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

by Jasmine Ashford

  “Did he miss?” she asked Harold, whose jaw was set as he watched Doren and the doctor rush forward, to the captain's limp body.

  “I think his gun was empty,” Harold admitted.

  Everyone held their breath, watching the captain's limp body. The fact that he wasn't getting up was alarming. Harold glanced to Aaron, who was trying to assess the situation.

  Wesley was watching the crowds to make sure that no one was about to rush the captain.

  Silence filled the ship as the Doctor looked up. Harold felt his heart skip a beat.

  “He's dead,” the doctor said.

  Doren's head dropped down, and he let out a choke. Harold was surprised at how he reacted. He knew that they were close, but this was a sudden, unexpected display of emotion.

  “Are you sure?” Harold managed.

  “Yes, I'm sure,” Morin snapped. “My years of experience as a doctor have taught me something, you know.”

  “How can he be dead?” Matheson stepped forward. “One moment he was standing there, breathing and living....”

  “This is what happens with head trauma,” Dr. Morin said. “There is no doubt. The captain is dead. God rest his soul.”

  “God rest his soul,” echoed half the crew. Harold felt his heart pounding as Dr. Morin indicated for help to lift the body.

  The early jovial mood of entertainment was broken. Everyone was standing in shock as Morin closed the captain's eyes.

  “Sir,” Matheson said, softly, to Harold. “You should probably say something.”

  “Of course,” he said, although he didn't know what to say. “I uh---”

  “Can I help?” Lola asked.

  “I would be grateful,” Harold answered

  Lola could easily capture their attention again, her haunting voice pulling through the crowd. Everyone's eyes turned back to her, and it gave Harold time to slide over to Aaron.

  “Did you hear what he said?”

  “It's nothing,” Aaron replied. “The ranting of a mad man, right before he died. No one will take it seriously.”

  “I highly doubt that,” Harold muttered “Everyone saw him look right at me.”

  “He looked at everyone,” Annabelle tried to assure them. “Why would you be concerned that he looked at you?”

  “No reason,” Harold said and her eyes widened.

  “Did you...?”

  “Annabelle, this is not the time to talk about this,” he growled.

  “Harold,” she replied. “Is there something that you have to tell me?”

  “I think right now,” he tried to keep his face emotionless. “We should mourn a great captain, who was praised by the King. And tomorrow, we can talk about this.”

  “We can mourn him,” Annabelle replied. “But we will talk about this tonight.”

  Lola finished her song, taking a delicate curtsy. There was delicate applause, but everyone was still shocked.

  “What are our orders, Captain?” Matheson asked, trying to make things official.

  “We....” Harold realized he didn't know what to do. “Continue to stay on course for port. Because we are so close...the captain will receive a proper funeral on land.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “Anything else?”

  “Station men on every point,” Harold replied “I don't want any more surprises until we get into port.”

  “Aye,” Matheson replied, drifting off. He turned to Annabelle, who was still looking stunned and confused.

  “We should go below,” Harold turned to Aaron. “You need to get back to sick bay.”

  “I'm your second in command,” Aaron reminded him. “I should stay with you.”

  “Right now, I just need everyone else to stay alive,” Harold replied “If everyone else could do that for a moment, I could figure out what I'm going to do next.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  DOCKING

  DOCKING

  Harold’s worst nightmare came true when they sailed into the harbor the next morning. There were hundreds gathered on the dock to greet the flagship. He could just imagine the look on the faces of the Admirals when they saw the sail.

  “Wishing for a trapdoor?” Lola asked him as she stood beside him. Those who were able to stand were on deck, watching the incoming port with grim faces. “A curtain closing?”

  “Never wished to be on stage as much as now,” he assured her. “It must be a relief, to step backstage and have it all over.”

  “When it's a tragedy, yes,” she answered. “When it's a comedy, not so much.”

  “Maybe this will turn out to be a comedy,” he said doubtfully. “But I can't see how.”

  “Sir,” Matheson touched his shoulder. “It's time. The water is low enough.”

  “Right,” Harold took a deep breath, and then took off his hat. “Half mast, men!”

  Matheson lowered the flags and everyone who was wearing a hat took one off. It was meant to signify to the cheering crowds that there was death on board.

  As soon as they did it, the crowds lowered their voices. Harold could see them leaning into each other, whispering in confusion.

  By the time they were close enough to dock, it was almost dead silence.

  “Musical cues,” Harold muttered, they had decided that it was best if the captain was played out, the way he liked to come aboard. Everyone formed two lines as the plank went down.

  What Harold knew was going to earn them a lot of questions was soon revealed. They didn't have an extra sail to wrap the captain's body, so they had simply covered his face with a square piece of petticoat. It wasn't quite identifiable as petticoat, but it certainly wasn't a sail coffin, as they normally made.

  He had chosen six of his strongest men as pallbearers, and they carried the captain's body past the lineup and then down the plank, and into the crowd.

  He could see the Commodores and Captains standing in a group, looking absolute aghast at this. This was a celebratory mission, not a battle. Something had clearly gone very wrong.

  “Ladies first,” Harold said, to indicate their order of off boarding. Annabelle hooked her arm into his.

  “I'm not going anywhere without you, ever again,” she said. “But the rest of them can go.”

  “Annabelle,” he said. “There is a protocol.”

  “No, there isn't,” she said. “There is no protocol for what just happened.”

  He sighed, half expecting the fight. Annabelle was headstrong, and it was part of the reason he loved her so much.

  “Of course you may stay,” he said.

  The rest of the ladies and then the honored guests deboarded. Harold had indicated that the men were to wait until they were clear before descending the plank.

  It seemed like an eternity before it was his turn. It was customary to wait until the very end to take the wounded off, and the rest of the dead. Dr. Morin had been scrambling below to get everything ready.

  It was not the first time Harold had gone off of his own violation, and Aaron had to be carried off. He hated that this was becoming a normal situation. He also hated that this was the last time he would walk off a ship. It didn't seem right that their sailing career would not end as it began, together.

  His fever had gotten worse overnight, the infection raging. Morin was frustrated with it, and had stated he would need intensive care on land. Harold was trying not to let it burden him, for Aaron was always alright in the end.

  “Our turn,” he said to Annabelle, at last. She held her head high, used to walking through crowds and having everyone stare at them.

  The drum roll started again, and he wanted to hush them. He wasn't really the captain, he didn't deserve that honor.

  Peckard stood in the welcoming committee, and Harold went straight for him. He knew he shouldn't expect kind treatment, but he was hoping it would be less harsh than the rest of them.

  “Sir,” Harold said, dipping his head.

  “Mr. Harper,” Captain Peckard looked to the body being carried off, to the sails, to
the ship and then back to him. “What happened, man?”

  “Ah,” Harold said “How long do you have, sir?”

  “I take it I'm going to need a long time?”

  “At least an afternoon, sir,” Harold replied “And...maybe a jury.”

  “Ok,” Peckard shook his head. “Go home, clean up. You and your officers are to report to headquarters at nine am in the morning.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Harold said “It will be myself and the Earl Rippon.”

  “That's it?” Peckard said, in shock, and then his face took a darker shade. “Bamber?”

  “My brother is indisposed,” Annabelle spoke up. Peckard saw the resemblance at once, the blond hair and sparking blue eyes. Of course, this was his sister, and, of course, she was with Harper.

  “I'm sorry to hear that,” Peckard said. “M’lady”

  She gave him a nod, and he waived them away.

  The crowd had questions, but Harold wanted to answer none of them. Luckily for him, Lola could draw attention to herself in any situation, and she was happy to be the distracting face while the others waited off to the side.

  “You should go home,” Harold said “I'll go with Aaron and make sure he's settled in.”

  “Did I not make it clear to you on the ship?” she asked. “You are not leaving my side, ever again.”

  “Really?” he tried to smile. “So you will come to headquarters with me in the morning?”

  “If that is what it takes,” she replied. “But I don't understand why you have to go in.”

  “Whenever the captain dies, no matter what the circumstances, we must explain to the jury what has happened,” he said. “Just in case there was...foul play.”

  “And?” Annabelle prompted and he refused to answer the question.

  She was smarter than that, though. She waited until Aaron was in good hands, and until dinner was being cooked. Everyone looked shell shocked, and the idea of bringing food to their mouths was almost too much. She knew she should wait, but she couldn't. There was too much at stake.

  So, she caught Harold changing for dinner, and verbally ambushed him.

  “How did the captain come to fall?” she asked him. Harold spun around as if he had been caught, and it was all she needed to know.

  “Oh,” she put her hand to her mouth.

  “Annabelle, don't jump to conclusions,” he said.

  “I'm jumping to the correct conclusion,” she replied, meeting his eyes. “Aren't I?”

  He sighed.

  “He had Aaron,” he said. “Who was seizing, which made things much more difficult. And he had a knife. I thought...I had to risk it. I'm not a murderer, Annabelle.”

  “I'm not even considering that,” she said. “He had my brother. He was going to kill him?”

  Harold sighed, sinking onto the bed.

  “That's the worst part, the very reason I am wracked with guilt. The things the captain said right before he died...and the way he's always treated Aaron. I don't know. And I wonder if I was wrong. He seemed merciful...and did I send a man to his death for all the wrong reasons?”

  “If it wasn't Aaron, it would have been someone,” she tried to assure him. “I saw the way he treated the crew on the ship, Harold. He didn't care; he was out of his mind. Regardless of whether he had a soft spot for my brother or not...he would have killed someone. More than one someone.”

  “Maybe,” Harold answered “Or maybe we mutinied because we didn't like a strict Captain. If the court finds out, that is how they may see it.”

  “They won't find out,” she said. “They don't know you like I do. To everyone else, the captain fell.”

  “Except the people who understand the nature of injuries aboard a ship, and how likely things are to happen.”

  “Can you not...” she bit her lip. “Tell them the truth? Tell them how he has been treating you? Surely they can see that the man was insane...”

  “No,” he replied. “They won't see that. Nor will they see saving Aaron's life, if the captain was truly trying to hurt him, as a reason for murdering him.”

  “But he was trying to hurt him!” Annabelle cried.

  “You saw that wound,” Harold replied “That is a long, shallow cut. Not a stab wound. I don't know whether he would have gone deeper if he had the chance, or whether it was accidental.”

  “I refuse to believe this,” she said. “I saw how that man acted. You did the right thing, I know you did. And I will support you in it.”

  “I appreciate it,” he said, taking her hand. “It's now up to the courts, and the evidence they can dig up.”

  “You won't....You won't condemn yourself?”

  “I will do the best I can, with honor and dignity,” he replied.

  That bothered her. Tears filled her eyes as she considered what that answer would mean.

  “Harold, our life has barely begun,” she said. “Please don't end it before we even walk down the aisle.”

  He took her hand, squeezing it tight as they fell into silence.

  “What are the others doing?” he asked. “Lady Hostess?”

  “I haven't seen Matheson since we got back, I suspect he's dead asleep by now,” she said. “Lola won't stop moving, I imagine she wants to go back to work to distract herself. Corrigan and Wesley were in the sitting room, so if the liquor starts flowing I wouldn't be surprised. Shauna and Gwendolyn went to the hospital, the poor loves.”

  “So...no one is happy,” he cocked his head. “Misery does love company.”

  “Aye, there is that,” Annabelle said. “Would you prefer we dine in private?”

  He was about to say something about not being rude, and then realized that he didn't care.

  “I would very much enjoy that,” he replied. “I can arrange it if you don't feel like talking to the servants.”

  “I always feel like ordering the servants around,” she managed a little smile as she got up. “And you should get used to it as well.”

  “I---” he realized she was right. “I didn't even think about that aspect.”

  “There is a lot to think about,” she said. “Although one of them is delaying our wedding. Just until this is all over.”

  “Annabelle, that isn't what you want,” he said. She considered it.

  “It’s not what I want,” she answered. “But I do think it is best. Aaron can't be there right now, and no one's minds will be at ease until all of this is over. The last thing I want is a tense wedding. There's toughness of those in the nobility.”

  “If you are sure,” he gave her a grateful look. “But only if you are sure, my love. I wouldn't want your heart to carry any sorrow.”

  “At the moment, it carries hope,” she bent to kiss his sitting form, a tiny smile on her face. “And I'm content with that, for now.”

  “Good,” he answered. “But I promise this does not release my vow to you. Whether we have said them in church or not, I belong to you.”

  “And I to you,” she said. She was content, it was true. However, she'd be much more content when all of this was over.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ON LAND

  ON LAND

  Harold was awake at dawn the next day, the birds singing to him. They didn't hear many birds at sea, and it was always shocking the first few days he was back on land.

  Usually, land was relaxing, but today, he remembered exactly what was on the agenda.

  Up and dressed in the usual speed, he didn't feel much like eating breakfast. However, it occurred to him that Annabelle might not be impressed if he didn't at least show his face.

  To his surprise, no one was in the dining room except for Wesley, who was fully dressed and staring into a cup of tea.

  “Hello,” Harold said Wesley looked up, startled.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “How did you sleep?”

  “Terribly, as expected,” he replied. “Lola wanted me to come with her to the theater, but I couldn't wrap my mind around some fictional traged
y, when reality is staring us in the face.”

  “So she did go to work,” Harold shook his head. “That's stamina”

  “No, it's not,” he got up. “It's her release, her escape. She did it when we first met too, and during the camp. When we were fighting, she would beg the theater to put her in a role, anything to get away.”

  “I'm sorry.” he said. Wesley shrugged.

  “You know the person that you are with,” he replied. “I'm used to it. Shall we go down to headquarters?”

  “We are early---” he started. “Yes, let's go.”

  He realized Wesley was losing his mind just waiting to hear the outcomes. Wesley's whole future depended on this trial. For him, the life at sea was not over. Unless, of course, they decided that it was today.

  “You don't want to see Annabelle before you go?” Wesley asked, and Harold sighed.

  “I think it would be easier if I didn't, currently,” he answered. “Just because I'm not sure what to say to her. She...” he was about to tell him about last night, and then decided not to. He knew there was a chance that Wesley didn't know how the captain came to fall. Wesley had been in such bad shape that night; it was also possible he didn't remember anything. “Never mind.”

  Wesley wasn't quite brave enough to question it.

  “Did you want to stop at the hospital?”

  “Uh...maybe,” Harold said “If you don't mind.” He wasn't used to actually being apart from Aaron. They had a friendship that made them simply a part of each other. He wasn't used to having any personal space from Aaron, let alone be in a different building from him for very long.

  “I don't mind,” Wesley said. “I just need to move, to walk, to do something.”

  “Wesley,” Harold tried to assure him. “Your career will not be in jeopardy, I promise. You did nothing wrong on the ship, and everyone will know that.”

  “I was there, when the captain fell,” Wesley said. “Along with both of you. And you two have...”

  “Stop,” Harold said “We aren't going to discuss this.”

  Aaron was always better at these emotional talks. He knew what Wesley was saying, that he was loyal, and he knew what he was offering. However, he wasn't about to entertain this notion. Wesley had his whole career ahead of him, and the brightest future. Harold wasn't about to let him throw it away on some feelings of loyalty.