Marianne tried to read the books from Captain Templeton’s library, but found her mind drifting like flotsam swaying hither and thither on the ocean waves. She could not imagine what drew men to the sea. If required to spend her days sailing back and forth across the ocean, she would die of boredom. But then, to be fair, the other women, none of whom had ever sailed before, seemed to enjoy themselves without reservation once their mal de mer ceased—thanks to her ginger tea. While Marianne could not comprehend what they saw in their uncultured American husbands, she could not help but feel a few pangs of jealousy over their marital happiness, something she would never enjoy.
And then there was the strange attraction these Englishwomen had for the rebellion in the colonies, a truly contradictory behavior. Once Marianne’s identity was revealed, they showed her every courtesy her rank demanded, which placed upon her the task, indeed, the responsibility, of reclaiming their loyalty to His Majesty and England. Once the ladies were won, she would help them win over their husbands. But how to go about it? What would Mama do?
Why, she would give a ball.
During the day, Marianne heard the steady metered songs of the men as they went about their work. In the late evenings, the music of a fiddle, fife, flute and drum wafted from somewhere on the ship. While the unknown musicians did not possess exceptional talent, she felt certain they could manage some country dances, a hornpipe, perhaps even a minuet on the rolling deck of the ship. Of course, there must be a supper, too. She would consult with Demetrius about the extent of his food stores when he brought her dinner this very evening.
Despite the renewed sense of purpose these plans gave her, she continued to weep herself to sleep each night, for her heart ached at the realization she had never truly known Captain James Templeton. She had loved an ideal, a noble knight who did not exist, and found the real man, however charming, to be nothing but a deceitful scoundrel no better than Robert’s disgusting former friend, Tobias Pincer.
But she was her father’s daughter, and she would beat this scoundrel at his own game. She would spy on him and his crew and find out how to undercut his every move.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Demetrius says he will add some special spices to the salted beef and make oat cakes with raisins.” Seated at the captain’s desk, Marianne enjoyed the delight in Molly’s eyes at this pronouncement. The woman held the esteem of the other ladies, and Marianne wanted to make her an ally in her plans. “We will have four removes, even a fish course.” Mama would be shocked by fewer than seven removes, with twelve being her preference, but Marianne must make do with what was available. “With peas, pudding and cider, it should make a fine supper. Demetrius has some table linens, and I have given him permission to open the crate of Wedgwood china my mama shipped for my brother’s wedding gift. Demetrius and his son will serve as footmen. He says they even will wear white gloves. Can you imagine that? We will set a fine board here in my cabin.”
“Oh, my lady, how grand.” Molly breathed out the words on a sigh. “The other ladies and I will dig out our finest dresses from the packing barrels and freshen them in the breeze.” A frown flitted across her face. “I wish we could do something to help you.”
Marianne expected this offer. “Why, you can decorate this cabin and the entire ship. Hmm.” She glanced around the room with its stark furnishings. Other than a dozen or so books, two lanterns, and crossed swords mounted on the wall, not one decorative figurine or picture graced the chamber. Captain Templeton had removed his sea chest and other personal items, but his lingering woodsy scent stirred her senses.
She quickly changed the direction of her thoughts. “I would like to have flowers for the table. Do you suppose you could fashion some from bits of fabric? I understand there is a large shipment of lace, silk, cotton and other such material in the ship’s hold, all bound for a mercantile shop in East Florida. We can sprinkle the artificial blossoms with perfume.” When she reached the colony, she would pay the merchant for the fabric. “If there is any bunting to be had, we’ll drape it around the deck.”
“Aye, my lady.” Molly nodded with enthusiasm. “We’re all handy with a needle.” Another frown touched her brow. “Do you think the unmarried men will be cross not being invited to our grand supper? My Mr. Saunders says it’s not good to have a grumbling crew.”
Another concern Marianne had prepared for. “To prevent that, we shall send portions to each of them. And perhaps, if your husbands agree to let you dance with those other gentlemen, they will anticipate the festivities with the same enthusiasm as the rest of us.” Marianne tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I shall dance with them myself. That should take care of everything.”
“Indeed it should.” Molly clasped her hands to her chest as if trying to contain her glee, a response that assured Marianne her efforts would not go unrewarded.
When she sent the older woman to apprise the captain of her desire for a ball and supper, his positive response surprised her. But then, why would he deny his crew both the anticipation of a grand event and its fruition? His compliance, along with Marianne’s new freedom to wander the ship at will, gave her all the means she required to begin winning back the crew’s loyalty to the king. Each time a pleasant memory of the captain intruded into her thoughts, she forced herself to remember God’s true purpose in permitting her ill-advised flight from her home.
“Jamie, you’re missing all the fun.” Aaron climbed the ladder and ambled across the quarterdeck. “I’d take the wheel, but we’d end up in Bermuda…or back in England.”
“We’ll head south soon enough, God willing.” Jamie squinted into the afternoon sun as he watched the empty horizon. On the main deck, Flint and the other musicians played their lively tunes, while the rest of the crew took turns dancing with the six ladies. Jamie chuckled. He was having difficulty not tapping his feet in time with their music—or laughing at the dancers. His merrymaking men, who could keep their footing in a storm or climb the sheets without misstep, all had need of Mr. Pellam’s services. But Jamie’s former dance master would be appalled to see Lady Marianne smile so beguilingly and take the roughened hand of a sailor who that very afternoon had scrubbed the deck on which they now danced.
“Seriously, Jamie.” Aaron clapped him on the shoulder. “Find someone else to take the wheel, and dance awhile. No doubt a certain young lady would be pleased to be your partner.”
“Haven’t you noticed?” Jamie gave him a wry grin. “Lady Marianne no longer speaks to me. Maybe it’s my pride, but I’ll not try again. The men shouldn’t see their captain treated with disrespect.” Yet he wondered how he could avoid talking to her. And, in fact, longed to do so.
“They seem a bit smitten with her, don’t they?” Aaron leaned against a secured barrel and gripped a line above his head for balance. “All that will be over when we reach Boston.”
Jamie sent him a sidelong glance. “What makes you think so?” He’d worried about leaving his crew loose in London, where their loyalties might be swayed, but no other plan had presented itself. And now even Saunders and his Molly had abandoned talk of the Revolution in their adoration of Lady Marianne.
“Oh, come now.” Aaron punched Jamie’s arm. “These are good fellows, true to the Cause.”
Jamie grunted. “I’ve always thought so. But when you think of what we’re facing, what we each must give up to win this revolution, maybe they’d prefer to settle down someplace with their brides until it’s all finished. I doubt any one of them would turn down land on a Caribbean island.” He gripped and turned the wheel as a large swell rolled beneath the ship.
On the main deck, the revelers laughed as they struggled to keep their balance, even Lady Marianne. His lost love continued to surprise Jamie. She’d found her sea legs all too well.
“Whoa!” Aaron’s arms flailed about as he tried to stay upright. Jamie caught his shoulder and righted him. “Thank you, my friend. Can’t wait to get back on land. Whose idea was it for me to come with you on this
mission, anyway?” His hearty laugh rang out in contradiction to his complaint. “Say, I’m going to drag someone up here to take your place. My Emma would be pleased to dance with you.” He staggered across the rolling deck and down the ladder before Jamie could stop him.
Not that he wanted to. By the time Simpson had joined him on the quarterdeck, Jamie felt the bite of mischief. If he could not have Lady Marianne for a wife, or even for a friend, he could put aside his pride and show her his goodwill, maybe reminding her of better times. In fact, he would first go below and don one of his new jackets bought on her brother’s advice.
Marianne had no choice. She must place her hand in Captain Templeton’s as they moved along the length of the dance line on the way to meet their own partners again. She did not look at him, even when he lightly squeezed her fingers. Nor even when he put his hand on her waist to swing back in the opposite direction—although a thrill shot up her spine at his touch.
“Did Mr. Pellam not tell you, Captain?” she asked above the music. “You are not to grab a lady’s waist, but merely touch it.”
His dark brown eyes twinkled with mischief, an expression she had grown to love and now must hate, as he bent close to her ear. “Forgive me. You seemed about to fall.”
A pleasant chill swept down her neck, but she attributed it to the light wind blowing over the deck. “Have you not noticed, sir? I have very little trouble regaining my footing when adversity or disappointment strikes.”
“I have noticed, my lady.” His grip loosened, but his smirk remained. No doubt the rascal took pride in the strength of his arms and his impressive dancing skill, but she would not give him the satisfaction of her compliments on his grace. Or on his handsome blue silk jacket and tan breeches. Or his shaving balm, a heady bergamot fragrance that brought her some relief from the smells of his unwashed crew. He bent close again. “I’ve also noticed you’ve beguiled my men.”
She shuddered away another chill and gave him a prim nod. “Indeed I have, and you would do well not to forget it.”
His laugh grated on her nerves, and she longed to slap his handsome, self-assured face. Yes, she bore the blame for being here now, but he’d never loved her. Of that she was certain. Those two times he’d kissed her—no, she must not think of such things. Lost in a bittersweet memory, she missed a step, only to be rescued by Jamie’s strong arms. Captain Templeton’s strong arms. Goodness, who had invited him to this dance? They swung around the circle, and he returned her to her partner—a Mr. Samples, whose dancing left much to be desired—while reclaiming Emma as his own partner. Her maid, her former maid, had the nerve to give Marianne a teasing smile. Had the whole world gone mad? What a cruel joke had been played on her by this man.
As the dance ended, she now faced a worse dilemma. When she and Molly designed the seating for the married couples, Molly had presumed the captain would take the head of the table. Marianne dared not forbid it. And now she, as hostess, must take this odious man’s arm as they proceeded to supper in his own cabin. No. She simply could not do it.
“Captain Templeton, sir.” Molly looped her arm in the captain’s, a gesture Marianne found a bit common, although she knew the warmhearted older woman meant nothing by it. “Will you and Lady Marianne lead us down to supper?”
The captain had the good grace to appear flustered when he looked at Marianne. Then a familiar teasing grin touched his lips as he patted Molly’s hand and disengaged from her. “I would be delighted, Miss Molly.” He bowed and offered Marianne his arm. “My lady.”
Molly’s hopeful smile forestalled any protest. Marianne did not curtsy, but touched the captain’s arm, albeit lightly that she might not feel its muscular strength through the silk sleeve.
He guided her down the ladder, through the long companionway toward the ship’s back—the stern, she reminded herself. In the cabin Demetrius and his son, Stavros, a boy of about ten years, waited beside the beautifully laid table, wearing the semblance of livery Marianne had suggested: brown breeches, white shirts with blue sashes angled across their chests, and white gloves. They had laid planks between the captain’s desk and a small table, arranged benches and chairs to accommodate the twelve guests, and covered the boards with a heavy ivory tablecloth, clean but a bit worn in several spots. The Wedgwood china looked exquisite, and even the tin cutlery had a sheen to it. A large bouquet of hand-sewn flowers formed an exquisite, multicolored centerpiece. The lavender perfume Marianne had given Emma for a wedding gift had been splashed upon the artificial blooms and now filled the cabin with a scent to vie with the savory fish course. As crowded as the cabin was, Marianne felt gratified to sit at the foot of the table while Captain Templeton took his place at the head—for she was as far from him as possible.
At Marianne’s nod, Demetrius and Stavros began serving, beginning with her and the captain, moving on to the first mate, and so on in descending rank. Not expecting this rough lot to exhibit proper manners, she had prepared the ladies to lead their husbands. To her surprise, Captain Templeton appeared to have done the same with his men, for they followed his example, spooning their soup without slurping and using their linen napkins often. Marianne stifled an urge to compliment the captain. After all, such good manners were not extraordinary. Everyone should eat properly. But when he explained to Simpson that he must not speak across the table, but rather to the persons seated on either side of him, Marianne could hardly contain a smile of approval. Captain Templeton might be a traitorous scoundrel, but he was also a gentleman.
Outside the porthole, an orange-and-red sunset streaked the sky, while inside the cabin lanterns swung on hooks and cast deepening shadows around the room. Demetrius carried away the salted beef and left the cabin to fetch the final remove.
In the companionway, the sudden thump of rapid footsteps neared the cabin. Marianne turned to see a sailor dash in the door, his eyes wide.
“Cap’n Jamie, sir, a British frigate is closing fast on us from the north.”
Chapter Thirty
While the ladies gasped and the men groaned, the captain’s cheerful countenance dissolved into caution. “You must forgive us, ladies.” He stood and maneuvered around the table and out of the cabin, with his men in his wake.
“Lord, help us.” Nancy wrung her napkin.
“Shh.” Molly patted her hand. “It’ll be all right.”
“Blimey,” Sally huffed. “I’m not staying down here just to have those ruffians threaten us again.” She hurried out.
After quick apologies, Nancy and Molly followed her.
“We’ll be in our cabin.” Quince took Emma’s hand to lead her out, and Marianne ached to see the concern in their faces.
Only Eleanor remained in her chair, lazily chewing on a biscuit.
Seated near the door, Marianne tried to stifle her rising panic. Lord, is this the time? Show me the way to contact this captain and turn Jamie—Captain Templeton—over to him. The prayer sat like lead on her heart, but she rose from her chair and gazed across the remnants of her fine feast. How inconvenient of this frigate to happen along just when everyone was having such a pleasant time.
Before she could move away from the table, Eleanor stood and, in two long steps, reached the door and barred it. “Where d’you think you’re going?”
Marianne drew in a sharp breath. “What? Why, I am going with the others to—”
“No, you aren’t going anywhere.” Eleanor fisted her hands at her waist. “Just sit yourself down, missy.”
Terror flooded Marianne as she regarded the shorter woman of perhaps four and twenty years, whose muscular arms were visible through her gauze sleeves. Never in her life had Marianne experienced such a threat. She had no idea what this woman might do.
“What do you mean, Eleanor?” She emitted a shaky laugh. “I merely want to be with the other ladies on deck. What if the British sailors come below, as they did before, and no one is here to protect us?”
“What if?” Eleanor snorted, a most unladylike sound.
“Won’t be no different from what the Quality men do to my sort when they get the notion.”
Nausea rose up in Marianne’s throat. “I cannot imagine what you mean.” But she could. She had come upon Tobias Pincer kissing an unwilling scullery maid belowstairs in Bennington House. Without her intrusion, the girl might have suffered far more than an unwanted kiss. Her tearful gratitude had assured Marianne that the Lord had sent her downstairs to a hallway she rarely entered. Even rumors of her eldest brother…but she would not think of that.
Again Eleanor snorted. “Your sort never does imagine it.” She leaned toward Marianne, eyes narrowed. “Because you choose not to see.”
Marianne swallowed hard. What would this woman do to her? “But I can see you now, and I would like to see the other ship, and wouldn’t you like to see your husband and be reassured that all is well? In fact, I must go upstairs and ensure that none of our crew are kidnapped…impressed, as I did before.” She felt so breathless, she thought she might faint.
“Ha!” Eleanor did not smile. “Everybody else is all gooey-eyed at your title, Lady Marianne, but I see what you’re about. You got caught unawares the first time, but I don’t believe for a minute you’ll help the cap’n again.” She leaned back against the door and crossed her arms. “You think nobody can see you hate him? You stowed away and followed him, but he rejected you.” Now she laughed, a dreadful cackling sound for one so young. “You’d make us all suffer to settle that score.” She reached out and shoved Marianne’s shoulder. “Set down, girl, before I set you down.”
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