Saving The Lord’s Title (The Regency Renegades - Beauty and Titles) (A Regency Romance Story)

by Jasmine Ashford

  “Once more into the breach, dear friends,” Aaron said, and Harold gave him a look.

  “Behave,” he said, as if Aaron was a small child.

  The women took their men's arms, took a deep breath to steady themselves, and then started the journey down the hallway.

  The captain's cabin was very spacious, even larger than the Lieutenant's wardroom. If she was not in such a foul mood, Annabelle would think that it was beautiful. With dark mahogany wood, and candles lit, the dinner was more a center piece than a meal. It was piping hot, and there were places set for each one of them.

  “Gentlemen,” the captain said. “Ladies. Thank you for joining me.”

  “Sir,” Harold said, and the men tipped their hats. Annabelle fought the urge to kick the captain instead of curtsy. She made sure it was a shallow curtsy though, befitting of politeness and nothing more. “Thank you for inviting us.”

  “There are a few more joining us,” he said, and as if on cue, the few other nobles who were aboard appeared in the doorway. Lola glanced to Wesley, whose eyes were trained on the decanters of brandy and wine.

  “Will it help?” she asked softly, and he snorted.

  “Infinitely,” he replied.

  “In that case,” she winked at him and poured him a glass as they sat down. She knew what the captain had called her, and she knew what she would be expected to do. She was already thinking of ways for a performance to end with spilling hot wax on the old man. However, for the moment, her concerns were Wesley and the pain he was in.

  They eventually sat down, as if they were at a civilized dinner. Her stomach growled, though, at the sight of a good dinner. The rations weren't exactly the most appetizing thing in the world. Lola was not a Lady, not a noble, but she did have money and she was used to luxury. Seeing the mutton carved made her practically lick her lips.

  “Lord Bamber,” Willcock said, as they ate. Lola's heart nearly stopped at his attention on Aaron, and she glanced to Harold, who didn't seem concerned. “I understand you have been reading the Odyssey. Do you find it quite to your liking?”

  “Yes, sir,” Aaron replied. “I have read the Iliad, and I enjoy Homer.”

  “So do I,” Willcock said, acting as if all was well. “I enjoy the old classics. I have a few to lend you.”

  “Wonderful,” Aaron said. Annabelle leaned into Harold.

  “Why---” she asked, quietly. Harold looked up to make sure the captain was distracted, and then kept his voice low.

  “You know your brother. He has made friends with everyone. The captain has never harmed him, never turned his attacks on him aside from making him miss a meal or two. I don't know, but I don't question it.”

  “Thank God for that,” Annabelle said.

  For ten minutes, it was a peaceful dinner. The captain was engaged in other conversation, the food was good, and Lola thought that they had escaped his eye. However, then he looked in their direction, and she felt her heart drop.

  “Ah, Lola Montclair,” he said. “The actress who has made her way into society. I've heard you have quite the reputation.”

  Lola put her fork down, chewing the last bite in her mouth. Wesley opened his mouth, but she put a hand on his lap. She could speak very easily for herself, and she always did.

  “Really, sir?” she said. “I'm surprised that a Captain such as you has time to passively sit and take in the theater.”

  “You did work in our recruitment camps, did you not?” he asked. “Weren't you a camp follower?”

  “I was the Princess, actually,” she replied. “I didn't think you attended.”

  “I saw the reports,” he raised an eyebrow. “Of your multiple...scenes with the men. I applaud your realism. Perhaps you can give us a display of your talent.”

  Wesley cleared his throat.

  “Sir,” he started. “If you think---”

  “Do you have something to say, Earl Rippon?” Willcock turned his attention to the young midshipman with a glare. “Or should you go back to drowning yourself in your wine?”

  “I can give you a display,” Lola stood up. “Perhaps a scene from Hamlet? You know Hamlet, don't you, sir? I know quite a few monologues from there, men and women alike.”

  “That would be lovely,” he waived his hands and turned to his guests. “Isn't it wonderful how we've managed to secure entertainment on this journey? Makes her earn her keep.”

  She saw the faces of her friends turn dark, but it didn't bother her. Lola took a few steps back from the table, closing her eyes. She remembered the words, but she had never actually spoken this monologue out loud. However, it seemed perfect, given the situation.

  “About, my brain.—Hum, I have heard, that guilty creatures sitting at a play, have, by the very cunning of the scene, been struck so to the soul that presently,” she opened her eyes, looking around the room. Everyone went silent, their chewing ceased and laid their utensils on the table. “They have proclaimed their malefaction. For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak with most miraculous an organ. I’ll have these players,” she gestured around the room, moving slightly to indicate Hamlet's pacing. “Play something like the murder of my father, before mine Uncle. I’ll observe his looks,” she walked slowly around the table, her footsteps echoing on the floor. The captain was riveted, staring at her. “I’ll tent him to the quick. If he do blench, I know my course. The spirit that I have seen, may be the devil, and the devil hath power,” she paused to look at the captain for an uncomfortably long time. “T' assume a pleasing shape. Yea, and perhaps, out of my weakness and my melancholy, as he is very potent with such spirits, abuses me to damn me.” Her words were so clear, so concise. It only took her a moment to get into character, and speak the words that she had heard Hamlet speak on stage a hundred times. “I’ll have grounds, more relative than this. The play’s the thing, wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.” She looked up, an evil smile spreading over her face, and repeated the line. “The play’s the thing, wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.”

  There was complete silence in the room for a full minute. Lola very slowly and very deliberately curtsied. Slowly, applause came. However, the captain stayed in his seat, his eyes narrow, saying nothing.

  “Wasn't that brilliant?” said the noble to his left. “Miss Montclair, that was brilliant! Brava! I see why you grace the stages of the Kingdom.”

  “Thank you,” Lola smiled, and flounced back to her seat. She picked up her knife and fork again, as if the monologue she had just done had no meaning. The captain turned to his seat mate, giving him a polite smile. He wasn't about to call her out here and now, he would look paranoid and psychic.

  The mood through the rest of dinner was much better. It was as if Lola had broken the spell, giving them permission to have authority, to speak up. There was much talking and laughter as the meal was finished, and dessert was brought out. That was, much talking and laughter from everyone except Captain Willcock. He responded to what people said to him, but other than that, he was silent, contemplating.

  Lola paid him no attention, chatting to her friends. When the meal was over, they rose. She dipped in a curtsy again, thanking him for the meal with a smile. Aaron couldn't help but give her a little nudge as they walked out the door.

  “I bet you thought that listening to Hamlet a hundred times would never come in handy. Good choice of monologues.”

  “Did you see his face?” Lola squealed, as soon as they were out of ear shot. “Wesley, I thought he was going to explode on the spot.”

  “He---oh,” Wesley had an answer on his tongue, but he suddenly went pale, wavering. Lola reached out to him in alarm, but he put his hand out.

  “Tuck your head,” Aaron said, much experienced in his body threatening to give out.

  “Is it your back?” Lola asked concerned. Wesley didn't answer, his hands on his knees as he bent over. “Wesley---”

  It only took a moment before he heaved, and she realized it had nothing to do with
the lashings he had received.

  Aaron moved forward, placing a cool hand on his neck.

  “I wouldn't feel bad,” he said. “Any one of us would be in the same position after five glasses of wine in an hour.”

  The ship rocked slowly from side to side as Wesley slowly recovered his senses. Harold sighed, holding tight to Annabelle's hand.

  “This Captain is going to be the end of all of us,” he said. She leaned her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. She had nothing to say that was positive, aside from the fact that she didn't regret coming here. If they weren't here to support these men, what kind of horrors might their minds go through? She was grateful, at least, that she could be at Harold’s side through this last week of hell.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IMPOSSIBLE SITUATIONS

  IMPOSSIBLE SITUATIONS

  “So here is the summary of my life at the moment,” Aaron said to Lola, late that night. He had insisted he was fine to be on watch, and she wanted to stay with him as long as she could. “My wife thinks I am crazy for getting into the Navy when I could have had an easy life as a Lord. My sister is somewhere with my best friend, a fact I approve of but don't want to think about. My protégé is so drunk he can't walk straight for the first time in his life, and my other best friend,” he winked at her. “Just told my blasted Captain she was going to find a way to get rid of him.”

  “Sounds accurate,” Lola replied. “But the question remains, which of the situations you are thrilled about and which bother you.”

  “Most of them bother me,” he answered. “Some of them amuse me.”

  She smiled at him, watching the dark sea.

  “But soon, life will change forever and we won't have to worry about any of this.”

  “That is true,” he replied. “Have you thought about maybe marrying poor Wesley, Miss Lola?”

  “One day,” she said. “The rest of you are older than us, it's respectable that you settle down and get married. Wesley and I are young, and will be traveling for many years yet. I may, though, just to put him out of his misery.”

  “Go to bed,” Aaron said, rolling his eyes. “I'm alright here.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “The men on my watch, Lola...they are kind,” it was his way of saying he would be alright if anything happened.

  “I could do with some sleep,” she smiled and gave him a mock curtsy. “Good night, Lord Bamber.”

  “Good night, Miss Montclair,” he said, dipping his hat.

  She had a smile on her face as she headed down the hatch. For the way the day had been, the night had turned out only half bad.

  The night watch was an odd time of night. Although there were men wide awake on deck, those below were silent as a tomb. The ship rocked slowly in the night, and the torches on the wall lit her way. She was thinking about how interesting it would be to do a production set on a ship when she suddenly felt a hand clamp on her shoulder.

  Lola would have screamed, but another hand went over her mouth. She felt a body drag her backwards, and craned her neck.

  To her horror, she looked up into the wild eyes of Captain Willcock.

  “So you thought that you would make a fool of me in front of my men,” he whispered to her. His eyes were darting every which way, his hair was wild, and it appeared that he had just woken up. “Tell your little story, play your little game. This isn't the theater world now.”

  “What?” Lola asked in shock, but it came out muffled. Yes, she had done those things. She knew exactly what she was doing when she had chosen that monologue. However, what she didn't expect was violence to be returned to her. Performers were always given a free pass, free speech to what they portrayed. Very rarely did they get blamed for the words of the playwright.

  “Do you think I don't know?” she saw a glint of steel and her heart nearly stopped as he brought a blade to her neck. “What you are trying to do?”

  She was tempted to bite his hand off. Lola had never been so scared in all her life, but had also never been so outraged. She had spoken words. He was threatening to cut her head off. This did not seem like a fair fight.

  She struggled, but she felt the blade dig deeper against her neck. She was sure that there was already blood.

  Was this how she was going to die? A blade to her neck in a dark hallway of a new ship, with a crazed captain? The famous Lola Montclair, finished off by a senile old man.

  “SIR!”

  She felt the captain jump, and she flinched. She felt the blade take some of her skin, but nothing more than that.

  There was Mr. Doren, emerging from the darkness. She remembered him, remembered that he had served with the captain most of his life. He followed the captain around the ship, smirking at those who had been punished. She remembered seeing him across the deck, grinning and whispering as Wesley had been led off to be whipped.

  Now, Doren looked slightly frightened, his hand out, and his eyes wide.

  “Give me the knife, sir.”

  “Doren, my loyal man,” the captain hissed. “Did you hear? Did you hear what this girl said about me?”

  His hand fell off Lola's mouth, and she spoke, sputtering in anger.

  “I said a monologue! From a play, like the captain asked! Is that reason to murder me in the dark?”

  “Sir,” Doren tried again. “She is nothing, an actress. Leave her be and come with me.”

  “They cannot say these things about me!” Willcock protested. Doren held his hand out for the knife.

  “I know,” he said. “And I'm sure they will be careful not to say those things again. Won't they?” he looked to Lola, who nodded. “Now, let her go. Give me the knife, she is nothing to you.”

  Willcock seemed to trust Doren, and he loosened his grip. Lola broke free, throwing herself up against the wall. With shaking hands, Willcock handed the knife over.

  “There we go, there's a good man,” Doren said. “Come with me, sir.”

  Lola didn't dare say a word, waiting until the captain was led away.

  Only then did she sink to the floor, drawing her knees up to her chest and trying to stop the sobs that wracked her. She was trained to control her emotions, to hold all her feeling inside. Only when she was alone did she feel like she could truly be herself. Right now, she was absolutely terrified.

  She took several large gasping sobs, trying to breathe. Her arms were trembling, and her face was soon bright red.

  That was how Annabelle found her, curled up in the corner, inconsolable.

  “Lola,” she dropped to her knees, grabbing the young girl by the arms. “What's happened? Are you hurt?”

  Lola simply tilted her chin upwards. Annabelle could see the line of blood, and gasped. She tore off a strip of her skirts, pressing it against Lola's neck. Lola flinched at the pressure on her neck. Annabelle couldn't see very well in the dark, and she wasn't sure whether it was the wetness of tears or blood she felt against her hand. She didn't know the way to the med bay, and she had no idea what happened. Whoever did this to Lola could be lurking the shadows right now.

  Therefore, she did the only thing she could think of doing.

  “Harold!” she screamed, through the darkness. “HELP! Harold!”

  Whether he had the foresight to listen for her cries, or whether he had just been coincidentally nearby didn't matter. In a matter of seconds, Harold burst into the hallway.

  “Annabelle?” he asked, and then he took in the scene. “Oh, God.”

  “I can't tell how badly she's bleeding, I can't---” Annabelle said, and Harold took the torch off the wall, bringing it to Lola's face.

  With the added light, he could see that the wound was shallow. It was long, going across her throat, but it was already clotting. Harold looked up quickly, to see if anyone else was coming. A cry like that could have alerted the whole ship.

  “Lola, I need you to stand,” he said. “Come with me, that's alright. Come with me.”

  “No, no, no,” Lola managed, pu
tting her hands over her face. Her legs were shaking too badly, and she couldn't stand the thought of going around the corner, where the captain was last seen. “I can't, I can't.”

  “Lola, it's alright,” Annabelle tried, but she was inconsolable. “Wesley, I can get Wesley.”

  “Don't,” Harold answered. “He won't be in his right mind yet, and that's no comfort to anybody. She can't think straight, this is shock. I've seen it before.”

  “Well,” Annabelle said. “We do have the resident expert on that,” she looked up to Harold. “Get my brother. If anyone is a comfort to her, he is. Go, now.”

  “You won't be...”

  “I will be fine for the half minute it takes you to get him,” she said, putting her arms around Lola. “Go.”

  Harold pushed himself up, taking the steps two at a time. Aaron was at the wheel, chatting quietly with one of his sailors, when he saw Harold’s wild eyes.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Come with me,” Harold said, not willing to spread the details all over the deck. Aaron sensed his panic, and turned to the sailor.

  “You have the watch, Mr. Kitz,” he said, and then darted down the stairs after Harold. Harold was torn between speeding up and trying to make sure Aaron did not tumble down the stairs.

  Aaron asked no questions when he saw the scene Harold had left. He skidded to his knees, twenty years of friendship coming back to him in a moment.

  “Lola, Lola,” he said. “Come here, come with me.”

  She had been another sister to him, in his heart, since the day they met. Lola and Aaron always shared the bond of unbreakable energy and optimism, excitement and youth that others could never quite grasp.

  She went with him without protest, shaking, and he grabbed a blanket from his bunk, tossing it on her shoulders as he sat her down in the wardroom.

  “Who did this?” he asked plainly. Lola finally met his eyes, her own full of tears.