Resigning himself to failure, he walked along the hallway and went into the galley. At the moment, it was empty, the crew having long eaten and busy at their duties, which was just as well for Matthew. The bawdiness of the men was not what he needed at this moment. Although it was not yet noon, he went over to a cupboard where the liquor was kept and pulled out a bottle of brandy. He would have to let Captain Lawrence know that he had taken a measure of it, for the man kept a careful inventory of all alcohol on board. The last thing a captain needed was a deck full of drunken sailors pulling at rigging and falling overboard.
The old wooden chair wobbled beneath him though it held firm under his weight. “Well, Matthew,” he whispered to himself as he stared at the dark liquid in his cup, “you have made yourself into a fool once again.” He shook his head and continued to speak to the reflection of himself in the brandy as if it would reply in some way. “How could you even think to kiss a woman who is nearly engaged?” His reflection did not respond but instead glared back at him with accusatory eyes. “You certainly are no help.” And with that, he downed the drink in one gulp, the fire in his throat washing away what sleepiness that clung to him.
Sitting back into the chair, he looked up at the wooden beams. What had made him share such intimate details with a woman he had just come to know? When she shared about herself, he had felt an attraction to her that he had never felt before. Even George with his unfortunate eyesight could see how beautiful she was, so was that the reason he found her so alluring?
Granted, he had been attracted by a woman’s beauty on more than one occasion, and in all reality, what man has not? However, what he felt with Miss Browning had been different in some way, as if he were drawn to something within her, and the combination of that which lay inside as well as out somehow made his legs grow weak. And when she spoke of her dreams as a child, he found he understood her just as he felt she understood him.
Of course, in normal circumstances, a gentleman in that type of situation would have continued the conversation or would have even moved on to another. “Oh, but not Matthew Albright,” he murmured to himself with disgust. No, rather than doing what he knew was right, he had misread something in her eyes and took it as an invitation of wanting to be kissed. What a fool he was to believe that a woman in love—a kind yet gentle creature who had poured her heart out to him—would want his lips upon hers. He was no better than a common rogue in the vilest of pubs. A creature who preyed upon a weak and wounded animal.
Sighing, he took poured himself another drink. If her Mr. Crandleton were there, surely the man would have raised his fists to defend her honor—or perhaps called him out for a duel—and Matthew would have gladly taken the beating that was due. However, the man was not there, and the poor woman was now alone in her cabin, too frightened of him to be in his presence.
The sound of footsteps made Matthew look up to see George entering the room, a bottle of spirits on his hand, his walk as wobbly as his speech. Apparently the captain’s concerns did not extend to himself.
“My Lord,” George said, attempting a bow and almost toppling over in the process. The captain was no stranger to drink, a fact that had upset Matthew’s father on more than one occasion. However, Matthew knew the man to always run a tight ship, never a mistake to be made, therefore he had never found a need to address it. In all honesty, George’s tendency to drink was few and far between, making it less of an issue than need be.
“George.” He motioned to a nearby chair. “How are the seas faring?”
“Tis fine for now, but I can see there’s a storm in the distance. She may be heading the other way, though.” He took a long drink from the bottle and set it in front of him. “How come Miss Browning ain’t been out of her cabin yet? I figured her to be the kind to enjoy the fresh air whenever she’d be able.”
“I’m afraid I have offended her,” Matthew replied with a sigh. “Now, I must face her scorn, and I fear there is no way to rectify the situation.”
George gave a single nod and pushed the bottle away. “Reminds me of a woman years ago that I was keeping company with, if you know what I mean.” His eyes went further out of focus, as if he was looking inside himself. “She was beautiful, a finely crafted vessel.”
“So, she was a ship?” Matthew asked as he wondered how intoxicated the man truly was.
“Oh, no, sir. Was a livin’, breathin’ woman. But she was like a ship in many ways. Seemed like she was crafted by the gods themselves.” He let out a long sigh. “And like a ship, she was prone to be in storms, you know, her temper.”
“Ah, I see,” Matthew said, finding the story becoming more interesting and more pertinent to his own situation. “How did you move your ship, sorry, the lady, through the storm?”
George laughed as he clapped his hand on the table. “Glad you asked, sir, for I can tell you the secret!”
Matthew found himself leaning in closer. Perhaps this was one of those strange occurrences when the man actually gave good advice. If he did not pay attention this time, it was uncertain when the man would have it again.
“Blame everything on yerself with them. Everything.”
“I’ve tried to apologize,” Matthew said as he sat back in the chair. Well, this certainly was not one of those strange occurrences after all.
“No, no,” George replied with a wave of his hand. “They expect that. Tell her that you don’t expect her to accept yer apology and that you’ll bear the shame for the rest of yer life as punishment. Then she’ll forgive you everything.”
Matthew considered the man’s words. The old captain’s advice might be a bit muddled, but Matthew could see some wisdom in it. Perhaps simply telling Miss Browning what he felt, as George was suggesting of sorts was the way to go about it. “Thank you, George,” Matthew said as he rose from the chair. “I will go and tell her this very moment.” He went to the door and then turned back around. “Like all other matters, you will keep this between us, am I correct in believing so?”
“Of course, sir,” George said. “Yer business is private.”
Matthew smiled, feeling reassured, and hurried back to the cabin that now housed Miss Brown. Old George could be many things, but he had never known him to be a gossip.
***
The Topaz bobbled lightly on the lightly rolling waves as Matthew once again made his way aft through the hall that led to where the cabins were located. In his mind he recited the words he wished to say to Miss Browning in an attempt to lure her from her cabin—not for roguish reasons to be sure, but rather to regain her confidence and have her sit across from him at the rarely used table in his private dining room once again.
One might ask why he did not simply invite other one or two of the passengers to dine with them, thus making their time together less intimate. However, those other few George had mentioned when Miss Browning had boarded were in actuality two men who would rather spend time drinking with the crew, men who would have joined the crew if they had no families to which they must return because the idea of sailing the high seas appealed to them so strongly. One of the men went so far as to say that he would become a sailor on the day of his wife’s death if he could bring his children, ages ten and eight, with him if it were to happen sooner rather than later.
Matthew shook his head. He could understand the draw of a life at sea—the open sea air, paid accommodations, no need to worry about one’s appearance, and no women to fuss in one’s ear. Unfortunately, each of those favorable rationales had its own contradiction, as well. The open sea air could give way to severe storms unexpectedly. The paid accommodations, though better than sleeping beneath a bush or a haystack with only one’s coat for warmth, included a berth in a room shared by other sailors whose snores could wake a sleeping whale beneath the waters, and the food was more slop than real food when the ship has been out to sea for weeks at a time.
One’s appearance might not be an issue in itself, but the lack of bathing most certainly was. Granted, most sailo
rs became accustomed to the odor of unwashed bodies, but not Matthew, which was another reason he had his own dining area; thus he could dine alone when the men were considerably odorous. Drinking water was much too important to be used for bathing, and seawater was never a good substitute, the salt leaving the skin overly-tight and dry.
However, it was the final reason that kept Matthew from remaining on his ships on a regular basis. He had always known that one day he would marry, but the right woman had never come along. Although it had always been expected of him to wed within his station, he found most of those women to be much too severe for his liking. As it was, however, his mother was insistent that he marry, even if only to grant her grandchildren and an heir to the Marquess of Brandybrook title, and if he had not deigned to find himself a wife then she would provide that bride for him. So came Miss Elizabeth Stockton into his life.
That was all before he had met Miss Browning. Of course, Miss Browning was not of noble birth, and he was not even certain if she was of the Gentry. Yet, he found himself drawn to her for reasons even he did not understand.
Thus his attempts at apologizing for his recent behavior.
He stood before the woman’s cabin door for a moment, once again reciting the words he wished to say. After taking a deep breath, he knocked soundly on the door and waited patiently for it to open.
This time, much to his delight, the door opened fully. Miss Browning was wearing a blue dress with tiny white flower buds striping the front. The bodice was woven with white ribbon, and he could see the loop of a large bow at the back. What he noticed more was how beautiful she was now than he had remembered her being earlier.
He scolded himself inwardly. The woman is to be married! So then how could he look at her in such a way? Not to mention that he was soon to be engaged, as well, did nothing to ease his self-scorn. He truly was a rogue. Do not look at her in such a way, he schooled himself, although he found the temptation much too great. Perhaps her remaining in her cabin for the remainder of the trip would be a good idea after all. Yet, it was too late to turn back now.
“Lord Albright?” she said with raised brows before he realized he had been staring at her for several moments without speaking.
He cleared his throat and smoothed his coat. He only had one attempt to right this wrong, thus he needed to his words to be clear. “Miss Browning,” he stated in a formal tone, “I wish to speak to you about a certain matter.” When she went to speak, he raised his hand. “Please. I do not mean to be rude, but I believe you will find what I have to say pleasing to your ears.”
She let out a small sigh, and then he saw it. A flicker in her eyes. Could it be that she was struggling with her feelings for him, as well?
Do not be foolish, he thought. It is that type of thinking that made you act the fool before.
“Well?” she asked.
“Yes, of course,” he said, wondering why he was struggling to keep his thoughts in order. “My actions on deck last night were not those of a gentleman. In fact, they were roguish.” She gave a nod, her eyebrows rising in expectation as if she could not have agreed with him more. “In situations such as these, a gentleman should ask forgiveness, though I believe my actions do not warrant such words.”
“Oh?” Miss Browning asked as she crossed her arms over her breasts in that clear sign that she found his words to be far from the truth.
He shook his head. This was not going well at all. “I am sorry. I should clarify. My deeds were so improper that I feel it is important for me to live with that shame rather than have the mercy of your forgiveness. You will be pleased to know that, for the remainder of my life, I will be reminded daily of said actions, and the guilt of offending you shall never leave me.” He took in a deep breath, happy to have finally spoken the words he recited on his way here.
Miss Browning chewed at her lower lip as if considering his words. Old George had been right. A woman would not allow a man to carry such a burden, and she would therefore finally accept his apology.
“Lord Albright,” she said after some time, “your words are both noble and kind.” She smiled and Matthew felt relief begin to wash over him. “And I find myself agreeing with them.” Then her features changed, as suddenly as a summer storm sweeping in to replace pleasant weather. “May the guilt you carry continue on forever!” With a firm nod, and before he could respond, she slammed the door in his face.
Matthew closed his eyes and sighed in frustration. The plan George had given him had failed tremendously, and as he walked away, he wondered if indeed he would carry the guilt forever.
Chapter Five
By the time The Topaz arrived in Portland, Amelia had had enough with being aboard ship. There was little to do in the tiny cabin, and going up to the main deck would more than likely put her the way of the crew trying to work, but more importantly, it would mean being in the presence of Lord Albright. When she compared going up on deck and remaining where she was, the cabin seemed a much safer place in every sense.
There was no window, so what light she had come from a lantern that swung above her on a hook, making the lull of the ship seem worse than it was. She had not left her cabin since the debacle before the setting sun, and the longer she remained there, the more stifling it became. It was for this reason that Amelia decided to brave the outside world—and a chance meeting of the Marquess—and go above deck, if only to breath in fresh air.
When she peered out the small opening of the hull, she was surprised to see that the weather had changed from the day before. Although it was not necessarily unpleasant, the sun was no longer shining above her and the wind had picked up somewhat. She began to wonder if it would be best if she leave The Topaz here and find a coach that could take her the remainder of the way to Rotherfield. However, the thought of sharing a coach with other people in a space much smaller than her cabin convinced her that remaining where she was would be best, even if she wished to be home sooner rather than later. At least on the ship she had privacy—that is, when Lord Albright was not knocking on her door to offer his various apologies.
“Ah, Miss Browning,” came the captain’s voice from behind her, “tis good to see you up and about. I hope the rockin’ of The Topaz hasn’t made you feel ill.”
Amelia pulled herself from the ladder and brushed at her skirts. “Not at all, Captain Lawrence.” She looked around at the sky. “Do you believe there might be a chance of a storm? I cannot imagine we would set sail if the weather does not permit.”
The man laughed. “This? Nah, Miss, this ain’t nothing for you to worry none about. A little overcast will only make sailing better—not as hot, you see. I predict we’ll see the sun return before the end of the day.”
Amelia glanced up at the cloudy sky with suspicion, but she knew nothing about sailing nor of weather patterns. If this man had been captaining this ship for as long as Lord Albright had said, then she should trust in his judgment. “Thank you, Captain, for your reassurance.” She looked around the deck. “And Lord Albright?” She tried to ask after the man without sounding interested in whether he was about or not.
“He’s gone ashore, Miss, to see to the cargo. I imagine he’ll be gone most of the day. We’ll set sail this afternoon with the tide.”
“And how long will it be before we reach Dover?”
“‘Bout two days, Miss. We have to go out into deeper waters and make our way through the middle of the Channel if we’re to get the best winds.”
Amelia gave him an appreciative smile. “Thank you, Captain. I believe I might see what I can find in the village. How long do you believe I have before I should return?”
He looked up at the sky and then turned back to her. “I’d say no more than two hours, Miss. The tide waits for no man—or woman.” Once again she was reminded of an old man as he gave her his wide toothless grin. Old or not, however, he was kind to her, and she found she enjoyed his company, though she had not had many opportunities to speak to him outside of questions about their t
ravels.
“Thank you. I will gather my cloak in case of rain.” She headed back down below and within minutes was back on deck tying her cloak around her neck and pulling up the hood. An hour on land was more than enough time to stretch her legs and see a new town, and she looked forward to seeing what Portland had to offer, or at least what the port area had to offer.
The gangplank swayed beneath her feet, but after more than a day on The Topaz, it no longer bothered her as it did when she first boarded in Calais. As a matter of fact, once she reached firm ground, she was amazed to feel as if she were still aboard the ship and that the land itself moved beneath her much like the waves of the sea. It took her a few moments to adjust herself—gathering her land legs she had heard a sailor once say—and then she headed toward what looked like a busy street that promised traditional shops.
The street, a hard-packed dirt road in all actuality, led to a steep hill, several small shops selling items typically meant for those who spent days or weeks aboard ships lining each side. Tobacco shops, taverns, and a haberdasher were the busiest, but not a single shop catered to women. Amelia was not all that surprised, to be honest, since the ships and boats she saw out in the harbor were all fishing and shipping vessels, which meant that fewer women traveled to this port than to perhaps Weymouth, which lay to the east on the opposite side of the peninsula that made up the Race of Portland.
This made her laugh. As if she knew all that much about the portal towns of Dorset to make a well-informed opinion. Well, it was not as if she had any real money to spend, the last of her funds tucked away meant to pay for her coach to from Dover to Rotherfield and little more besides.
“I’d not be going that way,” a curdled voice said to her right. A man with a hunched back stared through one eye at her as he leaned on his cane. “That way would be leadin’ to Grove Prison, and you don’t look the type to be curious about them types.”
“No, I suppose I am not at that,” she replied with surprise. “Thank you for the information. I am simply stretching my legs before returning to the ship. Can you recommend a tea shop or something as such nearby?”
Stranded With The Marquess (Regency Stories Book 1) Page 4