Pride of Duty (Men of the Squadron Book 2)

by Andrea K. Stein

  Fergus nearly dropped the reins to Aunt Elspeth’s high-spirited grays. “Ye do like the gels, don’t ye?”

  Cullen flashed his clansman an ugly frown.

  “Of course ye do. Never mind I brought up the possibility. Ye’re a sailor.” Fergus gave the grays a slight flick of the whip. “I see now. She’s got a face as homely as one of the grays?”

  “No.” Cullen practically shouted. And then a hot flush spread up his neck to his face. “That is, I suppose. I really don’t know. I’ve only known the lass as a lad, young Wills.” He pulled at the cravat choking his breathing atop the spotless, new white shirt his aunt had insisted he wear, since they wouldn’t stop until he ran down the elusive Miss Morton.

  “Well, he must be a pretty boy at least, then,” Fergus supplied helpfully.

  “I don’t normally decide whether or not a lad is ‘pretty.’” He shook his head, hard. No matter what he said or did, this swirl of nonsense would not have a happy ending.

  Fergus grinned and urged the grays into a faster canter.

  Willa still had enough money to board the post stage in Peterfield, and that was where she headed after fleeing the Partlow house. However, the way her brain sped from one thought to the next, and her hand holding the worn carpet bag shook like a stray bit of wheat in the wind made her slow to a stop in front of the tea shop.

  A steaming pot of tea and a small tray of tarts reminded her of who she was. She was the daughter of a well-respected Royal Navy surgeon, and a competent physician’s assistant in her own right.

  She took a long sip of the hot, black tea and made a mental list of her current assets and liabilities. On the plus side of the ledger: She’d escaped the fast deteriorating situation while at the mercy of Dr. Partlow, and her father’s solicitor in London, now her guardian, had been contacted by Captain Still. As soon as she found a permanent position, she would send the solicitor her address so that he could provide her with the disposition of her father’s estate. Dr. Morton had made detailed arrangements for her care in the eventuality of his death.

  On the minus side: She was living in a half-world, straddling two identities. She’d always suspected Captain Still had been aware of her gender as well as a few of the Arethusa’s sailors who worked with them in the surgery, but as for the rest of the world, who knew?

  She had a bit of the ready to tide her over, but not enough to establish a domicile on her own until the estate was settled. She had to find a position, and soon. She considered taking a room in a Peterfield boarding house as a temporary solution, but feared Dr. “Hands-Like-an-Octopus” might discover her lodgings and insist she return to his protection. And with whom would the people of Peterfield side? She could not allow that question to be raised.

  As Willa Morton, her options were few. But as Wills…

  Chapter Six

  Cullen and Fergus took turns at the ribbons and drove on through the night until they were close to the outskirts of Portsmouth. Cullen breathed in the salt air. The harbor stretched out below, ships’ masts as thick as a nest of porcupines. This…this was where he belonged.

  They’d stopped at coaching inns twice to change horses. Aunt Elspeth’s fine grays were being cosseted at Godalming’s White Hart Inn and would be retrieved by Fergus on his trip back. Cullen’s innards lurched, as if the carriage had dropped into a deep hole. His hands were clammy, and he reached into his saddlebag lying at his feet. He gripped the piece of parchment he’d procured, with the help of his aunt and Fergus, from Doctor’s Commons. Was it only a month ago his captain and closest friend in the world, Arnaud Bellingham, had done a similar thing for his bride?

  Now Cullen would take to wife Wills, or whatever she would call herself as a woman, unhappy he would wager, at the church in Portsmouth. His aunt had warned him he must at least make an attempt to woo the woman. An eligible clansman like Cullen could no longer drag a woman off for hand-fasting.

  “It’s 1820, for heaven’s sakes,” she’d said. “Scotsmen are not savage brutes anymore. You can’t just take a woman against her will. We’re well respected business owners and traders.”

  Both Cullen and Fergus had given her incredulous looks when she’d gone that far. “Well we are,” she insisted. “And I expect the two of you to uphold the reputation of the clan.”

  Fergus had leaned close to Cullen and whispered, “Dinna worry. Blood will tell.”

  “I heard that, Fergus MacKenzie. I’m right here.” His aunt bristled and batted at her skirts in a show of hiding her annoyance.

  “Och—ye always did have the ears of a flappin’ gorse rabbit.”

  Cullen had called for tea at that point to soothe the two battling Scots in their elegant London townhouse.

  Even though they’d secured the cooperation of Dr. Morton’s London solicitor once they explained the situation, Cullen realized with an ache in the area of his chest that the resolution of this farcical situation was now in his hands.

  The solicitor had made his position clear. He realized the danger of the situation to Miss Morton, but he’d exacted a solemn promise from Cullen. The final decision to marry had to be Miss Morton’s. And the dowry would be modest, he’d warned them, since the bulk of the late physician’s fortune was to be entailed to Miss Morton and her children. Cullen had snorted at that disclosure, and his aunt had shrugged.

  “Dr. MacCloud, as well as his future wife, will be under the protection of his mother’s clan, the MacKenzies. We will ensure they have sufficient funds.” His aunt’s steely stare for once had been directed at someone besides him. The solicitor had blinked first, and had signed off on consent for the marriage to proceed.

  After enduring that ordeal, Cullen was not so sure he was up to the task of convincing the mysterious, stubborn Miss Morton.

  “Where are ye, lad?” Fergus gave Cullen’s shoulder a brisk shake. “Out wool-gatherin’ again?”

  Cullen ignored the question. “There’s a fine inn near the harbor, the Still and West, I believe it’s called. I’ll leave you there so you can drink your Scotch whisky in peace while I deal with the Morton lass. Once I talk to the captain, find her a decent dress…and talk her into wearing it, we’ll come find you and then on to the vicar at St. Mary’s Anglican Church.

  “Ye don’t think ye might need a cooler head like mine to make sure ye don’t make a muddle of everything?”

  If Cullen hadn’t needed to rein in the horses to a stop in front of the inn, he would have reminded Fergus of all the times he had been the last person to maintain a “cooler head.” A groom and stable boy ran out of the yard to take charge of the team and carriage.

  He reached over and took the older man’s hand. “If I make a muddle of this marriage proposal, you have my permission to drum me out of the clan.”

  Fergus nodded in assent, just like when Cullen was a lad and they’d had one of their “talks.” “Ye’re not going to make a muddle of anything.”

  At that his oldest friend in the world dropped down from the carriage seat and headed toward the inn. Cullen handed the lads holding the carriage a few coins before he also stepped down onto the street to walk toward his destiny, or maybe his doom, at the Royal Navy docks.

  Willa brushed the leaves from the knees of her serviceable trousers, the same kind of trousers she’d adopted for everyday work the last ten years at her father’s side. She’d found a secluded wooded area near Peterfield to exchange her drab mourning dress she’d procured when she left the ship for the male garb that would change the way the rest of the world viewed her.

  She’d become so accustomed to being accepted as a young man aboard the Arethusa, she’d forgotten how restrictive the lives of other women her age were. Most of her female contemporaries would have been married by the time they were twenty. Their lives would be under the purview of their husbands, after having been controlled by their fathers before that.

  An unmarried woman of her age could become a governess, but only if she had an education sufficient to be useful to her
employer. All Willa had learned, and practiced, had been medicine. She was not even supposed to be trained in medical arts, let alone teach them.

  And then there was the post of nurse, or nanny. She’d had enough of wailing brats in the Partlow household, and, besides, she would need references. All that remained were positions in service as a maid, housekeeper, or cook, all of which would also require references.

  As a young man, though, the world would open up a bit more. She had a mad plan which she’d turned over and over in her mind. It was a hazardous leap, but might just work.

  From time to time over the years, the Arethusa had transported animals - chickens, sheep, goats, hogs…and sometimes horses. When the creatures were injured or seized with one ailment or another, the captain often would rely on the ship’s surgeon to suggest or implement a treatment. Since her father frequently had his hands full with the crew, she was usually dispatched for the odd duty to treat animals.

  She dusted off her jacket, jammed a hat onto her head, and headed down the road toward the Still and West stables.

  Cullen sat across from Captain Still and mulled the best way to break the strained silence between them. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with his commanding officer, but he didn’t have time to deal with this latest delay.

  Finally, the man spoke. “I should have put a stop to this nonsense earlier, but when I first met you, I thought…”

  “You thought what?” Cullen leaned forward, his jaw clenched.

  “I thought you might divine for yourself Mr., that is Miss, Morton’s dilemma.”

  “And how would that have been helpful to the situation we currently find ourselves scrabbling to address?” Cullen could not stop the scowl darkening his face.

  “I thought, well really hoped, that the two of you might find each other’s company…”

  “Please, stop.” Cullen raised his hand toward the captain. “You did not give me the first clue as to the Morton whelp’s true identity. You listened to my concerns about the young ‘man,’ and his insolence, and it never occurred to you that it might have been helpful to explain the situation fully?”

  Cullen suddenly stood and towered over the captain seated behind the chart table. He knew he was out of line, but could not turn down the heat of his Scot’s rage. “You didn’t think I might want to be made aware of the fact that I was unknowingly compromising a young woman in your care…that I was sharing a tiny cabin with an unmarried woman?”

  Captain Still stood as well and made the hands-open sign of peace. “Yes. I was wrong. I wronged both of you, not to mention my old friend, Dr. Morton.”

  “Now, I have the rage of my own clan down on my head. I must confront Miss Morton, get her consent to marry, take her somewhere to prepare for our wedding, and then return with the former Mr. Wills Morton, transformed into the current Willa Morton MacCloud as my bride. Have I missed anything?”

  The captain did not answer, but flushed deeply and flinched. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, but…”

  “What? There’s something worse?”

  “I’m afraid Wills, that is Willa, left immediately after you did.”

  Cullen bit back a curse and raked his fingers through his already unruly hair. “Where did she go?”

  “I can’t be certain, but she mentioned she would go work for one of her father’s former colleagues.”

  “And who might that be?”

  “The only other physician he ever mentioned, and I believe once or twice met the man for dinner when we were in port…”

  “Who?” Cullen’s demand thundered in the enclosed cabin.

  “Mind you, I’m not certain, but Dr. Morton did occasionally associate with Dr. Partlow in Peterfield.”

  The shattering thoughts in Cullen’s mind came together like a cloud of birds ascending to fly south. A sudden vision stabbed at his gut: a drab, ill-fitting mourning dress, gray eyes and dark lashes he’d glimpsed on the woman leaving the post stage at Peterfield.

  Cullen pounded a fist onto the chart table. “I will find this impossible woman and bring her back to this ship as my wife. And then I assume I have your permission to bring her along as my assistant on our voyage to service off the St. Helena station?”

  “Of course.”

  After Cullen took his leave of the captain, he made his way down to the surgery to check on his patient.

  The senior surgeon’s mate, Samuel Parker, was already at the bedside of the sailor who’d fallen from the rigging. The patient was sitting up and being fed some thin porridge.

  The surgeon’s mate looked up and smiled. “He’s coming along. No fever yet.”

  Cullen lifted the woolen blanket and peeled back a corner of the dressing binding the man’s broken leg. “You will have a limp for a long time, Mr. Grimes, maybe forever. But so far, it looks as though we won’t need to take the leg.”

  The young man bobbed his head and gripped Cullen’s hand. “Thank you, Doctor, thank you.”

  “You’re lucky you’re young enough to heal quickly, but I couldn’t have patched you up without Wills Morton. I wish you could have thanked him as well before he left the ship.” Cullen returned the squeeze and shook his hand.

  Mr. Parker gave him an odd look. “Wills left the same day you did. Said he was going to work for one of his father’s friends.”

  “Did he now? I’ll be gone for at least a day or two finalizing some family business before we set sail for St. Helena. Keep up the good work here.” Then he pointed to his patient. “I expect to see you up and about with Mr. Parker’s help before I get back. Practice on that cane we had made for you.”

  Cullen hurried down the Arethusa’s gangplank before racing back to the Still and West Inn.

  Cullen entered the inn’s pub with a rush, his neckcloth askew and his hair tousled from the run up from the Arethusa’s berth. After a quick search of the room, he spotted Fergus in a comfortable chair by the fire, sipping and savoring what looked like a pint of ale, his legs stretched toward the fire.

  Fergus caught sight of Cullen and raised his glass toward him before motioning to the serving woman. “Ye look as if ye’ve seen the shade of a Campbell.”

  “She’s gone.” Cullen sat on a bench near his aunt’s old retainer.

  “A tankard of ale will take too long, the way you make it last.” Fergus walked over and changed his order. He returned with a tot of Scottish whisky for Cullen as well as another pint of ale for himself.

  “Now tell me everything. Do ye know where she went? Do ye know why she left?”

  Cullen gave him a wild look. “None of that matters. We have to find her.”

  Fergus closed Cullen’s hand around the small glass. “Drink this.” He settled back into the warm chair and finished off one of his tankards of ale before tucking into the second. “If we’re going ta find yer lass, we need to start with who saw her last and what she said. Ye do ken that?”

  Cullen sipped at the fiery drink before tipping back his head and downing the remaining amber contents in the bottom of the small glass.

  “She told Captain Still she was going to work for one of her father’s colleagues. He happens to have a practice in Peterfield, and his name is Dr. Partlow.”

  “I’ll go out to the stable and procure their best cattle to get us up the road as soon as possible.” He clapped Cullen on the back on his way out to the courtyard and stables. “In the meantime, you see if anyone here knows where this physician lives.”

  Cullen shoved away his empty glass and leaned his head into his hands for a few moments to gather his thoughts. He had not yet met Wills as a woman and already she’d turned his life into a whirlpool of uncertainty.

  Willa rubbed the nose of a huge gray gelding and whispered calming words before rising on her toes and feeling along the withers for any sign of sores.

  A sudden commotion at the entrance to the stables made the young stable boy steadying the gray flinch. “Sorry, Wills. Gotta go see what that bellowing Scotsman wants.”

>   She stood and took charge of the gray, giving him gentle, sweeping rubs. The nerves at the tips of her fingers prickled. A Scotsman?

  After a few moments, the stable boy ran back toward Willa. “Can you help me? The old gentleman needs his rig and four right away. He has to get to Peterfield as soon as possible.”

  Willa flinched. A Scotsman in a rush to get to Peterfield? Surely this man had nothing to do with the annoying Scotsman she’d rid herself of on the Arethusa. Dr. MacCloud had no doubt returned by now and was as happy as a fat pony in heather to be rid of his unwanted assistant.

  She was safe right where she was until her father’s solicitor notified her of the resolution of her father’s estate. She’d written to let him know that Miss “Willa” Morton could be contacted through the inn. In the meantime, she could billet in the vast second level of the stable with the other grooms. The proprietor had been eager to have someone available to keep his stock healthy so that the coaches could keep to their demanding schedules.

  A small bribe to the innkeeper’s wife ensured that Willa’s secret would be safe. She’d been surprised at how little the woman cared that “Wills” was actually “Willa.” She’d merely winked at Wills and pocketed the coins.

  Chapter Seven

  Cullen’s head throbbed with a dull ache. Captain Still had apologized and wished him luck in finding the elusive Miss Morton. The damned woman was gone. Apparently, she’d not absorbed his previous criticisms very well. Truthfully, he’d considered his comments “advice,” not criticism.

  All they now knew was she’d traveled to Peterfield to work as an assistant to an old colleague of her father’s. The captain said she’d been vague about the doctor’s name, and he hadn’t pressed her. But her father had been friends with a Dr. Partlow there.