Shipwrecked with the Captain

by Diane Gaston

  ‘He does not look at us with contempt this time,’ he murmured to Rebecca. ‘Because now we are dressed the part.’

  ‘I suppose one is always judged by appearances,’ she responded. ‘I would like to think I would not judge so precipitously, but I suppose I am like everyone else.’

  Except she wasn’t like everyone else, at least not everyone else in her class. She’d accepted the fishermen, the innkeepers and the villagers just as they were.

  Because she could not remember to disdain them?

  * * *

  They ate dinner in the hotel dining room, the first formal meal they’d eaten together. Lucien noticed that men at other tables stole admiring glances at her, perhaps a bit more subtly than the men in Molloy’s inn had done. She seemed oblivious of the fact this time.

  They chatted throughout the meal about the day’s events and their unusual adventures.

  ‘I wonder how our fishermen are doing,’ she said, taking a sip of wine. ‘I miss them all. I hope they received good money for the fish.’

  They’d soon receive good money from Lucien. ‘I hope so.’

  She glanced away. ‘Think what would have happened if they had not found us.’

  The sea would have claimed them.

  He did not want her to dwell on that. ‘Luck was with us.’

  She lifted her wine glass. ‘To luck—and fishermen.’

  He lifted his glass as well.

  * * *

  When dinner was over they walked back to their rooms.

  ‘There will be a maid coming in to tend to you,’ he told her.

  She smiled. ‘I promise I will not ask you to do it this time.’

  The memory of that night flooded back. ‘We did what we had to do. But it is over now and life should feel more like it should.’

  She sighed. ‘If I knew what it should feel like.’

  They reached her door and she handed him the key. He unlocked the door and opened it. Better he escape to his own room. Resist temptation.

  She stepped across the threshold, but turned back to him. ‘Do you mind if I do something?’

  He had no idea what she had in mind.

  She did not wait for an answer, but stepped back to him. Her arms encircled his neck and he bent down to her.

  ‘Thank you, Lucien,’ she murmured. ‘My rescuer. My modiste.’

  She placed her lips on his.

  * * *

  Lucien’s body flared into arousal. How easy it would be to lift her in his arms, carry her to her bed and make love to her.

  Was that her wish? It was hardly the behaviour of a proper lady. Had she forgotten what was expected of a lady of her status?

  She broke off the kiss and stepped away. ‘I—I am so grateful to you. That is all. That is why—’ She blinked. ‘That is why I kissed you.’

  He nodded slowly. It had not felt like a kiss of gratitude, but was that his fault? Was that because it aroused him?

  ‘Will I see you in the morning?’ Her tone was uncertain.

  ‘For breakfast?’ he asked. ‘I rise early.’

  She smiled. ‘It would be nice to share breakfast, unless you have more errands.’

  He ought to put more distance between them, but, at the moment, he was fighting to keep his hands off her.

  ‘No errands,’ he responded. ‘Breakfast, then.’

  Lucien left her, but did not go to his own room. He walked back downstairs to ask the footman attending the hall to have a bottle of brandy sent up to his room.

  * * *

  Claire leaned against the closed door, covering her face with her hands.

  She’d done it again. Kissed him.

  She’d meant the kiss as one of gratitude, just as she’d told him, but touching him, feeling his lips on hers, had enflamed her senses. She did not wish to feel this way towards Lucien. She esteemed him too greatly.

  He’d been everything to her.

  Was this the sort of woman she was? It must be, because it seemed so natural to her, much more natural than donning pretty dresses.

  But she must have always worn pretty dresses.

  A knock at the door made her jump. Had Lucien come back? Her heart beat faster.

  She opened the door to a young woman. The maid.

  ‘You asked for a maid, my lady?’ the young woman said.

  ‘Yes. Yes. Come in.’ Claire stepped aside, trying not to show her disappointment.

  She’d wanted it to be Lucien.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning when Lucien knocked on Lady Rebecca’s door, a maid answered. From behind the maid, the lady said, ‘I am ready, Lucien.’ She addressed the maid. ‘Thank you, Ella.’

  ‘M’lady.’ The maid curtsied and stepped past Lucien out of the room.

  Lady Rebecca wore another of her new dresses, a white one with dots of green all over it. Her hair was not pinned into a knot at the nape of her neck. Instead it had been piled atop her head with curling tendrils escaping and framing her face.

  For a moment her expression turned sad, but she quickly seemed to school her features into the very picture of an aristocratic young lady—a beautiful one.

  It was his turn to feel sad. He missed the girl in the fisherman’s clothes.

  Not that he would tell her. ‘You look very nice today.’

  She turned back to the mirror. ‘Do I? The dress is pretty, but my hair looks wrong. Too fancy.’

  ‘It looks as it should,’ he responded, not much of a compliment, but she glanced away as if not even hearing him.

  They ate breakfast in the dining room, where a sideboard had been set up, much as was done in aristocratic houses. Not that he’d been in many.

  She continued to look preoccupied during their meal.

  ‘Are you feeling unwell?’ he asked.

  ‘Unwell?’ She glanced up in surprise. ‘No. I am very well.’ She smiled wanly. ‘Troubled by what is ahead of me, perhaps.’

  How he wished he could fix it. Bring back her memories, even though he’d lose this version of Lady Rebecca.

  ‘It looks to be fine day,’ he said. ‘Would you like to take a walk? Explore Dublin a little?’

  Her smile turned more genuine. ‘I would love that.’

  Lucien knew from his previous stay at the Castle Hotel that this part of Dublin catered to the titled and wealthy. If Lady Rebecca had ever visited Dublin—it would be odd if she had not—she likely would have walked these same streets. Perhaps something would jog her memory.

  * * *

  She gave no signs of recognising anything, though. Just the opposite—she reacted as if everything was new.

  They stopped to look in the window of a print shop, showing cartoons, one of the Prince Regent, before and after he became Regent, another of several people trying to board a ship.

  Lady Rebecca pointed to the one of the Prince Regent. ‘I know that is the Regent and I understand the cartoon. It is so odd I cannot actually recall another time I saw a caricature.’

  He did not call attention to the one about a ship. It made him think of the shipwreck. She had enough to cause her distress.

  There were more prints of Dr. Syntax, that popular fictional character who appeared in cartoons satirising British life.

  She frowned at the one of Dr Syntax trying to romance a dairy maid. ‘I know of Dr Syntax, as well.’

  ‘Perhaps that is encouraging.’ He believed her memory would return. She’d eventually remember she was an earl’s daughter, a privileged lady.

  She shivered. ‘It is cold for summer, is it not?’

  It was August.

  ‘The whole summer has been unusually cold,’ he agreed.

  His uncles had worried about failed crops and rising prices. At least the money he’d given them would keep them in food and supplies until better w
eather returned.

  They continued walking and he resisted putting his arm around her to warm her.

  One of the shops showed a window display of paisley shawls and other ladies’ accessories. He pulled her to the doorway. ‘You need a shawl.’

  She resisted. ‘Lucien! You have bought me enough! You purchased one shawl.’

  ‘You need another.’ What woman did not want more than one shawl? Even his mother had loved the exotic shawls and other gifts his father had sent from faraway lands.

  Almost as much as she’d valued the trinkets Viscount Waverland had purchased for her.

  There were colourful shawls displayed on pegs all around the shop. She blinked at them, looking overwhelmed.

  ‘Do you see any you like?’ he asked.

  Before she could answer, a female clerk approached. ‘M’lady, welcome back to my shop. How may I assist you?’

  Lady Rebecca blinked as if in confusion.

  The clerk recognised her. Did she not realise that?

  Lucien quickly spoke for her. ‘The lady is looking for a shawl, something to complement this dress.’ He turned to her. ‘Is that not so, my lady?’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’ She cleared her throat. ‘To complement this dress.’

  ‘I have several that would look lovely with that dress.’ The clerk pulled five shawls, all with designs that favoured her green spencer and the green dots on her dress.

  She made a quick decision. ‘This one will do.’

  Its background colour was green, but the rest was embroidered with a melee of colourful flowers in pinks and purples and vivid aquas and oranges.

  ‘An excellent choice,’ the clerk said. ‘This shawl is from Kashmir and is one of our finest. I believe you purchased one very like it the last time you visited. Different colours, of course.’

  Lucien saw the confusion return to Lady Rebecca’s eyes.

  ‘We will take that one,’ he told the clerk.

  ‘Shall I wrap it?’ the clerk asked. ‘Or have it delivered?’

  ‘She will wear it.’ Lucien pulled his purse from his jacket pocket.

  The clerk turned to Lady Rebecca as she waited for Lucien to pay her. ‘And how did you find London, m’lady?’

  ‘London?’ Her voice rose. ‘Oh...very pleasant indeed. London is very pleasant.’

  Lucien handed the clerk the money.

  ‘It was a short trip, then, was it not?’ the clerk added.

  ‘Very short,’ Lucien replied for Lady Rebecca.

  He wrapped the shawl over her shoulders and they walked out of the door.

  ‘Lucien!’ She stopped him a few steps from the shop. ‘She recognised me. I was in that shop before. I purchased something before.’

  ‘Was the shop familiar? Was anything familiar?’

  Her expression looked anguished. ‘No. Nothing. As though I’d never seen it before.’

  * * *

  Over the next three days, they walked as many streets of Dublin as they could and visited any sights she might have visited before.

  Nothing seemed familiar to Claire. The closest she came was when they happened upon a coaching inn. She knew at a glimpse that it catered to public stagecoaches and the mail coaches, but how she should know that, they could not fathom.

  ‘It is not the sort of inn you would visit,’ Lucien told her.

  ‘Is it not?’ she asked. ‘Why is it not the sort I would visit?’

  ‘It is for more common folk.’

  So perhaps she’d merely guessed that it was that sort of inn. She didn’t remember it, but neither did she remember not being common folk.

  Their efforts to discover something she remembered had been to no avail that day, but Claire relished the time they spent together. She was glad he did not purchase anything else for her. Goodness! The Kashmir shawl was extravagant enough.

  Had he meant the shawl as a gift or had he merely felt obligated to outfit her as the lady she was supposed to be? Perhaps she would never know which, but she was certain she would treasure the shawl the rest of her days.

  They explored yet one more street of shops.

  This time he stopped in front of a jewellery shop. ‘That is what we forgot,’ he said. ‘You should have jewellery.’

  ‘No, Lucien.’ She tried to pull him past the shop. He’d spent enough on her.

  He resisted. ‘It will look odd if you have no jewellery at all. It does not need to be extravagant.’

  ‘Please, Lucien,’ she said. ‘You cannot spend so much on me.’

  ‘I can make one more purchase.’ He took her inside.

  Glittering necklaces, bracelets and rings were arrayed on black velvet in glass-covered display cases.

  She must have looked awed, because Lucien murmured to her, ‘Surely as the daughter of an earl you wore such jewels.’

  ‘I feel as if I wouldn’t dare wear such expensive things,’ she responded.

  ‘We will select something modest, then.’ He picked out a simple pearl pendant and matching earrings. They were quite the loveliest things.

  Before they left the shop, he fastened the pendant around her neck, his fingers against her skin sending a thrill down her spine.

  The thought of him touching her ears to help her with the earrings made her feel giddy. And she’d been so careful over the last few days to keep from overstepping her bounds with him.

  ‘I—I think I should carry the earrings safely in my reticule,’ she said.

  She fingered the pearl pendant that she would treasure for ever. The pearls, gifts from the sea, would remind her of him for ever.

  * * *

  It was mid-afternoon when they returned to the Castle Hotel. Mr Castle was seated at his desk, but he rose when he saw them.

  ‘Captain. M’lady.’ He called them over. ‘There is a gentleman waiting for you in the drawing room.’

  Lucien halted. ‘Who?’

  ‘Lord Keneagle,’ Mr Castle replied.

  Claire’s heart pounded. This was the moment she’d dreaded. This brother she did not remember had probably come to take her away to a home she could not recall. Worse than that, this meant saying goodbye to Lucien, her anchor.

  Lucien walked with her to the drawing-room door, but stopped her before they entered. ‘Are you ready for this?’

  She drew in a long breath and nodded, although she thought she could never be ready.

  A thin, russet-haired, impeccably dressed gentleman rose from a sofa.

  ‘Lord Keneagle?’ Lucien asked.

  The man gave him no heed, instead strode up to Claire. ‘What are you about this time, Rebecca?’ he sneered.

  ‘Sir!’ Lucien’s voice broke in like a hard blow.

  Her brother looked stricken for a moment, but collected himself quickly. ‘And you are Roper, I presume?’

  ‘Captain Roper.’ Lucien straightened. ‘If you received my letter, you know what happened to your sister.’

  ‘My half-sister,’ Keneagle corrected.

  Claire stared at this man—she was nearly his height—but she was staring at a stranger. She’d feared meeting a brother—half-brother—she didn’t know, but she’d also yearned to know she belonged to somebody. She never expected he’d not be pleased to see her. What sort of man would not welcome his sister—even his half-sister—presumed lost at sea?

  ‘Explain yourself, Rebecca,’ he demanded.

  She faced him. ‘You know I cannot explain myself. I am certain Captain Roper wrote about my loss of memory in his letter. It has been a nightmare. It does have some benefits, I am newly discovering.’ She looked him directly in the eye. ‘I do not remember you.’

  Her insult seemed to escape him. ‘Do not give me that nonsense about losing your memory—’

  Lucien stepped closer and Keneagle shot him a wary glance, turning back to her with
a slightly more moderate tone. ‘You can see how I would think it your latest ploy, can you not? To escape doing what I’ve obliged you to do?’

  ‘What you’ve obliged me to do?’ she repeated.

  He shook his head. ‘You pretend not to know what I speak of?’

  ‘As I explained to you in my letter, sir, her loss of memory is genuine,’ Lucien stated icily.

  Keneagle swung back to him with a sneer. ‘I thought you were a captain, not a physician.’

  Lucien glared directly into his eyes. ‘Captain of the HMS Foxfire.’

  Keneagle stepped back in apparent surprise. ‘The renowned Foxfire? From the war?’

  ‘The same.’

  Claire wished she could have remembered reading of Lucien’s ship. She’d had no idea he was renowned.

  Her brother recovered his nasty tone. ‘Precisely what is your connection to this woman?’

  Claire responded this time. ‘He saved me. I would have drowned otherwise!’

  Keneagle scoffed. ‘I was informed you had drowned. It was vastly more convenient that way.’

  Lucien made a dangerous sound. Like a growl.

  Keneagle’s rant continued. ‘For all I know this shipwreck story is to cover up cohabiting with this man—’

  ‘Good God, man,’ Lucien broke in. ‘How dare you make such an accusation? I have accompanied Lady Rebecca to see her safely to you.’

  Keneagle lifted his hands in submission. ‘I meant only that if her reputation is ruined, Stonecroft will never marry her.’

  ‘Stonecroft?’ Claire cried. ‘Who is Stonecroft?’

  She was expected to marry this Stonecroft? How could she? She remembered nothing of this. Of that man.

  Her half-brother laughed drily. ‘Very well. I will play your game. Baron Stonecroft of Gillford. He was awaiting you in London. I was compelled to inform him of your death. You will be very lucky if he has not married someone else.’

  None of this made any sense to her. None of it. ‘I agreed to marry Baron Stonecroft?’