Stranded With The Marquess (Regency Stories Book 1)

by Catherine Mayfair

  “I do,” she replied. “I have a coach booked already.” The thought of accepting transportation with him was tempting, but here was where she needed to leave any feelings she had for him, and traveling with him alone in a carriage for several hours would only hinder that attempt.

  “Goodnight, Miss Browning. I hope you fair well through this storm.” His voice held a wounded note to it, and she could not help but put as much space between her and this man. For if she were to remain beside him for even a moment longer, she was afraid she would take it upon herself to wipe away any hurt with a kiss.

  ***

  Amelia hung her dressing gown on the peg on the wall and sat on the edge of the bed. A shiver moved through her and she realized her shift was also now wet from the rain that had begun to fall during her time on deck. Removing the damp article of clothing, she donned another, the dry fabric helping to relieve the chill somewhat, but it was not until she was back under the covers in the bed that her body began to warm once again.

  As she lay there looking up toward the ceiling she could not see now that the light had been doused, her mind went to when she had left Lord Albright on the deck. An overwhelming sadness fell over her. If only their lives were different, then perhaps there might be a chance for them to become better acquainted with one another. Why would she allow her heart to break in such a way when nothing could come of such an association? No, in all reality, tomorrow they would dock in Dover, Lord Albright would return to his Elizabeth, a woman of beauty and wonder, a woman Amelia would never be. She would return to Harold, a man who showed no true interest in her as a person but only as a way to please his father, and perhaps hers, as well. Maybe in time she would grow to love him, though in her heart, she knew that simply was not possible, for she knew a piece of her heart would remain on The Topaz with the man who owned it.

  The ship gave a violent lurch, and Amelia grabbed the side of her bunk to keep from being tossed to the floor. She had not realized that the movement of the vessel had become turbulent, and if she was panicked before, now she was terrified. If the bunk and bureau had not been attached to the walls themselves, they would have been sent flying across the cabin. The pitcher, however, did topple to the floor, the water now rushing toward a wall before it disappeared through a crack in the floorboards. It, along with the goblet she had forgotten about earlier, rolled to crash against the far wall only to roll back to the other soon after.

  The original journey she and Patricia had taken from Dover to Calais had been pleasant with good, clear weather and calm waters. If the wretched crew of the ship on which she was to return had not gone mad—that was the only way she could describe a group of men who would mutiny when she needed a way home—she would have already been safe at home in her own bed with a warm fire burning in the fireplace. Instead, she was wobbling about in the middle of open waters, being tossed about like a ball in a tennis match. Her once steady stomach now lurched with the movement of the ship, and she wondered if she would be struck with seasickness before the storm passed. It would have been the first time she had been afflicted; though, it was not as if she had many opportunities to be on a ship to know how her body would react to such movements.

  How could a journey of such importance—one that would allow her that one last taste of independence before she became engaged and was married—how could it have become such a disaster? Some of her misfortune she understood, though it still angered her. Her first—pickpockets—did what they did for whatever reason they deemed right, more than likely the fact that they were in need—though she considered there were better ways to allay those needs than to steal from others who were barely better off than they. It was also for people became lost in places they did not know well as she and Patricia had learned soon enough. And as to the young girl who had run off with her purse? Well, children followed the examples of their parents. However, it was her own failing when it came to what was right in her feelings for Lord Albright.

  “Well, then, Amelia,” she said to herself as she tightened her grip on the edge of the bunk, “will you allow these unfounded feelings of attraction for a man who is most definitely unavailable to ruin what is left of your final trip as a free woman?” She pulled herself upright—as best she could in the heaving vessel—and stuck out her chin. “No. Men certainly did not waste their time on such things, so why should I? If I am to feel an equal to men, then I must brave this storm—both the storm outside this ship as well as the storm that rages within.”

  Saying the words aloud brought on a sense of confidence. If she must marry Harold, she would do so, and she would be the best wife she could possibly be. In that, she would read more books and find a way to learn a new language. If this Elizabeth could learn to speak five, then there was no reason Amelia could not learn a second. Well, she already spoke French, albeit barely enough to get by in Calais, but she would consider it a second language nonetheless. She pushed aside the fact that she was acting a fool in her attempts to make herself feel better when comparing herself to a woman she knew nothing about beyond what Lord Albright had told her.

  With a new outlook on her future, Amelia climbed back into the bunk and pulled the covers around her. The new surge of confidence seemed to calm the waves, or maybe they had not been as bad as she had thought. Whatever the reason, a sense of tranquility fell upon her, and soon she drifted off to sleep once again.

  ***

  The dreams that followed had Amelia tossing and turning. They began with pleasant encounters with a nameless marquess, a man with dark, wavy hair and striking blue eyes, who swept Amelia off her feet. He spoke beautiful words, verses of wondrous poetry that rolled off his tongue in operatic song as he led her in a lovely waltz through fields of flowers. Through it all, he led her to believe he wanted nothing more than to be with her for the rest of his life. On bended knee, he proposed marriage to her, and she readily accepted with a glad heart. He then pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply, and a fire deep inside her soul sprang to life and threatening to burn her away with pleasure.

  Then the dream changed, darkened. A giant of a woman, Elizabeth by name, flitted up to them, her exotic face like fine porcelain. Eight feet tall and of great beauty, Elizabeth gazed down at Amelia, a stern expression on her face.

  “You are a fool, Amelia Browning!” the woman screamed. “He belongs to me. You should go back to your Harold and the life you were meant to have, for you deserve no better than a man such as he!”

  Amelia awoke to the sound of screams and her body sliding off the bunk and tumbling to the floor. Reaching out with a frantic hand, the cabin in complete darkness, she crawled on hands and knees across the slanted floor until she came to a wall that was close to replacing the floor as the vessel turned again. Her heart beat against her chest as she felt along the wall until she came to the door that led to the hallway. If she could get outside, she would be able to reach the upper deck to see what was happening and hopefully find a way to leave The Topaz before it was pulled beneath the waves and sunk to the bottom of the sea.

  Not caring that she was only in her shift, she pulled on the handle only to find that it would not budge. Panic overtook her as she realized that The Topaz was going down in the storm and she was trapped, alone, in darkness with no hope for rescue.

  “Someone, please! Help me!” she shouted as she pounded on the door. “Please!”

  Tears ran down her cheeks when there was no reply, and she lamented the life she was meant to have, even when it included her marrying Harold rather than a grand marquess.

  Chapter Seven

  The wind threatened to cast Matthew over the side of the ship, but he lowered his head and made his way to the captain’s quarters. Pushing through the door, he had to use all his strength to close it once again, finally hearing the click when the sound of the wind outside lessened. A lantern swung overhead as the ship rocked from side to side, making the shadows shift in a queasy manner.

  George looked up at him, and Matthe
w saw immediately the truth on the man’s face even before he spoke. “I’m afraid it’s not looking good, sir,” the captain said. “We’ve taken on water—too much, really.”

  “But we are so close!” Matthew said in frustration. “Can we not keep her afloat her for a bit longer? At least until we are close enough to land to get everyone off safely?”

  George shook his head, a hint of sadness on his features. “No, sir. It’s too late. I’ve been doin’ this for a long time, and this storm came upon us like a fox on a frog. I would’ve stook my life on that storm passing us by, but it had a mind of its own.”

  Matthew snorted. “Well, you staked more than just your life, George. But there must be something you can do.”

  As if in response to his question, the door flew open once again, this time followed by Hugh Crockett, a large muscled man with a severe look on his face. A seasoned seaman, he took the situation with much better mettle than most. “Captain, the hull is almost completely filled with water. What’re your orders?”

  Although the storm continued to rage outside, inside the captain’s quarters was as quiet as a forest glen—a glen beside a copse of trees with a raging river on the other side. George sighed heavily. “Tell the men to abandon ship.” When Hugh made no move to leave, he raised his voice. “That’s a command, Crockett! Get the men off this ship!”

  Hugh nodded with reluctance and then hurried out the door. Matthew turned to the older man. “George, you must go, as well.”

  This time George did not hesitate. “No, sir. A good captain always goes down with the ship.” He held a firm gaze that brooked no argument.

  However, Matthew would not allow this man to die, not one he had known most of his life and had become to respect and admire for so long. “But you must save yourself! Surely you must leave with us.”

  “It’d be a dishonor if I were to leave her,” the captain replied. “If I knew where we were, I’d attempt to make it to land, but I lost all sight of land hours ago, the stars ain’t visible, and my compass fell off the table and broke. No, I’ll join her at the bottom of the sea as I promised when I made the decision to head her crew.”

  Matthew shook his head. The old captain was stubborn, but he could not stay with him as it went down. The Topaz belonged to him, true, but he could buy another ship. What he could not purchase was a new friend and confidante. It was not worth anyone’s life, even that of the captain and whatever promises the man had made.

  “Captain,” Matthew said with as much authority as he could muster as he hung tight to the table that, like the few pieces of furniture in his cabin, was attached to the floor, “as your employer, I command you to leave this ship at once.” He held up his hand when the man went to argue. “You can be the last to leave the ship, if that is what you wish, but you will come with me, for if you do not leave, neither will I. Then my life will be on your head.”

  George glared at him, as well as he could with his crooked eyes, and finally relented. “Ah, fine, then!” he shouted. “But hear me now, I won’t be held responsible for abandoning her.”

  “Of course not,” Matthew said with relief. “Come, let us go before it is too late.”

  They struggled with the door, the wind attempting to throw them across the room as it whipped the door open, but when they finally were able to get onto the deck, George yelled at the crew over the sound of cracking timber and howling winds. “We’re going down! Get off the ship and away from the wreckage before it goes under! Go! Go!”

  Men began throwing themselves over the side of the ship and swimming as hard as they could through the raging waves. They appeared tiny children and did not seem to make much progress, and Matthew looked on horrified when at least one disappeared beneath the surface. How would anyone make it to safety in this terrible swell?

  George turned to Matthew. “I’ll get some supplies, sir. I’ll be right back.”

  Matthew gave the man a shocked glare. “Is there time?”

  “I hope so,” George replied with a toothless grin. “Who knows? But we’ll need something just in case we do get to shore.” The old man hurried off and Matthew shook his head as he looked at The Topaz. He, too, would have to jump into the sea. The water would be cold off the Atlantic Ocean. If luck found him, he would be able to find a piece of debris to hold on to. He had learned to swim in a small pond on the land his father owned when he was younger, but being aboard a ship rarely called for swimming in the waters on which it sailed.

  And in the midst of the storm, a single thought flashed in his mind. Miss Amelia Browning. How he wished he could go back in time and tell her what was truly on his heart, that she had taken hold of him like nothing else in this world. That he held a jealousy for this Harold, although he was not acquainted with the man, and the happiness he would share with her. That he wished it was he who would be marrying her rather than her Harold.

  Then he shook his head as he tried to find his balance as The Topaz rocked and the realization hit him. “Miss Browning!” he cried and made his way as best he could toward the hatch where she would be in her cabin, for he had not seen her above deck in all that had happened. He prayed she was still safely tucked away inside, for if she had come above board, she could have already easily been swept into the crashing waves and lost to the sea.

  ***

  After the passage of what seemed an eternity, the strikes against the door lacked spirit, and with a sob, Amelia faced the truth that she was going to die. She had hoped that someone—more specifically Lord Albright, but anyone at all would have been acceptable—would come and save her, but that clearly was not going to happen. Her desperate cries had gone unheard, or unheeded—she hoped the latter was not true—and the shouts that she had heard earlier were now gone, now replaced with the eerie creaking of The Topaz as it shifted position in the water.

  With a heavy heart, she leaned her back against the wall and reflected on the many regrets she had in life. How she wished she had one more chance to tell her parents how important they were to her and that she should have listened to their sound advice about this impractical and ridiculous trip she had taken out of some self-possessed notion that she could take care of herself.

  Then there was poor Harold. She would finally be honest with him and tell him that a woman existed in the world who was meant for him, but that person was not her. By doing so, she would free him from any troth that might hold him to his proposal to her.

  However, above all, she wished to share her feelings with Lord Albright. To tell him that he was the most handsome man she had ever met, and although, like her, he had come close to falling into temptation, it was clear that his heart was good. His eyes told her as much, as did his smile, and she had never known those to lie.

  Grief overtook her as she realized she would never be able to tell him the truth. “Oh, how I envy your Elizabeth,” she whispered, wanting with all her might that he would hear her words.

  Then a voice came from far away, calling her name. “Miss Browning!”

  “Yes!” she shouted. “I am here! Please, help me!”

  Hope surged through her as Lord Albright spoke to her through the door. He had come after all! She heard a grunt and a curse and knew whatever was blocking the door was, indeed, fixed in place.

  Then the ship pitched violently, and Amelia flew against the wall. Pain shot through her skull, and then all went black.

  ***

  A lantern swung on a hook in the middle of the hallway that led down to the cabins at the aft of the ship, allowing enough light for Matthew to see that several crates had somehow slid down and crashed into the far wall. He made his way down the corridor, a hand on each wall to help him keep his balance. If luck were with him—a sinking ship told him it was unlikely but he had to try regardless—he would be able to reach Miss Browning’s door with little issue.

  As he had thought, however, his luck was not at its height, for one of the crates had lodged itself between the door’s jamb and a hole on the opposi
te wall. His heart leaped to his throat when he heard muted pounding.

  “Please! Someone, help me! I cannot open the door! Please!”

  “Miss Browning!” Matthew shouted. “There is a crate blocking the way. I will try to move it.”

  “Oh, Lord Albright!” she sobbed. “I am so relieved to hear your voice. I was certain no one would find me down here. I am in total darkness, and it is terrifying. I cannot even remain standing long enough to find the hanging lantern let alone attempt to light it.”

  Matthew pressed his shoulder to the crate and pushed with all his might, but the crate did not move. The Topaz groaned and shifted, but the crate remained in place. “It is lodged firmly. I will need to find something with which to leverage it. I will return momentarily.”

  “No! Oh, please do not leave me here alone!”

  “I promise, I will get you out, but I cannot do it as it sits now. Be brave, I will return as quickly as I can. I give you my word, I will not leave the ship without you.”

  She sobbed again but she replied, “Very well. But hurry, please!”

  He moved as fast as he could at the awkward angle that had him climbing the corridor. The ship would go down aft-first it appeared. Unfortunately, aft was where the cabins were located, so he had even less time to get to Miss Browning than he first thought. However, he knew where to find an ax and he made his way straight to that room. With a sigh of relief, he disengaged the lever that held the ax in place and grabbed it from its place on the wall.

  He held onto the door for support as he returned to the hallway. He could see the crate, lodged in shadows, as he made his way—slowly this time for the floor had tilted more—when his shoes lost their grip and he slid several feet before he was able to catch his hand on a doorway. Once he had righted himself, he continued his trek back to where Miss Browning was located.