by Sahara Kelly
“It used to be,” she replied, shooting down his efforts with ease. “It’s very old, built around three or four hundred years ago, and it’s drafty. Much of it creaks and I have no idea how well it’s been maintained, so it may be falling down on itself.” She shrugged. “Was there anything else you’d like to know about it?”
“No, not at all. Since you obviously cherish a deep affection for it, I’ll wait until we arrive and then you can show me around.”
She turned to him with a stare.
“I was jesting, Cressida.” Richard sighed.
“Oh.” She shook her head. “I’m not really used to jests.”
“And yet you manage to charm people into smiling so easily…”
“I listen. Really listen. And when it comes down to it, that’s all people actually want. They think I’m kind, sweet, charming, attractive…all that nonsense. When all I do is listen.”
“I see I shall have to be on my guard.”
“When you tell me anything worth listening to, I shall be all ears. As I was when you told me a little about your family.” She moved along the bulkhead, found a convenient coil of rope, and sat. “Tell me more about them?”
“And you will listen with your full attention?”
“Of course.”
“In that case, no. My family is no more and no less than normal.” He was lying through his teeth, but Cressida didn’t need to know that. “I’m much more interested in hearing about yours.” He watched her expression in the waning light.
She remained silent, her eyes fixed on the landscape.
“Why are you here, Cressida? And no roundaboutation, if you please. I would like to know how you have ended up married to a man you met barely hours ago.”
“I told you,” she began, “that ball last week…”
He brushed her words aside with a gesture of dismissal. “I would like the real story. As your husband, I believe I deserve the truth.”
She opened her mouth…only to be interrupted by a loud call of “Berths ahead…”
They were nearing Antwerp, and the lights along the banks were getting brighter and more abundant. In addition, there was a noise from below that brought Cressida to her feet.
“Damn, I forgot Zizi.”
Torn between the urge to burst out laughing and anger at the poor timing of the interruption, Richard just sighed.
*~~*~~*
It was strange how rapidly one became accustomed to the movement of the vessel, thought Cressida. They were at anchor, moored to a large dock amidst the hustle and bustle of Antwerp. It was one of the busiest ports on the North Sea because of its central location, and there was barely a break from the sounds outside, even though darkness had descended.
Some of the Jolly Fellow’s cargo would be unloaded and more taken aboard overnight, so that they could depart on the morning tide.
Zizi had been fed and indulged with a brief stroll along the wharf. They’d both enjoyed that, since her new husband was turning out to be a most pleasant travelling companion.
However, they now faced a new challenge.
It was time to go to bed.
“Look, we are married,” said Richard, casually unfastening his jacket.
“I…um…”
“I realize the bed isn’t terribly big, but since we’re newlyweds, that won’t matter at all, will it?” His waistcoat followed, displaying a very solid chest encased in a well-fitting cream shirt.
“Er…”
He sat on the bed and tugged off his boots, tossing them into the corner. “Come on, Cressida. You can’t sleep in your dress, you know. Shall I help you?” He stood and looked…mischievous.
“You’re teasing me again, aren’t you?” She felt the tension leave her shoulders.
“Of course I am,” he laughed. “And I apologize, but the temptation was too great.” He came around the bed to where she stood. “But I will act as lady’s maid if you wish. I’ve done so for my sisters often enough.”
“What are we going to do about…how shall we manage…” she struggled for words, “this?” Her hand waved at the bed.
“I think a few rolled up blankets should work.” He was behind her, his voice practical—and her laces fell loose. “There you are. Now I plan on sleeping as I am. Shirt and breeches. No boots. If I may take a husbandly liberty, I would suggest you slip beneath the covers in your chemise. That way your dress won’t be too creased tomorrow.”
“And the blankets?” She watched him pull the extra ones from a small cupboard up high on an interior wall.
“Like this.” He rolled them tightly and laid them end to end down the center of the bed. “My side. Your side.”
“Oh.” She thought about it. “Yes, I suppose that would work.”
“It had better. I’m not sleeping on the deck or standing up.”
Suiting words to action, Richard moved the bedding and slid beneath the top quilt, stretching out and sighing as his head hit the pillow.
Seeing his eyes closed, Cressida freed herself from her dress, hung it on a hook and then matched his movements, happy she had no hairpins to worry about. She sighed too as nerves were replaced by weariness. “Oh, that is good,” she murmured as she stretched out her toes and wriggled to get comfortable.
“It is,” sighed her husband.
“Although it all feels very odd.” She tugged the covers up around her chin.
“What does?”
“Being married, and everything.”
“Well, if we’re honest about it, it probably isn’t much different than the way we each slept last night. Except now we’re together, aboard a ship, and in the same bed.” Richard’s tone was reasonable.
“I was a little afraid,” she confessed.
“Of what?”
Cressida paused, then decided that honesty was the best policy. “I was afraid you might wish to exercise your husbandly rights.”
“I suppose that’s a logical concern,” he responded. “But that course of action, to me anyway, would be outrageous. We’ve known each other something like half a day at most? I suppose there are some men who might have expected that, but I’m not one of them.”
“May I just say that it is a relief.”
“Yes it is. Most definitely.”
She was quiet, digesting his words. Did that mean he didn’t find her attractive? Angry with herself for leaping to conclusions that contradicted the relief she’d admitted to, she let the topic die. “Well, you’re right. It’s not much different being here, really. Although the ship creaks a bit more than my old room.”
“Agreed. And the fact that I have a ball of fluff keeping my feet warm is a change,” he added.
“Oh that’s where she is,” giggled Cressida. “I’m usually the one whose feet she warms, so consider yourself honored.”
He yawned. “All right.”
There was silence for a few moments.
“There’s going to be a big battle soon, isn’t there?” She voiced the thought that had plagued her for quite some time.
“I believe so.” Richard spoke quietly.
“And yet we sailed to Antwerp instead of Ostend. Do you find that odd?”
He thought for a minute or two. “In some ways yes, but in others no. I have heard that there are many supplies stored in Antwerp. It has a larger port, which enables larger vessels to come and go more rapidly. Plus, the route from Brussels to Antwerp is being well defended. So if I were Wellington—which I’m very glad I’m not, by the way—I would plan for a retreat to somewhere that could be of future use, rather than to a smaller port that wouldn’t hold my forces for very long. Thus the safest route for us is the one we took.”
It was her turn to think about what he’d said. “Interesting,” she concluded. “I concur in that I can’t imagine being in the General’s place.”
“You’re not supposed to,” said Richard, amusement in his tone. “You’re a woman, and thus excused from battles. Your task is to keep the home fire burning for the
returning soldiers.”
That was true, but it led to another thought, one which she finally spoke aloud. “I don’t know how to be a wife.”
Richard moved beneath the covers. “Don’t concern yourself. I have no idea how to be a husband either. But we’ll take it one day at a time.” He yawned again. “Go to sleep.”
Within moments, she heard a soft snore, and realized he’d taken his own advice. She marvelled at his casual acceptance of their strange situation.
The fact that he had married her told her how desperate he must have been. She guessed that the Earl’s offer must have seemed a miracle, and yet she wondered if it was actually hidden blackmail. He seemed as relaxed as if they’d agreed to share tea at breakfast, but perhaps that was his way. She had to ask herself what kind of man could accept a stranger as his wife, and then fall sound asleep with her dog on his feet and rolled up blankets separating him from his bride?
She couldn’t decide whether he was exceptional, unemotional or just uninterested. She fell asleep before she could reach a satisfactory conclusion.
Chapter Five
The next two days continued the pattern Cressida and Richard began on their first night together.
The ship easily handled the rough waters between Antwerp and England, bobbing along under full sail and dampening the decks with wind tossed spray.
Fortune was with them, as the storms that plagued this area of the English Channel stayed away, allowing the Jolly Fellow to make excellent progress and finally enter the Thames Estuary several hours ahead of schedule.
Both enjoyed being on deck, breathing the fresh salty air and the sun as it dazzled off grey-blue seas. The Captain had allowed them to visit his bookshelves, all two of them, and Cressida had found a biography of the infamous Edward Teach that she declared to be quite fascinating.
Richard, on the other hand, had immediately reached for a tome featuring the words “The Mediterranean Campaign - The Battle for the Nile”, prominently on its fat spine. “Nelson, you know,” he said in answer to Cressida’s inquiring look. “Fascinating stuff.” He knew Edmund would have leaped at the same book.
Thus fortified, the newlyweds passed the time aboard ship quietly, conversing politely, and dealing with the moment to moment matters in a practical way.
Even Zizi behaved herself, although she was clearly not a happy dog when the coastline disappeared. A sympathetic crew member dedicated one tiny corner of the afterdeck for her personal convenience, and Richard reminded himself to slip the lad some coins when they disembarked.
In spite of the peaceful journey, both were glad to see London’s landmarks drawing ever closer, and soon they were less than an hour from their final destination. The decks were busy as the crew prepared for their arrival, so Richard and Cressida kept themselves out of the way.
“You’re finished with your packing?” Richard remembered to ask.
“There was little enough,” she answered. “But I’ll be glad of a change of clothes when we get to my cousin’s house.”
Richard nodded. They were to spend their first night in London at the home of Mrs. Felicity Strathairn, née Branscombe. The Strathairns were a well-known family, and had a sizeable town house close to Mayfair. Mr. Strathairn sat on the Board of Directors of more than a few august financial institutions, and was a power to be reckoned with when it came to money. Richard had met him once, and been impressed with how young the man looked. He’d expected a grey-haired sage, not a fair-haired Corinthian.
“When did you last see your cousin?” asked Richard.
She blinked. “Um…probably at their wedding. That would be over two years ago now. We haven’t kept in touch as much as we should have, I suppose, but I’m not one for writing letters every day. But Flick was always lots of fun. And her husband George seemed to make her happy.”
Richard knew that ‘Flick’ was the current abbreviation for Felicity, but wasn’t sure he approved. To him, Felicity had a crisp sound. Flick…well, it didn’t.
“I look forward to meeting them.” Richard’s eyes swept over the salt flats to the port of the ship. “It would seem our trip has been well planned…”
“The Earl is very efficient, isn’t he?” Cressida glanced at him. “Almost as if all this had been planned well in advance.”
Richard frowned. “I cannot disagree, and yet I cannot see how that could be so.”
Cressida shrugged. “I’ll bring my bags up now, I think. We should see Tilbury very soon.”
“Yes.” Richard followed her, irritated by that little gnawing worry their conversation had planted in his mind. His bags were packed as well, so it wasn’t a lengthy chore to reassemble the small pile of bags on the deck near where the gangplank would lie, bridging the gap between liquid and solid.
Zizi sensed, or smelled, land, and yipped happily, her whole body wagging with enthusiasm.
Seeing her recalled Richard to his duty, and he quietly slipped a couple of guineas to the lad who had been invaluable to Zizi’s personal needs.
Brushing aside the young man’s effusive thanks, Richard returned to Cressida’s side in time to watch as the Jolly Fellow slowed to a crawl and finally to a stop, and into the waiting ropes adroitly managed by the sailors on the dock.
They were quick to knot those huge ropes and moor the ship safely to her berth.
“England at last,” sighed Cressida.
“Yes. Home,” added Richard.
“And look, there’s the Strathairn carriage.” She gave a little skip as she pointed to one of the vehicles near the wharf. “How lovely. We’ll be ashore in no time.”
“Yes, it looks that way.” The little gnawing worry gave him a tiny stab. He ignored it for the time being, since they had to bid farewell to their captain and crew, and finally disembark to feel the solid earth of England beneath their feet.
Once that happened, the Strathairn footmen took over and it seemed only moments before Richard, Cressida and Zizi were all settled in the carriage and on their way into London.
“It’s too well organized,” said Richard finally. “You were right. Everything was too well timed.”
Cressida narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I have the same feeling. As if we’re being carefully moved, like pawns on a chessboard.”
It was a surprisingly honest observation, and uncannily accurate.
The carriage drew up in front of the Strathairn mansion. What, wondered Richard, would be the next move planned for them? And more importantly, whose hand was playing the pieces?
*~~*~~*
“You are expected, Miss.” The butler looked down his nose at Cressida. Which wasn’t difficult, since he topped at least six feet.
“Thank you, Fairleigh. Actually it’s Mrs. now. This is my husband, Mr. Ridlington.”
Fairleigh turned and looked down his nose at Richard. A more challenging task, but he still won on inches. “And which Ridlington is this, if one may inquire?”
“I’m Richard Ridlington,” he answered.
“We were recently wed. I’m surprised you didn’t know,” observed Cressida.
“The mistress and family are away at present. I was instructed to allow you and a guest to stay the night, and to make sure you had conveyances ready for your trip to Branscombe Magna in the morning.”
Cressida frowned. “Flick isn’t here?”
“No, Ma’am. Mrs. Strathairn and the family are presently in Tunbridge Wells.”
“But she knew I was arriving?”
“Since she gave me my direction, one would assume that yes, she was aware of your imminent arrival.”
“When did you receive her instructions, Fairleigh?” Richard posed the question quietly.
He paused. “That would be last week, sir.” He moved back, pulling the door wide open and casting a suspicious eye over Zizi. “If you would care to enter, a maid will direct you to your room. Doubtless you are tired from your journey and would prefer something on a tray for the moment.”
Cressida led the way,
troubled by this development and not understanding why her cousin hadn’t stayed to greet her. “Well, yes. That will be acceptable.” She glanced at Richard and widened her eyes.
He shrugged back.
Following the maid, she looked around. The house was quiet, and although there were no covers on the furniture, it was as if everyone had deserted the place. Other than Fairleigh and the maid, they saw nobody on the way to their assigned quarters at the back of the second floor. It was an isolated location, but did boast a lovely view of the tidy gardens between the house and the mews where the horses were stabled.
“Thank you.” She nodded at the maid. “We can unpack. If there’s hot water available, that would be most pleasant.”
“I’ll see to it, Ma’am,” curtseyed the girl.
Richard smiled at her and closed the door behind her, then turned to Cressida. “Any idea what’s going on? It’s clear you were expecting the family to be here…”
Cressida plopped down onto the bed and shook her head. “I have no earthly clue, Richard. These rooms?” She looked around. “They are not the usual family guest rooms. And Fairleigh, although he’s always had delusions of royal blood, has never looked at me quite that way.” She stood up and paced to the window. “I haven’t been here too often, of course, but often enough so that everyone knows who I am.”
He came and stood beside her. “And I doubt that the Ridlington name is so disreputable as to force your family to hide you away in a secluded room.”
She grinned. “No, absolutely not. God knows the Strathairn line isn’t without blemish.”
“Well then, wife. Let’s make the best of it.”
The hot water helped, the bedroom was comfortable enough for two and there was a small adjoining dressing room, which made it possible for them both to bathe.
The servants filling the bath had brought both food and robes, and another maid arrived to remove their travel stained clothing.
At last, both Cressida and Richard found themselves wrapped in woollen robes, toasting their toes by a small fire, and sipping tea.
“It could be worse,” observed Richard.
