Becoming Lady Lockwood (2 page)

William did not appreciate the reminder that this would be his last voyage. Their course and mission assignment would be difficult enough without the added turmoil a woman aboard the ship would undoubtedly produce. He did not reply.

Amelia stood at the railing
of the second-story balcony and watched as a hired carriage accompanied by two marines on horseback approached the plantation house. The soldiers sat tall in the saddle; their red coats, white breeches, and black boots looked strict and official.

She turned and walked back into her bedroom, quickly glancing around to ensure that she’d not forgotten anything. Her gaze moved over her bed and the canopy of mosquito netting. She had indeed led a sheltered life, she thought, realizing that she’d slept in this very bed every night for nearly twenty-one years.

Her father’s note had left no room for argument. And though it was terrifying, once she had gotten used to the idea of traveling to London, the prospect of an adventure thrilled her down to her toes. The population of colonists in Jamaica was small but growing. Not wanting their children to be deprived of British culture, the colonists raised the children with a British education—which included finishing school for the girls. But Amelia’s duties at the plantation had kept her from many social events. She could not wait to meet new people in London and to learn new things.

Picking up her reticule, parasol, and straw hat, she walked out of her room and down the steps to the front hall, where the two marines stood at attention.

“Good day to you, gentlemen,” she said.

The soldiers touched the brims of their hats.

“Miss Becket?” the taller of them said and, seeing her nod, continued, “Captain Drake sends his compliments.”

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, certain that the soldier was merely speaking out of politeness. She very much doubted the captain had thought to impart any niceties toward her. Especially since he must have instructed his men to refer to her by her maiden name, flatly refusing to acknowledge her marriage to his brother.

“Corporal Ashworth, at your service, miss.” The soldier touched the brim of his hat again. Amelia noted his loose-fitting jacket hanging from narrow shoulders on a rather thin frame. The corporal was tall and quite lanky, and he moved with a stiff awkwardness. But his smile was genuine, and she couldn’t help smiling back.

“And allow me to introduce Corporal Thorne.” The corporal indicated his companion. Amelia turned her attention to the other soldier. Corporal Thorne was shorter and stocky. His dark eyes were set in a serious expression, and Amelia assumed he was the sort of person that spoke infrequently. Corporal Thorne touched the brim of his hat and nodded his head once smartly.

Corporal Ashworth continued. “It will be our pleasure to escort you to the HMS
Venture
, miss. If you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Corporals,” she said, and the men stood aside. She placed her hat upon her head, tying the ribbon beneath her chin as she walked past them, out the door, and down the steps to the grassy expanse in front of the house, where the entire household staff waited to bid her farewell. The hired driver and Mr. Ramsey were attaching her trunk on to the carriage.

Mary, her lady’s maid, curtsied. “Bon voyage, madame.” When she looked up at Amelia, her dark brown eyes were wet. She continued in French, “I told you I would come with you.” While she spoke she placed her hands over her expanding belly.

“
Merci
, Mary.” Amelia felt her own throat begin to constrict. She placed her hand over Mary’s. “I cannot allow your child to be born at sea. You must remain with your husband. It will be but a few months and I will return to cover this baby’s cheeks with kisses.”

She exchanged well-wishes and good-byes with each of the staff and finally arrived at the housekeeper, Mrs. Hurst, who was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Amelia looked into the older woman’s familiar face and blinked at the tears that filled her own eyes.

Mrs. Hurst pulled her into an embrace. “You’ll have a lovely voyage, m’lady, and ’twill be but a short time before you’re back with us.”

Amelia fought the urge to break into sobs and run back into the house. Since her mother had died, the staff—and especially the housekeeper—had been her only family. An ache began to spread in her chest as she understood how much she had come to love these people. She returned the embrace, kissed Mrs. Hurst on the cheek, and squared her shoulders. Holding on to Corporal Ashworth’s hand, she climbed into the open carriage and sat on the seat, arranging her skirts and opening her parasol.

The marines mounted their horses, and the carriage started forward. Amelia waved at the small group gathered in front of the house.

As they drove, her gaze traveled over the green hills, tall palm trees, and fields of sugarcane, and Amelia wondered when she would see her home again. The drive through Spanish Town was a familiar one, although the uncertainty of when she might return caused Amelia to make an effort to commit each detail to memory. The carriage passed the colonial offices; the governor’s home, where balls and social events were held; and then crossed the Río Cobre on a new cast iron bridge that had been built a few years earlier.

All around were the sounds of insects keening and birds chirping and the heady perfumes of fresh flowers combined with decaying undergrowth—the sounds and smells of home. A group of native women dressed in brightly colored blouses and knee-length skirts walked in the other direction, talking and laughing. They sauntered on their bare feet with an easy grace, each carrying bunches of bananas piled high upon their heads. The women smiled and waved, and Amelia waved back. Everyone waved in Jamaica. She wondered how different it would be to travel through the streets of London.

Many of the ladies she knew traveled to England for the Season nearly every year, but Amelia had never joined them. As the war with France had continued, sea voyages had become dangerous, and the colonies had become more and more isolated. This suited Amelia perfectly. Besides, her mother had hated London, though she’d never told Amelia why. Amelia had assumed that it was because her mother loved the casual, friendly society of Jamaica, but now that she was older, she realized it was most likely because of her father and his lifestyle.

It had been surprisingly easy to get the plantation affairs in order for Amelia’s abrupt departure. She was a fastidious ledger keeper, and Mr. Ramsey kept the entire operation running smoothly. It appeared that Amelia would miss the plantation more than it would miss her. And the idea made her heart sink a bit.

Her mind turned toward the ship and what awaited her on board. Or more precisely, whom. Captain William Drake reminded Amelia a great deal of her father. The captain was presumptuous and demanding, and he even walked with a similar rolling gait, as one who is more accustomed to the decks of a moving ship.

When she had seen him at her house, she’d noticed he was tall and that his broad shoulders were accentuated by the blue regimental coat. His hair was thick and dark, and his attempt at controlling it by tying it back with a leather string had little effect. But the thing that reminded her most of her father was the way the captain had looked at her. His dark eyes had been calculating, scrutinizing her words and actions for weakness. Testing her. He undoubtedly believed she had manipulated the entire marriage as a way of claiming his family’s inheritance. She didn’t think Captain Drake possessed the smallest bit of compassion.

It would indeed be unpleasant to spend the next few months in the company of such a man, but on a vessel carrying over seven hundred sailors, she was fairly certain she would be able to avoid the captain. Especially since he’d given every indication at their brief meeting that he would avoid her as well.

As the party neared Kingston, they encountered more people traveling toward the markets with merchandise of every kind pulled in donkey carts or piled in baskets upon their heads. The carriage rode through the crowds, finally stopping at the noisy docks, and Corporal Ashworth held her hand as she stepped out of the carriage and into the bustling crowds.

Hearing her name, Amelia turned to see the smiling face of Sidney Fletcher as he pushed through the throngs toward her. “Miss Becket,” he said as he reached her, “I am so pleased that you are here.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fletcher.” Amelia’s relief at seeing him must have been evident in her expression. She was a little annoyed that he had not called her Lady Lockwood, but she could manage being Amelia Becket for the voyage. Aboard the ship, she did not think her title would carry much weight anyway, and her father would sort out the arrogant captain soon enough.

Sidney paid the carriage driver, instructed the marines to return their horses to the livery and report to the ship, and made arrangements for Amelia’s trunk. Then he offered his arm and led her toward the harbor.

Merchant ships of various types dotted the blue water, but the HMS
Venture
surpassed every other vessel, not only in sheer size, but she was quite obviously the latest advancement in nautical engineering—and the Royal Navy didn’t skimp when it came to design.

“She’s beautiful,” Amelia said, admiring the striking wooden hull and contrasting black trim. The bulkheads on the upper deck were blue, with red-and-gold painted frames around the doors. The entire rear, or stern, of the ship was covered with windows that sparkled with the reflection from the water.

“That she is, Miss Becket. A finer ship you’ll not find in the world. A feat of beauty and state-of-the-art design. It’s easy to forget that she’s carrying five hundred tons of artillery on her decks.”

Amelia laughed at his enthusiasm. “One would think you enjoyed your life at sea, sir.”

“It’s true. I’m never so much at home as I am on the deck of a ship.”

“It seems to me, Mr. Fletcher, that you are the type of person who possesses the temperament to be at ease wherever you are.”

Sidney inclined his head in agreement, the wide smile never leaving his face. “Once you’ve spent some time in London, Miss Becket, I’ll wager you will be longing for the smell and the feel of the sea breeze and the sound of the waves slapping against her hull. Mark my words.”

They walked down the long pier and climbed into a waiting boat. Sailors manned the oars on each side of the smaller craft, and once Amelia and Sidney were aboard, the men began to row toward the magnificent vessel anchored offshore. As they neared the HMS
Venture
, Amelia could indeed see how such a ship would intimidate her enemies. Three enormous masts rose from her decks, the sails tied neatly to the “yards,” or crossbars, from which they hung. Ropes supporting the mast and controlling the sails crisscrossed the main deck in a complicated but orderly pattern. From this angle, she could see the figurehead on the bow—an intricately carved and painted shield bearing the British coat of arms.

“Now comes the exciting part,” Sidney said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as they neared the hull. He pointed to the sailors on deck, busily extending cranes, which Sidney identified as davits. “They’re going to raise our boat onto the ship!”

“Excuse me?” Amelia demanded, but no one paid her any attention.

Ropes were lowered from the deck above, which Sidney and a few others attached to the rowboat’s sides, and the sailors on board began to haul the boat out of the water with a pulley system. Amelia closed her eyes and held on to the sides of the rowboat, afraid that if she moved, it would tip and dump all of them into the sea. The boat swung in the air, ascending steadily and finally reaching the davits, where it was secured hanging off the side of the ship.

She tried to reason how she was to cross onto the ship’s deck but saw only the davits raised nearly upright.

“Now this might be a bit frightening your first time, Miss Becket. I assure you I’ll not allow you to fall.” Sidney helped her to stand in the swaying boat and showed her how to step around onto a davit. His foot rested on one of the evenly spaced blocks on the narrow surface, and he climbed down it like a ladder to the deck.

Amelia handed her parasol to Sidney and held on to one of the sailor’s hands as he helped her gain her balance enough to step around the davit and place her foot onto a block. She made the mistake of looking down to the sea fifty feet below and closed her eyes as she clung to the wooden crane, willing her pounding heart to slow. When she was able to calm her breathing, she slid her foot down to find the next block, wishing she wasn’t so encumbered by the full skirts that impeded her view of where she needed to place her feet. One more step, and she felt Sidney’s hand on the small of her back, and the other sailor released his grip on her gloved fingers. Two more steps and she stood firmly on the deck of the HMS
Venture
.

She thanked the sailor who had held her hand, but he looked away rather than answer. Before Amelia had an opportunity to think much about the cold reception, Sidney led her away from the railing on the side of the ship, which he explained was called the gunwale, and told her that she was standing upon the main deck on the forecastle—the area of the deck in front of the main mast. He pointed out the companionways that led below deck and the gangways leading up to the quarterdeck, which was where the officers were typically stationed.

Although her father had spent most of his life at sea, Amelia knew little about the workings of a ship and was determined to learn more. Perhaps the knowledge would entice a bit of affection from the admiral when she arrived in London. At the very least, it might give them some common subjects to talk about.

Men and supplies continued to board the ships as a constant stream of small boats made their way to and from the shore. As she watched the ordered chaos, Amelia caught a glimpse of Captain Drake at the railing of the quarterdeck. He stood tall, his legs spread apart, his hands clasped behind his back, and his eyes surveying the crew as they made preparations for the voyage. He motioned to a young cabin boy, who ran toward him, listened for a moment, and darted off, apparently on the captain’s errand. Captain Drake’s gaze continued to sweep the deck and met Amelia’s briefly before continuing past, not giving any further sign of recognition or acknowledgement. Amelia felt a flush heating her cheeks that he’d found her watching him.