Stranded With The Marquess (Regency Stories Book 1) Page 8
Feeling overwhelmed with thanks, Amelia rose and took the old weathered hand in hers. “George, you are the bravest man I have ever known.” She leaned in and kissed the rugged check lined with stubble, making the man grin so wide it almost cut his face in half.
“Thanks, Miss. That means a lot coming from a lady such as yerself.” He reached down and pulled out yet another bottle—this one she suspected was whiskey—and singing a song she had never heard before, he walked away, heading toward what looked like the eastern side of the island.
Twas on a sweet May morning,
When violets were a-springing,
The dew the meads adorning,
The larks melodious singing,
The rose trees, by each breeze,
Were gently wafted up and down,
And the primrose that then blows,
Bespangled nature’s verdant gown.
The purling rill, the murmuring stream,
Stole gently through the lofty grove.
Such was the time when Darby stole
Out to meet his barefoot love.
Sweet Una was the tightest,
Genteelest of the village dames;
Her eyes they were the brightest,
That e’er set heart in flames.
Her lover, to move her,
By every art in vain essayed,
In ditty, for pity,
This lovely maid he often prayed.
As Amelia watched the man disappear from sight, her mind reviewed all that had occurred over the last week. Of all the things that had happened, their only hope of getting off the island had just walked away with a bottle of whiskey and a song escaping his lips. Yes, there were plenty of reasons to worry, and she could look upon her luck as of late with disdain.
Yet, when she thought on it more, she could not help but giggle. All that had transpired from when she and Patricia first arrived in Calais until the moment the ship sank all seemed so ridiculous. How could so many things happen to a single person in such a short amount of time? Was there no maximum allowance with a particular time limit? Or perhaps there needed to be a way to measure the severity of different events so that they could be calculated and weighed. That way, when a person had reached his or her maximum ability to cope, he or she would then be allowed a reprieve from further tragedies. Of course, the more she thought on it, the more ridiculous her thoughts became, and soon her giggles turned into laughter. All that time wasted worrying about Matthew’s antics on deck on that first day paled in comparison and would be weighted very lightly indeed.
“Whatever do you find so humorous?” Matthew asked with bewilderment etching his handsome features.
“You, me, arguing,” Amelia said between guffaws as tears ran down her face. She felt that perhaps she would go into fits anytime soon, but she did not care. It was all just mad. “You have no shirt, I am in my shift, and our survival lies with an old captain prone to tall tales and heavy drinking. Imagine our parents, your peers, anyone with any bit of sense if they saw us now!” She raised her arms as if giving into the madness.
For a moment, Matthew stared at her with brows scrunched but it did not take long before he pulled his head back and let out a boisterous laugh to join in with hers.
Even with the seriousness of the situation, the joyous sounds of their laughter pleased Amelia’s heart immensely, and for the first time since she had awoken on that beach, she began to relax. Even if it would be more than likely short-lived.
Chapter Nine
Amelia watched Matthew as he disappeared into the forest for the fourth time in search of branches and whatever he could find to construct some sort of shelter. Amelia had made an attempt to help, but the man was adamant that she remained on the beach.
“We do not know what type of animals live beyond the forest edges,” he had argued. “Until we are certain that it is safe, you will stay here. If you want to help, find enough large stones to build a fire ring.”
Amelia had sighed heavily, but she knew he was right. She would have no idea what to do if they came across some strange and ferocious animal and would probably end up dead for her stubbornness. Yet, even as she considered this, she wondered how any animals besides birds and those who swam in the water could have reached the island in the first place. She did not mention this to Matthew, however, for he was much too intent on the task at hand.
Matthew reappeared with another bundle of limbs, sticks, and other tree parts and dropped them into the existing pile from his previous treks. Amelia found her breath catching in her throat when she observed his chest and arm muscles working. The man was well-formed, that much she had to admit. However, the thought of the fact she had taken notice of such a thing made her look away.
“I would say it is close to two o’clock,” he said as he glanced up at the sky, one hand shading his eyes from a dull sun that fought the oncoming clouds to keep its place in the sky.
“And what of George?” Amelia asked, mimicking his stance, hoping to also see a passing ship or even a fishing boat that would rescue them and take her off this island. Although she enjoyed this strange time alone with a man who could never be hers, she also worried they would never make it home.
“He will return when he returns, I suppose,” was Matthew’s reply. “And do not worry. I will have a home built for us by sundown.” He rubbed his hands in an attempt to rid them of the dirt they had acquired during his collection of building materials, but it did little and he soon gave up.
“I have gone over our provisions,” Amelia said in an attempt to not only keep her eyes from staring at him in a most improper fashion, but also to demonstrate that she was of use. The fire ring had been long built and a small mound of kindling was already set up inside it as well as a collection of small logs to add when they needed to fuel the fire for cooking or warming themselves. She showed him the salted meat and various types of fruits that were in the bags. “We have enough to last us perhaps four days, that is, if we eat small portions.” She rose and made an attempt to smooth out her shift; however, the action did little to make herself presentable. It had taken her more than an hour to build up the nerve to remove the coat he had given her, the heat of the sun finally winning over her desire for propriety.
“Not to worry,” Matthew said as he gazed out over the sea before him, hands now planted on his hips. “Tomorrow we shall dine on fresh fish.”
Amelia gave him a perplexed look. “How will you catch them?” she asked. “We have no nets.”
He gave her a wide, confident smile. “I have read books about people who can hunt fish with spears. I will sharpen the tip of one of the branches I found, and I will go out into the water and spear some fish. It may not be herring, but tomorrow morning we will have our first feast of fish.”
Amelia could not help but smile. How lucky she was to have a man with such skills with her. She, herself, could not imagine creating such a tool and then going out into the waves and, as he put it, hunt fish. “I look forward to such grand fare,” she said before glancing at the pile of branches. “Should I begin constructing our new home?”
His laugh irritated her. She did not believe she could catch fish, by net or spear, but certainly she could construct a simple hut. “You will do no such thing,” he said, still amused that she would even consider it. “That is the duty of the man. Such a task would be far too complicated for a woman.” The arrogant smile he wore only bristled her that much more, for it only made his words sting all the more. Why was it men believed women incapable of tasks men could perform? Granted, she was not nearly as strong as he, but she certainly could construct a simple shelter to keep them dry.
His choice of words pushed her previous thoughts of luck away. “Well, perhaps I should remain here and watch over the children and finish my embroidery,” she whispered through gritted teeth as she sat back down on the log George had brought her earlier.
From one of the bags she produced one of the canteens of water. Watching as he licked his lips
in expectation, she pulled out the stopper and took a long, healthy drink. A pleasured sigh escaped her lips as she closed her eyes, giving the impression that the water had been more refreshing than it had been—in all reality, it was tepid at best. Then she opened her eyes and gave him an innocent look. “Oh, my apologies. Did you want some?” She handed him the container, and he took it eagerly while she hid a smile. Perhaps she was being a bit childish but it was nothing worse than he was acting at the moment. If they were to survive in this unknown land, both of them would need to do their part. He alone could not do everything simply because he was a man.
He returned the canteen to her, oblivious to the point she had tried to make, and said, “Right. Time to construct this home of ours.”
Amelia brought up her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs as she watched Matthew lift two long branches and attempt to lean them against one another. Though he had irritated her only moments before, watching the muscles in his broad back constrict and swell was quite enjoyable.
A few choice words tumbled from his lips when the branches toppled over, and Amelia could not help but giggle.
“I was merely testing their soundness,” he said, his attempt to veil his frustration thin. He repeated the process, and once again, the limbs fell.
“Matthew, I would be more than happy to help if you would allow me to.”
He turned and shook his head. “There will be no need.” The attempt to keep his tone amused was shrouded by his building frustration as he continued his work. With each attempt, or rather with each failure, his mumbling grew and he would look over at the darkening sky with contempt as the storm moved closer.
Amelia watched with interest at first, but then boredom set in as his endeavors collapsed time and time again. If he wished to make a fool of himself in order to keep his place in their tiny hierarchy, then so be it. She would use her time for something more constructive—such as finding those things she would need to cook whatever he happened to catch the following day.
***
Amelia had never received any training on the ways of designing any sort of building—architecture held little interest to her—but even so, somehow she knew that the structure that Matthew presented to her would never endure the winds that would likely rise with the new storm that was heading their way.
“There we are,” he said with a nervous grin. “Our new home.”
She smiled. It was an odd expression, both of them referring to the shelter as their home as if they were building a house in which they would reside forever. The idea that they would be sharing a home together, however, brought on a strange tingling to her body. “A fine structure indeed,” she said, though she made every attempt to hide her skepticism. She walked around the shelter, the frame somewhere between a square and a dome. It was large enough for two people to lay side by side if they crawled through the low door and stooped once inside. Even she, with her shorter stature, could not stand erect, but she doubted they would spend much time standing inside it. It was meant to shelter them from any harsh weather that came their way and to have a place where they could sleep during the night. The rest of the time would be spent on the beach, anyway.
“It seems a bit…confined,” she said. What she wished to say was that to lay beside him would be most inappropriate, but she could not voice such words after he had put so much effort into its construction.
As if realizing the issue, he leaned over and picked up the coat that Amelia had discarded earlier. Then he crawled through the small opening of the shelter and hung the coat lengthwise to create a makeshift wall. “There we are. Privacy for us both.” He grinned at her much like a proud child who awaited great praise from his mother for one of his artistic creations. “Please, tell me. Is it what you thought it would be?”
Amelia knew through experience that there were times when skirting the truth was the better choice, albeit not always the more moral, thus she replied, “It exceeds my expectations. Truly, it is a magnificent construction.” Then a pang of guilt hit her, so she added, “I do find that it is what I thought it would be.” She almost giggled, but held it back. There was no sense in offending the poor man.
Her words seemed to please him for his smile widened. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and they turned to look out over the waters. The storm was nearing, and Amelia made an attempt to gauge the distance. She assumed they had perhaps an hour before the storm hit.
“Now that I have done my work for the day,” Matthew said with no little arrogance, “you may prepare my dinner.” He went and sat beside the fire Amelia had built in the circle of stones, feeding it another small branch, and then looked up at her expectantly.
Perhaps it was the frustration of the situation in which she found herself, or maybe it was the way he spoke to her with that infuriatingly assumptive tone, but either way, what she wished to do was pummel him about the head with one of the branches he had so painstakingly dragged from the forest.
“Of course, my dear,” she said in the best overly-sweet tone she could muster. “Coming right up, my dear.” She opened one of the sacks George had brought and produced a ration of dried meat and a shriveled apple. Then she walked over and held them out to him. Ignoring his words of thanks, she returned to retrieve the same for herself as well as one of the bottles of wine for them to share with their meal. There was no reason they should consume all the drinking water they had, and wine sounded a wonderful alternative.
They had no glasses or cups from which to drink, so she removed the cork and took a long drink from the bottle itself. It was an awkward manner in which to drink wine and required her to use both hands to lift the bottom of the bottle into the air, but despite the unconventional form, she found the taste to be as flavorful as if she had drunk it from a wine glass. Her hope was that it would help her hold her tongue until George returned, for if the man who sat across from her continued with his dictatorial manner, she was afraid she would give him a tongue-lashing he would never forget.
“It is odd,” Matthew said as he absently stared at the salted meat. “We have endured a shipwreck and find ourselves stranded on a possibly uninhabited island. However, although everything in me says to worry, I find myself strangely at peace.” He took a bite of the apple and grimaced. “Sour.” After offering her the bitten fruit and she refused it, he tossed it aside.
She glared at him and then the discarded apple, but said nothing. That apple might become the only bit of food they had if his hunting for fish was unsuccessful the following day.
They finished their makeshift meal in relative silence, the only sound the waves washing up onto the sandy beach and the crackling of the fire between them.
Matthew wiped his hands on his breeches and clapped his hands together. “If it was not for the quick thinking of Gorge,” he continued, “we might have starved to death.”
“There is still the chance of you spearing a few fish,” Amelia replied before taking another swig of the wine. Whether it the wine or the quietude that surrounded that was the cause of her sudden amicability, she found it easier to have faith that Matthew would find a way to feed them. Gone was all worry as she passed the bottle back to Matthew, and his smile warmed her heart. He truly was a dapper man, even without a shirt, or especially without a shirt—this thought made her giggle—and she was finding his company much more enjoyable for the first time since they arrived.
Then she shook her head. Perhaps she should not have any more wine. One reason was that it was making her a bit lightheaded. Another was that it was not fair to encourage the man too much, not with his impending marriage. She found herself reminding herself of this as often as she could to keep herself from making a huge mistake by becoming losing her heart to him. Regardless, she did feel that same placidity Matthew had mentioned, and the wind blowing Matthew’s hair about only made that much more appealing. What a debacle she had made of her journey home.
Matthew took another chunk of the salted meat from the bag and walked over
to sit beside Amelia. He took the bottle of wine from her and took a drink. “Yes, fish will be a much better meal choice,” he said with a broad grin.
She glanced out over the rolling waves. “I agree that there is a certain peace in this place,” she said. “The child inside me wants me to stay here for a long time.” She leaned her elbows on her knees and placed her head in her hands. “I can imagine waking every morning to this view, not a care in the world beyond how to gather food and how to stay warm. It would be a wondrous way to live one’s life, would it not?”
She glanced over at him when he did not respond immediately. His smile was gone, replaced by a seriousness that startled her. “I could stay here for years,” he said, “if I could be here with you.” Amelia thought her heart would bound out of her chest and her body gathered heat into the pit of her stomach as he continued. “Though I am sure Harold would worry for you and would hope for your speedy return.”
It was as if she had been tossed into a mountain creek that caused the warm feeling to disappear, replaced by a chill as the aversion at marrying Mr. Harold Crandleton crept back into her consciousness. She grabbed the bottle, took another gulp, and pondered the chance that help may never arrive. And with that happy thought, she drank once more of the red liquid, somehow hoping to remain here with this man for a very long time, thus keeping her away from the man who wanted her hand in marriage.
Chapter Ten
As expected, the storm came in, and Amelia found herself lying beneath the makeshift shelter—her head spinning slightly from partaking in more wine than she had initially intended—waiting for the ceiling to either collapse upon her or for the rain to drip in through the branches. However, the branches held—though they did shift slightly in the wind—and not a single drop of rain made its way through. How Matthew had succeeded in creating such a structure, Amelia did not know, but she was impressed. And a bit surprised. Matthew was most certainly a smart and successful businessman, but he did not seem the type to possess the primitive skills one would need to construct something like this.