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

by Jasmine Ashford

  “Do you even have to ask?” she replied. “I thought he was going to kill me, Aaron.”

  “You thought...Wait, WILLCOCK DID THIS?” Aaron exploded. She nodded, collapsing into Annabelle's arms as tears filed her eyes again. “This time he has gone too far.”

  “Who else saw?” Harold asked. “Did anyone witness this violence?”

  “Mr. Doren,” she provided a useless answer.

  “Doren will never testify against the captain,” Aaron leaned against the table, putting his face in his hands. “He's loyal to him, even if it causes damage to others.”

  “But there must be something,” Annabelle replied. “We must be able to tell the courts...”

  “There were no witnesses but the word of a woman against a man,” Harold replied. “And I hate to say it, but if you were a titled Lady, Lola, the case might have a glimmer of hope. But even then, to accuse a decorated war captain...”

  Finally, Lola managed to stop crying long enough to speak.

  “So what? We do nothing and he attacks the next person? And the next? I am strong, I will survive this with no more than a nightmare or two. But what happens when it's more than me, Harold? What happens when he kills somebody? Aaron, when he whips you instead of Wesley. A justified punishment, but we both know that you could not survive that. Harold, what happens if he starves you and you make a bad judgment call? This entire ship is in danger.”

  No one said anything for a long moment, their eyes darting between each other.

  “It is mutiny, Harold,” Aaron said, at last.

  “I am prepared,” Harold replied. “But it cannot be tonight, and it cannot be tomorrow. If we are to pull this over and not swing from the noose, it has to be done carefully, calculated. And more than half the ship needs to be on our side, for it to work.”

  “So, let's start,” Lola said, as if it were easy.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LAST NIGHT

  LAST NIGHT

  When Annabelle awoke, she had no idea where she was. It took her a moment to remember where she was and why her bed was swinging.

  When it did all come back into perspective, she wanted to roll over and go back to sleep. There was that horrible dinner last night. Wesley, Lola, her brother's tarnished eyes. The way Harold looked when he felt powerless.

  This trip was supposed to be one of fun, one of adventure, but it was turning into a nightmare.

  She rose slowly, not eager to join the chaos of the day. Despite the fact that there had been lots of activities and official ceremonies planned to keep them entertained, she would rather stay in bed with a book.

  The air was chilly and she picked up her shawl, eager to put it around her shoulders. However, then she remembered Lola's neck, and wondered if the poor girl would be better off using it.

  Carrying her shawl after she was dressed, she went to look for Lola. Her hammock was empty, and her blanket was folded neatly at the end of it.

  Annabelle thought her best bet was on deck, where everyone usually gathered if they weren't eating or sleeping.

  Lola wasn't up there, but Harold was, half way through his dawn watch.

  “Do you really like the early watch time?” Annabelle asked him, and he shrugged.

  “I think when I was younger, I did not. Then, as I got older, it became easier. Aaron has always had the midnight watch, so dawn watch meant that we could see each other.”

  “Such loyal friends,” she replied. He looked around to make sure that no one was looking, and then planted a kiss on her cheek. “Mmm.”

  “How did you sleep?”

  “Well, actually, considering the night we had,” she replied “Have you seen anyone else yet?”

  “Not yet,” he answered “This is my favorite part of day, because it's usually quiet. No one to intrude on my thoughts.”

  “Oh,” she said, and he smiled.

  “Except for you. What have you brought?”

  “For Lola, actually,” she held up the scarf. “I thought that she might want to cover her neck.”

  “I haven't seen her yet,” Harold said. “But if she's not up here and she's not asleep, there's only one other decent place she would be.”

  “And several indecent ones,” Lola's voice came as she climbed the stairs up to the deck. “Ah, thank you.”

  She read Annabelle's mind and took the scarf, gratefully wrapping it around her neck.

  “It's meant to be a shawl,” Annabelle replied, noticing that the wound looked only a little better today. The truth was, Lola looked like she had been hung. “But I thought it would be alright. Are you alright?”

  “Thank you, I am well,” Lola replied. “I appreciate it. And it has gotten so chilly.”

  “Another storm is brewing,” Harold replied. “We will probably go a little deeper into the sea.”

  “Why?” Annabelle asked, aghast. “Because if we topple over, we will all drown easier?”

  “That,” Harold said. “And because we won't crash into the rocks near the bay.”

  “That is also a good reason,” Annabelle replied. “When will we sail out there?”

  “I don't want to lurk in the sea too long,” he glanced at the sky. “So I will probably wait until the winds pick up.”

  “Has anyone been up yet?” Lola asked.

  “No,” Harold replied. “Although you won't see Aaron until past noon at the earliest.”

  “I'll go to see Wesley then,” she said. “He should be awake shortly.”

  “Do you want...any help?” Annabelle asked, and Lola smiled.

  “No. You enjoy your time up here.”

  “I think she means with you,” Annabelle turned back to her fiancé. “Although she could mean with the storm.”

  “With Lola, who knows?” Harold turned back to gaze over the deck. “It is beautiful, despite all of this.”

  “Will you miss it?” Annabelle asked, and he shook his head.

  “No. I am much happier in the type of command they are putting me. I won't miss outrunning a storm.”

  “About our...plan...” Annabelle lowered her voice. “How do you intend to ask?”

  “Discreetly,” he said. “When Aaron awakes, we are going to speak to the midshipmen together, and see if any of them...are inclined to lean our way. They may have a better idea of what division their watch falls under. If their men lean more towards our side than...the other, we can count on them to follow their officer.”

  “But how will you lead the final...step?” Annabelle asked.

  “This isn't an exact science,” Harold admitted. “We are taking a risk no matter what we do.”

  “Whatever risk we take,” Annabelle said. “It is better than the risks that happen every day with him in charge.”

  “Until then,” Harold’s eyes darted towards her. “You must remain silent. We cannot risk being discovered until we know the majority of the crew will support us. For that, we must get the trust of the officers.”

  “Wouldn't Wesley know the other midshipman's minds?” she asked, and Harold shook his head.

  “No. Wesley has always been...an outsider, because of his mind. Most of them don't understand the way he thinks, and those that do, think he should know his place. Now that his rank of Earl is better known, he does get more respect.”

  “But he's not included,” Annabelle said. Harold gave her a sad smile.

  “I was the same, when I was his age. Were it not for your brother, I would have no friends at all.”

  “Aaron is like that,” she answered. “He'd make friends with a goat, given the chance.”

  “He did,” Harold was lost in a brief moment. “We docked in Santo Domingo and the villagers had goats for slaughter. I turned around from talking to the local food supplier, and there he was, in the middle of them.”

  “That sounds like Aaron,” Annabelle said, with a smile.

  Downstairs, Lola was not smiling. She was silently creeping towards the midshipman's wardroom, trying to move undetected. She knew it woul
d be highly improper if she was caught in there, so she was hoping that none of the other men was around.

  Despite the early hour, it seemed to be empty except for Wesley's corner. The other men were likely assigned to early watch, or already eating, she decided. Breathing a sigh of relief, she rapped gently on the wooden frame.

  It didn't do a thing to awake him, given the noise the ship was making.

  Gently, she crept forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  “Wesley,” she whispered softly. “Wesley.”

  “Ahhh!” he awoke with a start, and his hand came towards her. Lola only had time to duck half an inch, and his fist made contact with her shoulder. Luckily, he was flailing, and it didn't hurt. “Oh, God, Lola, don't do that. Ah,” he winced, dropping his head to hands. “Ow.”

  She didn't know what gave him more pain, his head or his back.

  As gently as she could, she sat at the edge of his hammock .He recovered enough to look at her, and she managed a small smile, taking his hand.

  “I'm here.”

  “Did I make a fool of myself?” he asked.

  “What? When?” she replied, confused.

  “At dinner.”

  “You don't remember any of dinner?” she asked, in surprise

  “Nothing,” he answered.

  “Wesley,” Lola's eyes narrowed. “Exactly when did you start drinking yesterday?”

  “Before dinner,” he answered, solemnly. “Don't give me that look, I had to do something.”

  “While I'm sure something was in order,” she replied. “I'm not sure that was the solution.”

  “Mmm,” he recognized that she wasn't really mad, and toyed with the ends of her shawl. “Is this new? I haven't seen it before.”

  “It's Annabelle's,” Lola replied. “I thought I would ...need it today.”

  “Is it cold out?” Wesley asked. Lola bit her lip.

  “Yes, but...that's not why I need it.”

  Even through his hangover and his pain, he realized that something was wrong.

  Silently, she pulled off the scarf, to reveal a mark like she had been hung.

  “Lola...” Wesley said, in shock.

  “You did not make a fool of yourself last night,” her voice was trembling again. “But your Captain...”

  “Willcock did this to you?” Wesley asked. “I will kill him, I will...”

  “Stop,” she said, sharply. “Even if you were still drunk, you would know that it's a terrible idea. The others have already formed a plan, but they need you. You're to meet Harold on deck as soon as you are able.”

  “I am able,” he threw off the blanket. “But are you alright, my love?”

  “I'll live to tell another tale,” she answered. “I was very frightened last night but now...now I'm just hoping that the scar fades.”

  “My love,” he replied, bending down to hug her. “I'm sorry. I should have been there for you.”

  “You were distracted,” she replied. “And Mr. Doren came to distract the captain.”

  “Doren?” Wesley said. “He actually stepped in.”

  “He did, and he looked quite frightened by it,” Lola replied. “He didn't say a word to me, but...”

  “Doren is the scum of the earth,” Wesley answered. “Don't be tricked by the way he moves, he is Willcock's lackey.”

  “I know...” she said. “He just seemed...anyways, never mind. I'll leave you to get dressed.”

  “I promise you, Lola...I will never be a Captain like that. I will never run a ship like this.”

  “I know you won't,” she replied, kissing him on the cheek. “You are meant to do far greater things that this, my love.”

  “I want you to wait for me on deck,” he said. “Surrounded by people, where you are safe.”

  “Alright,” she agreed. “But don't be long.”

  “Wild horses couldn't keep me away,” he replied.

  “Harold said that a storm was brewing,” she warned him, as she lingered in the doorway. “Something about taking us farther out to sea.”

  “I can feel it,” he put his hand on the side of the door. “Although that may be my head rocking. I'll be up momentarily.”

  Lola returned to the deck, shivering. She drew the shawl closer around her, finding Annabelle and Harold at the wheel.

  “Wesley will be up soon,” she said, having to raise her voice slightly over the wind.

  “Stand here,” Harold pointed to a little overhang just behind the wheel. “It's starting to rain, so I would rather you both be warm and dry.”

  “It's going to be a bad one, sir,” Matheson said, coming up to him with Corrigan in toe. Both of them had their rain jackets on, fully prepared.

  “Do you ever sleep?” Annabelle asked him and Matheson smiled.

  “Only though the boring bits, Miss,” he said. “This is all excitement. Should I prepare anything, Mr. Harper?”

  “We're going to shorten sail in about half an hour, I think,” Harold said, looking at the sky. “I would prefer the deck be clear of non-essential personnel by them.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” Matheson said. “Come on, Corrigan, you heard the man.”

  “Can we stay until then?” Lola asked Harold, who nodded.

  “Yes. Half an hour is a precaution. The storm probably won't be on us for another hour or two, and then it will be all hands on deck.”

  “And out at sea?” Annabelle's eyes sparkled. “Whales, perhaps?”

  “If we are lucky, when the storm clears, you may see one or two. If you'll excuse me, ladies,” he was suddenly consumed by duty, and moved forward, abandoning them. Annabelle smiled, watching him go. He was always focused, always kind, always ready for what life put in his way. It was moments like this that made her realize how much she loved him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  DARK SKIES

  DARK SKIES

  It wasn't long before the storm was upon them. The winds picked up, and the rain that poured down was freezing cold. Wesley had come up on deck, throwing Harold’s rain coat at him as he skidded to the wheel, holding it steady.

  “You have your co-ordinates set?” he yelled over the weather. Despite his pounding head and the pain in his back, he remained focused on his task. He flexed his strong hand as the wheel pulled in the opposite direction, trying to keep on a straight course.

  “I do,” Harold said. “Ladies, I think it's best you get below deck right now.”

  “But---” Annabelle protested. Harold turned to her, knowing what her concern was instantly.

  “Annabelle, this is my job,” he said. “I have done this a hundred times. I promise, I will be safe.”

  “I know,” she said, although she couldn't see how anyone would be safe, given the conditions. Then she slid into the wall as the ship rocked particularly hard, and grabbed Lola. “Let's go, then.”

  “We'll be down as soon as it's safe,” Harold said, and turned his attention back the deck. He wanted to hold off on shortening sail as long as possible, because it was a difficult process. Doing it too soon meant that the wind might catch them at the wrong angle. “What a storm.”

  “Mmm-hm,” Wesley grunted and Harold turned to him.

  “Do you have it?”

  “I have it,” Wesley replied, as his arms flexed. “But not for long.”

  “Right. Ready to shorten sail,” he screamed over to the men. His orders were repeated down the ship, and they moved into position.

  “Shouldn't we inform the captain?” Wesley asked.

  “Just wait,” Harold said. “If I tell him too early, and he comes up here, we will never hear the end of it. I reckon I have another ten minutes, at least.”

  “Urgh,” Wesley braced his elbow, fighting the wheel. “Anytime, though.”

  “I---” Harold intended to completely follow protocol, and inform the captain. He just wanted to wait until the moment before. However, the wind suddenly changed, and took him by surprise. He was nearly knocked over by a gust and knew that time had run ou
t. “NOW, MEN, UP ON THOSE ROPES, GO!”

  Wesley glanced over at him, but said nothing. He was not the officer of the watch, and it was standard protocol not to inform another watch officer they might be making a mistake.

  Shortening the sail in the middle of a storm was dangerous. As soon as the sail was pulled taunt, the ship would ricochet before staying course. Harold’s men were well trained, but he always lived in fear of the moment that one of them fell. He had seen a man fall from the rafters before, and it was terrifying. A life extinguished in a single moment always frightened him, because it could be him. He had so many plans for life, and they could all in an instant.

  This time, they were lucky. Skilled fingers moved quickly, and within minutes, the sail was pulled taunt. The men started to scramble down the riggings, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He saw Wesley relax a bit, his hands flexing as he tried to flex them.

  “That was close,” Wesley said, and Harold said nothing.

  Then he heard a voice that made his heart stop.

  “Mr. Harper!”

  Harold gritted his teeth, spinning around.

  “Captain Willcock, sir,” he said, trying not to snap. “We have shortened sail.”

  “I see that,” Willcock said. He was fully dressed, but his eyes didn't look quite right. It was as if the old man was not sure of his reality. “Disobeying my orders.”

  “With respect, sir,” Harold replied. “Your orders say to inform you when to shorten sail, not if.”

  “Quibbling over my words will not get you anywhere useful, sir,” Captain Willcock growled. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that there was a storm surrounding them. He stood in the rain as if it was a beautiful summer's day. “You purposely disobeyed my orders.”

  “Sir, I was coming to tell you,” Harold tried to assure him. However, Captain Willcock only raised an eyebrow.

  “I am tired of this,” he said. “Men on my ship purposely disobeying my orders, as if I am nothing to them.”

  “Sir, I assure you, that is not the case,” Harold tried to assure him, but Captain Willcock did not want to listen.