by Cathy Duke
“She is a lady in every sense of the word, so be cautious how you address my bride,” Arden responded softly. He sighed and filled his friend's glass again before responding. “John is…dying and he leaves his daughter without protection...”
“Be her guardian, for God's sake. But marriage…”
“I owe him. He saved my life and gave me a life that was important to me, not to mention…well, I am not against this actually. And I don't want to have to defend my actions, damn it,” Arden responded. “Just support me. That is what I need.”
Bradley sighed with defeat. “All right, my friend.” Bradley sighed and took a swallow of the brandy. “When does the happy event happen?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“So soon?”
Arden nodded his head. “I am afraid so. John wanted to be there for Amy before he died. Father of the bride and all that… I'm sure also to make certain it all comes off as he planned. I will talk to my solicitor this afternoon to finalize the arrangements.”
“Who plays the bride?” Bradley smirked. When Arden centered a powerful gaze on him…”Oh, no you don't!”
After Bradley left, Arden pulled out the stack of letters from his desk drawer that had been well read and enjoyed. He poured another brandy and started to read them again. He was sentimental, a contrast to his rugged good looks.
By the time he had met with his solicitor and dined, he was weary. He took himself to bed in the large master bedroom which at one time had been his father's. His father had preferred the London townhouse and had not spent much time at the country estate in Kent. So Arden had made this his own room without any memories of his father haunting him. Even his brother Dalton had not been here much to leave his mark and certainly not in the master's suite. He had preferred a life in London where there was a social presence. The Duchess' quarters were attached and yet he had no memories of his mother taking residence here. His room was truly masculine with large walnut furniture centered around an over-sized canopied bed that suited Arden. The room was comfortable once he got rid of all the flowery print that annoyed him. He liked the leather smell with a hint of bee's wax that permeated the air. There was a bookcase holding some of his favorite novels, medical books and other books that gave him guidance with the estates.
A soft tap, lacking confidence sounded on his door. “What is it?” Arden asked, but knew already what the tap meant. “I am not interested in talking to fairies right now…” The door opened and a small child peeked in with caution.
“It tis no fairy, papa! It is only me, Eva.” The five year-old girl was small for her age, her hair surrounding her face like a puff of angel hair. Her hair was a fiery red and gave the small sprinkle of freckles on her face importance. She pulled up her chin with a stubborn swing placing her small hands on her hips. “Cook says I cannot have her lemon tarts.”
“Why is that poppet? Tell me, did you already have one?” Arden sat down to remove his boots. “And why are you not in bed like a good little fairy?”
“I told you already, Papa,” Eva said indignantly. “I am not a fairy today. I am just a little girl.” Eva moved gracefully into the room to stand in front of Arden.
“You didn't answer my question, poppet. Did you have a lemon tart?” The child looked guilty. She also looked with admiration at her papa. “Why do you always know such things? Do you have magic?”
“I do not need magic. It is my job to know you and it is not so difficult to know what you are up to. You have lemon tart all over your pretty little face, poppet. Now go find nurse and ask her to see you to bed, wash your face, and I promise to come and tell you a short story.”
Eva smiled and started for the door. “No fairy stories tonight, papa.” She was gone within a second leaving her sweet smell after her which always left Arden a little smitten with his angel.
Arden had easily taken this child on. Cleaning up the mess Dalton had left uncovered her existence. Dalton had had an affair with a red-headed lady. The lady had escaped to the country to have his child. Her father, angry that his daughter had been compromised, had understandably challenged Dalton to a duel. Dalton had lost, having drunk himself into a stupor prior to the duel. He didn't have a chance. The father was enraged and not very sporting, it seems.
Upon returning from Boston, Arden had found the child in a foundling home for orphans. Her own family did not want the reminder of a scandal, nor did they want to claim any relation to Dalton. Arden brought the child home as his own. She had been two at the time. Eva had instantly brought joy into Arden's life and he did not regret his actions for one moment. She was a delightful child. One day he would tell Eva who her real father's identity, but not for some time. Being her “papa” was important at the moment for both of them.
Tomorrow Arden would marry and he would wait for his bride to arrive from America. He had not heard from Amy, but everything had been planned. Now the wait.
Chapter 2
Ocean voyage in route to England 1830
The ocean waves were violent, the turbulence causing havoc on the ship and the violent winds made an eerie whistling sound that was driving her crazy. If only the stormy sea would calm. Then her stomach might recover. Amy didn't dare move for fear of heaving again. There wasn't anything in her stomach so why wouldn't the heaving stop? Millie was in the cot next to her, but the rocking sea had not affected her and she was sleeping soundly. They shared a small cabin that at first caused her to feel what Jamie, the cabin boy, called cabin fever. There were not two paces between their cots. Now that was the least of her problems. If only she could think of something else. Get her mind off the rocking sea.
Maybe she should have left on the ship that Lord Brightmore had arranged, but she was not ready to leave then and stayed in Boston another week. She booked passage with this ship at the last moment a week later. The captain had warned both women to stay in their cabins. The crew was not used to having women aboard and that alone should have been a warning to her. He did not want to take them, however the funds for passage seemed to change his greedy mind. Staying below in a cramped stuffy room had not helped. Fresh air would have probably aided her condition, she was certain. Millie, her school friend, had been worried about how little she ate, but how could she eat when nearly all just came back up?
Millie, her angel, had agreed to come. She had craved an adventure and without family, she was eager to join Amy on the trip and serve as chaperone and companion. Millie had been excited by the white caps and rolling ocean waves, until she witnessed the affects it had on Amy who couldn't find her sea legs. The food was so terrible that Amy had no incentive to eat anything. She had no idea what they were serving and probably didn't want to know.
Amy regretted her decision to wait a week, knowing for certain that Lord Brightmore would have taken better care of them. Her father would not have entrusted her life with anyone other than someone he respected and cared about. Her grief had been so torrid and intense, she could not think. Losing her mother at birth had been terrible, but this was worse. Her father had been everything to her.
Amy had never known her mother although she missed a mother's comfort and guidance every day. Sometimes she would talk to her mother and it brought her comfort. Her mother came alive though the stories her father shared and the love that glowed from his eyes as he brought his adventures with his beloved wife alive. Amy had only had a short time with her father since leaving school before he became ill. She found herself nursing him instead of enjoying precious time with him. She also felt bitterness for not having more time with him, but then Millie had never known a parent's love. She had to be grateful for having a father for as long as she did.
She and her father talked of his death and his wishes and arrangements instead of the things she had wanted to discuss. Couldn't they find a cure? Maybe someone somewhere could help him. How could he just accept his death?
She wanted to help with his work, maybe become a nurse, but that was all behind her now.
&n
bsp; When Millie would wash Amy with the small bowl of water provided for washing, it had not been clear water…it did not smell right either, but they had no choice and Amy was too weak to clean herself. How did she get so weak? Poor Millie.
“Are you awake?” Millie softly asked from her cot. Millie had slept some and sat up smoothing her chestnut locks, although it seemed a waste of time. “Jamie will be bringing us food and water soon, if you can sit up.” Millie continued as she heard Amy moan.
“I just want to die,” Amy said under her breath. Millie chuckled.
“You have said that very same thing every day for a week now. I don't mean to make light of your condition, but it will make quite a story…”
“This is not an adventure I care to recall, Millie. And I will thank you to not retell it. I can't think of any story worth telling in this…in fact, I would like to bop you in the head for even thinking to share this,” Amy moaned.
Millie's smile faded and she became serious. “I am worried. Your night clothes are hanging on you. You need to eat something. I have only been trying to cheer you.”
“I don't need cheering and please don't even mention food,” Amy croaked. She reached for the pan she used to empty her stomach and wretched again. “My stomach muscles hurt. And I hate doing this to you…”
“Rats. Maybe I can sneak you on deck tonight to get some fresh air,” Millie offered as she helped Amy sit back on her cot again. “I need to empty the slop pot so it smells better in here. That would help you and me too for that matter.”
“I am tired, but thank you Millie for nursing me. You are a true and loyal friend.” Amy closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She couldn't believe she was a married woman. She had listened to all the stories Papa had told her of Arden and felt like she knew him, but still this was scary being married to a total stranger that she had never met. Amy had seen no pictures of him. Was he dark, blonde, short, fat? Her finger spun the gold band with tiny rubies on her left hand ring finger, the only evidence of her married state. She used Mama's wedding band to wed Lord Brightmore.
Papa would not budge on this proxy marriage no matter what she said. She had no job, they had no money and Papa was worried about the things that could happen to her alone in the slums of Boston. He was adamant. And he used the “death wish” to stop the argument. There was nothing else to do. But she could not sleep thinking of this and reliving her grief for her father hurt something awful. She didn't even have the luxury of staying long enough to say good-bye at the grave site regardless of delaying her trip by a week. Leaving was the hardest thing she had to do. She was leaving everything behind, her father, her memories, her home and she had to trust what lay ahead of her.
She had left some money with Belle with instructions to see to the grave and anything she forgot. She had sold her father's doctors instruments, except for some he left for Arden. He spent his last days telling her how to dispose of his things. She had such a lump in her throat that she could barely swallow. How horrible it all was. How she hated those last days. And how she dreaded his suffering and there was little she could do. He wanted no part of taking opium or laudanum for the pain. He had wanted the waking hours to control as he saw fit. He spent them all with her, although it was miserable. He looked like a ghost of himself; thin, weak, and pain weaving his expressions into images that was not the father she knew. She could not sleep thinking of this either. Why couldn't she dwell on the happy times? There were certainly memories more worthy of her time.
What could she dream of to settle her nerves and rest peacefully? What would Arden think of her? Was he resentful of this proxy marriage? She could always ask for an annulment and use the little money she had from the sale of papas things to start a new life. She had no idea what to expect. Millie was keeping her off balance having enough excitement for them both. Millie thought it all grand. Millie thought of things in terms of a fantasy or a grand adventure. The ultimate optimist. Amy would be a duchess and her imagination took off from there. It was all a fairy tale to Millie.
Just as Amy was dreaming peacefully, she could hear someone calling her name. The dream was so perfect she hated to acknowledge the interruption, and yet it was insistent. Just another moment…her father was telling her something. Please, she wanted to stay with her father.
“Amy. Wake up.” Millie softly nudged Amy. “Something has happened.”
“What?” Amy muttered groggily. Amy turned over and tried to sit up, but Millie pushed her back down.
“Don't try to get up. You are too weak. But I must tell you something. There is a sickness aboard this ship and some of the crew has died. When I went to empty the slop pot, I saw Captain Ellis slip some bodies into the ocean! It is a fever…” Millie was talking so fast that Amy frowned and looked at Millie distressed.
“What could it be?” Amy asked with concern. “There are many sicknesses that can attack people on a ship.”
“I am worried for you Amy. You are already weak with sea sickness…This would be terrible if …”
“Did Captain Ellis tell you anything?” Amy interrupted.
“Only that I needed to get back to our cabin and stay there. He seemed angry that I was on deck. I'm scared Amy.” Tears formed in Millie's eyes and for the first time, Amy realized how vulnerable and fragile this petite young woman was. Millie dropped down on the bed with Amy and they held each other tight. “Oh, rats. I didn't mean to upset you. We need to get you well.” She said as she dried her eyes.
Amy too was worried. This didn't sound good and they didn't have any control over what was going on. Their cabin felt like a prison with no escape.
“You know I love you. You are my only family, Amy. The things you did for me growing up…I shall never forget.”
“I didn't do anything special Millie. We aren't dying you know. Are these supposed to be your last thoughts?” Amy smiled at Millie wiping her tears away. “I know I am being morbid, but this condition…” Amy waved her hand to indicate her weakness. “Makes a person stop and take notice of the things one appreciates.”
“That's what I am saying. You comfort me when I face tears and you support me when I am depressed. You brought a new gown after visiting your father, and you gave me ribbons I couldn't afford. I do believe they were meant for you, but you insisted they were not.”
“Ah, Millie my love. We will be old women one day laughing about this.”
“I thought so…but you won't have me mention it again, remember?”
****
Charles Baker stood in front of Lord Brightmore's massive desk uncomfortable and nervous. His hands were sweating and he held onto his cap tightly as he addressed the sober man behind the desk.
“What? She didn't get on my ship? Why, for God's sake?” Arden knew it wasn't Baker's fault, but he was baffled, angry and anxious. He had made certain his ship would wait for their cargo, so Amy could sail on his ship. He had made special accommodations for his passenger. Now he was worried.
“Your Grace, she said she needed more time to settle things. She said she would take a ship out as soon as her work was done,” Baker added, nervous that his answer would not be well received. He could see how upset this man was becoming with what he had to say and he just wanted to get out of here. He was already imaging himself having a few glasses of ale with his friends in the village. “Captain Ellis was still docked and said he was going to be in Boston for at least another couple weeks. Maybe she took that ship out,” he offered.
“Bloody, hell. Who knows anything about Ellis? What kind of cargo was he taking out of Boston?” Arden asked as his face reddened with frustration and anger. He raked his fingers through his dark hair in an anxious gesture as he paced behind his desk.
“I think I heard he was taking textiles. He is well thought of, I can tell you that. I know one or two of the crew and they are upright lads.” He twisted the brim of his hat with his hands hoping the interview was over. The ale was calling his name. “I'm sure the Duchess will be fine.”
Arden eyed Baker with doubt and suspicion. “I am glad you are certain Baker, because I sure as hell am not certain of anything,” Arden snapped back.
Arden sat down at his desk after giving leave to Baker and found himself talking to no one in particular. Just talking to himself, for God's sake. He had made all the arrangements for his wife to travel in comfort and she ignored his efforts. What kind of “things” did she need to “settle” for God's sake? John was buried and she had sold off what she could…all this reported to him finally from Amy, after not hearing anything for weeks. He was happy to get the brief message although with no other details…or expanded information. He wasn't used to having someone be curt and brief with him. He wanted a bloody God damned full report leaving out no details, for God's sake. Now he was worried.
Chapter 3
Brightmore Manor 1830
He looked down at his ledgers and the numbers were a blur as his mind wandered. Now he was woolgathering. Damn it all, he had no control over any of this and it was bloody frustrating. If he tried to set sail himself he most likely would miss her in route. How does a simple thing get so messed up? How could he sleep not knowing where she was and what she was doing? If she was in trouble….He slammed his fist down on the desk in frustration. He wasn't used to worrying about someone else and he didn't like it. He was in a stew.
Arden sent several of his men to the docks to keep abreast of the ships coming in. Ellis' ship was the next ship due in from Boston and he had men waiting to see if she was on it. Arden insisted the men make regular reports, bringing any news whatsoever.
It was no surprise that one of his men was banging on his door on one cold rainy night several days later. Godwin answered the door to find a desperate man asking for the Duke of Brightmore. Godwin showed the wet man into his study.
“What is it Cooper?” Arden asked anxiously as the man stood dripping on his Persian carpet. Godwin came back a moment later with a blanket that he handed the man to mop himself with as he spoke to Arden.
