The Lady and the Captain (15 page)

Robert wore his full dress uniform. She couldn’t help but admire how handsome he looked. The uniform fit his broad shoulders and cinched his trim waist. His white breeches molded his muscular legs like a second skin. She couldn’t help remembering their night together— it was doubly painful to know that they were not, in fact, truly betrothed.

He’d joined her after adjourning an officers’ meeting in the wardroom. She’d seen very little of him that day for he’d spent most of it updating the ship’s log. He’d held the meeting with the officers in preparation for dismissing the crew and turning the frigate back over to the Royal Admiralty.

He smiled, holding out his white-gloved hand and she took it. She looked at him and wondered what he was thinking. She wondered if he felt as wretchedly as she did.

Mistress O’Grady blindfolded them and then one of the marines opened the door leading out to the deck. It was to be a grand surprise. Their blinds were lifted and Sarah looked out at the lovely preparations.

She felt a lump form in her throat and her eyes filled with tears.

No one had ever honored her in such a touching manner before. The most she could ever hope by way of thanks and recompense from her patients was to be given some livestock, a few goods, and perhaps on rare occasions, a shilling or two, but nothing compared to the delightful celebration that the crew had planned for her and their commander.

“’Tis humbling,” she said to Robert as a sea of smiling faces looked up at them standing on the quarter-deck.

“They’ve been a good crew.” He nodded, happy for his men, and proud that The Brunswick had safely docked after spending two years at sea. He looked down at the lovely young woman by his side and experienced a longing he had never allowed himself to feel before. Making love to Sarah had been something he had wanted to do since the moment he set eyes on the golden-haired beauty. He wondered what she was thinking and feeling? Was she regretting their night together or did she wish for more? He sighed and put his thoughts aside for now, but at some point, he would have to speak with Sarah about it.

Suddenly, the crew let out a big cheer. “Hip-Hip-Huzzah!” Catcalls and whistles of approval quickly followed.

Sarah stood beside him, laughing at the men’s good mood. She waved at them and their cheers grew even louder. Aye, she was in high spirits, as well, he thought, as he wrapped his arm around her and drew her closer. He felt some of the tension he’d held since taking over command from Captain Jackson loosen from his shoulders. No great disaster had passed aboard the ship for which the Admiralty could blame him for. The loss of the steward’s life had been a tragedy, beyond his control, and therefore he would not be held accountable. The career he’d envisioned for himself at sea in the Royal Navy would continue onward, unchanged. However he did not look forward to informing the steward’s sole remaining relative, a spinster of twenty, of her brother’s death.

The same, he was certain, would be the judgment concerning the deserter, Jeremy Kaye. That occurrence would be listed by the Royal Admiralty as an act of mutinous treason against king and country. It would have no bearing on how he’d commanded the crew and The Brunswick. It would not reflect poorly upon him.

He knew his men would testify that the lad had been more than treated fairly by him and the other superior ranking officers. No harsh treatment of the young seaman had occurred. There was no reason for Jeremy to have jumped ship.

He frowned as his thoughts turned to darker matters.

The only lingering issue was the matter of the blackguard who tried to kill Captain Jackson. He would not rest until that was resolved. Until then he had to pretend that Captain Jackson had met his maker.

Robert took a tankard from the tray of one of the cabin boys who were serving the crew, and handed Sarah a glass of sherry. Taking a healthy swallow of the brew, he fortified himself for his ongoing investigation into the murder of Captain Jackson. He was thankful he had Sarah’s input. Her wisdom and intuition about the nefarious plot was invaluable. But he was concerned for her welfare. For all her experiences as a wise woman, she had led a very sheltered life. And he was worried about putting her in harm’s way. Any thoughts of her being hurt caused him to break into a sweat. Nay, he would protect Sarah at all cost. With his very life if he had to. He finished his drink with one final gulp. The spirit was strong, knocking some of the strain out of his weary thoughts of murder and conspiracy.

Grog, the seamen’s drink of beer or rum mixed with the usually acrid tasting water supply when at sea, was being liberally passed around. Barrels of fresh brewed beer were rolled up the gang-plank from local taverns to be handed out to the celebrating men.

The hands called for a toast. They stood about on the deck hugging their wives and sweethearts by their sides. Children, dogs, and even a small monkey, joyously ran around chasing each other.

Suddenly, there was silence.

Respectfully quiet, they looked up expectantly at the officers and their commander, with whom they had sailed in fair and foul weather for the past two years. During that time they had taken life saving commands from these superior officers, some of whom were as young as their own sons, working and fighting side-by-side for king and country aboard the frigate.

Lieutenant Litton stepped up to the quarter-deck. He raised his tankard.

“A toast to one of the best first mates I’ve ever had the privilege to serve under, the man who held us together after Captain Jackson’s demise and brought us safely back home . . .” At the mention of Captain Jackson many took their caps off in proper respect for the deceased. “Let us toast, ladies and gentlemen, our master and commander, First Lieutenant Smythe and his bonnie bride to-be, Mistress Duncan.”

All the men stood out of respect for the couple, their tankards raised.

“I feel certain I am speaking for all of us aboard, Lieutenant Smythe, when we wish you and your lovely lady long life and many years of smooth sailing ahead, sir,” said the second in command, raising his tankard in the couple’s direction. “To the happy couple!” he toasted and took a hearty swallow of the brew from his own tankard.

The men echoed with hardy cheers of “Hear, Hear, and to Lieutenant Smythe!” All followed the example the lieutenant set, drinking heartily from their tankards.

Robert addressed the crew and their families. “I am a man of few words and so I shall simply say my betrothed and I thank you for your kind thoughts and best wishes.”

Unable to resist, he kissed Sarah’s hand. He smiled as he watched her cheeks blush becomingly.

Humbled by the kind words of the second mate, he raised his cup in the air and finished by saying, “To the bravest and best crew I’ve ever had the privilege to serve with. God bless you, gentlemen . . . and God bless the king!”

“To the king!” came back the replay from those below.

It was then that Lieutenant Litton nodded to the marine band orchestra and they began to play. Officers set up into sets for a quadrille led by Robert and Sarah. The crew stood back and watched the handsome commander of The Brunswick and his lovely betrothed as they went through the intricate steps of the dance.

Sarah had danced before at balls held at Brightwood Manor in her home village of Urlingford. She was therefore not afraid to step forth. The quadrille and country dances were familiar to her.

She glided back and forth with little effort on the smooth planks of the top deck in a pair of light-blue dancing slippers. The crossed silver ribbons peeked out from beneath her gown’s lace as she twirled under the glittering fairy lights.

Robert, a gleam of admiration in his hazel eyes, took one of her outstretched gloved hands and turned her gently around. She spun gracefully in his guiding arms.

Caught up in the music and the unwavering attraction of seeking out the young commander in the ritual of dance, she barely remembered to switch partners, much to the delight of those watching. All were attentive to the romantic gestures of the handsome couple before them. Many laughed at the face the young woman made as she left the commander’s side to dance with her next partner.

When the dance ended, flushed from being the focus of the admiring stares of the handsome officer before her, Sarah finished the quadrille with a gracious curtsey.

The crew applauded the dancers and musicians. The ladies quickly unfolded their silk-covered fans, fluttering them back and forth, giving overheated faces a quick refreshing wave of air. Already many were red-cheeked and merry from the spirits passed around.

The second mate appeared at Robert’s side and before she had a moment to straighten, Sarah was claimed for the next dance.

Was it a flight of fancy on her part or did a look of reluctance on the part of Lieutenant Smythe pass across his face as he permitted his second in command to dance with her? Sarah’s heart did a little trip at the thought.

Lieutenant Litton noticed his commander’s reaction.

“Buck up, Commander,” he said cheerfully bowing over her hand. “I just want to dance with your pretty betrothed once. I promise to safely return her to your care when I’m done, sir.” But this was not to be . . . as if recognizing a golden opportunity to needle their usually placid first lieutenant, all the superior officers and masters aboard took turns stepping in front of the first mate.

Every time Robert tried to claim her hand for another dance, another seaman stepped in front of him. It was clear a joke was being perpetrated upon the couple. One member of the crew after another presented themselves in front of the increasingly frustrated young commander. Smirking, even the unranked crewmembers intercepted the first mate’s advances towards the beautiful Mistress Duncan.

“Sorry, sir,” a young gunner barely out of short pants rushed up, “but this is my dance, I believe, sir.”

He bowed and whisked her off for a country dance.

“I know you’ll be holding her hand for the rest of your life, Lieutenant Smythe, sir. So I thought I best step in and claim one dance now while I can, sir,” said a gangly carpenter, taking his chance.

And at the exact moment Robert thought he might have an opportunity to steal a step with her, the brawny master gunner placed himself in line.

Master O’Grady’s grin of delight was barely hidden under his tanned face as the Irish giant stepped down upon one of the commander’s polished boots, bruising his toes.

“Oh, excuse me, Lieutenant Smythe, sir . . . I did not mean to do ye any harm, sir.” The giant shamelessly smiled. “But this being my favorite dance, and the good wife saying how I ought to ask Mistress Duncan whilst she’s still aboard, sir . . . well, I thought it best that—”

“That you should dance with my betrothed now while you still have the opportunity,” said Robert, finishing the sentence for him with a small sigh.

He had heard the same excuse about thirty times before. He bowed, turning the dance over to the shameless giant, who gently clasped Sarah’s small hand in one of his large callused ones. She could not help but smile at him.

The giant bowed to Sarah and over her shoulder gave his wife a knowing wink.

Robert dared a glance in the direction of Mistress O’ Grady, the gunner’s wife. She openly tittered behind a Japanese painted fan, observing from behind it her husband teasing the good-looking first mate.

Aye, there’d been many a time in the past when this distinguished English officer had broken a lady’s heart by not asking her to dance. For sure now to some small extent ’twas grand to see the self-assured Englishman having to experience for once what it felt to be in someone else’s less than elegantly polished shoes.

The matron gently patted her bulging front, a sign of the approaching birth of her fifth child. She had experienced two miscarriages and a stillbirth before this one took. Already she had brokered a promise from Sarah to be in attendance at her next birthing. Her two eldest children, ages thirteen and ten, were already serving aboard The Brunswick, learning their trade. The eldest had been recently rated on the ship’s books as an able-bodied seaman.

Sarah, during a short breather, asked her if she was nervous about the approaching birth.

“Nay,” Mistress O’Grady replied with a proud smile, “I’ve already given birth between the cannons of this man-of-war. My lads are true sons-of-a-gun, by virtue of having been born aboard The Brunswick. But faith now, it’d be nice for once to have another woman’s presence at my next birthing. Aye, I was left quite all on m’ own the last time, the men being afraid that I might give birth and up and die.”

“Do you have any thoughts as to whether the baby is a boy or girl?’’

“That I do . . . I hope this one will be another son. I detest being parted from m’ lass. Though thank the heavens above, my youngest sister has seen to it she’s got some book learning. Our Mary writes to us often, she does.” She added proudly, “’Tis not every seaman’s daughter who can brag she can read, ye know. But the letters, though they are a wee bit of comfort to us, are no substitute for having her with us.”

She glanced upwards to the riggings above where her two eldest sons sat in the crow’s nest, a platform situated at a dizzying height at the top of the mast, observing the party below. The mother nodded to the boys as they waved down at her.

“Aye, it’s grand to have me sons hanging about.”

It was after Sarah had danced several lively country dances, a sharp pain in her side made her realize she needed to take a rest. With a smile of regret on her face, hugging her side, she turned to the line of gentlemen waiting their turn to dance with her.

“I’m sorry, but I am afraid I’ve had enough of dancing for tonight. Be assured I’m flattered by your attention, gentlemen. However, I do believe Lieutenant Smythe is about to fetch me some punch and I am going to sit myself down and take a bit of a rest.”

Robert, a grin of triumph on his handsome face, held out his arm for her to take. They slowly walked over to the table covered with food and drink. The table was in fact two wide planks that had been laid across guns and covered with a white lace cloth borrowed from one of the hands’ wives.