The Captain's Lady (16 page)

“M
r. Saunders, you have done your duty admirably.” Jamie’s heart swelled with pride as he gazed at the
Fair Winds.
The ship had arrived in port the day before, but events at the manor had kept him from coming to Southampton any sooner to greet his crew. “She looks trim and fit, more than ready to take us home tomorrow at sunrise.” In addition to recaulking and scraping and sporting a new mast, the ship wore fresh coats of paint inside and out. Her sails had been mended or replaced, and sheets and halyards restored good as new. “You’ve done a fine job all around.” He eyed Saunders, his sea-weathered first mate, whose response to this praise seemed strangely subdued. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Well, sir…” Saunders scratched his brown-and-gray-bearded chin and stared up at the new mainmast, then over toward another merchant ship, then toward the town, his eyes seeming not to focus on any of them. “Ye see, sir, uh, well, sir, I—I’ve taken me a wife. Sir.”

“A
wife.
” Jamie thought the top of his head might explode. “What do you mean you, you’ve taken a wife?”
Saunders’s pained grimace and cowering posture, so uncharacteristic of him, sent a wave of nausea through Jamie. He’d always prided himself on having a good relationship with his crew, especially someone as responsible as his first mate, who could very well captain his own vessel. “Does that mean you plan to stay here in England?” This man’s patriot fervor had always been unmatched. Had some clever wench turned his mind from the Revolution?

“Well, sir, that all depends on you, sir.” Saunders rolled his hat in his hands.

“On me?” Jamie could not think of losing this valuable sailor. “What—?”

“Well, ye see, sir, I want to bring me wife along.” He moved closer to Jamie in a confiding pose. “Ye see, sir, Molly wants to go to America. She’s willin’ to throw her lot in with us, if you know what I mean, sir.” He tapped the side of his nose to indicate he could say no more.

Jamie huffed out a cross breath. First Aaron and now Saunders. His friends could marry their ladyloves, but he could not. “What does the rest of the crew think of taking a woman aboard?” He looked around to see several other men standing close. They tried to look busy, but bent near, as if all too interested in this conversation between their captain and his first mate. A thread of worry wove into Jamie’s chest.

“Well, sir, it seems there was several ladies of the same mind as my Molly.” Saunders shrugged, and twisted his pie-shaped cap so hard it resembled a sausage.

“Several?” Now true horror swept through Jamie, that and a large measure of anger. “Do you mean to tell me that all this time you and the men have been
courting?
” Could it get any worse? He shook his head and exhaled a hot breath.

“Well, sir—”

“Saunders, if you say ‘well, sir’ one more time—” Jamie fisted his hands at his waist “—I’ll not be responsible for my actions.” Indeed, he felt like pummeling someone or something.

“Sorry, sir. But ye have to know a healthy man can’t be expected to lie low in a town such as London and not seek out the comforts of a lady’s presence.” Saunders gave Jamie a gap-toothed smile.

“Just exactly how many ‘ladies’ are we picking up in London?” More nausea gurgled in Jamie’s belly. Had his entire crew been bamboozled by tavern wenches? They should get out on the open sea right away, not sail back to London.

“Well, sir—” Saunders clapped a hand to his mouth, a gesture Jamie had never before seen him employ. “I mean, well, we don’t need to pick up our wives in London. They’re already aboard. All four of ’em.”

“Four!” Rage filled Jamie, and he thought he might breathe out fire. Swinging away from Saunders, he strode to the gunwale and gripped it with both hands. Beyond Southampton lay Portsmouth and the vast British navy, countless sloops, frigates, ships of the line and men-of-war, vessels that could sink the
Fair Winds
if any hint of its true cargo and mission should be discovered. And, as if bringing Aaron’s Emma weren’t enough, adding four more souls,
female
souls, to this voyage made Jamie even more responsible to his Maker for their care. He took off his round-brimmed hat and brushed a hand over his hair down to his queue.

“Captain Templeton.” Saunders came alongside him. “Jamie.” He set a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “I can’t say I’m sorry, sir. We’re honest men, and our wives are the decent sort. Christian ladies, every one of ’em.”

Jamie gave him a sidelong glance, this plain, muscular, bowlegged fellow who’d weathered the change from whaler to sailor to patriot without so much as asking for a single boon, except that he might remain in Jamie’s crew. Seeing his friend’s crooked grin, Jamie thought he might like his Molly for loving this homely but stouthearted man. Yet he could not stop the grief that gripped his own chest so hard he almost couldn’t breathe. Why, if he must love a lady, did she have to be someone so utterly unattainable?

“Very well, Saunders.” A dull ache of resignation rolled through Jamie’s chest as he turned to complete his survey of the ship. “Just keep the women below and out of the way until we set sail.” A true gentleman would call them forth to be introduced, but Jamie wasn’t feeling much like a gentleman right now.

“Aye, sir.” Saunders strode toward the crew, all of whom were grinning like fools. “Avast, me rowdies. Let’s get this ship ready to sail at sunrise.”

At their cheer, Jamie swallowed hard, as if this action could dislodge the cannonball in his throat.

“Emma, do you have room in your trunk for some of my things?” Marianne had pared her belongings down to the essentials, but they still made a bundle too heavy for her to carry.

“No.” Quince answered for his bride, and without so much as a “my lady” to soften his curt tone.

Marianne stared across her bedchamber at the couple. If she ordered Emma to obey her, they doubtless would leave her behind.

“No, of course not.” Tugging her new black cloak about her, she gave them a trembling smile. “Forgive me.”

Quince came closer, and in the shadowed room, his dark
visage appeared ominous. “If not for my good friend’s happiness, we would not risk taking you. If you cause even the slightest trouble, we’ll say you forced us to take you with us.”

“Your friend?” Marianne recalled some of this man’s actions, hardly those of a well-trained valet. Yet Jamie defended him. Perhaps this was an American custom, to treat one’s servants as friends. “Yes, of course. And do not be concerned, Mr. Quince, I shall follow our plan—”

A knock sounded on the door, and she gasped. Before anyone could move, Mama opened it and entered. “Emma, I brought you a little gift…Marianne!” She looked from her daughter to Emma to Quince. “What’s this?” Even in the shadows, Marianne could see comprehension come over her mother’s face.

“Oh, my lady,” Emma trilled, “Lady Marianne is so kind to interrupt her games to see me off.”

“Ah, I see.” Mama looked down at Marianne’s bundle, then stared at her, tears filling her eyes. “Well, then…” She closed the door behind her, swallowed hard and crossed the room to take her in her arms. “My darling girl.” Her voice was thick. “I have known…I could see. I understand.” She held Marianne in a death grip. “I was prepared to console you after his leave-taking, but you seemed so strong. I did not think you would…Why did you not tell me?”

Marianne sobbed against her mother’s shoulder. “You know why.”

Mama nodded. “Yes, I am grieved to say I do.” She moved back and touched Marianne’s cheek. “Now I understand why you embraced your father and me so fervently this evening.” She laughed softly. “We thought it was gratitude for letting you and your friends have your treasure hunt.” Another laugh, a sad one. “But you go to seek another treasure.”

“Yes.” Marianne felt a rush of anxiety and tried to pull away. “We must go, Mama. I love you…and Papa.”

Mama held her fast. “Tomorrow I shall divert him as best I can. I will not tell him anything until absolutely necessary.”

“You would face his wrath?”

Mama nodded again. “If I must. But I will also remind him that many frowned on our marriage because of my lower birth.” She drew back, her eyes wide. “He will marry you, will he not?”

“Jamie Templeton is a man of honor.” Quince stepped closer. “He’ll do what’s right. Now, my lady—” his every word conveyed anxiety “—we must go.”

Mama gripped Marianne quickly, then released her and stared down at her bundle. “Oh, mercy, is that all you are taking?”

She shrugged, refusing to look at Emma or Quince.

“Gracious, child, take a valise or even a small trunk.”

“There’s no time, Mama.” Marianne felt her knees quiver. For all the emotional benefits of Mama discovering her plan, would she now ruin the whole escape?

Emma hurried to the small chamber where she had slept for seven summers, and brought out a satchel. “Here, my lady.” She quickly stuffed Marianne’s extra belongings in it, in spite of Quince’s fearful glances toward the door.

“Mr. Quince,” Mama said. “I came to bring this one last gift to Emma.” She retrieved a small leather bag from her pocket. As she handed it to him, the coins within it clinked, and his eyes rounded. “From Lord Bennington and me.”

“Oh, thank you, my lady.” Emma curtsied.

Quince blustered briefly. “Thank you, my lady.” This time, his tone held true respect.

Mama kissed Emma’s cheek. “Despite Lord Benning
ton’s crossness at losing such a fine servant from his household staff, he sends his blessing on your union.” She eyed Marianne wistfully. “I wonder if we’d had more courage, he might not have come around for another marriage. Oh, dear.” Her eyes widened. “Do you have money?”

“Yes. I have been saving my pin money for some time.” Marianne flung herself into her mother’s arms. “I shall miss you, my dear one.”

“I shall miss you, my darling girl.” Mama sniffed back tears. “But I knew one day I would have to surrender you to some good man.” She brushed a hand over Marianne’s cheek. “How good to know that the man you chose is also the man who saved your father’s grandson.” She gave her an unladylike wink. “I shall remind him of that as often as I dare.”

A
week out of Southampton, the
Fair Winds
sailed into a storm that buffeted the ship for three days and nights. Once it abated, the vessel caught a rare northeasterly wind that swept it toward America at a good speed, as if the Almighty Himself hastened their journey. The gale had been appropriate weather for Jamie’s unending tempest of emotions and a good immersion back into the sailing life. He’d expected his feelings to soften once he stood at the helm and felt the sun and wind on his face. But each time he thought the pain was all behind him, one or more of the brides ventured forth from below deck to catch some fresh air, and Jamie’s anguish began all over again.

The only consolation he could claim was the information Thomas Moberly had bestowed on him, confident it would be safe with him. Yet even that was painful when Jamie contemplated his betrayal of people who had trusted him. He’d lived in the bosom of Bennington’s family, given every benefit but adoption. And, of course, Marianne’s hand. Still, his heart twisted within him. How could a man of honor be a spy? He prayed General Washington would find another
use for him in the Revolution. Even turning the
Fair Winds
into a warship to meet the enemy face-to-face would be more honest than making friends only to betray them.

Becoming a battle-ready ship would not be the first change for this fine old vessel. For fifteen years she’d admirably performed her original purpose—whale ship. Then Captain Folger had refitted her as a merchant vessel, turning her over to Jamie as they made plans for serving the Revolution in East Florida. With her newly reinforced decks, she could carry more guns and many more sailors to fight for the Cause. The sloop even had three private cabins in addition to his captain’s quarters to accommodate the officers a warship would require.

At the thought of the cabins, Jamie grunted. Quince, who wasn’t a crew member, had paid for his cabin as a contribution to the Revolution. He and his Emma resided there. Naturally, first mate Saunders deserved one, and there he and his Molly slept. The other three wives were crowded into the third to protect their feminine privacy. They and their husbands would have to wait until they reached land to enjoy all the felicities of marriage.

Ten days out, Jamie sat in his cabin writing in his logbook. Other than the storm, the voyage had been uneventful. The previous day, a British man-of-war had sailed past, some two hundred yards off to starboard, but she’d merely saluted and gone on her way. No doubt her captain regarded the Union Jack flying on the
Fair Winds
’ mainmast, and Bennington’s banner beneath it, as sufficient to dispel any need for searching a merchant ship. Jamie duly noted the non-incident in his log.

A rap sounded on the cabin’s door just as Jamie closed the book. “Come.”

The door opened, and Demetrius, the ship’s Greek
cook, peered around it. “’Morning, Cap’n Jamie. Sorry to disturb you, sir.”

Jamie beckoned to him. “Not at all. Come sit down.” He put the logbook on its shelf.

Demetrius shuffled into the cabin and placed his bulging form into a chair in front of Jamie’s desk.

“Did you learn any new dishes in London?” Jamie asked.

“Naw, Cap’n, nothin’ new. Them English just cook roast beef.” Demetrius smirked. “It’s a shame what they do with a good piece of lamb.”

Jamie joined his laughter, but he could think of more than a few fine dishes he’d eaten at Bennington’s table, including an excellent leg of lamb. “What can I do for you?” He noticed the concern in the middle-aged man’s eyes. “Did you forget to pack enough flour or sugar? Are we out of fresh vegetables already?”

Demetrius’s shrug was more like a wince. “Not yet, sir, though we’re goin’ through ’em faster than I thought we would.” He clicked his tongue and gave his head a shake. “Thought I’d brought aboard plenty of stores. Even counted the wives as I planned, knowing you wouldn’t have the heart to put ’em off the ship when you saw how happy the lads were. But with six ladies, two of ’em needing to eat for two, if you get my meaning, we’ll be eating a bit slimmer ’till we reach Boston.” He eyed Jamie. “Just thought I should let you know so you won’t think I’m trying to starve anyone.”

“Thanks.” Jamie pulled a book from his shelf, planning to read for the rest of the afternoon. Then he started. “Wait. Did you say
six
ladies? You mean there’s a wife I haven’t met?” Whoever this female was, she’d better be a wife, or Jamie would thrash the man who’d brought her aboard. He’d never countenanced wenching among his men, and certainly not aboard his vessel.

Demetrius’s eyes grew round. “Not that I know of, sir. I just know I been deliverin’ breakfast and supper to four grateful ladies in their cabin.”

“Thank you, Demetrius.” Jamie gritted his teeth. “Was there anything else?”

The cook stood. “No, sir. Just wanted to warn you about the stores.”

“Very well. Don’t say anything to anyone about our talk.” The charge wasn’t necessary. Jamie’s cook did not engage in gossip.

After Demetrius left the cabin, Jamie shelved his reading and considered the situation. This crew was comprised of good men, every one. They knew his rules and abided by them.

But who was this sixth woman? And how had she come aboard without his seeing her? He mentally went down the list of crewmen. Three had left wives at home in Massachusetts, several had vowed never to marry, and some admitted sheepishly that their English lady friends had refused their proposals. Jamie snorted. Once Saunders set the example, there must have been a rush among the men to find willing mates. And he’d learned one or two of these ladies had first met the others when they came aboard. They would think nothing of this sixth woman being a stranger among them.

A spy.
The thought was so jolting Jamie jumped to his feet and strode across the cabin into the narrow hallway. The second cabin was at the far end of the vessel, and he quickly closed the distance. There he pounded on the heavy wooden door.

“Ladies, make yourselves presentable.” He hoped the sternness in his voice would send them hopping, and from the muffled squeals and thumps within, he surmised he’d succeeded. After several minutes, he heard the latch click.
As the door swung open, Jamie felt some invisible object slam into his chest.

“Good afternoon, Captain Templeton.” Marianne stood before him, an innocent, beatific smile on her flawless face.

“Marianne.” The breathless rush of Jamie’s voice, the arch of his eyebrows, the widening of his intense brown eyes, sent a surge of satisfaction through Marianne. Her surprise was complete. And long overdue. If she had to stay in this stifling room one more hour—

“Captain, would you be so kind as to escort me to the upper deck?” Marianne glanced over her shoulder at the women she had come to regard as sisters in romance, for they had all shared their love stories to keep up their courage while the ship pitched and rolled in the storm. She then looked back at Jamie, whose expression now bordered on horrified—not what she had hoped for. “I have not seen the sun for ten days. Or is it eleven? Down here, it is difficult to know.”

Jamie scowled at her. “What are you doing here?”

His growling tone cut into her. She’d never imagined he would be cross with her.

“Wh-why, I thought—”

“Don’t speak.” Jamie gripped her arm. “Come with me.” He pulled her down the hallway, or whatever these narrow passages were called.

“Ouch.” She tugged against him. “Where are you taking me? Are you not pleased to see me? Jamie!” Her last words came out on a sob.

He opened a door and almost shoved her inside. The room—cabin, she corrected herself—was much larger than the other and nicely furnished with a desk, several chairs, and a bed, or berth, built into the wall.

Marianne settled into a chair, huffing with horrified indignation and trying desperately not to cry. “Well, Captain Templeton, it seems I have made a serious mistake. Obviously, all your gentle protestations of love for me were nothing short of a lie.”

“Don’t,” he growled again. “Do not for one moment think that this is about my love for you.” He ran a hand through his hair, loosening many strands from his queue, a gesture she had heretofore found charming. Now it seemed the gesture of a man enraged. Enraged at
her.
Papa had never treated Mama thus.

“Jamie.” She spoke softly, as Mama did when trying to soothe Papa’s ruffled feathers. But unlike her mother, Marianne could not stop her tears. “I love you. I—I thought you loved me. Why should we be separated by foolish social strictures?”

Jamie bent forward, his hands gripping the arms of her chair, his nose inches from hers. “You have no idea what you’ve done.” He straightened and crossed his arms. “Yes, I love you.” His tone did not confirm his words. “But you don’t belong here, and I can’t return you. We are ten days out, and I can’t afford to lose time.”

She laughed, but it sounded more like a squeak in her ears. “But I do not wish to return.” A bitter thought occurred to her. “If you despise me for following you, then take me to my brother Frederick. How difficult can that be? You are sailing to East Florida anyway.”

Jamie skewered her with a look. “We’re not going directly to East Florida.”

“But…wh-where are we going?” She stared down, clasping her hands as more thoughts collected, revealing a horrifying idea. Quince’s disrespect. Emma’s subtle remarks, disguised as humor, regarding His Majesty. The way
the other women aboard the ship avoided certain topics. Marianne lifted her gaze to the man she loved. “Jamie, where are we going?” She was not certain she really wanted to know the answer.

“Boston.” The word exploded from his lips.

“But Boston is occupied by the rebelling colonists and—”

As he lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes, she understood at last. Jamie was not the man he claimed to be. He was a rebel, one of those who hoped to drive the British from American shores. But why would he have befriended Papa? What had been his purpose?

Shattering reality struck her heart and mind. He was a spy. And no doubt he had been spying on Papa from the moment he walked into Bennington House last March. Or perhaps it began last year, at the very same time she was falling in love with him.

Indeed, by running away to be with Jamie Templeton, Marianne had made a horrible, irreparable mistake. The realization stole her breath, and she thought she might suffocate. The room became a swirling eddy, pulling her downward. She gasped for air, barely aware of the captain bending over her until he touched her arm.

“Marianne.”

The concern in his voice cut through her struggle, and she pulled in air at last. “No. Do not touch me.” Bitter anguish tore through her, and she burst out in sobs she could not control.