Shipwrecked with the Captain Read online

  The seaman bowed. ‘Very good, miss.’ He placed both trays on the table.

  When he left, Claire put her hand on her chest to still her rapidly beating heart.

  ‘I was afraid he would notice we look alike,’ Lady Rebecca said. ‘He must have glimpsed me when he left the trays.’

  The crewman had taken no more notice of Lady Rebecca dressed as Claire than the handsome gentleman had done in the companionway.

  Claire knew why. ‘A governess is not important enough to notice, my lady.’

  She joined Lady Rebecca at the table and they continued to talk as they partook of the bread, cheese and ale the crewman had brought. Claire relaxed in this woman’s company. She forgot their difference in status and felt as comfortable as if they were sisters.

  Rebecca was apparently feeling a similar kinship. ‘I believe we should call each other by our given names,’ she said. ‘It seems silly to be formal to one’s mirror image.’

  Claire was flattered. ‘If you desire it...Rebecca. Then I am Claire to you.’

  ‘Claire!’ She grinned.

  Claire felt emboldened. ‘Might you tell me now why you do not wish to be married?’ Marriage was what every woman wanted, was it not? ‘Now that we are no longer formal?’

  Lady Rebecca—Rebecca, she meant—turned solemn. ‘A woman gives up everything by marrying. Any wealth or property she might have. Any right to decide for herself what she wishes to do.’ Her chin set. ‘If I am to give up everything, it should be to a man who loves me and respects me and will not confine me.’

  Those were lofty sentiments. But life rarely fulfilled one’s deepest wishes. ‘And this man?’ Claire asked.

  Rebecca grimaced. ‘I met him only once. He merely wished to assure himself I could produce an heir.’

  ‘But, of course he would want an heir,’ Claire responded. ‘Especially if he has a title and property.’ Gentlemen, especially peers, needed an heir.

  ‘He does.’ Rebecca tapped her pewter tankard with her fingernail.

  ‘Is the gentleman wealthy enough to provide for you?’ Claire asked.

  ‘He is said to be prosperous,’ Rebecca replied. ‘He must be, because he is willing to marry me with a mere pittance for a dowry.’

  She certainly did not look as if she had a mere pittance for a dowry.

  ‘Will you tell me who he is?’ Claire asked.

  Rebecca shrugged. ‘Lord Stonecroft.’

  This was not a name Claire knew, but, then, why would she?

  ‘Baron Stonecroft of Gillford.’ Rebecca said the name as if biting into rancid meat.

  ‘Ah.’ Now Claire understood. ‘You were hoping for a higher title than baron. I mean, you said you are the daughter of an earl.’

  Rebecca sniffed. ‘I care nothing for that.’

  Then, what? ‘Did he seem like a cruel man, then? Is that your objection?’

  Rebecca sighed. ‘I do not believe there is precisely anything to object to in him. I simply do not wish to marry him.’

  ‘Refuse, then.’ Surely this lady had choices.

  Rebecca rolled her eyes. ‘My brother—my half-brother—says I am too much of a burden for him to wait for me to find a husband I would like. I’ve refused every offer he’s arranged for me. This time he made certain. I will be turned out without a penny if I do not marry Lord Stonecroft.’ Her face turned red. ‘I’ve no doubt he means what he says.’

  Claire knew how it felt to have no choices. Her heart wrenched in sympathy. ‘How sad. One would hope a brother would understand. Family should understand, should they not?’

  Rebecca gave her a curious look. ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters? Any family at all?’

  Claire’s throat tightened with emotion. ‘I am alone in the world. Any relations are too distant to be concerned with me.’

  ‘My parents are gone,’ Rebecca responded in a like tone. ‘And my brother might as well be dead. He said he never wishes to see me again. Ever. Even if he visits England. He made that very clear.’

  Another way they were alike. Both alone. Both without parents. Lady Rebecca went on to say her father died two years before, her mother, a decade ago.

  At least she’d known her mother. Claire’s mother had died giving birth to her; her father, over five years ago.

  But Rebecca had one choice Claire would probably never have. The chance to make a good marriage. ‘I think you are fortunate to marry, Lady Rebecca—Rebecca,’ she finally said. ‘You have little money or property, correct? You can only gain by marrying. You’ll gain a home of your own to manage. Children of your own. Comfort and security. Even status and a respectable position in society.’

  It sounded like a wonderful choice to Claire. She yearned to have a man to love her—that is, the right man, one she was free to love in return. She suspected she would even enjoy the pleasures of the marital bed, because sometimes when seeing a handsome man—like the man who’d spoken to them in the hallway—she’d wonder how it would be for him to kiss her or hold her.

  Could men sense such impulses in her? It often seemed the wrong men paid her attention.

  How much easier it would be to simply be married. To have such security.

  She opened her mouth to speak of this to Lady Rebecca, but the lady’s expression had turned desolate.

  Claire wanted only to comfort her now. ‘Perhaps it will not be so onerous to be Lady Stonecroft.’

  Rebecca gave a polite smile. ‘Perhaps not.’

  Claire changed the subject, to save Rebecca more discomfort. They talked about their interests. What books they’d read. What plays they’d seen. Their favourite pieces of music. From time to time, Rebecca convinced Claire to impersonate her and check up on her maid, Nolan. The woman accepted her as Rebecca, each time.

  * * *

  They talked until night turned the angry sea dark. It felt lovely to Claire. She’d not had such a friend in a long time.

  But Rebecca’s eyes, so like Claire’s, grew heavy and, as they talked, she tried to stifle yawns.

  Claire, feeling guilty for claiming her company for so long, stood. ‘I should return to my cabin so you might get some sleep. I’ll help you out of your dress, if you help me out of this lovely gown.’

  Rebecca rose and turned her back so Claire could untie the laces at the back of the plain dress she had owned for years. It had been such a pleasure to wear something a bit decadent, if one could call wool decadent. Ladies who frequently purchased new dresses did not realise how it felt to wear the same drab garments, day after day.

  As Claire loosened the laces of the dress, Rebecca turned to her. ‘Let us see how far we can carry this masquerade. You be me tonight. Sleep in my nightclothes, in this bed. And I will continue being you.’

  Claire blanched. ‘I cannot allow you to be closeted in that tiny berth they gave me!’

  ‘Why not?’ Rebecca looked defiant. ‘It will be an adventure for me. And you will have the comfort of this cabin as a treat. When Nolan enters in the morning, we shall discover if she still believes you are me.’

  She pulled out her nightdress, made of the softest of muslin. ‘Here.’

  Claire fingered the fine cloth of the nightdress. ‘Perhaps. If you desire this.’

  ‘I do desire it,’ her likeness insisted. She helped Claire out of her dress. ‘I desire it very much.’

  * * *

  By morning, though, the weather had worsened and the boat pitched and rose even more fiercely than the night before. Claire was awoken by Rebecca knocking on the door of her own cabin. She rose and had difficulty crossing the room to answer the door to admit her new friend. They looked even more alike, both in their nightclothes, their hair loose about their shoulders.

  ‘I checked on Nolan,’ Rebecca said. ‘She is even more ill today. I also saw the seaman who brings our food. He said we must stay below.’ She
lifted her arm. ‘I brought your bag.’

  Claire had packed a clean shift, her brush and comb, and a small bar of soap for the boat trip. The small trunk that held the rest of her clothing was stowed away. The dress she’d wear again today was draped over one of the chairs.

  ‘We can help each other dress,’ Rebecca said.

  Dressing was a challenge, though. They had difficulty staying on their feet and the pitcher of water for washing had mostly spilled on to the floor. They managed to get into their shifts and corsets, and Claire reached for her dress.

  Rebecca stopped her. ‘Oh, do let us continue our masquerade. It was such a lark.’

  Claire did not need much convincing. She’d relish wearing Rebecca’s lovely dress again and having her hair in curls.

  As the day crept on, though, their impersonation of each other was forgotten. It was clear the ship was in very rough waters. A seaman did attend them, bringing food and drink, but his face seemed pinched in worry.

  ‘A bad storm brewing,’ he told them.

  * * *

  Lucien had spent most of the day on deck, though he had no control over the lack of decision by the Captain. Curse naval discipline! It was clear to him that the ship could founder at any moment. The time was past to do anything to prevent it.

  He ran over to the Captain. ‘Give the order to abandon ship! Get these passengers into the boats while there is still time.’ They were near the coast. The boats might make it to shore.

  ‘Yes, yes.’ The man’s face was ashen. He suddenly clutched his arm and his face contorted in pain. He collapsed on the deck.

  ‘Blast,’ Lucien cried. He grabbed one of the men to attend to the Captain and another to see that the order to abandon ship was given. He ran to the cabins to get the passengers to safety.

  Suddenly there was a loud crack and Lucien watched lightning travel down the main mast. It split in two and crashed on to the deck.

  Time was running out. He dashed back to the cabins and burst into the next one.

  He found the lady and her companion. He’d learned the lady was Lady Rebecca Pierce, sister to the Earl of Keneagle. Certainly that had been a surprise. The other woman was a governess. But he had no time to lose.

  ‘Come above,’ he commanded. ‘We must abandon ship. Bring nothing.’

  Lady Rebecca jumped to her feet, but the governess defied his order and pulled a reticule from her satchel. He’d still not seen her face.

  ‘Come on!’ he ordered.

  When they reached the stairs, the governess shoved the reticule into the lady’s hands. ‘Here. Take this,’ she said. ‘I’ll be right behind you. I’m going to get Nolan.’

  ‘Miss!’ Lucien yelled to her. ‘We must leave now.’

  ‘I will be right behind you,’ she called over her shoulder.

  ‘Blast!’ He pushed the lady up the stairs and seized her arm when they climbed on deck.

  The deck was in shambles. Ropes and sails and smashed wood everywhere. The main mast lay like a fallen soldier in the midst of it all.

  ‘To the boats!’ he ordered, still gripping her arm.

  He pulled her over the debris to the railing, but as they reached it, the ship dipped. A huge wave, as tall as a mountain rose above them.

  God help them. Lucien wrapped his arms around her.

  The wave engulfed them and swept them into the swirling sea.

  Chapter Two

  Lucien held on to her as the roiling water pushed them into its depths along with pieces of the broken mast, barrels and other rubble.

  Nearly twenty years at sea in all kinds of weather, all kinds of battle, he’d be damned if he’d perish from crossing the Irish Sea in a packet boat.

  A large piece of wood smashed into them, hitting her on the head. She went limp, but Lucien hung on to her. He let the sea do its will, pulling them deeper and deeper. With luck it would release them. His lungs ached, but he forced himself to wait. He hoped she was not breathing in too much water.

  After an eternity, the sea let go. He kicked them to the surface. When his face broke through, he gulped in air. Lady Rebecca remained limp.

  Was he too late?

  Lucien resisted panic. Their lives depended upon him remaining calm.

  Part of the mast floated nearby. Still keeping hold of her, he swam to it and laid her over it. He blew into her mouth, a trick an old sailor taught him years ago. She coughed and spewed water and mumbled something unintelligible.

  He expelled a relieved breath. She was alive.

  It was fortunate the debris that had hit them had knocked her unconscious. She might have struggled otherwise. He might not have been able to keep hold of her.

  A piece of rope floated nearby. Lucien grabbed it and tied her to the mast, doing his best to keep her face above the water.

  A bolt of lightning lit the sky and he could see the ship a distance away heading towards the rocky shore. The sea pulled them further from it, but into calmer waters. He looked around him for anything that might be useful. A small floating barrel. A large piece of canvas sail. More rope. A hatch door appeared, a piece large enough to hold them both. He took a chance she’d be secure enough on the mast and swam to the door, pulling it back to her. He strained to place her on the door. He gathered the other items he’d collected before climbing on to the door himself.

  The storm had cleared, but the shoreline narrowed into no more than a thin line against the sky. He wrapped them both in the canvas sail and held her against his body to keep her as warm as possible. They’d be on the water all night, he guessed.

  Lucien doubted anyone would search for them, but perhaps some vessel would sail near enough to find them.

  He gazed down at her, still unconscious, but breathing. She had a lovely, refined face.

  How ironic that, of all people, he should have saved the granddaughter of the Earl of Keneagle, the Earl who’d cheated his mother’s family of their fortune, impoverishing them and changing the course of their lives. His mother’s life.

  But what of the governess? Had she survived?

  Lucien hoped so.

  * * *

  Morning dawned to clear skies. Lucien’s arms ached from holding Lady Rebecca the whole night. She’d struggled against him, but never gained full consciousness. The night had been dangerously cold, but soon the sun would warm them.

  Before it, too, became an enemy.

  At least he had the piece of sail to shade her.

  She seemed to be merely sleeping now. She’d been lovely enough in her travelling finery when he’d encountered her in the companionway, but she looked more appealing to him now, with curls gone and her expression vulnerable. Was she the lady with the lovely laugh? It could have been the woman with her, the governess. He hoped her running back to find someone else had saved her. He could not have held on to them both.

  He glanced away. He’d never been tempted by aristocratic ladies, those few he’d encountered. They seemed shallow and silly, too eager for pleasure and too ignorant of how the rest of the world lived. He’d seen privation and could never forget how wretched life could be. As a boy, he’d heard the story over and over, how the Earl of Keneagle had impoverished his mother’s family. How his mother had lost the chance to marry a title. How she’d had to settle instead for his father, a mere captain in the navy, like Lucien was now. Even though his father had risen in rank and had provided well enough for her, his mother preferred the company of the local Viscount when his father was away at sea—which he’d been for months, even years, at a time.

  Lucien had grown up feeling a responsibility to his Irish relatives. They had been the reason he’d sailed to Ireland, to provide financial help to his uncles, who struggled to make ends meet. Lucien could afford to help them. He’d squirrelled away almost all of his prize money over the last twenty years. Thank God it was safe in Coutts Bank in Lo
ndon and not at the bottom of the Irish Sea.

  Like he and Lady Rebecca might be if the sea claimed them.

  His lids grew heavy and the rocking of their makeshift raft lulled him.

  ‘No!’ Lady Rebecca pushed against him. ‘No!’

  Fully awake now, he tightened his grip on her. ‘Be still,’ he ordered. ‘Do not move.’

  Her lovely eyes flew open. ‘What? Where am I?’

  ‘You are safe, my lady.’ She would panic, certainly. He kept her restrained. ‘But we are on the open sea.’

  ‘On the sea?’ Her voice rose in confusion and she struggled. ‘No! Let me go!’

  ‘I cannot. Not until you are still.’ He forced his voice to sound calm. ‘You are safe if you remain still.’

  The waves bobbed them up and down and slapped water on to the raft. The canvas covering them fell away and Lucien blinked against the blazing sun.

  Her head swivelled around and her voice became more alarmed. ‘No! Why am I here?’

  ‘Do you remember?’ he asked. ‘We were on the packet from Dublin to Holyhead. There was a storm—’

  She raised a hand to her head. ‘I was on a packet ship? Where is it now?’

  He didn’t want to tell her it had probably crashed into the rocks and that some people would not have survived. ‘We were swept away from it.’

  ‘But someone will find us, won’t they?’ she asked. ‘Someone will be looking for us?’

  More likely they’d think they’d perished. ‘Many ships cross the Irish Sea. Chances are good we’ll be rescued.’ Chances were at least as good as finding a needle in a haystack.

  She scanned the horizon again as if a ship might magically appear.

  ‘I don’t remember being on a ship,’ she finally said accusingly.

  Perhaps that was a godsend. ‘Best not to remember.’

  She looked at him with hysteria in her eyes. ‘You do not understand. I don’t remember the ship. I don’t remember anything.’