by Carol Arens
She could not imagine a situation where a fellow who worked below decks would address the Captain of an ocean liner in such a high-blown manner.
Yet the Captain did not seem to take offence, but did as he was told.
She thought she was wide awake, but maybe she had slipped back into a state where reality and dreams mingled.
But, no. The ship swayed. Seasickness remained a very real beast.
‘Is there to be a wedding?’ She shoved a hank of hair away from her face. Her fingers slid through the strands smoothly when they ought to have caught on massive knots. Well, that was odd. ‘I’m sorry if I have disrupted your plans.’
‘Ah...’ He reached for a cigar box on the washstand, flipped open the lid, then drew out a cigar.
He clasped his hands behind his back, looking down at her. Lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. His lips pressed together in a firm line while he nodded his head oh, so subtly.
What was the man about?
All of a sudden, he squatted down beside the bed. He clenched his hands between his knees, holding her attention with an intent blue-eyed gaze.
‘How do I say this?’ His lips twitched, but subtly.
Whatever it was, it seemed to have him tongue-tied.
‘I’ve found that if one forms words on one’s tongue, then huffs out a breath, it usually works.’
He nodded, stared down at his fists, at the cigar he rolled between his fingers, then back at her.
Rees Dalton was uncommonly handsome. Truly, he nearly made her forget the state of her stomach. Nearly, but not altogether.
‘Captain Collier is here to perform a wedding.’
‘He said as much—but here? When?’
If his fiancée came in and found Madeline in her intended’s bed, thigh-deep in his shirt, there would be no marriage.
She held out her hand. ‘Help me up and I’ll get out of your way.’
Where she would get out of the way to was the issue. Certainly not to a lifeboat.
‘May I borrow your coat?’ If she intended to survive seasickness and find Grandfather—which she most certainly did intend to do—she would need to keep warmish until she found shelter.
What had become of her clothing? No doubt some kind woman aboard ship had removed it and taken it away to be laundered.
‘We are two days away from land. It’s dark and frigid outside. Where do you intend to go?’
‘I’m sure I’ll find—’ Actually, she was not sure of anything, only hopeful. ‘In any event, I cannot be here when your intended comes.’
‘Just huff out the words, you say?’
‘It works every time.’
* * *
Huff.
‘Captain Collier has come to marry us.’
Madeline Macooish glanced about, as if there were a secret corner of the small room that might be hiding a different bride.
‘Us...’ he repeated softly. He skimmed her hair with the backs of his fingers, gently as if he were luring a distrustful kitten closer. ‘You and me.’
She swatted his hand. She tried to give him what she must think was a severe look by arching her brows. She could not know that the expression only made her look puzzled in a very endearing way.
For the first time, he really noticed the colour of her eyes. He thought they were an exact match to his own shade of blue. Cornflower, his mother was fond of saying.
What would his mother think of the scandal that would erupt when he came home married, leaving poor Miss Mosemore shamed?
There would need to be some financial settlement made in order to pacify her uncle. Somehow he would make sure the money went to Bethany and not Langerby. That way she and Wilson would have the funds to begin their life together before her uncle settled her on someone else.
Damn it! He would deliver them to Gretna Green in his own carriage if it came to it.
Once he explained to his mother how things were between Wilson and Bethany, he felt certain she would be the first to insist upon the trip.
All would work out for the best in the end. It would, as long as he could convince Miss Macooish of the need for them to marry.
Circumstances being what they were, she really could not choose otherwise. Still, he judged, by the expression on her face, that it was going to take some doing to convince her of the necessity.
‘Mr Dalton, I believe you have gone mad.’
‘No, Miss Macooish. I assure you I am sane. But there are certain facts which must be faced.’
All of a sudden, she looked rather green, glancing at the pot, then back at him.
‘What facts might those be? I am quite unaware of what has happened to me since I took shelter in the lifeboat, but I doubt I have lost the right to free choice.’
How to explain that, yes, she actually had?
‘You nearly died.’
‘True, and I still might.’ She nudged the pot with her bare toe.
‘You won’t. I will not allow it.’
She shook her head, rolling those angelic blue eyes. Lamplight shimmered in her hair. For half a second he forgot what he was about.
Ever since he’d become Glenbrook, he’d had no expectation that his bride would be freely chosen. Nor had he ever hoped she would be so lovely. And a penniless American? How could he have dreamed that?
‘That is comforting, of course, but you have not explained why you believe we must marry.’
‘You are right. I’m sorry.’ He reached for her hand, but she yanked it away, shoving it under the blanket. He was accustomed to touching her by now. He must remember that she was not. ‘I’m the one who found you while I was out walking late at night. You’d taken shelter in a lifeboat.’
Luckily she did not ask why he would be taking the air at that time and during a frigid storm. He felt it important to keep his identity a secret for the good of all aboard ship. The fewer people who knew the better. It was bad enough that the Captain gave him away at every turn. As for his bride? How could he know whether she was good at keeping secrets or not?
‘I thought, at first, you might be dead already. If it had been a few more moments...?’ He did not want to frighten her, but it was urgent that she saw how desperate the situation had been in order for her to understand the necessity for what he had done. ‘I carried you back to my room. Perhaps I should have found you quarters with an unmarried woman, but there was not time for it. Warming you up was the most urgent thing.’
‘I think I remember voices,’ she murmured, tipping her head to one side, looking as if she were trying to summon them from shadow to light.
‘The doctor was here, also two women. You’d have heard my voice along with them.’
‘It’s all a fog, but it appears I have you to thank for my life.’
Her hand crept slowly out from under the covers. She held it out as if offering a formal handshake. He caressed her fingers instead. The scent of the cigar wafted between them. She had no idea of the degree of intimacy he had shared with her, but perhaps shared was not quite the right of it.
She yanked her hand away, tucked it back under the covers.
‘As grateful as I am, I hardly think I need to marry you because of it.’
‘Out of gratitude, I agree you do not. But you do need to marry me out of necessity. Without a husband, what will become of you? Where will you go?’
‘Somewhere...’ She shrugged, glanced about the modest cabin. ‘...else.’
‘There is no place else. You know that or you would not have sought shelter in the lifeboat.’
‘Looking back, I realise it was not the wisest choice, but still—’
‘We have spent hours together with no chaperon. People know this. Already they are talking.’
He should not be enjoying the way her cheeks turned pink, the way her eyes blinked wide in dismay. Bu
t how could he not? She looked as pretty and delicate as a porcelain doll. Indeed, just like the ones his small twin daughters dragged about with them.
‘And might I point out that if you leave this room, it will be in my shirt and nothing else. You haven’t even a gown to your name.’
‘You might point it out, if you wish to be so ungentlemanly. But where are my clothes?’
‘Ruined beyond repair.’
‘Surely a bit of water hasn’t done that much damage.’
No, but ripping her out of them had.
‘You have no funds, I assume.’ He knew she hadn’t—otherwise she would have purchased another ticket after giving hers away.
Her silence and the downward sweep of her gaze affirmed this was true. ‘I’ll get by.’
‘Will you? Tell me how. Without money, without even a stitch to put on, you are helpless. Not to mention that you are sick and need care. I cannot in good conscience allow you to leave this room.’
‘You, sir, cannot prevent it.’ She flung the cover aside and stood up. She closed her eyes against the dizziness that tried to bring her to her knees.
The ship lurched. She began to fall but he caught her, held her steady.
‘You will remain with me. Surely you see the need?’ Her fingers dug into his arms while she fought to stay upright.
‘Yes, I do see the need to stay here, but not to be married.’
He eased her back to the mattress, then sat down beside her.
‘You have been sleeping in my bed. I have tended to your needs and we have been quite alone.’
‘I hardly see how—’ Her expression said she saw it quite clearly. While words might have stalled on her tongue, she was clearly looking for a way out of this predicament.
‘Do you know how I warmed you?’
She shook her head. Again, the movement catching the lamplight in her hair made it appear most enchanting. Even without knowing a thing about her, she somehow touched him—made him want to wrap her up and keep her safe.
‘I held you close in the bed, shared my warmth, wrapped you up in it.’ There was no gentler way to say it. ‘I assure you, marriages have been forced for much less.’
‘I do not recall the event. You might be making it up.’
‘Am I making up the birthmark shaped like a heart on your hip? That knowledge alone forces me to marry you. Why would I make it up?’
‘Because—well, truly—I have no idea why.’
‘Think of it, Madeline. You are a woman alone with no money and no place to go. I offer my protection and my name.’
And his title, but he would need to wait and reveal that to her once he knew her to be discreet.
‘I can’t understand why you would want this!’ She hugged her middle, so he reached for the pot. She pushed it away. ‘The one and only thing you know of me is my name.’
‘I know that you are an American,’ he said, then let the silence stretch.
Clearly her mind filled in the image he did not describe because a slow flush crept up her neck. ‘A bit more, perhaps, but still—’
‘I have my reasons for wanting this marriage that are not about common decency.’ He would admit that much. It was only fair. She sat upon the mattress, her shoulders hunched. ‘I’ll explain them to you later. But I swear, even if those reasons did not exist, I am bound to offer you marriage and you are obligated to accept.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Are you already married, then?’
‘No, but—’
A knock pounded on the door. Collier was becoming impatient standing out in the cold.
‘We will make our vows, but right now I give you an additional one, just between us.’ He could not in good conscience refuse to offer it, although it was not what he wanted or how a marriage commitment was intended to be made. ‘If, at the end of three months, you do not wish to remain married to me, I will give you an annulment.’
‘You swear it?’
He nodded in spite of his firm belief that marriage vows were a sacred thing and intended for a lifetime, whether made to a stranger or to one’s true love.
Catching her hand, he brought it to his lips and swiped a kiss across the backs of her fingers.
‘I vow it. But who knows? Perhaps we will be sublimely happy.’
‘Stranger things might have happened.’ The frown cutting a line in her brow said she did not really think so. ‘If I agree, will you help me find my grandfather?’
‘He is missing?’
‘Not in the way it sounds—it’s just—I need to get to him.’
He would take her anywhere she wished to go. He did own a ship after all. Not that he could let her know that yet.
‘I promise to find him for you.’
She glanced down at the red flannel shirt that was miles too large, plucked at the sleeve, then sighed.
‘After three months you will annul the marriage?’
‘I will, yes.’
‘How do I know I can trust you to do it? You might not.’
‘I am a man of my word.’
‘For all that I have no way of knowing that, I suppose I have no choice but to accept that you are.’ She closed her eyes, pressed her fingers to the sides of her head. They were trembling.
All at once, she blinked, looking at him with resignation. Funny how with that, he thought he saw the barest hint of a smile at the corners of her lips. Or perhaps he imagined it.
‘At least you are not a peer of the realm,’ she mumbled.
‘Would it matter if I was?’
‘Apparently not. It seems I am to go through with this regardless of social standing. But I’m glad you are not.’
‘But why—?’
‘Mr Dalton!’ the Captain called. ‘I’ll catch my death out here!’
‘I guess you ought to let him in,’ she said, then tried to stand, but wobbled precariously.
‘Don’t get up.’ He caught her elbow to ease her back to the mattress, then sat down beside her.
‘You are a bossy sort. Has no one ever told you?’
Not to his face they hadn’t. With the exception of his mother, naturally. She mentioned it on occasion.
‘I’ll try my best to be agreeable.’ He liked to think that trait came to him naturally, but he could understand why it might not look that way to Miss Macooish.
‘I’m known for being so. It’s my shining virtue. Always pleasant as a sunny day.’ Did she realise she was scowling while she said so?
Done with waiting, the Captain opened the door and stepped inside. His beard had begun to frost over.
‘There are many things still to learn about each other, but they will have to wait,’ he murmured.
‘Not many things, Mr Dalton—everything.’
Everything and more. There were two precious little girls who were going to be overjoyed to have a mother. He prayed that the annulment he had promised would not break their hearts.
Hopefully this marriage was not going to be some grand mistake.
Not that he could have made another choice in the matter, but wasn’t it an odd twist that in saving Miss Macooish’s life, he had also taken it from her?
Slowly, he drew the band from the cigar, watched lamplight warm the red-and-gold etching of a bull pawing at the ground.
Well, then, for better or for worse.
* * *
Even though Madeline had spent the day curled in a miserable ball more asleep than awake, her mind had cleared of the odd fog blending dream and reality.
She had recited wedding vows with a stranger. No matter how she wished to believe that had been part of the fog, she had been quite lucid by then.
‘I, Madeline Claire Macooish, take thee, Rees Dalton, as my lawfully wedded husband.’ She had stated the words quite clearly.
‘To
have and to hold’—what an interesting thought that was. Rees Dalton was an exceptionally handsome man. She thought it would be a fine thing to hold him.
It would, if she did not have to consider the annulment, which she most certainly did have to consider, no matter that the vows also had to do with being together until death parted them.
Madeline lay utterly still, fearful that the slightest move might cause her to reach for the blasted pot.
There was something wrong with this ship. She had sailed on others and not been seasick. Hopefully it was due to the storm and not the normal condition of the vessel cutting a path over the ocean.
There was no way she would survive the crossing if that were the case. Even though Rees Dalton insisted she would, and even with his valiant effort to get her to eat and drink, she had her doubts.
She would try, of course. Getting back to Grandfather and Clementine gave her purpose. Made her breathe when she wanted to stop, to sit upright even if she only flopped back on to the bed again.
Would he—her husband—still be with her when she fell into Grandfather’s arms and begged for the love she had heartlessly discarded?
And how would Grandfather react when he learned she had married a common working man? He had groomed her to wed an earl, after all. He’d spent countless hours and huge sums of money on lessons of proper, ladylike behaviour with the expectation of her becoming the Countess of Fencroft.
She knew titles, which outranked which and who was to be called what. She knew how to smile when she wanted to frown, to speak with politeness when she wanted to tell the truth. She knew what gown, hat and gloves to wear for every social occasion.
Her education had been extensive. Her behaviour was quite polished when required to be. No one would guess she and Clementine had grown up as free as hummingbirds in the warm and sunny little town of Los Angeles.
It was impossible to predict what Grandfather’s reaction to her marriage would be when she did not even know what her reaction was.
She lifted her arm, held her hand in front of her face.
There it was on her finger, the cigar band proclaiming that she was, in fact, a married woman.
Who was this man she had married? She knew only a few things about him.
