Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
“And to our glorious Regent, God save the Prince!”
Echoing cries of ‘God save the Prince’ and ‘Love live our Regent’ resounded around the dining room, and then silence as everyone drank heartily from their glasses. The captain was the first to finish, and he cheered, spittle flying from his lips, those at the table joining with him.
But Samuel did not cry out in laughter, or bang the table with his fist. He had barely drunk the smallest amount of wine throughout the toasts, and now as warm and gentle chatter rose up along the table, he did not partake in it.
He had met the Regent, met him several times, and he did not consider him worthy enough to receive these people’s toasts, no matter how low born they were.
The room swayed slightly with the wind, candle flames flickering as the ship continued onwards on their journey.
“ – just a week,” the captain was saying to a gentleman on his right. “‘Tis usually a very easy journey, ours, which is one of the reasons why I take it!”
The two of them guffawed, and Samuel sighed, toying with the food that was cold now on his plate. He was used to better fare, and none of this cheap red wine which was sloshed into glasses up and down the table, but this was not the place to make a scene of it.
One week. Just one week to bear with this rabble, and he would be free: free of them, free of the injustice he had been thrust into, free to make a new life in France.
He could spend most of that time in his cabin, avoiding the company of others, and he had intended to do just that this evening, but he had received an invitation to the captain’s table on the first night of their journey and who was he to refuse?
Samuel snorted. The captain’s table. There was but one table! Every passenger of any breeding or class had been invited to the captain’s table, but there had been no possibility of absenting himself from the ridiculous charade once it had been begun.
Conversation was rising now in volume as those speaking competed with others to ensure that their voice was heard. He glanced around, sizing them up and deciding with each one that it was not possible that they could be a Peeler in disguise – and then his eyes fell upon a familiar face.
It was the young woman from before, the one who had been waiting with the elderly woman – yes, there she was, beside her. Unlike most of the guests at the table, the young woman was not speaking, but she appeared to be putting up with a constant tirade from her mistress.
“This food is far too salty,” she was complaining in a hissed undertone which was nonetheless carrying down the table. “What was the cook thinking? Did he just boil this meat in seawater? Pass me the pepper, girl – no, the pepper, why in God’s name do you think that I would like more salt?”
Samuel could see by the movement of the girl’s lips – and it was surely unfair to call her a girl, she was too old for that – that she had attempted to apologise.
“The best apology you could give me, girl, is to pass me the pepper! Ah, what does it matter anyway, for if I do not die of starvation it will be a chill. I still do not understand why you did not bring a shawl out for me, and in September too! I will never understand your lack of thought and sympathy.”
Samuel watched, fascinated, as the young woman tried to speak but she was immediately interrupted by further complaints.
“That captain,” and now the elderly woman was pointing at the captain with a carrot on the end of her fork, “must have no inkling of who I am, or I should not have been placed so disgracefully near the middle of the table. It will do for you, girl, for you have little conversation and so do not add to any company, but I should be much higher up.”
The young lady allowed these complaints and criticisms to wash over her, and Samuel stared, bemused, as she picked at her own food as he did, never once looking up, never acting, in truth, as though she was even listening to her mistress.
“And what will you do in the South of France, my dear Miss Berry?”
She started as the captain smiled at her, eyes now flashing with fear that Samuel could not quite understand. She appeared so startled, so surprised to be addressed directly and without a shout, complaint, or criticism, that she flushed pink.
It was such an unusual response that the entire table fell silent, watching her, waiting for her response. Samuel felt a strange pull towards her, and if he had been seated beside her he would have spoken up, drawn the attention of the room away from her.
But as it was, he was fascinated to see how she would respond.
“M-Me?” She stammered, and looked helplessly at her mistress who smirked at her discomfort. “I-I and – I mean, my Great Aunt Sabrina and I, we…we will b-be traveling, and…”
Her voice trailed off miserably, and the captain, clearly realising how unwilling she was to be the centre of attention, smiled at her and turned his attention to another.
“And you, young Mr Thring, what about you?”
Every eye turned to Mr Thring to see his response; all save Samuel. His eyes had remained on the young Miss Berry. For the first time he was looking at her carefully, and it was only now that he realised that what he had mistaken for plain looks was merely plain dress.
Miss Berry was quite beautiful. Dowdy, perhaps, with a light brown gown of last decade’s fashion, with no attention to her hair and just a single pair of diamond – or what passed for diamond – earrings, but the more you looked, the more you saw.
She sat elegantly, with a poise often desired by the daughters of dukes. She had bright sparkling blue eyes, and her hair, though undressed and uncared for, was richly coloured, a chestnut brown. There was a slope to her neck that whispered at delightful things further down, and –
Those blue eyes lifted and her cheeks coloured once more at his gaze. Samuel smiled at her, almost instinctively, and the light pink darkened to a deep red.
He almost laughed. Glorious as it was to have this effect on young ladies, she was the only one on board and if he had been…well, himself, the Earl of Kincardine would have had great enjoyment in wooing and courting her, even under the eye of her mistress.
And then the most marvellous, most ridiculous, and most ingenious idea struck him. His jaw actually dropped with the thought of it, and Miss Berry looked away in puzzled embarrassment and confusion.
Mr Brown was a fair disguise for a week on a ship, but it would not do for long once he arrived in France – but Mr and Mrs Brown?
Would not having a wife give him the perfect disguise?
After all, the Peelers, the newspapers, English society all were looking for a single, handsome man in his prime. But a married man? By no means.
By the time that they arrived in the South of France, the Peelers would not be able to track him down. How could they?
A wife. A wife would give him respectability, the chance to fade into the background. Who looks at a married man with any degree of curiosity, especially not a Mr Brown with a dowdy wife.
No one would suspect that a Mr Brown with a nondescript and servile wife could possibly be the commanding and wildly-tempered Earl of Kincardine.
Why should he not court someone like Miss Berry, obviously biddable, who would undoubtedly relish the chance to get away from that henpecking woman she served?
A gentleman made a joke further up the table and everyone laughed, including Miss Berry, and it were as though she had suddenly stepped out of the darkness and into the light. She blossomed, she came alive, and her beauty was astonishing.
Samuel actually found his breath caught in his throat, and what’s more, a part of him a little more southern than his throat jerked into action. Now that Miss Berry he could certainly wed and bed.
It was decided then. The Earl of Kincardine, wealthy, handsome, charming as he was, was going to court and wed the drab and insignificant Miss Berry.
Margaret could feel the handsome man’s eyes on her as she laughed, but she did her best to ignore him.
It was not very different from ignoring all the other things that had irritated or upset her at that meal; the constant barrage from her Great Aunt, the question from the captain that had forced all eyes on her.
“Do you want that?” Her Great Aunt did not wait for an answer before picking up the choicest bit of beef from Margaret’s plate and transferring it to her own.
Margaret raised her eyes to the ceiling, and noticed a few spiders lurking just in the shadows. She took a deep breath, and then lowered her gaze back to her plate and said nothing.
Conversation rattled on around her, but the gentleman who was watching her did not partake in it. He seemed far more interested in her, and Margaret could feel the familiar flush staining her cheeks at the very thought of it.
What could he want with her? Why was he watching her so closely? Was there something amiss with her dress? Could there be a piece of sauce on her cheek, embarrassing her when she did not even realise?
“You seem to have an admirer.” The gentleman sitting to her right murmured quietly, and chuckled as she blushed deeply. “Nay, ‘tis nothing to be ashamed of, my dear.”
Margaret’s eyelashes flickered upwards as she looked briefly at the gentleman beside her. He was old, old enough to be her father, but his smile was not predatory, and she allowed herself to return it nervously.
“I-I do not know why,” she said honestly, hating that her stammer always appeared when most nervous, most desirous of not catching people’s attention. “I do n-not even know his n-name.”
“I have not spoken to him myself,” the gentleman said quietly, “but I believe that he introduced himself to the captain as Mr Samuel Brown.”
Samuel Brown. Samuel Brown. Margaret shook her head. “I do not recall the name.”
The gentleman chuckled again. “I do not think that it much matters whether you recall him. He is certainly interested in you.”