Carla Kelly - A Regency Officer's Wedding

Sally stared after him. ‘This place is a lunatic asylum,’ she said, when Starkey closed the door.

‘Not quite, dear wife. You have a worse task ahead, one I won’t even bother to immortalise on paper. You must find me something useful to do.’

That will be a chore, she thought, as she removed her clothes that night in the privacy of her own bedroom. Starkey had made the bed at some point in the evening and lit a fire in the grate, which took away the chill of the rain that continued to fall.

Dinner had been sheer delight. On short notice, Etienne had prepared a wonderful onion soup and served it with homely pilot bread, a menu item she remembered well from the days when Andrew would bring home his work and pore over the Royal Navy victual list, as she sat knitting in their tidy bookroom.

She had felt shy at first with Charles, spending so much time in the company of a man she barely knew, but who was utterly engaging. Thinking to put her at ease, he started telling stories of life at sea—nothing designed to horrify her, but stories of travel to lands so far away she used to wonder if they were real, when she was a child. He told them with gusto, describing the purgatory of being a ‘young gentleman’, a thoroughly unexalted position below midshipman, when he was only ten.

She must have looked askance at such a rough life for a mere child, because he stopped and touched her hand. ‘Don’t worry. I will never send our children to sea so young.’

He had continued his narrative, probably not even aware of his inclusion of her in his life, and she knew better than to say anything. She found herself listening to him with all her heart, filled with the pleasure of something as simple as conversation. She realised she had been hungry for it, after years of tending old women who liked to retire with the chickens. A lady’s companion didn’t quite belong in the servants’ hall, and certainly not in the master’s sitting room. There had been too many nights spent in solitude, with too much time to miss her son and agonise over her husband’s ruin. This was different and she relished the admiral’s company.

He had said goodnight outside the door to her chamber. ‘I’m across the hall, if you need anything,’ he said, then turned smartly on his heel, looking every inch the commander, and probably not even aware of it.

You don’t know what else to be, do you? she thought, closing the door. As for what I need, it isn’t much, Admiral. When you are destitute, you quickly discover how much you don’t need, or you die.

She sat cross-legged on her bed, bouncing a little, pleased to feel the comfort of a mattress thicker than a bandage. She had hung on to the mirror-backed hairbrush Andrew had given her one Christmas, and applied it, after she had taken all the pins from her hair.

She turned over the brush and looked seriously at her face, noting the anxious eyes and thin cheeks, and wondering again why Admiral Bright had even paused to look at her in the dining room. All she could think was that the poor man was desperate for a wife, and when The Mouse didn’t materialise… Well, whatever the reason, she would do her best to smooth his passage on land.

She was in bed and thinking about pinching out the candle when he knocked.

‘Sophia, I forgot something. Stick your hand out the door.’

Mystified, she got up and opened the door a crack. ‘Why on earth…?’ she began.

He had taken off his coat, removed his neckcloth and unbuttoned his shirt; she could see the webbing of straps against his neck that bound his hook to his wrist. He held out a piece of string.

‘I’m determined to do something about that ring that you kept taking on and off during dinner. Did it end up in the soup?’

What a sweet man you are, she thought. ‘You know it didn’t! I can surely just wrap some cloth around it and keep it from slipping off,’ she said. ‘You needn’t…’

‘Mrs Bright, I won’t have my wife stuffing cloth in her ring. What would our unmet neighbours think? Besides, it was my choice for The Mouse. Somehow, it just isn’t you.’

She opened her mouth to protest, but he gently laid his finger across her lips. ‘Mrs Bright, I am not used to being crossed. Retired I may be, but I like my consequence. Hold out your ring finger like the good girl I know you are. Lively now.’

She did as he said. How could she not? He handed her a small stub of a pencil and draped the string across her finger.

‘I don’t have enough hands for this,’ he muttered. ‘Just wrap it around and mark the right length.’

Sally did, touched at his kindness. Their heads were close together, and she breathed in his pleasant scent of bay rum again. ‘There you are, sir.’ She handed him the marked string and the pencil.

He stepped back. She stayed where she was, her eyes on his brace. ‘May I undo that for you?’

‘Why not?’ he said, leaning down a little. ‘Do you see the hole in the leather? Just twist and pop out the metal knob. Ah. Perfect. I can do the rest, but it’s hard to grasp that little thing.’

‘That’s all?’ she asked.

‘Simple enough with two hands, eh? Oh, you can undo my cufflinks, too. This pair is particularly pesky.’

She handed him the cufflinks. ‘Goodnight, sir. Let me know if you need help in the morning.’

He smiled his thanks and went back to his room, closing the door quietly behind him.

She fell asleep easily after that, making it the first night in years she had not rehearsed in her mind all the anguish and humiliation of the past five years. ‘Trust a houseful of naughty cupids and vulgar statues to distract me,’ she murmured to herself. ‘Lord, I am shallow.’ The notion made her smile and she closed her eyes. ‘Pretty soon I will think I actually belong here.’

She woke hours later because she knew she was not alone in her room. She lay completely still, wondering, then turned over.

Staring at her from the other pillow was a face so wrinkled that her mouth dropped open. He was watching her and grinning, and there didn’t seem to be a tooth in his head. She tried to leap up, but he grasped her wrist and gave it a slobbery kiss.

‘It’s been a long year, missie,’ he said.

Sally screamed.

Retired though he was, Admiral Bright knew he was destined never to sleep at night with both ears at rest. Not even when he resided on his flagship, and had little role in the actual workings of it—leaving that to his captain—could he sleep calmly at night. No, it was worse then, because his command was an entire fleet and he held even more lives in his hands.

He was out of bed before his wife even finished the scream, looking about for something to help her, from what, he had not a clue. Nothing wrong with his reflexes. By the time she screamed again, he had found his cutlass in the dressing room. Frustrated with a missing hand, he shoved the cutlass under his arm and yanked open the door.

Simultaneously, her door opened, too. He heaved a quick sigh to see her on her feet, even though her eyes were wide with terror, and something more. She threw herself into his arms and the cutlass clattered to the floor. She was awfully easy to grasp and hold on to, much as he already was beginning to suspect she would be.

‘What in God’s name…?’ he began. He tried to pick up the cutlass, but she wouldn’t turn him loose. He patted her. She felt sound of limb, so he left the cutlass where it lay, and held her close, not minding a bit.

She burrowed in closer, babbling something that sounded like words; her brogue didn’t help. He put his hand on her chin and gave her a little shake, which brought her up short.

‘Hey, now. Slow down. You’re all right.’