by Linda Wright
Elizabeth reached for her neck and clutched James’s locket for moral support. “You tumbled Mary Peel when we were engaged? How could you?”
“What difference does it make? She’s history. We’ll marry and you’ll never wear that ugly cap again. I must say, you’re quite fetching for an old maid. I certainly won’t mind fulfilling my conjugal duties.” The man rudely scratched his trouser flap as he leered. “When I come into Bristol I won’t have to board with the old slag; I’ll have a bed of my own warmed by a tempting wife who bathes. A seaman need’s his own hearth fire brightened by a pleasant smelling wench when he’s on land. Here, give us a kiss…”
Elizabeth rolled out of reach as the man approached with puckered lips. “And just how many English ports boast a Mrs Captain Foster?”
“Oh really Prissy, how can you be so indelicate to even think such a thing? I thought you were a lady. I feel disappointed, but let me remind you why you fell in love with me…”
“Get a way from me. I’m not the doe eyed simpleton who fell for your lies. Thirteen years of heartache, fear and loneliness have strangled the stupid girl who loved you. I’m going to marry Lord Devonshire. He’s good and kind…”
“You want to marry that pansy child-lord on the drawing room floor?” Benjamin Foster guffawed with laughter. “What will he call you; Mamma?”
“Lord Devonshire is only five years my junior…” Tears of laughter spilled from his eyes. “…and he happens to be ill.”
“Then the pansy should have stayed home in bed instead of making an ass of himself. I had no idea your tastes were so exotic.” Captain Foster wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve. “Never mind, you’ll get used to being Mrs Captain Foster in no time. What would you want with a Lord anyway? They’re all pansies who have to unbutton their flaps hourly to remind themselves they’re men.”
Elizabeth felt an urge to slap the sneering face, but didn’t dare go close enough to accomplish the deed. “Lord Devonshire is man enough for me.”
“You poor old thing…you’re in love with that pansy-lord aren’t you? Well that’s too bad Prissy, because you’re going to marry me. I have a pressing need for two-thousand pounds. It’ll be the easiest money I ever earned. Pack your bags. Your maiden head is scheduled to be broken by the time the church bells ring noon tomorrow. As soon as I have my two thousand pounds I’ll be setting sail.”
“Never! You’re a hateful ugly pirate…”
“I prefer Captain Jerry Foster in refined company otherwise I’m known as…” The man struck a fierce pose, “The black heart of Calcutta…I was going to call myself Mad Jerry, but my crew didn’t think it savage enough.”
“You should have called yourself The Cad of Canterbury that would have been more accurate.”
“I would have been the laughingstock of the seven seas. My enemies would have called me Captain Pansy. Never mind Canterbury, I’m going to marry you and we’ll live happily ever after. It’ll be an easy matrimony. I’ll only see you once a year when I come to collect your annuity and formalise my ownership of your mattress. It shouldn’t be too painful. I understand refined ladies prefer their men a little rough.”
“You disgust me. I’d rather marry The Duke of Strathmore whose heart is a block of ice. I hope you end up crabmeat on the bottom of the ocean after the seagulls peck out your eyes.”
“That’s no way to win a seaman’s heart.”
“I don’t want your stinking heart…Captain. It can rot on Neptune’s fork for all I care. I’ll never marry you.”
“Oh I think you will Prissy, because if you don’t I’ll cheerfully snip the head off your beloved Pansy and stick it in a big vase. Marry me or bury your pansy-lord; it’s not a difficult choice if you love him; is it?”
Elizabeth clutched her locket as tears gushed from her eyes. “You wouldn’t be so cruel…he’s done nothing to you.”
“They don’t call me ‘The Black Heart of Calcutta’ for drinking my coffee black. I’ll go tell your dear Cousin Sophia the good news and do take good care of your clothes. You’ll need them. Two thousand pounds will nicely cover my ship repairs and pay my crew, but it won’t stretch to a bridal wardrobe. I’ll be off for warmer climes while you stay with your sister till I return next year.”
“My sister hates me. Her husband tried to ravish me and then accused me of trying to seduce him. She tells everyone I’m dead.”
“Then you’ll have to live here. It makes no difference to me.”
“I’m an unpaid servant you imbecile. This isn’t a home and I’m not safe here either. Lord Llewellyn keeps trying to catch me alone. I can’t live here as a married woman. I’d be pregnant within weeks and not by you.”
“What do I care? I won’t be feeding the brat.”
Elizabeth burst into tears as she flew at her old lover intending to claw out his eyes. She tore off his eye patch revealing a second angry perfectly good eye and dug her fingers into his face before he could ply her off and throw her on the bed. “I don’t care where you live or who beds you Prissy, but you’re going to marry me. Accept your fate. Where are your manners? You used to be such a sweet girl. A Captain needs a wife who can act like a lady. I don’t want my crew to think I married a tavern wench.” Elizabeth sobbed into her bedclothes as the door slammed shut. She was too distraught to hear the muffled exchange outside or notice the door opening and closing and the key turning quietly in the lock. If she could just put her head on Lord Devonshire’s shoulder and feel his arms around her everything would be alright. He’d make sure life landed happy side up, but she didn’t even know where he was staying. She was doomed.
Feeling the end of the mattress give as someone sat down nearby she recoiled up off the bed. The Duke of Strathmore was nonchalantly folding his long elegant limbs and looking at her with mild amusement. “I was outside the open door in case you needed rescuing. I’m relieved to see you’ve forgotten your embroidery in the drawing room. So, you’d rather marry me than become Captain Calcutta’s latest bride?”
Elizabeth felt her eyes fill with tears. “He’s threatened to kill Lord Devonshire.”
“So I heard. I can ensure Lord Pinhead’s safety…if you promise to marry me.”
Elizabeth ogled the smiling man in disbelief. “You’d use my misfortune to leverage your advantage? That’s despicable!”
“Promise to marry me and I’ll rescue you from Captain Calcutta. Of course Lord Pinhead might be able to rescue you, but you’d have to get word to him and he’s young. He doesn’t have as many contacts as my good self not to mention he’s ill.”
“I think the word good is a little inappropriate.”
The man’s mild smile remained in place. “I always get what I want.”
“Well I don’t want to be your Duchess. I’d rather…”
“You’d rather marry Captain Calcutta and live here as a free servant? I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself my dear. What is this about Lord Llewellyn?” Elizabeth felt her cheeks blaze as the beautiful man on her bed raised an eyebrow. “Has he been…upsetting you?”
It had been so long since anyone cared about her safety Elizabeth felt almost relieved as she sank on to the bed next to the man as she sniffed back her tears. “He was my suitor. I thought he loved me, but he married Cousin Sophia because her dowry was a lump sum. He seems to think because I once kissed him I should be willing to suffer his revolting attentions. He’s a vile pig. I have to keep my embroidery in my pocket all the time in case…”
“Ah…the embroidery is explained. Accept my proposal and no one will dare touch what is mine.”
“Why do you want a woman who doesn’t want you?”
“Simple; I want you.”
“I wouldn’t be happy.”
“You’ll be far happier as my Duchess than Mrs Captain Calcutta.”
“I need time…I need to speak with Lord Devonshire…”
“No. Decide right now if you want me to rescue you or not. If not I’ll walk away and let you rum
inate the Captain’s half-mast celebrations and your future ruin.”
“You give me your word of honour that Lord Devonshire will be safe?”
“Lord Pinhead will be perfectly safe from Captain Calcutta…if you agree to marry me.”
Elizabeth felt her heart ache as she clutched the locket for support. If Lord Devonshire loved her marrying Strathmore would break his heart, but if she didn’t marry Strathmore he might be murdered. “I’ll marry you. Don’t expect me to like you and don’t expect a happy wife.”
“Happiness is irrelevant. It’s simply a passing emotion that makes the rest of life dreary. It’s best to accept life is one long misery; it makes life easier. I shan’t expect an engagement kiss today. I’ll wait until you’ve stopped crying and you realise how lucky you are to be rescued.” Elizabeth was sobbing as the man let himself out of her bedchamber. Her heart felt like it would crack in two as she longed for Lord Devonshire’s kind hands to soothe her red tear stained face. She really was doomed.
Chapter 13
Still wearing his boots; James lay face down on his bed shivering from fever in-between coughs and sneezes, mentally tortured by his undelivered letters and his inability to rescue his Penny. The need for resolution overcame every sensible thought that demanded he remove his clothes and curl up with a hot water bottle. After another sneeze he rolled off the bed and staggered down stairs where he ordered his carriage. Ignoring his servants’ protests that he was going to die if he didn’t stay in bed, James crawled into his carriage and asked to be driven to Lansdowne Crescent.
In Bath, the Duke of Strathmore always stayed with his school friend James Smirke, a man who refused to believe anything bad about the people he loved. In the Smirke household Strathmore could find laughter, acceptance and affection at least from his friend. It was well known Mrs Agnes Smirke particularly disliked Strathmore. She was a giant blonde beauty whose piercing stare left few men in doubt that she found them wanting. James was too agitated to worry about Agnes Smirke. He wasn’t paying a social call he was rescuing his sanity.
The weak winter sun was setting as he sent up his card. If he was really unlucky he’d catch Strathmore at dinner. His card was returned and he sighed with relief as he was let inside the elegant house. He reluctantly handed over his hat and coat and laboured slowly up the stairs to the first floor drawing room. Catching his breath, he stared at the domestic scene in disbelief. Was he hallucinating? Strathmore was sitting in an armchair with a tiny blonde fairy creature draped over his knees with a picture book. A replica fairy creature was lounging in James Smirke’s arms working a tiny sampler. The frigid blonde Agnes sat alone on a sofa working her own embroidery, her basket artfully spilling open at her side.
Five pairs of eyes returned his stare of disbelief as if his appearance was equally bizarre. He belatedly bowed respectfully to the lady of the house and then to both men before needing to grab a handkerchief out of his left pocket to catch a deafening sneeze. He shoved the used handkerchief into his right pocket and turned to the mistress of the house. “Forgive me Madam for calling while obviously infirm. I have an urgent need to speak with His Grace in private.” His polite speech was punctuated with a long sniff.
Agnes Smirke looked unmoved by the caller’s request. “Strathmore?”
James met the man’s smiling eyes as a sinking feeling prepared him to face his doom. “I have nothing to hide. Speak away.”
The Duke’s innocent expression was almost believable. Nearly losing his balance, James steadied himself and tried to sound authoritative. “It is a private, private matter Your Grace.”
“Then it can wait ‘till tomorrow afternoon Lord Devonshire when I will be at your private disposal.” The Duke looked down at the child in his arms as if closing the conversation.
“It can not wait Your Grace; I won’t be able to sleep.”
“Why ever not?” The Duke’s tight lips betrayed a faint smile of satisfaction.
“You know perfectly well…”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about Lord Devonshire. Perhaps you should return home and take yourself to bed. You look ill.”
“I must have resolution…”
“Well you may have it tomorrow afternoon when you’re feeling better.”
“I won’t be feeling better.” James mentally noted that the walls were moving and started counting the movement. He got to fifteen before being interrupted.
“If you must speak then speak. I have nothing to hide from my friends.”
James was unaware of his disbelieving scowl, “As you wish my Lord; give me my letters or your word that you’ll deliver them to their intended recipient by tomorrow afternoon.” Four heads turned to stare at Strathmore with open curiosity.
“I’m sorry; I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“My love letters; the ones you bought from that traitorous…” James managed to comprehend the presence of children and silencing his more colourful abuse. “…Doodle.”
The fairy creature on Strathmore’s knees looked at her mother with confusion, “What’s a doodle?”
“Doodle was my friend.” James’s answer left the child equally confused.
“Mamma, can I have a doodle?”
“Is Nursey a doodle?”
“Is Papa a doodle?”
Agnes Smirke’s eyes shimmered, “Doodle is a pet name like how your Uncle John calls you Imp.” Bored by the answer the two children returned their interest to the sick man.
“Mamma, what’s a love letter?”
“It’s a letter a man write to a woman he loves.”
“Does Papa write you love letters?”
“Yes.”
“Will a man write me love letters?”
“If you’re good.”
“I’ll be good.”
James had lost count of how many times the walls had moved back and forth to the ticking of the bracket clock. “If you’ll give me my letters I’ll return to my sick bed with pleasure.”
Strathmore shrugged his shoulders at his friend’s look of concern. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Devonshire. I think you need to send for a quack; you’re hallucinating.”
“Penny wasn’t hallucinating when she didn’t get my letters. She saw you…she saw Doodle hand you letters.”
Strathmore shrugged his shoulders again. “Life is filled with strange coincidences. Why would I want your love letters? I’m quite capable of writing my own when the need arises. I sent one this evening in fact to my fiancé.” James could see that he was the only one who found this piece of news astonishing.
“Have you proposed to another stranger at dinner?”
“Miss Elizabeth Morgan accepted my offer of marriage this afternoon after I rescued her from Captain Calcutta.”
James snorted in contempt as he shook his head. “No! She wouldn’t agree to marry you.”
Strathmore raised an eyebrow. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“There is no way Penny would have accepted you; she was wearing my necklace. I asked her to wear it if she felt inclined to accept me and she was wearing it this afternoon. There is no way she would marry you unless you’ve forced her…if you’ve hurt her…I swear…”
The Duke calmly said to the room. “I fear Lord Devonshire is having a turn; he certainly sounds insane to me.”
“I’m perfectly sane.”
“If you say so Lord Devonshire; but I assure you Miss Morgan willingly accepted my offer of marriage without being beaten over the head.”
James’s lips were trembling as he shook his head again. “You’re doing this to torment me…because of that stupid coach…you’re a fiend!”
“Mamma what’s a feen?”
“Uncle John calls us feens.”
“Is a feen a fairy Mamma?”
Agnes eyed the two men with pursed lips, “I think it might be time for you two to return to the…” Five pairs of eyes watched in fascinated horror as James slowly succumbed to gr
avity and fell forward. After a stunned silence soft muffled sobbing could be heard coming from the carpet. “Frederick. We’re in need your assistance.”
The footman stepped into the room. “Yes Madam?”
“Lord Devonshire has been taken ill and needs a bed. Master James will help you carry him up to the blue chamber. Put him to bed and then ask the kitchen to prepare hot water bottles and the usual cold remedies. Tell Cook I’ll be down to prepare a sick tray.”
“As you wish Madam.” James Smirke reluctantly dropped his daughter in his chair and leaned over his wife to whisper something unintelligible, his hand gestures indicating he thought the young man on the floor should be shoved back in his carriage and sent home. The look on his wife’s face left no room for discussion. The man was sick; he would stay. James found himself turned onto his back, his tears running into the blood dripping from his nose. He couldn’t even muster the strength to protest his undignified exit as the two fairy creatures danced either side of him as if he were some sort of macabre entertainment. His heart cracked as tragedy stamped its hallmark on his inner organs.
