Commander of His Heart (Promise of Forever After Book 4)

by Arlem Hawks

  “A pact for love,” Isabel said, “for each other, and the men we choose to stand beside us.”

  The girls nodded, and Marah did with enthusiasm so as not to draw attention. They just wanted her to be happy with the rest of them. She couldn’t fault them for that.

  “Give me your hand, Marah,” Lavinia said, and they all sat back. She slipped the bracelet around Marah’s wrist, securing the gold fastener. The stark white of Marah’s sleeve haloed the beads, which were red as the roses that would soon surround their beloved gazebo.

  She looked up and met Lavinia’s knowing gaze. Lavinia saw through the act, of course. She always did. Somehow the thought that someone knew lifted a fraction of the weight from Marah’s shoulders.

  Phoebe shoved a soft, sticky bun into her hands, and Marah let the corners of her mouth lift for the first time that night. She sank her teeth into the currant-studded bun. Her mother and brothers loved her, and so did these dear friends. Tomorrow would come soon enough. She would make this final night with Phoebe, Daphne, Isabel, and Lavinia a joyous memory to last forever. She didn’t know when, if ever, she’d be able to draw on the comfort of friends again.

  Chapter 1

  April 1813, Chatham, England

  Marah Talbert Kinsley raced through the muck-covered streets, a letter flapping wildly in her hand. Her fingers crumpled one side as she fought to keep it from flying away in her haste. Losing it in the damp streets wouldn’t wash away the Admiralty’s orders marching in stately lines across the page.

  She dodged a pair of sailors laden with bulging sacks and darted into an alley between a millinery and barber’s shop. Not stopping to attempt wiping the mud from her shoes, she threw open the side door that led to the rooms above the shop. The landlord’s wife would have Marah’s head for running up these stairs with dirty feet. Perhaps it was just as well. She’d rather lose her head to the landlady’s wrath than to the Admiralty’s fury.

  At the top of the stairs, she let herself into the first apartment without knocking. Voices filtered into the cramped entryway from the sitting room.

  For the love of Lord Nelson, why did he always have a patient? She slunk into the corner, breathing deeply to slow her thundering pulse.

  “My father’s personal physician took an entirely different approach, Dr. Emmerson,” said a nasally voice she did not recognize.

  “Then perhaps he should wait for treatment until his physician returns,” Josias replied.

  Marah peeked into the sitting room, where her half-brother consulted with a skinny young man in a lieutenant’s uniform. The young man huffed and snatched a paper from Josias’s hand.

  “Very well, I will take your suggestions to the admiral.” The young man turned sharply, his gaze falling on Marah. She swept the open letter behind her back. “I suppose this is Mrs. Emmerson?”

  Josias laughed and clapped him on the back, earning a scowl from the lieutenant. “This is my half-sister, Mrs. Kinsley. Her husband is bosun on the brig Teaspoon.”

  Marah couldn’t help wincing at the lie. Almost eight months of pretending, and the falsehood still soured her stomach.

  “Ah, yes. The Teaspoon.” The young man sneered. The brig’s name inspired only two reactions in navy men—derision or pity. Marah ignored both. That creaky old boat had been a godsend until now.

  “Send Admiral Greetham my best wishes for his speedy recovery,” Josias said as he ushered the lieutenant out the door. He closed it behind the man and chuckled. “I don’t think—”

  Marah shoved the letter into his face. “What a disaster,” she said as he took it from her. “The Teaspoon wasn’t supposed to get a new assignment.” She pulled at her lopsided cap as he scanned the page. Her throat tightened. She should have known they couldn’t keep secrets from the navy for long.

  “So you’re getting a new commander,” Josias said, face calm as though reading a report on yesterday’s weather. “A Lieutenant Collin Boyd. I haven’t heard of him.”

  “Our little deception is over.” She brushed strands of light brown hair away from her face. Five years ago she would have been scolded by Mrs. Vernal for forgetting a bonnet. But back then she’d been learning to become a lady. Bonnets weren’t as important to a bosun’s wife.

  Well, a bosun’s widow.

  “They’re going to be furious when they find out the Teaspoon has been maintained by a woman since August.” Her voice had gone shrill. “I doubt they’ll give me the wages. More likely they’ll give me a court-martial and swift eviction.” No one believed a woman capable of understanding a subject so complex as the rigging and workings of a ship. Not enough to be in charge of its care.

  Josias took her by the shoulders. “Breathe, Marah. No one is getting a court-martial.”

  She tried to swallow. The navy had thought they were paying wages to her husband, Stephen, all this time. No one but their families knew that Stephen had succumbed to typhus eight months ago.

  “You…could apply for a pension,” Josias said.

  Marah sighed. How many times had they spoken about this? “I doubt they would award a pension to a widow who has lied to them for so long.”

  “We could tell them his death was recent.”

  They’d have to falsify papers and hope the navy didn’t check them. “How long would that take? The navy isn’t known for its speed.” It could take months. Even years. She pulled away from her brother and wrapped her arms around her middle. “What of the farm for Mama?”

  There was a pause. “You’ve worked so hard to save the money for it, but perhaps it’s best Mother’s farm stays a dream for now.”

  Marah clenched her eyes shut. Would it always stay a dream? Twice a widow and still caring for her two youngest children, Mama hardly deserved the impossibly small living space in Upchurch. Not when she should have been the mistress of Mr. Atlee’s estate. Marah shook her head. “I will not give it up.”

  “Then you have two choices, as I see it. Find another job…”

  Marah opened her mouth to protest the time it would take to find employment with an equal wage. Right now she was earning a man’s wage, something her friend Isabel would have taken great pleasure in. Marah would be hard pressed to find a better job.

  “…Or stay where you are and don’t tell them.”

  She cocked her head. “You really think this Lieutenant Boyd won’t notice a woman standing in for his bosun?” He’d have to be a simpleton.

  Josias returned the letter to her. “If the assignment is only for a few weeks, perhaps we can weave a reasonable story about the bosun being deathly ill.”

  A chill shot down her arms as an image of her husband’s pale face flashed through her mind. Forgive me, Stephen. She’d been a terrible wife, and now she continued as a terrible widow. He’d known from the moment they signed their names to the marriage contract that she didn’t love him, but that didn’t prevent the guilt from sneaking in. He’d eventually begun to love her, a feeling she couldn’t return. Did that mean she’d only used him for financial support? She continued to use him for it now.

  “I’ll contact Lieutenant Boyd and offer my services as surgeon. Between the two of us and Eliab as the carpenter, we’ll find a way.” He winked, and Marah forced a smile.

  With both her older brothers, this could work. Or it could fail miserably. She’d lose her employment, her wages, and a chance at pension as well. But they had to try.

  Only after she’d returned to the street to make her way back to the Teaspoon did Marah slip the Admiralty’s commands back into her reticule. Her hand brushed a little parcel, which she’d thrust into her purse without opening after she read the horrifying news. She drew the packet out, fingering the circular bulge that indicated something inside. How did they always know when she needed it?

  She turned the parcel over. Lavinia Harcourt. Marah broke the seal and unfolded the paper to reveal the coral bracelet and note.

  My dear friend,

  I had the feeling you might need this again, t
hough I cannot say why as I haven’t received a word from you in ages. Please write at your earliest convenience.

  Marah paused her reading to clasp the bracelet around her wrist. Isabel had sent it to her the week Stephen died. Marah had been so distraught, she’d sent it on to Lavinia without delay. The bracelet had been another reminder of all the people she’d failed.

  She held it up to the dim afternoon light. How different it looked from the first time she’d worn it. With the bracelet nestled over the soft, white cuff of a muslin gown, she had almost looked like she belonged to the same world as her friends. Now against the grey-blue of her coarse linen sleeve, the bracelet served as a stark reminder how far she’d sunk in the eyes of Society.

  Marah bit her lips to keep back tears. That world was lost to her, and she was in danger of sinking even further from their glittering parties and polished coaches. She hadn’t even kept the promise she’d made to her friends to marry for love.

  Love was indeed a luxury she couldn’t afford. And even if she could, she hardly deserved it.

  Collin Boyd squared his shoulders and pasted on a smile as the hawkish Lieutenant Greetham sauntered up to him. Of all the people to meet just as he was about to board his first command. The other lieutenant scrutinized the brig docked beside them and came to a stop.

  “This is your command, Boyd?”

  Collin cleared his throat, blasted heat rising to his face. What could he say? There was no glorifying it. HM Brig Teaspoon. It was not a very formidable name. But then, the sagging boat before them hardly deserved better. Even for her shortcomings, he hoped someday he’d look back lovingly on the little brig.

  “It is, in fact.”

  Greetham gave a sneer Collin had come to know only too well in their time as first and second lieutenants on HMS Cricket. “Are you not afraid you’ll sink coming out of the harbor?”

  In truth, Collin half expected it. “It should prepare me for other assignments.” His cheeriness sounded painfully false. Either the Teaspoon would be the greatest teacher he’d ever known, or she’d end his naval career. He desperately prayed for the first.

  Greetham brushed at his immaculate uniform. “I’ve been granted a command as well, if you haven’t heard. The brig Manly, fresh from the shipyard.”

  Collin had heard. A lieutenant with a father high in the ranks of the navy could expect the best of assignments. A lieutenant with no one to recommend him could expect…

  The Teaspoon creaked ominously.

  “I do wish you the best of luck, old chap.” Greetham made a show of patting Collin’s arm with all the condescension of an executioner to his victim.

  “To you as well.”

  The other lieutenant continued on his way, muttering under his breath, “You will need it more than I.”

  Collin adjusted his hat, which he’d had newly made for the occasion. The hat had cost a pretty penny, but perhaps looking the part of captain would help his chances of advancement. Or at least put him in the correct mind. Teaspoon was simply a step toward greater things. He mounted the gangplank. Never mind that no lieutenant in his right mind would want to play master and commander to this old vessel, but if he kept positive, he would survive. That’s how he’d made it this far. He grinned to push away the worry.

  His shoes clunked against the deck. Though rough and splintering in places, it had been freshly cleaned. Collin scanned the silent rows of crewmen, all either young and inexperienced or so advanced in years they had little left to give the navy. The young ones would supply the strength and the old ones the wisdom. If he believed them to be a fine crew and treated them as such, they would rise to the occasion.

  His gaze landed on a pair of blue eyes scrutinizing him. Strands of honey-colored hair framed her face, pulled out from under a simple cap by the steady breeze blowing through the dockyard. A woman? She stood straight and proud at the front of the ranks—not half-hidden at the back like most women he’d seen on ships—with a face to make any figurehead nymph envious.

  A dark-haired young man stepped forward and saluted. “Josias Emmerson, Captain.”

  Collin bit back a grin. He wasn’t a true captain, not yet, but his crew would refer to him as such while he was in command. He could not help standing a little taller hearing the title.

  “May I introduce our bosun’s wife, Mrs. Kinsley,” Emmerson said. “You’ll remember I wrote to you on Mr. Kinsley’s behalf, asking for approval for his wife to sail with us.”

  Mrs. Kinsley dipped into a shallow curtsy, her sharp eyes not leaving his face. He’d approved this? A young, attractive female such as she would only cause trouble among the men. He must have overlooked Emmerson’s inquiry in his haste to hire a crew. At least she was married.

  Collin swallowed. “Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you for reminding me, Doctor.”

  “You will have to excuse my husband,” Mrs. Kinsley said. Her face was a mask of confidence, though her hands wrung before her. “He has taken ill and is not to be disturbed.”

  Confound it. A bosun unable to do his work would spell disaster. Think positively. There was always a solution. “We shall hire an assistant until he is well again.”

  Mrs. Kinsley stiffened. “Oh, that will not be necessary, sir,” she said quickly. “Between the bosun’s mate and me, we can care for the rigging until my husband is well again.”

  “You?” Her petite hands continued to fidget, showing the callouses across her palms and fingertips. “I think perhaps—”

  “Forgive me, Captain, but I can vouch for her work,” said another man. He looked younger than Dr. Emmerson, with hair the same color as Mrs. Kinsley’s. “She’s nearly as skilled with the rigging as the bosun himself.”

  Collin raised an eyebrow. He’d seen many skilled women in his years at sea, but none who took on the full weight of a bosun’s work. “And you are…?”

  The young man saluted, touching the brim of his cap. “Eliab Talbert, sir. The carpenter.”

  Well, a carpenter should know the quality of her work, as they often worked together to care for the ship. Talbert had been living on the Teaspoon with the Kinsleys for a few years, if Collin’s information was correct. The idea of a woman serving as his bosun, even if only for a few days, made him uneasy. “We will see how the arrangement fares until we set sail. And pray for Mr. Kinsley’s swift recovery.”

  The woman glanced discreetly at Talbert. “Yes, sir.” Something glimmered in the depths of her eyes, and he found his gaze lingering a moment too long in order to discover what it was. She caught him staring and pursed her lips.

  Collin snapped to attention and pivoted. “Mr. Talbert, please show me the Teaspoon.” Yes, thank heavens that woman was married. She would prove the worst of distractions otherwise.

  But as he followed the carpenter down the hatch, he couldn’t get those eyes to leave his head.

  Hope. That’s what he’d spied hidden behind the steely gaze. He wondered what she hoped for so strongly that it radiated from her whole person. It was that same sort of dogged hope which had sustained an orphaned Collin Boyd fighting to rise through the ranks of navy officers and which would have to support him through this voyage if he ever wanted promotion to post-captain.

  Somehow it comforted him, meeting someone with a hope like his, especially since he would have to rely on the Kinsleys if he wanted a successful voyage. The navy was all he had, and if he ever wanted more in life—a home, a family, a woman to love—he couldn’t afford to fail.

  Chapter 2

  Mist circled the Teaspoon but hadn’t pressed in so close as to cut off the sight of Belgium’s shore in the distance. Collin breathed in the brisk breeze off the North Sea, then descended from the quarterdeck to meet Mr. Talbert. Four days into the journey, and the crew had started to settle in. The Teaspoon had been less than cooperative, but they’d managed even without a proper bosun.

  Talbert saluted when he came in range. “We’ve patched up the leaks in the hull on the messdeck, but I can’t guarantee they
will hold in a storm,” the man said. Always honest. Collin liked that in a carpenter.

  “We only have six weeks on this assignment. Let us pray the skies cooperate.” Collin clapped him on the shoulder. Well, not quite six. The Teaspoon had temporarily replaced a newer ship which was now docked for repairs, and the work was to be finished in five and a half weeks. Until that time, the Teaspoon’s orders were to patrol the coast from Amsterdam to Calais in search of smugglers and enemy scouts. The whole crew hoped they’d run into the former, preferably one with a lucrative cargo that would bring a handsome share of prize money.

  Talbert’s stoic look made Collin drop his hand back to his side. He guessed the carpenter to be near his own age, four or five and twenty, but Talbert didn’t care to exhibit any familiarity with his new captain. Indeed, he gave Collin a wide berth if possible. Collin cleared his throat and nodded to dismiss him. “Thank you.”

  A spindly figure bounded through the hatchway, and Talbert swore under his breath. The lad’s light brown hair stuck out at odd angles and he hastily tied his neckcloth in an awkward knot. The bosun’s mate, who had clearly just awoken.

  “Remind me the lad’s name,” Collin said.

  The carpenter’s brows lowered. “Cyrus Talbert, sir.”

  “A relation?”

  “My brother.”

  Collin fought to not shift under Talbert’s glare. He was the captain. He had every right to question. Squaring his shoulders, he hailed the lad, who stopped his progress toward the foremast and scampered back to them.

  “Yes, Captain?” Cyrus’s cheery face forced a smile from Collin but not from his brother.