Stranded With The Marquess (Regency Stories Book 1) Page 3

  Miss Browning lifted her glass. “Very nice words, and I am in complete agreement,” she said before taking a sip from her glass. She gave the glass an appreciative smile and set it on the table. However, once the toast was completed, she simply sat staring at him, and he felt himself grow anxious. What was she waiting for?

  It grew quiet, and Matthew realized she was waiting for him to begin eating. “Please,” he said, motioning to her plate, “enjoy.”

  A weak light came through the porthole, but the lantern hanging above them cast a soft glow over them, the only sound the clicking of utensils on plates. Had the sea not been as calm as it was, they would have been eating on copper plates, as they had less of a chance of flying off the table and crashing to the floor. However, since his wish was to impress the woman who sat across from him, Matthew had requested that George bring out the best The Topaz had to offer.

  “Would you like me to light another lamp?” he asked as he withdrew a piece of flint from his pocket. What a silly notion. He would not light another lantern with flint and steel when he could simply light the wick of the second candle with the flame of the first. It was as if his mind was not functioning properly.

  “No, thank you,” came her reply. “I can see well enough.”

  “And the food? Is it acceptable?”

  “Yes. Quite.”

  Again, frustration welled up in him. He had never been one to lack in topics of conversation, yet he found himself numb of brain and devoid of clear thought. “I must say,” he said in another attempt to bolster some sort of exchange, “your dress is quite exquisite. Did you purchase it in France?”

  This made her smile. “Thank you for the compliment. And yes, I just purchased it two days ago for a special occasion.” Her cheeks reddened as her eyes slid back to her plate.

  Matthew let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps his instincts had been incorrect. Perhaps she was not angered by his words earlier but instead was simply a naturally shy woman. He had met many who suffered from shyness to the point of acting exactly the opposite in an attempt to hide the fact.

  “So, Lord Albright, what do you do exactly?” Miss Browning asked with a tilt to her head. “Besides telling tales on one of your ships, that is.”

  He laughed. Once again, he had to adjust his opinion of her. Women could be fickle at times, but this woman was very much so. At one moment she was shy and quiet and in the next straightforward and inquisitive, and he found he liked the latter quality in the woman much more than the former. “I have several ships used to transfer all sorts of goods—coal, textiles, animals, and sometimes people. “Once I am wed…” He bit the words off. He had not intended to mention the upcoming announcement of his engagement, but like the fool he was, he had done so anyway.

  “Oh,” she said. The disappointment in that one word intrigued him. “Congratulations. You must be very happy.”

  Though he smiled at her, inside he was anything but happy. What he wished to say was that the woman he was to wed, Miss Elizabeth Stockton, was not a woman he loved. Pressure from his mother to marry her, as well as pressure from Elizabeth’s father, over the past few months had led them to discuss the option of marrying. However, this was not something one shared with a complete stranger, especially one he found himself attracted to.

  “Indeed,” was his reply, although the word burned his tongue. “Elizabeth is known for her grace and beauty, and her skills in languages is astounding.” All this was true, but it was not a reason to marry, in his opinion. Yet, how could a man appear strong and sure of himself if he was being forced into a marriage he did not want? He certainly did not want this woman to see him as weak, but why her opinion of him was so important, he did not know.

  “Oh? And what languages does she speak?”

  “She is fluent in Latin, French, and German, but she also knows a bit of Greek, as well.”

  “How fortunate for you,” Miss Browning said as she set her utensils on her half-empty plate.

  “Yes, very,” he said. “And you? What of yourself?”

  The woman smiled. “His name is Harold Crandleton,” she said with great enthusiasm, “and there is so much to tell about him, I am unsure where to begin.”

  Chapter Three

  Amelia had been impressed with the dining arrangements, and perhaps a bit surprised. The small room itself was not all that impressive with its dark walls and plain furnishings. However, she did find the use of fine porcelain unexpected on a merchant ship. The man might be a Marquess but that did not mean he had to be the type of man to trifle away items of great value. The man might be mischievous but he certainly would not be a mismanager of funds. Not that she had very much intimate information about the ways of a marquess, of course.

  Not only had the dinnerware been unexpected, but the menu had been even more so. She doubted such victuals would be available for the remainder of their journey—how could they possibly keep this quality of meats on the ship for three days?

  Amelia could not help but study the handsome, yet irritating, man across from her. She felt a pang of disappointment at finding that he was to be wed, but the reason why escaped her. It was not as if she knew this man, at least not longer than the few hours they had spent so far on The Topaz. Perhaps it was due to the fact that this Elizabeth was the type of woman Amelia wanted to be. A woman skilled in multiple languages, well-read, and beauty about which one would brag. Then he had asked about her situation, and her face heated. During the week she had been in Calais, not once had she thought of Harold, the man who was expected to propose to her upon her return. It was a proposal she did not want but one that was needed. Harold was the son of a local cobbler who also ran an inn and several taverns. Her father had pushed the courtship in hopes to expand his own business of real estate, for if Harold had access to so many enterprises, he would also have access to the buildings from which they ran.

  “His name is Harold Crandleton,” she said with forced enthusiasm she hoped he would sense as true, “and there is so much to tell about him, I am unsure where to begin.” Her lying brought about a sense of shame. In truth, there was little to tell. The man sweat profusely, his stomach was as large as the tales he often told. Although he was kind, she did not love him. If she was completely truthful, she did not even like being around him. Where she enjoyed strolling through the park, he preferred to spend his time talking with the patrons of the various taverns he helped run. Talks of foreign lands were ignored and changed to discussions of the goings-on in the village. However, the man who sat across from her would never understand such predicaments. His life was complete with his wealth and his darling Elizabeth. Therefore, she was justified in exaggerating—or so she told herself—if only to make herself feel better. Amelia was never very good at guiding conversations, and what she hoped was that he would find the topic of Harold too boring to pursue and move the conversation along to other areas.

  Unfortunately, Matthew did seem to be interested in hearing more about Harold. “Please, I am sure that whatever you have to say about the man will be intriguing.”

  Intriguing? The man wanted intriguing? How would she ever make Harold intriguing? Using her wine glass as a means to give her time to think, she took a sip before responding. “Well, my Harold raises some of the finest horses in the land. The Royal Family are particularly fond of them. Then there is his wool.”

  “His wool?”

  “Oh, yes.” She knew nothing of sheep so she waved off the subject. Speaking of topics about which one know nothing could find that person in very hot water indeed. “However, I do not wish to brag about him any further lest his pride grow more than his wealth.” There. That should be enough to make the man intriguing enough without being made to divulge anything further.

  “I completely understand,” Lord Albright said. “Elizabeth can be the same at times. However, for a woman of such wisdom and wit, it can be more than understandable that she would think so highly of herself.”

  So, this Elizabeth was an int
elligent and witty woman, was she? Well, Amelia would show him. “I speak several languages myself,” she blurted, only to regret it as soon as the words left her lips. What if he spoke another language and made an attempt at conversing with her in that language? The little she knew of French barely got her around Calais, and that was only because so many people there spoke enough English that both parties could get to the foundation of what each wished to say. Patricia knew little more, but between the two of them, they might have a complete conversation with a small child of maybe three years of age.

  “Excellent,” said Lord Albright with enthusiasm. “Perhaps you and Elizabeth will meet one day and have wonderful conversations.”

  Amelia felt a sense of relief wash over her. He did not appear to be interested in continuing on the line of discussion any more than she, which suited her just fine. She could have found herself in quite a pickle if he had asked her anymore questions for which she would have few answers.

  The remainder of the meal continued in relative quiet. The lamb was of the best Amelia had ever eaten, and with the rich foods she had eaten in Calais, it was a nice change to eat food that was closer to that which she was accustomed, even if lamb would have been relegated to special occasions in her home.

  “The sun is beginning to set,” Lord Albright said once they had finished their meal. “Would you care to join me on the deck to watch it go down?”

  When Amelia looked up into the man’s eyes, she felt a sudden flush as a feeling of being drawn in by them overcame her. Common sense told her to left the man and return to her berth.

  “I would like that.”

  She never was one for common sense.

  ***

  True to Lord Albright’s words, the colors of the setting sun were a grand spectacle. As a matter of fact, they were even more spectacular than Amelia had expected. Bright pinks and deep oranges on the clouds mixed with the vibrant shades of blue of the sky, all reflecting on the water, created an image more glorious than she had ever seen in her life. However, though Amelia enjoyed the sight before her, she somehow found the company she kept made it all that more interesting.

  “Although George tends to be a bit overexcited about many matters,” Matthew was explaining as they walked along the deck her arm in his to help her keep her balance, or so he had explained, “he has served on my family’s ships for well over twenty years. He began working for my father and then continued on when my father passed away.”

  “He sounds a very dedicated man,” Amelia replied as she looked out over at the small, rolling swells of waves as a light mist flitted over her face. The midsummer weather made for pleasant travels, and she was relieved to be out of the stifling heat of Calais.

  They came to a stop at the bow of the ship, and Amelia removed her hand from his arm, though somehow she would have preferred it to remain there. Then she chastised herself inwardly for such a thought. He was to be married! How could she be thinking of an engaged man in such a way? And a marquess to boot? She was a simple woman who came from humble beginnings; she had no right to even consider a man of his standing as even the slightest of possibilities for romantic entanglement.

  “As a child on ships such as this,” he said, his voice carrying a nostalgic tone, “I would look out and wonder what lay on the other side of that great expanse of ocean. Were there magical creatures in those other lands? Or peoples no other humans had ever seen before?” He laughed at this. “I apologize. I am not sure why I shared with you such thoughts. I am not one to simply pour out my thoughts and feelings to people I just met.”

  When Amelia turned to face him, her heart skipped a beat. She shook her head to clear the lightheadedness that had overcome her. Perhaps the wine he served was more potent than she first thought. “There is no need to apologize,” she replied. “The dreams of our childhood should be cherished. I, too, dreamed, though it was not from a ship but rather from my own home.” His eyes never left hers, and she felt the urge to continue. “I oftentimes wondered about those who might be looking out their own windows seeing the same sky as I. What dreams did they have? And did they in some way match my own?”

  “And what dreams did you have?” he asked in a low voice that soothed her frazzled nerves.

  How was it that she could hear him over the sound of her heart thumping against her chest? How could the scent of him—musk with a hint of jasmine—overpower the salt in the air? And how was it that even he could outshine the sun that was setting before them?

  “To live a life one day full of happiness,” she replied.

  The sun dipped further over the horizon, the last rays of light casting itself over the couple. For a moment, Amelia wished for the man to kiss her, to hold her in his strong arms against his chest so she could hear his heart, to see if it beat in unison with hers. ‘I can make you happy in life,’ he would whisper to her, and in her heart she somehow knew he could.

  A sudden rocking of the boat snapped her from her strange illusions and tossed her into his arms. guilt washed over her—as strong as the desire that fought its way through—as he lowered his head closer to hers. Prudence welled up inside her. What was she doing with a man who was soon to be married? Although her own upcoming engagement was not she envisaged with great expectation, that did not give her the right to act in such a way with a man already promised to another.

  “I am sorry,” she whispered as she pulled away. “I believe I need to lie down.” With that, she hurried across the deck toward the main hatch that led to the decks below.

  “Miss Browning,” Lord Albright called after her, “please, do not go! The fault is all mine.”

  She ignored him as she climbed down the ladder. The fact that she had allowed the rogue into charming her in such a way was maddening, and she wondered how she could have been so foolish. How could the man speak of his fiancée with such high praise during dinner and then attempt to seduce a woman he had only recently met? Title or no, he was not a gentleman, of that she was certain.

  When she arrived at her cabin—a tiny room with only a bunk and a fitted bureau that held a basin for washing—she pushed the door closed and plopped herself onto the hard bed. A hot tear escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek. She determined to never leave her home again for, after all that had befallen her during her stay in Calais, this last bit of foolishness was all she could ever handle for one lifetime.

  Chapter Four

  Matthew found it difficult to sleep that night. His thoughts continuously turned to the lovely young woman who was his passenger, and he wondered how he could have ever allowed such a travesty to take place on his own ship. When Miss Browning had left his side, Matthew had glanced about to see if anyone had seen their near-kiss and was relieved that the only sounds he heard were those of the men working the rigging on the other side of the deck. If any of them had seen anything, they had enough sense to keep such information to themselves—or he at least hoped they did—but the episode still had not sat right with him.

  Now, rising from his bed with gritty eyes from lack of sleep, he splashed water on his face and looked at the warped reflection in the mirror. He had been told often that he was a handsome man, though he wondered at such description. Granted, he had the same strong jaw his father had as well as his mother’s coloring. Many people had remarked on what a handsome couple his parents made often enough; therefore, perhaps he had received the best features of both. However, his dark hair fell in waves, which had been a gift from his grandfather, for his parents had both had light hair. As a matter of fact, when his first wisps of hair had grown in, apparently his parents had chided one another that perhaps neither was his parent.

  Removing his coat from its peg, he donned and buttoned it, his hand tapping on the bulge in the inside pocket. With a sigh and one last look in the mirror to be sure his cravat was tied just so, he made his way out of the room. He had no time to dwell on the unknown, and the locket he carried in his breast pocket was most certainly a part of the unknown.

/>   The first item on his list of deeds to complete today was to speak to Miss Browning and apologize for what had taken place the night before after dinner and then to subsequently invite her to breakfast with him this morning. He had little hope that she would accept, but he could not imagine being on The Topaz with the woman for two more days and not spending more time with her, for he had found their time together thus far to be more than a bit enjoyable, even if he had botched up everything afterward.

  The door opened marginally to Matthew’s knock, and Miss Browning peeked through the small opening. “Good morning, My Lord,” she said, those soft brown eyes almost hidden beneath her eyelashes as she looked up at him, sending a burst of nervousness through him.

  “Good morning, Miss Browning,” he said as he tucked away as much anxiety as he could. “I wanted to ask if you would be interested in having breakfast with me. I can have George see to having the cook whip us up some pickled herring and fruit, as well as a pot of tea or coffee, whichever you prefer.”

  She shook her head. “Thank you, but no.”

  “And what of dinner? I would like the chance to apologize for my despicable behavior last night.”

  “There is no need to apologize,” came her reply. “And again, I thank you for your invitation, but I believe I will take my meals in my cabin for the remainder of the voyage.”

  She moved to close the door, but Matthew stopped her. “Please, I do apologize for my forwardness, truly.”

  “And I have accepted your apology,” she said firmly. “Now, if you please, remove your foot from my door. I have a few things I need to finish before we dock in Portland. Good day to you.”

  Matthew did as she bade, and he heard the click of the lock inside. He stared at the closed door for a few moments as if unsure if he should stand there until she came out or if he simply should leave her be. In the end, he decided it would be best if he left her to her own devices.