The Scandal of the Deceived Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Read online

  “What’s so amusing, Father?” she asked, not really wanting to.

  “Oh, it’s not that it is amusing. It is sweet…the Duke of Brandon said that he wouldn’t ever place his future daughter-in-law in harm’s way, hence the frigate at your disposal, Amelia. What an honor.”

  This was going nowhere. Amelia would just have to resign herself to her impending fate and pray for the best. Maybe Anna was right after all, and this was the beginning of a fabulous adventure.

  Chapter 5

  Black Joe

  Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, December 1813

  “Well, ‘tis our twentieth day at sea, Anna,” said Amelia, gazing over the infinite twinkling expanse of the ocean before her.

  The sky was blue and there was not a cloud in sight. The captain of the vessel had said this was very rare at this time of year. Usually, storms would ravage the ocean into a frenzy of angry waves. But that had not been the case. For the duration of the entire voyage, there had been calm seas and favorable winds, propelling Amelia closer to her fate at a far greater speed than was normal. It was as if God had already made up his mind – she was to be the next Duchess of Brandon.

  To her great surprise, she had come to enjoy sea travel. Unlike poor Anna, she had not suffered from seasickness. Her lady’s maid had been confined to her bunk for days on end since leaving England. Only when land was a distant memory, had she slowly become accustomed to life on board ship.

  Presently, Anna enjoyed it as much as her mistress did. There had been ample time for them to talk, play cards and blush incessantly because of the sailors’ lewd remarks that were hurled at them on a daily basis. Anna enjoyed it a lot more than her mistress did who hardly received any propositions because of her station. Anna no longer felt like a servant, but more like a companion or even a friend to Amelia maybe.

  “And, Anna, is this where your dream comes to fruition?” asked Amelia with a smirk on her face.

  “It could be. There are plenty of fine men on board the HMS Capricorn.” Anna batted an eyelid at one of her most ardent admirers – Cory Bennett, an able seaman, was the one to whom she directed her attention.

  “Oh, do stop it, Anna. One might think you’ve been locked up in a nunnery for your entire life,” chided Amelia.

  “I have. Working for your parents is just the same. I haven’t come close to a man other than the servants in your house.” She turned away from the sailor. “This is paradise on earth. So, many strong men who all appreciate me.”

  Amelia giggled. “You know just as well as I do what these men appreciate…and it’s not holding hands while going for a stroll in the park.”

  “Who’d want to do that anyway?” Anna shrugged.

  Amelia burst out laughing. “You are incorrigible, Anna.”

  Her lady’s maid became serious. “What about Captain Henry Wimple? He thinks yer the diamond of the first water, that’s for sure.”

  “He is handsome.”

  Amelia hazarded a brief glimpse of where he stood on the bridge. She had to admit that he looked impressive in his blue frock coat with gold-laced buttons and white trousers with gold lacing. He had a kind face and an even kinder manner when it came to his crew. This was a rarity because Royal Navy captains were either benevolent despots or vicious tyrants.

  However, he still was strict and meticulous. A fact that was evident from the cleanliness of the main and lower decks. Amelia often wondered why so many people described naval life as the same as a floating jail sentence. On board the Capricorn, the men seemed happy.

  She had asked the captain about this one evening, and he had explained that in the navy, men received ample food, grog and a purpose in life. He had mentioned that this stood in direct contrast to life as a poor man in England where everything lacked. Amelia had smiled when he had said, “Once the sea becomes your mistress, there is no other woman who can outshine her.”

  “Aye, then it’s Henry for ye and Cory for me.” Anna grinned, alluding to her chosen men for the both of them. Her Scottish accent had become far more pronounced since leaving England. The sea had given her free spirit and the thirst for more.

  Amelia giggled again. “Anna, I don’t think it’s as easy as all that. And besides, Captain Wimple is married to the sea.” She moved closer to Anna in case someone might hear her. “Do you know what we spoke of last night during dinner with the other senior officers?”

  “I ave no idea, Amelia.” This was another development. When no one was around or close by, Amelia insisted Anna address her with her given name.

  “I now know the ins and outs of the Royal Navy better than anyone. There are currently over six hundred and sixty ships with fourteen thousand cannons and over one hundred thousand men in the navy. It’s the largest fleet in the world.” She pointed up to the mizzen top. “Those men up there are referred to as able seaman because they are the only ones allowed up that one-hundred-foot mast. They constitute less than twenty percent of the crew. The rest being marines and landlubbers as the sailors refer to them.”

  “Well, that sounds like a most romantic evening.”

  Amelia chuckled. “Not really. The ship we are on is a frigate, also called a 38-gun ship, but she actually has 50 guns.”

  “Why would they call it a 38-gun ship then?” asked Anna, confused.

  “I have no clue.”

  The two women laughed. “What else did the captain say?” asked Anna who was veritably intrigued. She wanted to be able to impress Cory later when they had the chance for a chat.

  “Well, the strangest thing is that contrary to what we’ve been told, some women are allowed on board ship. And I don’t just mean passengers like us, but women amongst the crew. In some cases, they sneak aboard and behave like men. Or in others, they are commissioned to act as assistant cooks or as laundry maids.”

  “This is something. There’s hope for me yet,” said Anna, sneaking another look at Cory who by now was busy scrubbing the deck further down the length of the vessel.

  Amelia’s face adopted a more serious mien. “This can’t be it, Anna. I mean you did say in your dream that we wouldn’t reach our final port of call. We are only a few days out, a week at the most…and then…I am within that man’s reach.”

  Anna contemplated for a heartbeat. “Have faith, Amelia. Love always finds ways to bring those people together that belong. It is the way of the universe.”

  “I still don’t see how love can work its magic thousands of leagues from land. We are still very much at sea.”

  “AHOY, SHIP TO STARBOARD!”

  Upon hearing the lookout, both Anna and Amelia leaned over the bulwark and turned their heads to the right as far as possible in the direction of the ship’s bow. They couldn’t see a thing. Only the waves as they slapped against the bow and the side of the ship as she gradually picked up speed.

  “CAN YOU MAKE OUT HER COLORS?” yelled the third lieutenant from the bridge to the men aloft in the masts.

  “She must be English. Our fleet has the entire American coast cordoned off. The war is confined to the land,” said Amelia with confidence.

  “SHE’S AMERICAN, SIR,” yelled the man from up top, contradicting her words.

  Amelia felt a shiver slide down her spine. Anna just looked at the activity on board the HMS Capricorn with concerned eyes.

  “BRING HER TO PORTSIDE,” ordered the captain. Caruthers, wait for my command to beat to quarters – let’s see what she’s going to do first,” he said somewhat more quietly, addressing his first lieutenant who stood next to him.

  Amelia and Anna froze on the spot. This was it. They were going to see action at sea. The notion was both exciting and dreadful. Not so much so for Amelia whose knowledge about naval life was limited to what the captain had told her.

  Anna had received a far more brutal instruction, which included anecdotes from a veteran able seaman who had partaken in the Battle of Trafalgar – the famous naval clash between the French and Spanish allies against the British fleet in
1805; the British victory had been Lord Nelson’s finest hour and his elevation into the annals of history. However, the battle had also cost him his life. The great admiral perished on board of his flagship, HMS Victory.

  “Can you see the other boat?” asked Amelia.

  “It’s a ship.” Anna did not look at her mistress. Her eyes that had swiveled away from the deck were glued to the horizon again.

  “There’s no need for that…can you see it…the enemy ship?” she hissed, feeling the nerves claim her body. She had never felt more apprehensive in her life.

  “There,” cried Anna.

  The man in the mizzen top confirmed her sighting. “SHE’S COMING ABOUT!”

  “What’s that mean?” Amelia’s mind was a cauldron of incomprehension.

  “She’s changing tack to better claim the wind for the direction she’ll be taking,” said Anna.

  Amelia thought of asking Anna how she knew all of this, but the sight of the enemy ship that was obviously larger than the one she was on, made her swallow the words. All she could do was watch on in horror as the vessel came bearing down on them.

  It was an elegant ship with meticulous lines. She glided over the water like the dorsal fin of a shark. The hull was black with a thick white segment where one line of gun ports resided. Below that, there were more guns. Her sails were pregnant with the wind, propelling the vessel forward at an astounding speed.

  “BEAT TO QUARTERS!” yelled one of the midshipmen after Captain Wimple had given the go-ahead.

  The order to prepare for battle induced even more activity on board the HMS Capricorn. Men ran hither and thither, completing their tasks of readying the ship. The marines came up from below deck in their red uniforms and armed with muskets. They would provide enfilading fire on the enemy as the cannons shot.

  Nearly all of the sailors moved about at the behest of the officers and midshipmen. The entire vessel was a beehive of industry. The gunners (a crew of twelve per gun) took up their positions by the cannons as ordered. The deck was swabbed over with water to prevent fire and the men up in the masts did the same with the sails. Barrels and other equipment were fastened into place as if a storm was on the horizon.

  “RAISE THE GUN PORTS!”

  Amelia gulped when she heard the familiar voice belonging to the first lieutenant. Just when she thought the two ships would align, the American ship changed tack to portside and slipped in the other direction in an attempt to cross the British ship’s bow. By God, this man knows what he is doing, thought Amelia, admiring the American captain’s skill and audacity. She did not know much about sailing, but the maneuver intrigued her nonetheless.

  “Oi, ladies, what are ye still doing out here? Come along, the deck of a ship about to engage the enemy is not the place for ladies.”

  It was Simon Biddle the friendly master’s mate, a petty officer with extensive nautical experience and in charge of the ship’s supplies and seafaring capabilities. He had noticed Anna and Amelia by chance as he was completing a final run of the ship’s readiness.

  “Come along aft to yer cabins; tis the safest place.” Biddle broached no room for argument as he somewhat too roughly urged the ladies to the back of the ship where the cabins were located.

  “What’s going to happen now, Simon?” asked Anna.

  “We’re going to engage the enemy…I can’t for the life of me understand what an American frigate is doing this far north. We was told that they were all bottled up in port or captured.” He shuddered.

  Amelia saw the gesture as she worked her way down the steep stairway to the cabins. “What…what?”

  “It’s gotta be ‘Black Joe’,” vented Biddle.

  “Who is ‘Black Joe’?” asked both women in unison, as they exchanged nervous glances.

  “The scourge of the Atlantic. They says that he is like a ghost, appearing out of nowhere and then he is upon ye. We had blue skies and perfect vision, but he still appeared like the ghosts of his parents.” The color on Biddle’s face was as white as a sheet. He hastily pushed the two women into Amelia’s cabin that had been kindly placed at her disposal by the second lieutenant.

  “The ghosts of his parents?” Amelia frowned.

  “Yes, they were killed during the War of Independence by a ruthless English colonel who massacred the inhabitants of entire farms. He is here for revenge.”

  With those words, he darted down the gangway and mounted the steps to the deck. When he disappeared, the first cannon sounded. Amelia and Anna screamed when they felt the frame of the HMS Capricorn shudder.

  Chapter 6

  A Twist of Fate

  The cacophony of the belching cannons had only recently come to an end. Amelia and Anna could smell the acrid stench of smoke eddying toward them from up above and beyond the shattered partition that separated the officer’s section from that of the main body of the ship.

  The sound of muskets being fired raged on. There were shouts, screams and the clash of metal objects against one another. Anna reached out to hold Amelia’s hand. As if reading one another’s minds, they both took a few steps back into the far reaches of the small cabin until their backs touched the wooden planking.

  “What are we going to do?” asked Anna, her teeth chattering with fear.

  Amelia reluctantly turned her head away from the open doorway, leading to the gangway and looked her friend in the eye. “Captain Wimple will protect us,” she said without conviction.

  “Against a ghost…how?”

  “I don’t know; he just will.” Amelia thought a moment as the noises up above them became more powerful. The sound of hundreds of feet on the deck resounded like the charge of a herd of bulls. There were more cries of anguish interspersed with the feral shouts of those men still in combat.

  “You see, it sounds like we are winning,” said Amelia, feeling a little more confident.

  “How can ye tell?”

  Amelia shrugged. She thought of something to calm herself and her friend. Talking, yes that’s it. Talking always takes the mind off things. “This seems very much like what you dreamt, Anna?”

  “I had a dream and not a nightmare and this is a bleedin’ nightmare…what if the ship sinks and we are still on it? I can’t even swim, Amelia.”

  Anna was becoming hysterical. Amelia had to do something. “Come, Anna, let’s lie down on the bunk and close our eyes.”

  Anna took her time to make up her mind. At last, she nodded and let herself be guided. When they lay down, Amelia started to pray. “Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, O Lord; and by thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night; for the love of thy only Son, our Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.”

  The two women repeated the words again and again. Amelia did not know for how long they prayed together, holding each other as if they were lovers. She had no time to blame her mother and father; she had no time to think of Airey Templeton French. All of her senses and thoughts were for one thing only: would they survive.

  “Listen, it is over,” said Anna, wiggling out of Amelia’s embrace a little. “There’s hardly a sound.”

  Amelia listened hard. All she could hear was the usual creak of the timbers and the sound of the draft as it hissed down the gangway beyond. “You’re right…” What she wanted to say next stuck to her tongue like congealed fat to a skillet. “All that’s left is for us to find out who won.”

  As if in slow motion, Anna turned to face her. The expression on her face was one of abject fear “I never thought of that.”

  They remained in silence for what seemed like an eternity as they tried to hear something that might explain their predicament more clearly. Then came the sound of heavy footsteps. They came in their direction without faltering. A heavy-set figure marched past the doorway to their cabin.

  “He hasn’t seen us,” whispered Anna.

  “He could be English,” said Amelia. “Shall I go and have a look.” She in no way felt as brave as her words suggested. Anna shook her head vehe
mently and grabbed her more forcefully.

  They heard more footsteps. The onetime silence was replaced by a heightened sense of urgency. Shouts, curses and more shouts scudded down toward them from the deck up above. The two women exchanged glances. It would have been easier had the enemy been French or Spanish because then they would have been able to hear who was giving the orders. In this case, anything coherent that made its way down to their cabin was in English.

  “Well, well, well, what do we have ‘ere?”