinner or party.
Their quarters were extremely generous in terms of space, much larger than the prince had implied when he had told her about the accommodations, but no inch of space went unused, and every area served more than one function.
Stumbling against the rocking of the ship, she observed, “I’m not accustomed to the world always shifting under my feet. Not in a literal sense, at any rate.”
“You’ll have your sea legs in no time, my lady,” Captain Johnson said with a smile. “Though I caution, you may find yourself feeling quite ill within an hour or two. Most people do.”
“Yes, Lord Holsworthy has warned me.”
Bella balked at the ladder she was asked to descend to view the royal and ambassadorial quarters directly below theirs, so Myron climbed halfway down first, apparently intending to protect her from falling, but finally, she shook her head.
“No, my lord. If I will live on this ship, I must learn my way around it under my own power.” Myron stepped back at the end of the steps and smiled as she gathered up her skirts and climbed down. “I am now certain I must shorten my skirts a bit, however.”
The three rooms below had been designed to the taste of the Prince of Wales and his sister, as had a dozen smaller cabins, not quite as sumptuous, for lesser aristocrats and their staff, but which would quarter various officers until their official use was required. Bella felt both the weight and exhilaration of being mistress of this small portion of the large ship, much as she had the first time her aunt had taken the Effingale family to London and left Bella chatelaine of Brittlestep Manor in their absence. The weight of it began to tug at her stomach.
In fact, her stomach was starting to feel a bit out of sorts. She wrapped an arm around her middle.
Myron took one look at her face and said, “You look suspiciously green, my dear. Into bed with you, Lady Holsworthy.” He motioned her to the ladder to her cabin. Bella and Captain Johnson both flushed bright red before Myron realized his double entendre. “I mean—as I should think you know, Captain—that Lady Holsworthy is about to be very ill for an undetermined interval, and will be far more comfortable in her nightrail, in her cabin, in her bed, with ginger tea and hardtack at hand. There is nothing salacious in that, surely.”
The idea that her new husband was about to watch her casting up her accounts made her that much queasier, and she scrambled up the ladder. By the time she reached her quarters, she was swaying on her feet a bit more than the ship’s movement warranted. Myron, right behind her, put a bucket underneath her retching mouth just in time to save the lovely carpet.
“Oh, no, my Lord,” she moaned, once she had cleared enough of her stomach contents to find her voice again. “I will give you a disgust of me. You cannot be—”
His hand stroked the back of the head. “Where else should I be on my wedding night, but with my bride, for better or worse? I have been a sailor since the age of fourteen and seen many a case of mal de mer. You will survive it, though I daresay you will doubt me before it is done.”
At that, her stomach lurched again, and he steadied the bucket and her shoulder. As the episode shuddered to a close, his gentle fingertips brushed the hair out of her face that had fallen from its pins, pulled it back, and tucked it into the back of her dress. As she caught her breath, he produced a box of ginger pastilles from his waistcoat pocket.
“Ginger tea in a matter of minutes, if I know Captain Johnson, and our ship’s doctor, Charles Anders, will likely make an appearance, though there will be nothin
g particular he can do. For the moment…” He held out the tin and she took one. “Unfortunately, my dear, we cannot know how severe your ailment will be, nor how long-lasting, but I am of good faith that our Lord will see you well in short order. And I will be here to act as your…” His eyes twinkled, and he touched her chalky cheek, “I suppose ‘lady’s maid’ is the role I am asked to fill, is it not?”
She stared at him bleakly, sucking on the candy, as her stomach rolled with the motion of every disparate wave within ten leagues.
Chapter Twelve
May 30, 1805
“The ship’s cook will be delighted you are feeling more yourself. He hates to see food go to waste. And he is a very good cook, so I am pleased you can enjoy his talents.”
Bella had made short work of a bowl of fish soup and a thick slice of soda bread, the first food she hadn’t declined in three days, and was now seated, wrapped in a woolen dressing gown, at the writing desk in his sleeping quarters, as he prepared for an afternoon meeting with the captain. He tied his long hair back in a queue, and inspected his face in a looking glass on the wall above his dressing table.
“I think my stomach has made peace with the ship, at long last.”
He leaned against the table and caressed her cheek. “Thanks be to God. I am so happy to hear it, my darling.” In a tone of vague apology, Myron added, “I hope you will not mind if I tend to business while you accustom yourself to your new surroundings.”
She rose and tugged at the ends of his cravat until the knot came untied, “I will not mind, my lord, but I have not yet fulfilled my duty to you.” At his stunned, wary look, she said, “You asked I help you show yourself more as a gentleman, so you must allow me to teach you to tie your cravat.”
“I have been tying my own neck-cloth for forty years.”
She smirked and raised a brow. “How often is a neck-cloth required aboard ship? Admit it, my lord, only when you are forced to it, and no matter how often, you feel ham-fisted each time.” His lopsided, boyish grin teased her heart, her fingertips itching to pinch his cheeks. “If that is how you have tied your cravat for forty years, then you have been doing it poorly for four decades. You would be hopeless as a gentleman’s gentleman.”
“This comes as a surprise to you?”
Bella had learned the intricacies of a nobleman’s wardrobe from her uncle’s valet and taught both of her brothers and both of Charlotte’s. Bella considered it a skill required of a gentleman: to present himself as one without assistance.
He placed himself obediently before the mirror, crouched down enough so she could demonstrate the task over his shoulder.
“You needn’t learn more than one or two knots, but you really must know them flawlessly, even to tie in the dark, especially if you will live without a valet.”
She executed a Trone d’Amour knot with alacrity, then untied it and made him tie it three times under her hands and twice more on his own before she was satisfied he was prepared to meet with anyone on a matter of business. Once she declared him “fit to be seen in public,” he kissed the palm of her right hand and said, “You will make a nobleman of me yet, my lady, for who can resist such a sweet smile? I am pleased you feel so much better, but aggrieved I must spend the day at business, not at your side.”
“Of course you must not dote on me all day. Only…” She picked at the knot she had just tied.
“Only…?”
She chose her words carefully, not wishing to seem ungrateful or peevish. “Only, I am not sure what I am to do all day. I wish to be of use, my lord, to you and your company and the prince, but I know nothing of what is needed. I have no notion of what I should do.”
He grasped her hands. “I see. You have only risen from your sickbed. Might it be something to consider as you gain your sea legs? You haven’t eaten a bite in three days, and you were too thin before. You want feeding, Lady Holsworthy; I will have Cook send you some porridge, and you must choose a novel and spend the day in bed.” He tapped her on the nose with his finger, but she frowned and stepped back.
“Perhaps I can make a list of my skills, in case I might be missing how a proficiency can translate here.”
He brushed a thumb across her cheek and she leaned against his hand, eyelids fluttering closed for only a moment.
“You are quite serious about this.”
“I am, my lord. I cannot shirk duty in a world where it is the central tenet. I must be of use, or I have no right to the same rations as the crew.” She waved her hand at the tray. “Most especially not special meals, hand-delivered to my cabin three times daily. I am not a dimwitted porcelain doll. I can be of use, if only you will help me discover how.”
He brushed his hand over her hair, pushing loose strands off her forehead. “You are a wonder, Lady Holsworthy. I will help you, and in short order, you will find your place on the crew. You will not be treated like an ornament. I promise you that. But on the morrow, I will have more time to be of use to you. For today, I wish you would rest a bit longer before you undertake to learn to captain your own vessel.” He tweaked her nose. “For that is where I know you are headed with this nonsense, you bold baggage. You will not stop until you are admiral of the high seas and outrank Poseidon himself.”
“Don’t be silly,” she giggled. “I am hardly a goddess, and surely there is some blasphemy in the suggestion. Go be about your business, Husband. You needn’t constantly watch over me. I will make my list and eat plenty of porridge, and I mean to begin a journal of my travels. I had a set of blank volumes made. I have plenty to occupy me.”
She reached up on tiptoe to place a soft kiss on Myron’s cheek, the first time she had done so unprompted, the first time since their only kiss at the chapel before they set sail. He seemed dazed by this small attention, as if he had hit his head on a deck beam. His fingers moved to his face to touch the spot, then squeezed her hand in a fond farewell.
Bella went back to her room to dress. She would stay in her rooms as he requested, but there was no need for sloth. In truth, a husband who eschewed fancy fashions was a perfect match for her, as she always felt like a fraud in the sorts of gowns Aunt Miranda and Charlotte coveted. She pulled on the fortune in stays she must be in the habit of wearing every day, wisely re-designed by her modiste with front closures, then a sage-green cotton day dress with side lacings, and the same embroidered slippers she had worn the night she met Lord Holsworthy. Her hair needn’t be artfully arranged, either, only neatly braided and coiled in a bun at her nape. When marrying a peer, she hadn’t thought to be spared the nuisance of a lady’s maid, and was now pleasantly surprised at the informality inherent in her new life. She needn’t pretend to be fashionably idle. At least she wouldn’t after she found something to do.
She went to her trunk and pulled out the first of the dozen blank books she had bought and had stamped, one for each month of the upcoming year:
The Journals of Isabella Clewes, Baroness Holsworthy
June 1805
She ran her finger across the gold embossing on the leather, admiring her new name. No matter what happened in the future, she never had to be a Smithson again.
In the writing desk in the sitting room, she found quills, ink, and foolscap in a drawer, which she would use when composing a list of what value she might offer her husband and his business interests. But first, she had been filled with impressions of the ship before she became ill, but for obvious reasons, hadn’t written one word of her first three days away from England. It would not do to fall out of the daily habit of writing before she had begun it.
As she opened the cover and turned it back, there was a knock on the door from the hallway—gangway, she reminded herself. She called out, “Please come in,” but of course, Myron had locked it when he left. She went to open it, and the door let out a long, drawn-out screech. She suspected, with the damp and salt air, a lot of creaking wood was in her future, though surely hinges should be greased. She would make a note to have it done.
&nb
sp; “My lady?”
A scruffy sailor waited outside the door, hat in hand.
When will that ever sound normal? Bella thought. “Yes?”
He was unwashed, but that was a trait to which she would have to become accustomed, as warm, freshwater baths would be both rarity and luxury. His greasy hair might have been any color from dark blond to deep chestnut, now sullied to almost black. His most obvious feature was a lack of teeth on the right side, more pronounced because he was otherwise a young-looking man.
“Captain Johnson, he tol’ me to bring bath water.”
He motioned to the floor at his feet, just beyond the doorway, indicating cans of water he must have carried to accommodate more of Lord Holsworthy’s demands for her special treatment. She had to make Myron understand that it would make things no easier if the crew were forced to wait on her hand and foot. She had no idea how to accomplish it, but could at least now rise from her bed and make a start.
Bella swung the door wide, smiling her appreciation, but her friendliness fell away when the man pushed her back into the cabin and shut the door with his foot, grasping her hands and crowding her back against a wall.
Her breath came fast and shallow as she tried to twist away, a scream caught behind her teeth. Before she could express more than the tiniest squeak, the man’s fetid breath surrounded her head and his growling filled her ear.
“No need for a pretty little dell to get stuck with a starched old cove like Clewes.” His tongue slithered into her ear, teeth catching her lobe, making her shudder and struggle harder to free herself from his broad bulk. “Plenty of men on this ship won’t mind keepin’ company when you tire of him, and meself at the front of the pack. You and me, we come to an understanding, and I could keep all them other dogs away from you.”
With every syllable, Bella thrashed harder and choked more, until, by the time he awaited her response, she couldn’t breathe at all, flashes of light floating in front of her eyes, darkness starting to overtake the edges of her vision. When he snaked his hand up under her skirt, though, her mind cleared straightaway.
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