Shipwrecked with the Captain

by Diane Gaston

‘Goodnight, Lucien.’ Her voice was low and soft, stirring him even more.

  He managed only a nod before closing the door. He needed a barrier between them this night.

  Chapter Five

  When Claire woke the next day her head ached and she wished there was one memory she could banish from her mind. She’d acted like a brazen trollop with Lucien. Goodness! She’d wanted him to kiss her and hold her and spend the whole night in her bed. She still could feel his breath against her lips and the warmth of his touch.

  Surely that was brazen? Was she truly such a woman?

  She tried again to remember something about herself that could answer that question.

  There was nothing.

  Lucien hired a carriage to take them to Dublin. Claire felt almost as grief-stricken saying goodbye to the Molloys as she’d felt leaving the fishermen. Captain Molloy, his cousin, Mrs Molloy, the fishermen and the others at the inn were the people in her life, the only ones, except for Lucien. Now she was headed to a city she did not remember to eventually reunite with a brother who was a complete stranger to her.

  After the buildings of Bray receded into the distance and she’d wrestled her emotions into some sort of order, she became aware of how close Lucien was seated next to her and of how comfortable it was for her to be beside him. She did not want to face saying goodbye to him, but that would come soon enough.

  Lucien was everything to her. She, on the other hand, was merely an obstacle to his returning to London and back to the life at sea he so loved.

  She must take care and never let it slip that she wanted him to stay with her longer.

  She looked out the window at the countryside rolling past. Had she seen it before?

  She did not know.

  Their journey would take half the day and so far Lucien had said little to her. Of course, she, as well, only spoke to him when absolutely necessary. What could she say? That she regretted trying to seduce him? Or that she regretted not succeeding? Perhaps she should say she was sorry to be such a burden.

  * * *

  After changing horses one last time and taking some refreshment at the coaching inn, they finally reached the bustling streets of Dublin.

  ‘I wonder if I will remember anything here,’ she murmured, more to herself than to him.

  ‘Perhaps something will spark a memory,’ he responded.

  She studied the scenes passing by her window. ‘Nothing I see is a surprise.’ Not the wagons or carriages or riders or people walking. ‘I simply cannot remember another time I saw such things.’

  His eyes looked sympathetic and she felt a pang of guilt.

  ‘I do not mean to sound as if I am complaining,’ she explained. ‘What is important is that I am alive. I owe that to you.’

  He averted his gaze. ‘And the fishing boat.’

  ‘And the fishing boat,’ she agreed.

  The carriage pulled up to a large red-brick town house.

  ‘We are here,’ Lucien said.

  A footman emerged from the building and opened the carriage door. Lucien climbed out and turned to help her disembark, then he reached in and picked up the two small parcels that contained their meagre belongings.

  They wore the clothes that the Molloys had found for them. The clothes they wore in the shipwreck were gone. The footman looked them up and down with haughty contempt, no doubt due to those plain clothes of a simple fishing villager.

  ‘Your luggage?’ the footman said with a sneer.

  ‘We have none.’ Lucien turned to the coachman and paid him out of some coins he took from his pocket.

  The man grinned. ‘I thank you, sir!’

  Lucien then straightened and glared at the footman with an expression that would make any man quake. ‘We require two rooms and I am well able to pay.’

  The footman nodded curtly. ‘Follow me.’

  They entered a large hall with marble floors covered in part with a brightly hued floral carpet that looked like it came from the looms at Axminster.

  Axminster? Somehow she knew such carpets were made at Axminster. That was not a memory, though. It was knowledge.

  Along the walls were pale green sofas and tables with brass embellishments. It was all quite opulent and Claire had the sense she’d never seen anything go grand.

  But that was not a memory, was it? More like an absence of memory.

  There also was an impressive mahogany desk and a finely dressed man rising from its chair.

  Lucien strode over to him. ‘Mr Castle.’

  The man peered at him for a moment before gasping. ‘Captain Roper? You are returned.’ He continued to look puzzled.

  ‘Unexpectedly,’ Lucien replied. ‘Forgive our simple clothing.’ He turned to Claire. ‘Lady Rebecca, let me present Mr Castle, the hotel owner. I stayed here when previously in Dublin.’

  Before the shipwreck, he meant.

  ‘Mr Castle.’ Claire curtsied.

  Lucien turned back to Mr Castle. ‘This is Lady Rebecca Pierce, the Earl of Keneagle’s sister. We will need two rooms, Mr Castle. And a great deal more.’

  Mr Castle’s gaze darted between them. ‘Your luggage?’

  Lucien was quick to reply. ‘We have none. Our ship to England foundered. We survived, but lost everything.’

  ‘Foundered?’ Mr Castle turned to her, an expression of sympathy on his face. ‘Oh, my. Were you on the Dun Aengus? We heard it wrecked. What a terrible ordeal. The hotel will assist you in any way we are able.’

  ‘We are most in need of clothing.’ Lucien gestured to the plain brown, ill-fitting coat he wore.

  ‘I will make enquiries as to how we might attire you quickly.’ Mr Castle took keys from a drawer in his desk.

  ‘That would be so kind of you,’ Claire said.

  Mr Castle smiled and signalled to the footman to escort them to their rooms on the second floor.

  Their rooms were again next to each other. Lucien would not be so far away.

  He stood in her doorway. ‘I will leave you here to rest. There is time for me to visit the bank.’

  Her stomach fluttered.

  How silly to have nerves simply because he was leaving her alone. This was not some wilderness—or the open sea—but a respectable hotel.

  She could try to do something useful. ‘Perhaps I should write to my brother. There is bound to be pen and ink somewhere.’ She began opening drawers until finding the one with paper, pen and ink. ‘What should I say? I don’t have his direction.’ She gave a dry laugh. ‘Or his given name. He will think me odd to call him Lord Keneagle.’

  He remained in the doorway.

  She turned to him and made herself smile. ‘But you must go.’

  He hesitated longer before finally speaking. ‘I will write to your brother, if you like.’

  ‘Would you?’ Her muscles relaxed. And she hadn’t realised she’d been tense. She caught herself, though. ‘I cannot ask you to do so much for me.’

  ‘I offered.’ He shrugged. ‘I will write it before I go to the bank and have it sent by messenger.’

  * * *

  Lucien returned to his room and opened the desk there, removing a pen, ink and paper.

  It made sense for him to write the letter, even if it was to the descendent of the man who’d created the genesis of his mother’s unhappiness.

  Perhaps his own, as well.

  Neither he nor Lady Rebecca had anything to do with that event, however. They’d not even been born. It was his mother who’d kept the angry fires burning all these years.

  He uncapped the ink and dipped the quill into it. As concisely as he could, he described the shipwreck, Lady Rebecca’s amnesia and their whereabouts in the weeks since.

  The Earl would send for her, Lucien was certain. Would he send someone to accompany her? Without a memory it would be hard for her to tr
avel alone. Perhaps Lucien would be compelled to go with her and see the estate that had reaped the benefits of his family’s financial demise.

  He finished the letter and wrote its direction on the envelope.

  Leaving his room, he made his way back to Mr Castle’s desk. ‘There is something you can do for me, Mr Castle.’

  ‘I am at your service.’ The man smiled.

  He handed Castle the letter. ‘Send this by messenger. To the Earl of Keneagle. Make certain it reaches his hands.’

  Mr Castle took the letter. ‘It will be done.’

  Lucien left the hotel and walked the two miles to Number Two College Green, the Bank of Ireland.

  The clerk he had dealt with before greeted him with the same level of surprise Mr Castle had shown. ‘Captain Roper? I thought you were already in England.’

  Lucien repeated the story of the shipwreck, explaining his duty to see the Earl of Keneagle’s sister back safely to her family. He did not mention her amnesia.

  ‘I need access to funds,’ Lucien explained. ‘All was lost in the shipwreck.’

  As well as seeking funds for his own use, he arranged for generous rewards to be sent to Captain Molloy and his fishermen. And to Molloy’s cousin and his wife as well. When everything was settled, he returned to the hotel.

  * * *

  When he entered the hall, Mr Castle called him over.

  ‘I hired a messenger for you. He has started the journey.’ He handed Lucien a piece of paper. ‘And I procured the name and direction of a second-hand shop that sells clothing that should meet your standards. I can arrange a hackney coach to take you there today, if you like.’

  They desperately needed clothes. What Lady Rebecca wore now was serviceable, but certainly inappropriate for an earl’s daughter.

  ‘I am very grateful, Mr Castle,’ Lucien responded. ‘I will ask the lady what she wishes and have your answer directly.’

  He hurried up the stairs and knocked on her door.

  She opened it. ‘Lucien. You are back.’

  Had she expected he would leave her alone all day? ‘Mr Castle has found a shop where we might purchase clothing second-hand. We can go there right now, if you desire it.’

  Claire did not mind the clothing she wore. The dress fit her well enough, even though it was nothing like the dress she had worn during the shipwreck. That dress must have once been very elegant. It would be expected of her to wear fine clothing, she suspected.

  ‘I will get my hat.’

  Claire donned the bonnet Mrs Molloy had given her and returned to the hall with Lucien.

  ‘I sent a messenger with the letter to your brother,’ he told her as they waited for the hackney coach. ‘He should receive it tomorrow.’

  That gave her a whirlwind of nerves and no pleasure. Meeting her brother and losing Lucien.

  ‘I do appreciate that, Lucien.’ Although she felt disingenuous saying so.

  ‘And I have arranged ample funds,’ he added. ‘We can purchase whatever we need.’

  She lowered her gaze. ‘You must let me repay you.’

  He shook his head. ‘I said before. No need.’

  But there must be some way to repay him.

  * * *

  When they entered the shop, a male clerk greeted Lucien by name. ‘Captain Roper? Mr Castle said to expect you today or tomorrow. What may we show you?’ Obviously Mr Castle had provided his name when he arranged the visit.

  ‘We need everything,’ Lucien said.

  A female clerk took Claire in hand, while Lucien went with the man.

  ‘You were in a shipwreck, we were told, my lady,’ the woman said. ‘How very frightening for you.’

  Perhaps she was lucky not to remember it. ‘Yes. But we were saved.’

  ‘Well.’ The clerk pressed her hands together. ‘We shall have to find you a new wardrobe. You will see, of course, that all our garments are clean and mended.’

  The items were, indeed, almost like new, but Claire had no idea what to select. She feared the cost as well. These appeared to have been very expensive dresses.

  The clerk suggested she at least purchase two of everything. Two shifts. Petticoats. Stays. Stockings. Another pair of walking boots and two pairs of slippers. Another nightdress to add to the one Mrs Molloy had given her. A robe to wear over it. A shawl. A cloak. The list seemed staggering.

  * * *

  After nearly an hour she’d selected the other necessities, but still had not settled on dresses or hats. She loved the finest dresses, much like the one she’d been wearing when she woke up on the raft, but her eye kept being drawn to more sensible, simple, nondescript designs.

  She chose one to try on and stood before a mirror.

  Her image looked as she expected. It also made her sad, but why she could not say. There was nothing wrong with the dress. It was very...serviceable.

  ‘My lady, are you certain you want such a dress? It is so drab.’ The clerk pointed to two other gowns draped over a chair. ‘There are so many other prettier ones.’

  ‘I am trying to be practical.’ But the other dresses were lovely.

  ‘I will ask your gentleman what he thinks.’ The clerk left the room before Claire could stop her and explain that Lucien was not her gentleman.

  Claire turned to the mirror again and frowned. The dress was drab.

  Lucien entered through the curtain behind her. ‘You need me?’

  He was attired in a tolerably well-fitting deep blue coat with a matching waistcoat, grey trousers that hugged his thighs and brown leather Hessian boots that covered his calves. His neckcloth was as bright white as the shirt beneath.

  He took away her breath.

  She swallowed and finally could speak. ‘I am uncertain what to choose.’

  His gaze swept over her. ‘Not that one, certainly.’

  She felt her cheeks flush.

  The clerk stepped forward. ‘I would suggest these.’

  She showed him the dresses draped over the chair and brought out some others.

  Claire tried on dress after dress, watching the admiration in Lucien’s eyes when she donned the prettiest ones. His opinion as to what she was to select was the most important criteria. All the dresses were beautiful to her.

  She twirled around in an evening dress of pink silk with an overdress of white gauze trimmed in lace.

  ‘This seems too extravagant, Lucien,’ she said, although she yearned to wear such a lovely gown.

  ‘We do not know how much of your wardrobe was on the ship,’ he responded. ‘You need clothes. Enough to cover any situation.’

  But so many at once? It would cost a fortune!

  In the end he bought her two day dresses—one a gossamer white muslin with embroidery on the bodice and hem, the other a sprigged muslin with a matching green spencer—two travelling dresses—one dark blue silk with gold stripes, the other, a patterned dark green silk—and the beautiful evening dress. In addition to the essentials she’d already selected, he added slippers to match the dresses, hats, gloves, even reticules.

  The clothing needed only minor alterations. ‘I will send the seamstress to you at the hotel tomorrow,’ the clerk said. ‘Every dress will be perfect.’

  Claire had entered the shop dressed as a tavern maid. To leave, she wore the dark blue travelling dress and the new half-boots, with a lovely bonnet and gloves to match. While Lucien made the final arrangements to have the clothing packed in portmanteaux and delivered to the hotel, Claire took a final glance at her image in the mirror.

  This dress and the others were probably out of fashion, having made it to the second-hand shop, but she thought every piece was exquisite.

  Had she once worn such elegant clothes? If so, why did she feel so strange in them? Was it because of all the weeks dressed so comfortably as a fisherman, then as a tavern maid? />
  She loved the feel of the fine fabric against her skin and she’d felt beautiful when Lucien looked at her approvingly.

  She could not remember feeling beautiful before.

  * * *

  Lucien glanced at her, looking at herself in the mirror, so pleased with these clothes that were some wealthy aristocrat’s cast-offs. Surely she’d once been accustomed to the latest fashion in finery.

  Her face was flushed with colour and her eyes sparkled. She even carried herself differently. More regally. She was exceptionally lovely, even more so than when he’d glimpsed her on the packet ship, when her complexion had not been brightened by the sun and when she had been so carefully coifed. And confident. Now she was unconscious of her allure. And of her status. Little did she know a woman of her station would scorn purchasing clothes at a second-hand shop rather than delight in the experience.

  Her pleasure was disarming, though. As was her concern about being too extravagant. His prize money was more than he could imagine ever spending. It caused him no sacrifice to enable her to look presentable as she re-entered her former life.

  Perhaps such clothing would help her remember who she was.

  And that she belonged in a world that valued a title over character, where one married to improve one’s status, a higher title, more lofty connections. He disdained such shallow pretensions. He would shun such a world even if its door opened to him.

  Lucien completed the transactions and approached her. ‘The shop will send someone to deliver the purchases.

  Her eyes shone. ‘Thank you, Lucien. I assume I wore pretty clothes before, but I do not remember them. Surely they could not have been as pretty. I love all you purchased for me. I am very grateful.’

  ‘You look well in them.’

  The colour heightened in her cheeks, making her look even more beautiful.

  She thanked the clerks and took Lucien’s arm, walking with him to the door of the shop and a waiting hackney coach.

  When they reached the hotel, the same footman who had met them with such disdain earlier in the day now showed them every respect.