Shipwrecked with the Captain

by Diane Gaston

  He frowned. ‘I told you about my father and mother’s loveless marriage and how his absence made her turn to the local lord.’

  She nodded. ‘I recall you telling me of your parents.’

  He gestured towards Ella and Cullen. ‘They are the antithesis of my parents. My father was wrong to marry my mother. He was gone most of the time and they were always like strangers. Absence is not good in a marriage.’

  Her brows knitted. ‘Surely navy men marry all the time.’

  ‘I do not think they should,’ he said emphatically. ‘I will not marry, not as long as I have a ship to sail in.’

  She spoke soberly. ‘Perhaps your parents’ marriage met their needs at the time. Your father wanted a son. Your mother needed security.’

  ‘I have no doubt those needs were met.’ But there was so much more to life than security and heirs. ‘But they abandoned happiness.’ And they abandoned him. He again directed his gaze at the maid and valet. ‘Those two might achieve happiness.’

  She turned quiet while she gazed back towards the shore, growing more and more distant.

  It seemed a long time before she said anything. ‘Different people have different needs, Lucien,’ she finally said. ‘You, at least, have a choice, a way to support yourself well. Most women, like your mother, do not have choices. Perhaps she did the best she could.’

  He felt his cheeks heat. What choice did Lady Rebecca have, besides going to this marriage she could not remember wanting?

  She stared out at the sea. ‘My choices are not good ones.’ She straightened, pushing away from the railing. ‘I must make the best of what fate has handed me, though. I must believe that I wanted to marry this man, so I must make the best of it.’

  ‘You cannot love him.’ He spoke his thoughts aloud.

  ‘You would think I would remember a man I loved, do you not?’ She turned to him and looked straight into his eyes. ‘You are lucky, Lucien. You can choose the navy life. The sea. And I hope you never compromise on what you most desire.’

  At that moment he wished he could give her what she most desired, as well—her memory.

  He could easily give her a choice about her future. He could offer to marry her, like his father married his mother. He could give her a life of comfort and security. And she would not have to be bothered by him much, except the brief times he was on shore.

  No. One thing he could never give her was her rightful place in society. Any regard she had for him would certainly perish when she must live on the outskirts of the aristocracy.

  Besides, theirs was an attachment created out of necessity and gratitude. Not love.

  One thing Lucien knew for certain. If his parents had loved each other—and him—things would have been very different.

  * * *

  They remained at the railing until Dublin and Ireland disappeared and the sun dropped lower in the sky. Claire’s mind calmed some from the rhythms of the sea and the ship. She let go of her worries for the moment and simply enjoyed Lucien’s companionship.

  Ella and Cullen approached them.

  ‘Sir?’ Cullen took a respectful tone. ‘They have informed us that dinner will be served soon. I will bring the food to you. In your cabins?’

  Claire frowned. She’d rather not eat than eat alone in her cabin where her unhappy thoughts would certainly return.

  Lucien shot her a look. ‘There is a table in my cabin, if you would wish to share the meal with me.’

  How did he always know what would make her most comfortable?

  She released a breath. ‘I would love to share a meal with you.’ She turned to Ella. ‘There is also a table in my cabin and you and Cullen are welcome to eat there.’

  There would not be tables in their cabins.

  Ella’s eyes lit up. ‘Truly, m’lady?’

  ‘Yes. Truly,’ she responded. ‘If I dine with Captain Roper, I will not need that table. You might as well use it.’

  * * *

  Ella and Cullen brought them their meal and quickly fled to be private together.

  Should she have made it so easy for the young maid and her young man to be private together? Perhaps she should have been more protective.

  On the other hand, Cullen clearly adored Ella and Claire could not bear to separate them any more than she wished to be separated from Lucien, her anchor.

  Claire sat across from Lucien. She lifted her spoon, but stopped mid-air.

  How had she known there would not be a table in the servants’ cabins? She’d not seen them. ‘Lucien, I think I had another memory, as if I’d seen what the servants’ cabins would be like. I knew they would not have tables.’

  He looked up from his plate. ‘Another small piece. Your memory may come back like that. A little at a time.’

  She took a bite of the stew. ‘I wonder. I am used to what I remember from the raft onwards. Will everything change again when my old memories return?’

  ‘You will be who you were, then.’ His tone seemed solemn. ‘You will know what you want, what you think, what your hopes are.’

  Yes, but she had new hopes. Impossible ones, but she didn’t know if those hopes came from fear or desire.

  She wished she could stay with Lucien.

  But she could not tell him that. Any obligation he felt towards her could not go that far, not so far as for him to give up the sea. Or to marry without love.

  ‘Will I be different, I wonder,’ she said instead, ‘when my old memories return?’

  He stared down at his food. ‘Different than you are now, certainly.’

  Her throat tightened. Was she to lose this fledgling sense of herself, born of all the frightening and wonderful experiences she’d had with Lucien?

  He went on. ‘We will dock tomorrow at Holyhead and I will engage a carriage to take us to London.’

  A frisson of anxiety ran up her back. ‘Very well. It should take days, should it not?’

  ‘About four days.’

  Four more days with him. Four more days to get used to having to say goodbye.

  * * *

  When she got her memory back, it would change her, Lucien knew. How could it not? She had a lifetime of memories as the daughter of an earl. A few weeks of new memories would count for little.

  But did he hope her memories returned soon? No. He wished to spend these last few days with the lady he knew, not the one he feared she would become.

  For the rest of the meal he tried to return to their former ease with each other. It was becoming more and more difficult. He, too, missed those days on the fishing boat. When they’d been close. When they’d touched. When he’d slept near her.

  Dinner included a bottle of wine and she poured herself glass after glass.

  ‘Tell me about the shipwreck,’ she asked. ‘You never spoke much about it and, I confess, I did not feel ready to hear it. Tell me what happened. There were storms?’

  He’d not spoken of the shipwreck, not in any detail. He’d not wanted to cause her more distress than she’d already experienced.

  On the other hand, she’d nearly remembered two things about the ship. Would talking more of it spark still more memories?

  Even if remembering changed her back into a selfish, thoughtless aristocrat, how could he refuse?

  So he spoke. ‘We never should have sailed that day. The sky filled with storm clouds even before we left port. We should have delayed a day, but the Captain...’ He paused, picturing the Captain and recalling his concerns about the man. ‘Something was wrong with the Captain. He was ill. He must have been ill. At the time I thought he was merely preoccupied, but I was concerned enough to walk the deck and check on the ship and crew. All seemed well.’

  ‘He was ill?’

  Lucien nodded. ‘I think he was unable to command.’ His chest constricted. ‘I went below—that is when I encountered yo
u and the other woman in the companionway—I stayed below even when the storm began, but I should have remained on deck. I could have taken command. I could have sailed us out of danger.’

  ‘Would that have been possible?’ she asked.

  ‘To sail us out of danger?’ He knew he could have done so. ‘Yes.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I meant, was it even possible for you to take over for the Captain? Are there not rules for that?’

  ‘You are right,’ he admitted. ‘The Navy drove it into us. The Captain is in command. I accepted this, even in the face of danger. I’ve spent most of my life under this rule.’

  He’d believed in the rule of command. Wholeheartedly.

  But he’d turned a blind eye to the obvious. The Captain had been ill. Unfit. He should have done something.

  ‘It was not your fault.’ She reached across the table and took his hand. ‘Look at me, Lucien. It was not your fault.’

  But he might have been the only man on board who could have changed what happened.

  His insides twisted as he remembered. ‘He sailed right into the storm. When I finally went on deck, it was too late. The wind was blowing us closer and closer to the rocks. There was nothing to do but get people to the rowboats. That was when I knocked on your door and told you we had to abandon ship.’

  ‘And I was with that other woman? The governess?’ She still held his hand.

  He ought to pull away, but she was the lifeline to keep him from drowning in guilt.

  ‘I only caught a glimpse of her.’ Had the other woman drowned? ‘She handed you the reticule and ran off to get someone else.’

  She tightened her grip.

  ‘When we got on deck it was in shambles. The main mast had split. There was debris everywhere. I led you towards the boats, but before we reached them, a big wave washed over the side and plunged us into the sea. Something hit you on your head and knocked you out.’

  ‘Is that why I cannot recall anything?’ she asked.

  ‘I do not know.’ He looked up at her.

  She took her hand away and poured herself another glass of wine.

  He put his head in his hands. Sometimes remembering was filled with pain.

  She left her chair and walked over to him. She placed her arms around him and her lips close to his ear, said, ‘It was not your fault, Lucien.’

  He rose from his chair and embraced her, holding her close, letting her comfort seep into him. She smelled of lavender and sea air and he wanted never to let go of her.

  Even though he knew he must.

  ‘Oh, Lucien,’ she murmured against his chest.

  She lifted her face to him. With her arms twined around his neck, she rose on tiptoe. Her lips were near. Tantalisingly near.

  And he could not resist. He closed the short distance and crushed his lips against hers, so hungry for her, so needing her solace.

  An urgent sound escaped her and she returned the kiss with a matching hunger. He widened his stance and pressed her against him. Every moment of wanting her seemed to explode into need. When had he ever needed a woman more? He could not remember. They were inches from the berth and no one would see them.

  He backed her towards it.

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘Yes, Lucien.’

  His legs touched the side of the berth.

  And he stopped. ‘No. No, my lady. We will not do this.’

  He eased her away from him, his body aching with protest and desire.

  She was not some willing widow or tavern maid; she was an earl’s daughter with her virtue intact. Her virtue assured her marriage to one of her kind. To lose it meant ruin.

  She blinked up at him as if dazed. And wounded. ‘I believe I want to, Lucien.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. You’ve had too much wine, that is all it is. We must keep our wits about us. This would ruin you. You would regret it.’

  ‘I do not think so. I think I will regret stopping.’ She reached for him.

  He eluded her embrace and grasped her arm instead. ‘Come. It is time you returned to your cabin.’

  She looked petulant, ready to defy him, no doubt the aristocrat coming out in her, believing she should have something merely because she wanted it.

  He put his arm around her and walked her to the door of her cabin.

  He reached for the latch to open it, but she stopped him. ‘Wait. We should knock. Ella and Cullen.’

  Perhaps their dinner had been less complicated. The rules were different for the common folk like them. Like him. Perhaps they were free to indulge in their desire for each other. If so, he envied them.

  He knocked.

  The door was almost immediately opened by his new valet.

  ‘Sir.’ Cullen stood stiffly, like Lucien’s men had done when they toed the line.

  The valet looked as put together as he’d been before the meal. Had they not taken advantage of their privacy?

  ‘We have finished our meal,’ Lucien told him.

  Ella spoke from behind Cullen. ‘So have we, Captain. Our dishes are stacked.’

  ‘I will remove them,’ Cullen said. ‘From your cabin, as well.’

  Lucien and Lady Rebecca stepped aside so the valet could pass.

  ‘Goodnight, my lady,’ Lucien said, more stiffly than he intended. He backed away from the cabin door.

  She gave him an intent look, moved towards him and reached up to touch his face. ‘Goodnight, Lucien.’

  Chapter Eight

  Claire strode into the cabin, breathing fast, her head spinning, her emotions in turmoil. He was correct. She’d consumed too much wine. It had quieted her nerves about her future—without Lucien—but had left another disorder. Of yearning.

  She could not recall how it had happened, but he’d kissed her. Really kissed her. And her whole body had flared into awareness and desire. She wanted him in the most intimate way. She wanted him to touch her bare skin, as he had when he’d once undressed her. She wanted her tongue to join with his, to taste of him. She wanted—she could not even put it into words. It was too scandalous.

  It was what her half-brother had accused them of. And now it was what she wished could happen.

  ‘M’lady?’ Ella looked at her with concern. ‘Are you unwell?’

  She put a hand to her head. ‘No. I am quite well. The wine. It went to my head a little.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ella stepped towards her. ‘Do you need any assistance?’

  Claire waved her off. ‘No. No. I will sit a moment.’ She lowered herself into a chair and put her head into her hands.

  ‘Did you have a row?’ Ella asked.

  Claire lifted her head quickly. ‘A row?’

  ‘A quarrel,’ Ella clarified. ‘Captain Roper looked very upset, and so do you.’

  Weren’t maids supposed to keep opinions to themselves? ‘I suppose you could say we had a disagreement.’

  It had been more than a disagreement. He’d stopped and she’d not wanted him to.

  Ella gave her a very sympathetic look. ‘Do not upset yourself. Cullen and I argue sometimes. It never lasts. It was a lovers’ row, that is what it was. Or the two of you would not be so upset.’

  No. She and Lucien were not lovers. Even if that was what she’d wished for. What she’d attempted.

  ‘It is not like that,’ she quickly retorted. ‘He—he is my escort. Nothing more.’

  The maid gave her a very sceptical look, then busied herself tidying the cabin, which needed no tidying.

  Claire rested her head in her hands again.

  Finally Ella asked, ‘Would you like me to head on and come back later?’

  And leave her alone? To her thoughts? To memories of what had transpired? The knowledge that she was probably a hoyden.

  ‘No. Please stay.’ She needed to fill her head with something else
besides Lucien. ‘Tell me about yourself, Ella. About you and Cullen.’

  Ella stood behind the other chair, her hands resting on its back while the ship rocked gently.

  Her eyes glowed. ‘He is right grand, he is. My Cullen.’

  Claire could not help but smile. ‘Where did you meet?’

  ‘Oh, we were just children.’ Her expression sobered. ‘My ma and pa were in service, but his tilled the land. I was not allowed to see him, Ma and Pa said. We were better than he was, Ma and Pa said.’

  ‘How did you manage, then?’ she asked.

  ‘We were clever.’ Her fleeting smile disappeared. ‘My ma and pa came to Dublin to work and Cullen followed. When I was hired at the hotel, he found a job there, too. A low job, but he paid attention. He learned about gentlemen. He wanted to do better, he did.’

  ‘That is admirable.’

  ‘It is admirable indeed. But my pa did not think so. He found out Cullen was workin’ at the hotel and Pa went into a tear, he did. That was when I took the chance to travel with you and Cullen came, too.’

  They were running from her parents? ‘How old are you, Ella?’

  The maid straightened. ‘I am eighteen, I am. Old enough.’

  ‘And Cullen?’

  ‘He is twenty.’

  They were so young! Young lovers filled with hope.

  How old was she? she wondered. She felt much older, but how old could she be? She could not be more than twenty or twenty-one if she were to be married? Any older and she’d be considered a spinster.

  ‘That is a romantic story,’ Claire said. Lucien would admire their determination to stay together, but she worried about what was in store for them. Life could bring hardship—although she did not know how she knew that. ‘It seems like your parents would have been wiser not to try to separate you.’

  ‘That is the right of it.’ Ella nodded vigorously. ‘But my pa would say, “Once a land tiller, always a land tiller.” He thought he could convince me to marry a shopkeeper or one of Mr Castle’s sons.’ She laughed scornfully, then sobered again. ‘This is Cullen’s chance. No one would hire him as a valet with no experience. Not in Ireland. Not knowing where he came from. A good letter from Captain Roper will mean everything to us. Do you think the Captain will write a letter of recommendation? Could you ask him, please? Cullen won’t ask, I fear. It was my idea to ask the Captain for this trip.’