Marrying the Royal Marine (3 page)

She looked around. He had also brought over her robe, which she had originally hung on a peg in her cabin.
I think he wants me gone from his cabin
, she told herself, and heaven knew, who could blame him?

As for that, he didn’t. Colonel Junot had left a folded note next to her robe on the end of the cot, with ‘Brandon’ scrawled on it. She couldn’t help but smile at that, wondering why on earth he had decided to call her Brandon. All she could assume was that after the intimacy they had been through together, he thought Miss Brandon too formal, but Polly too liberal. Whatever the reason, she decided she liked it. She could never call him anything but Colonel, of course.

She read the note to herself:
Brandon, a loblolly boy is scrubbing down your cabin and will light sulphur in it. The stench will be wicked for a while, so I moved your trunk into the wardroom. Captain Adney’s steward will bring you porridge and fortified wine, which the surgeon insisted on.

He signed it ‘Junot’, which surprised her. When he introduced himself, he had pronounced his name ‘Junnit’, but this was obviously a French name. That was even stranger, because he had as rich a Lowland Scottish accent as she had ever heard. ‘Colonel, Brandon thinks you are a man of vast contradictions,’ she murmured.

She climbed carefully from the sleeping cot, grateful the cannon was there to clutch when the ship shivered and yawed.
I will never develop sea legs
, she told herself.
I will have to become a citizen of Portugal and never cross the Channel again
. When she could stand, she pulled on her robe and climbed back into the sleeping cot, surprised at her exhaustion from so little effort. She doubled the pillow so she could at least see over the edge of the sleeping cot, and abandoned herself to the swaying of the cot, which was gentler this morning.

She noticed the Colonel’s luggage, a wooden military trunk with his name stenciled on the side: Hugh Philippe d’Anvers Junot. ‘And you sound like a Scot,’ she murmured. ‘I must know more.’

Trouble was, knowing more meant engaging in casual conversation with a dignified officer of the King’s Royal Marines, one who had taken care of her so intimately last night. He had shown incredible aplomb in an assignment that would have made even a saint look askance. No. The
Perseverance
might have been a sixth-rate and one of the smaller of its class, but for the remainder of the voyage—and it couldn’t end too soon—she would find a way to avoid bothering Colonel Junot with her presence.

In only a matter of days, they would hail Oporto, and the Colonel would discharge his last duty to her family by handing her brother-in-law a letter from his former chief surgeon. Then, if the Lord Almighty was only half so generous as both Old and New Testaments trumpeted, the man would never have to see her again. She decided it wasn’t too much to hope for, considering the probabilities.

So much for resolve. Someone knocked on the flimsy-framed door. She held her breath, hoping for the loblolly boy.

‘Brandon? Call me a Greek bearing gifts.’

Not by the way you roll your r’s
, she thought, wondering if Marines were gluttons for punishment. She cleared her throat, wincing. ‘Yes, Colonel?’

He opened the door, carrying a tray. ‘As principal idler on this voyage, I volunteered to bring you food, which I insist you eat.’

If he was so determined to put a good face on all this, Polly decided she could do no less. ‘I told you I have sworn off food for the remainder of my life, sir.’

‘And I have chosen to ignore you,’ he replied serenely. ‘See here. I even brought along a basin, which I will put in my sleeping cot by your feet, should you take exception to porridge and ship’s biscuit. Sit up like the good girl I know you are.’

She did as he said. As congenial as he sounded, there was something of an edge in his imperatives. This was something she had already noticed about her brother-in-law Oliver, so she could only assume it had to do with command. ‘Aye, sir,’ she said, sitting up.

He set the tray on her lap. To her dismay, he pulled up a stool to sit beside the cot.

‘I promise to eat,’ she told him, picking up the spoon to illustrate her good faith, if not her appetite. ‘You needn’t watch me.’

He just couldn’t take a hint. ‘I truly am a supernumerary on this voyage, and have no pressing tasks. The Midshipmen, under the tender care of the sailing master, are trying to plot courses. I already know how to do that. The surgeon is pulling a tooth, and I have no desire to learn. The Captain is strolling his deck with a properly detached air. The foretopmen are high overhead and I wouldn’t help them even if I could. Brandon, you are stuck with me.’

It was obviously time to level with the Lieutenant Colonel, if only for his own good. She set down the spoon. ‘Colonel Junot, last night you had to take care of me in ways so personal that I must have offended every sensibility you possess.’ Her face was flaming, but she progressed doggedly, unable to look at the man whose bed she had usurped, and whose cabin she occupied. ‘I have never been in a situation like this, and doubt you have either.’

‘True, that,’ he agreed. ‘Pick up the spoon, Brandon, lively now.’

She did what he commanded. ‘Sir, I am trying to spare you any more dealings with me for the duration of this voyage.’

His brown eyes reminded her of a spaniel given a smack by its owner for soiling a carpet. ‘Brandon! Have I offended you?’

She didn’t expect that. ‘Well, n…no, of course not,’ she stammered. ‘I owe you a debt I can never repay, but—’

‘Take a bite.’

She did, and then another. It stayed down, and she realised how ravenous she was. She ate without speaking, daring a glance at the Colonel once to see a pleased expression on his handsome face. When she finished, he moved aside the bowl and pointed to the ship’s biscuit, which she picked up.

‘Tell me something, Brandon,’ he said finally, as she chewed, then reached for the wine he held out to her. ‘If I were ever in a desperate situation and needed your help, would you give it to me?’

‘Certainly I would,’ she said.

‘Then why can’t you see that last night was no different?’

He had her there. ‘I have never met anyone like you, Colonel,’ she told him frankly.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. She took another sip of the wine, then dipped the dry biscuit in it, which made him smile.

‘Look at it this way, Brandon. You have a friend.’

What could she say to that? If the man was going to refuse all of her attempts to make herself invisible for the remainder of the voyage, she couldn’t be little about it.

‘So do you, Colonel Junot.’

Chapter Three

‘E
xcellent!’ he declared. ‘If you’re up to it, I recommend you dress and go on deck. The surgeon found quite a comfortable canvas chair—I tried it out—and moved it to the quarterdeck. Believe it or not, it’s easier to face an enemy, which, in your case, is the ocean. We can’t have that, Brandon. Fearing the ocean is scarcely patriotic, considering that we are an island nation.’

‘I believe you are right, Colonel,’ she said, amused.

He lifted her out of the sleeping cot, set her on her bare feet, and walked next to her, his hand warm on the small of her back to steady her, across the short space between his door and the door to her cabin. She could smell sulphur fumes behind the door, and was glad he had moved her trunk into the wardroom.

She shook her head when he offered further assistance, even though she did have trouble standing upright.

‘You’ll learn,’ he assured her, then bowed and went up the companionway.

She took what clothing she needed from her trunk, pausing a time or two to steady herself against the ship’s movement. She hadn’t even crossed the small space back to Colonel Junot’s cabin when a Marine sentry came down the companionway, the same Marine who had stood sentinel last night.

‘I want to thank you, Private, for alerting the Colonel to my predicament last night,’ she told him.

‘My job, ma’am,’ he replied simply, but she could tell he was pleased.

That was easy
, Polly thought, as she went into the cabin and dressed. Her hair was still a hopeless mess, but at least it smelled strongly of nothing worse than vinegar. ‘My kingdom for enough fresh water to wash this tangle,’ she murmured.

She cautiously made her way up the companionway to the deck, where she stood and watched the activity around her. No part of England is far from the sea, but she had spent most of her eighteen years in Bath, so she felt herself in an alien world. It was not without its fascination, she decided, as she watched the Sergeant drilling his few Marines in a small space. Close to the bow, the sailing master was schooling the Midshipmen, who awkwardly tried to shoot the sun with sextants. Seamen scrubbed the deck with flat stones the size of prayer books, while others sat cross-legged with sails in their laps, mending tears with large needles. It looked endlessly complex and disorganised, but as she watched she began to see the orderly disorder of life at sea.

She looked towards the quarterdeck again and Captain Adney nodded to her and lifted his hat, indicating she should join him.

‘Let me apologise for myself and all my fellow officers for neglecting you,’ he said. ‘Until Colonel Junot told us what was going on, we had no idea.’

Hopefully, he didn’t tell you everything
, Polly thought, even though she knew her secrets would always be safe with the Colonel. ‘I am feeling much better,’ she said.

‘Excellent!’ Captain Adney obviously had no desire to prod about in the workings of females, so there ended his commentary. He indicated the deck chair Colonel Junot had spoken of. Clasping his hands behind his back, he left her to it, resuming his perusal of the ocean.

Polly smiled to herself, amused by the workings of males. She looked at the chair, noting the chocks placed by the legs so the contraption would not suddenly slide across the quarterdeck. She tried not to hurl herself across the deck, wishing she understood how to ambulate on a slanted plane that would right itself and then slant the other way.

‘Brandon, let me suggest that, when you stand, you put one foot behind the other and probably a bit farther apart than you are used to.’

She looked over her shoulder to see Colonel Junot on the steps to the quarterdeck. He came closer and demonstrated. She imitated him.

‘Much better. When you walk, this is no time for mincing steps.’ He smiled at her halting effort. ‘It takes practice. Try out the chair.’

She let him hand her into it, and she couldn’t help a sigh of pleasure. Amazing that canvas could feel so comfortable.
I could like this
, she thought, and smiled at the Colonel.

He smiled in turn, then went back down the steps to the main deck, where the Sergeant stood at attention now with his complement of Marines. A word from Colonel Junot and they relaxed, but not by much. In another minute the Sergeant had dismissed them and he sat with Colonel Junot on a hatch.

Polly watched them both, impressed by their immaculate posture, which lent both men an ever-ready aspect, as though they could spring into action at a moment’s notice.
I suppose you can
, she told herself, thinking through all of the Lieutenant Colonel’s quick decisions last night. He had not hesitated once in caring for her, no matter how difficult it must have been. And he seemed to take it all in stride. ‘You were my ever-present help in trouble,’ she murmured.

She gave her attention to the Colonel again, after making sure the brim of her bonnet was turned down and they wouldn’t know of her observation. While Colonel Junot was obviously a Scot, he did look French. She realised with a surprise that she wanted to know more about him.

Why?
she asked herself. Knowing more about Lieutenant Colonel Hugh Junot would serve no useful purpose, beyond pointing her out as a flirt, something she knew she was not. ‘Bother it,’ she muttered softly.

She had convinced herself that the best thing she could do for the remainder of this voyage was to follow her original plan and have as little to do with the Marine as possible. Once he was busy with whatever it was that had taken him on this voyage, she would be ignored, which suited her down to the ground. She had never sought the centre of the stage.

Come to think of it, why was Colonel Junot on this voyage?
Bother it
, she told herself again.
I would like to ask him.

She knew better. Through Nana, she knew these men sailed with specific orders that were certainly none of her business, no matter how great her curiosity. ‘Bother it,’ she muttered again, and closed her eyes.

She slept, thanks to the gentle swaying of the canvas seat, comforting after the peaks and troughs of last night’s squall. When she woke, her glasses rested in her lap. Lieutenant Colonel Junot stood next to her chair, his eyes scanning the water. She was struck all over again with his elegance. Compared to naval officers in their plain dark undress coats, the Marines were gaudy tropical birds. He had not an ounce of superfluous flesh, which made him different from the men she noticed in Bath, who were comfortably padded in the custom of the age.

I am among the elite
, she told herself, as she put on her spectacles, bending the wires around her ears again.

Her small motions must have caught Colonel Junot’s eye because he looked her way and gave her a slight bow, then came closer.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

‘I am better today,’ she said simply. ‘Perhaps this means I will not have to seek Portuguese citizenship and remain on the Iberian Peninsula for ever.’

He laughed and looked around for something to sit on, which gratified her further. He didn’t seem to mind her company. He found a keg and pulled that beside her chair.

He looked at her a moment before he spoke, perhaps wondering if he should. He cleared his throat. ‘I suppose you will think me a case-hardened meddler, Brandon, but I have to know—how on earth did you receive permission to travel into a war zone?’

She was surprised that he was curious about her. She leaned towards him. ‘Haven’t you heard? I am to be a spy.’

‘I had no idea, Brandon. I will tell only my dozen closest friends.’

It was her turn to smile and brush aside the crack-brained notion that the Colonel was flirting with her. Now it was his turn for disappointment, because she couldn’t think of a witty reply. Better have with the truth.

‘I don’t know how I got permission, Colonel,’ she told him. ‘I wrote to my sister, Laura Brittle, whose husband, Philemon, is chief surgeon at a satellite hospital in Oporto.’

‘I have heard of him. Who hasn’t? That little hospital in Oporto has saved many a seaman and Marine in just the brief time it has been in operation.’

She blushed, this time with pleasure that he should speak so well of her brother-in-law. ‘I wrote to Laura and told her I wanted to be of use.’

‘I’ve also heard good things about Mrs Brittle.’

‘She’s incredible.’

‘Aye. And your other sister?’

‘Nana loves her husband and sends him back to sea without a tear…at least until he is out of sight,’ she said frankly. There wasn’t any point in being too coy around a man who, in the short space of twenty-four hours, knew her more intimately than any man alive.

He wasn’t embarrassed by her comment. ‘Then he is a lucky man.’

‘He knows it, too.’

She realised their heads were close together like conspirators, so she drew back slightly. ‘Colonel Junot, I thought I could help out in the hospital. Laura said they have many men who would like to have someone write letters for them, or read to them. I could never do what she does, but I could help.’ She shook her head, realising how puny her possible contribution must sound. ‘It isn’t much, but…’

‘…a letter means the world to someone wanting to communicate with his loved ones, Brandon. Don’t sell yourself short,’ he said, finishing her thought and adding his comment. ‘Still, I don’t understand how a surgeon and his wife could pull such strings. Are you all, by chance, related to King George himself?’

‘Oh, no! I have a theory,’ she said. ‘Tell me what you think. I’ll have to show you the letter from the Navy Board, addressed to Brandon Polly, which I received whilst I was visiting Nana. Do you think… Is it possible that Laura or Philemon transposed my name on purpose? Polly Brandon would never do, but Brandon Polly would cause not a stir.’

He thought a minute. ‘What is more likely is at one point in the correspondence there may have been a comma between the two names. Orders or requests are often issued that way.’

He looked at her, and seemed to know what she was thinking. ‘There now. You’ve answered
my
question, which surely must entitle you to one of your own. Go ahead and ask what everyone wants to know. How does someone who sounds like a Scot look like a Frenchman, and with a Froggy name, too?’

‘I
am
curious,’ she admitted.

‘Simple. A long-ago Philippe Junot—he had a title, so I’m told—came to Scotland from France as part of the entourage of Mary of Scotland. No one precisely knows how it happened, but he managed to avoid the turmoil surrounding her and blended into the foggy, damp woodwork of Scotland near Dundrennan. He lost his title, but acquired considerable land near Kirkcudbright.’

‘My goodness.’

‘My goodness, indeed. The Junots are a prolific breed, and each generation traditionally rejoices in a Philippe. My father is still well and hearty, but some day I will head the family.’

‘You chose to serve King and country?’ Polly asked, fascinated.

‘I did. Granted, Kirkcudbright is a pretty fishing village, but it is slow and I liked the uniform.’ He held up his hand. ‘Don’t laugh, Brandon. People have been known to join for stranger reasons.’

‘I cannot believe you!’ she protested.

‘Then don’t,’ he replied serenely. ‘I love the sea, but I require land now and then, and an enemy to grapple with up close. That’s my life.’

‘What…what does your wife say to all this?’ she asked.
That is hardly subtle
, she berated herself.
He will think I am an idiot or a flirt, when I am neither.

‘I wouldn’t know, since I don’t have one of those luxuries. I ask you, Brandon—why would a sensible woman—someone like yourself—marry a Marine?’

He had neatly lofted the ball of confusion back in her court. ‘I can’t imagine, either,’ she said without thinking, which made him laugh, then calmly bid her good day.

I’ve offended him
, Polly thought with remorse. She watched him go, then reasonably asked herself why his good opinion mattered.

Captain Adney’s steward kindly brought her bread and cheese for lunch. She went below later, and found that her trunk and other baggage had been returned to her cabin. The sentry had moved from the Lieutenant Colonel’s door to her own, as though nothing had happened.

When she went topside again, the Captain told her the afternoon would be spent in gunnery practice, and that she might be more comfortable belowdeck in her own cabin, one of the few not dismantled, so the guns could be fired. ‘It is your choice, but mind you, it’s noisy up here,’ he warned, then shrugged. ‘Or down there, for that matter.’

She chose to remain on deck. The chair had been moved closer to the wheel—‘Out of any stray missile range,’ the captain told her.

He didn’t exaggerate; the first blast nearly lifted her out of the chair. She covered her ears with her hands, wishing herself anywhere but at sea, until her own curiosity—Miss Pym called it an admirable trait, if not taken to extremes—piqued her interest. Cringing in the chair, trying to make herself small with each cannonade, she watched as each man performed his task.

Someone tapped her shoulder. She looked around to see Colonel Junot holding out some cotton wadding and pointing to his ears. She took the wadding from him and stuffed it in her ears, observing that he seemed as usual, and not in any way offended by her earlier comment.
Perhaps I make mountains out of molehills
, she told herself, as he returned to the main deck, watching the crews there as she watched them from the quarterdeck.

His eyes were on the Marines. Some of them served the guns alongside the naval gunners, and others lined the railing, muskets at the ready, their Sergeant standing behind them, walking up and down. A few Marines had ventured aloft to the crosstrees with their weapons. Through it all, Colonel Junot observed, and took occasional notes.

It was all a far cry from Bath, and she knew how out of place she was.
I wonder if I really can be useful in Oporto
, she thought. Nana had wanted her to stay in Torquay. What had she done of any value on this voyage yet, except make a cake of herself with seasickness? She wondered why Colonel Junot thought her worth the time of day.