Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Not for the first time, Samuel lay awake in his bed, examining the ceiling as daylight started to stream through the window and inform him that he had not slept a wink for an entire night.
He sighed, watching his breath billow out before him in the crisp autumn morning. He had not slept through an entire night since that terrible day, that awful moment when he had discovered his friend Stephen’s body in the grounds of Penkarth Manor.
“No…no, it cannot be. Stephen? Stephen!”
Samuel rolled over onto his side and tried to force the memory away, but it was no use. How could anyone who had seen such a terrible thing simply forget it? It would rest with him until his dying day.
And of course, the nightmares had made it impossible to sleep through the night without waking, sweating and heart racing, convinced that he too had been murdered, or he was facing trial and about to be sent to the gallows for a murder that he had not committed, or that there was a Peeler in his bedroom just waiting to pounce.
But now his sleeplessness was for a different reason, and it was the only one that he craved.
Margaret Berry.
He could not rid his mind’s eye of her face, and he did not want to.
She had transfixed him last night as she instinctively told him that he had no business asking her such personal questions, and something in him had fired up for the first time as she had glared at him, and then crimsoned at the realisation of how forward she had been.
His mind could not stop thinking about her: the curve of her cheeks as they pinked, the flush of her lips as she spoke softly, the softness that was undoubtedly hidden by that gown…
By God, what he could do to that body.
Samuel turned over to lie on his back once more, trying to ignore the growing stiffness in his body at the thought of Margaret Berry.
Her eyes fluttering down, as though frightened to look up.
The way that she blushed each time she realised that she had caught his gaze.
It was refreshing to be around such innocence.
Not that he was bad, no: but he had never spent much time concentrating on being good. Samuel smiled wickedly as he recalled the lovers he had taken to bed before, but it faded as his thoughts turned once more to Margaret.
This was different. She was different. He would not expect any of the delights of the bedchamber, that was absurd. But he needed a wife.
Without a second thought, he rose up from his bed, quickly pulled on a linen shirt and left his cabin. It was a short journey to the deck where the sun was still rising, and he breathed in a lung of salty air.
It felt so good, so refreshing to be free, uncaged and fearless, no longer hiding at various inns as he made his way across the country to London.
He had lived in fear, constantly checking his back, changing his route several times in case he was being followed.
And now here he was, standing on the deck of the Adelaide, with no one else around. He had the place to himself.
And yet, despite the early hour, he did not. Though the seven bells that heralded the new day had not yet rung, there was a figure standing at the bow of the ship, looking out to sea. A face, too far away to distinguish, looked around and then returned to gaze at the ocean.
Samuel sighed. Well, now that he had been seen he had no choice but to go and make friendly and courteous conversation. As the Earl of Kincardine, of course, it had always been his decision. He had snubbed plenty of gentleman and beautiful young ladies in his time, but he was not an earl any more.
As he strode towards the figure, he almost laughed aloud when he made out Margaret Berry looking out to sea.
“I did not think that mermaids were real, and yet here you are,” he said in a dry, winning voice.
She turned around, her cheeks pink that turned to scarlet when she saw who it was. “Wh-What mermaid?”
Samuel laughed, and leaned over the edge of the ship beside her as she stared at him, transfixed. “Perhaps you are a siren instead, you have so captured my heart.”
“Y-Your heart?” She stared at him as though he had lost his wits. “You mock me, sir, and I-I do not appreciate it.”
She was so innocent, so young, Samuel thought. She was perfect, and this was the perfect moment.
Without a second thought, he dropped to one knee and clasped her hand in his. She gasped, and tried to tug her hand free, but he would not release it.
“My dear Miss Berry,” he said with a smile that had felled far richer women than she. “I would be remiss if I did not say how captivated I have been with you ever since I saw you, and it would be my greatest honour if you would make me very happy, and consent to be my wife.”
There, Samuel thought. Not too much, but just enough to give her a taste of what marriage with me would be like. Simple, straight to the point. Now all she had to do was simper, prevaricate that she was astonished by his proposal, and then accept.
Margaret blinked, and then started to laugh. It was a small giggle at first, and Samuel thought it could have been a choke of gratitude, but as the giggle grew into a chuckle, he found himself rather uncomfortably kneeling before a laughing woman.
No one had ever laughed at him when he was known as the Earl of Kincardine. Samuel bristled slightly, his temper rising, but he squashed it down and continued to gaze up at her.
Margaret’s laugh faltered as she saw, to her obvious horror, that he was not laughing. “Y-You are in earnest?”
“I have never been so serious about anything before in my life,” said Samuel, quite honestly.
“B-But…but you cannot possibly love me,” stammered Margaret, a shocked and horrified look at her face. “You barely know me!”
Partly because he wanted to make his point to her face to face, and partly because his knee was getting a little damp from the deck, Samuel rose.
“I do not know you,” he said quietly, and although she tried to take a step backwards away from him, she was preventing from doing so by the rail of the ship. “And yet I like you, Miss Margaret Berry, despite yourself. I am looking for a marriage of convenience, nothing more.”
She stared at him, her eyes full of suspicion. After a few moments, she said quietly, “Why?”
Samuel bit his lip. He had known this question was coming, and he had not prepared an answer. He had always navigated life on instinct and wealth, his gut just as useful as his name, but now that he only had one he wondered whether he had relied too strongly on the other.
“‘Tis of no real importance,” he began, but he was interrupted.
“But it is of great importance to me!” Margaret narrowed her eyes slightly. “If you cannot even tell me that, then what hope would any sort of…of m-marriage have?”
Samuel swallowed. “A little respectability would not go amiss,” he admitted carefully, “and any more than that I cannot say, but I can assure you that I am an honest man, and a good one.”
The ship rocked slightly as the wind changed, and Samuel found himself rather unusually hoping that he could win her around. He had never failed to before, but now that he was stripped of his title, he had…well, only himself to recommend him. He had not expected that it would be tough.
“And,” he said quietly, pulling out his trump card, “you would undoubtedly like to leave your Great Aunt.”
Margaret smiled briefly, and then shook her head. “I-I do not…I think that I would…”
Samuel grinned as she attempted to find the words to disagree with him, and could not.
“You cannot possibly be serious,” she whispered, and she stared at him with desperate eyes, willing him to tell her the truth.
Samuel nodded. “I am. Miss Berry, I could not be more serious. There will be no…no marital expectations, you understand? Just two people who have realised that they have mutual aims.”
Margaret stared at him, her hands now clasped before her tightly as though she had nothing to hold onto save herself. “And what are those?”
Samuel reached out and took her hands in his own, and found a sudden thrill shudder through him. “To live a simple and carefree life, without the need of others.”
Her gaze did not falter for the first time as she faced him, her hands in his own, two lonely figures on a ship’s deck with one of the greatest questions between them.
She swallowed. “You do not know me.”
“And you do not know me,” countered Samuel, and he drew her hands closer so that they rested on his chest. Her mouth opened slightly in surprise as she felt the rapid beating of his heart. “Are you willing to take a chance on an emigrating man?”
He had said all he could, and he had no more words to persuade her. All he could do now was wait, but he did not have to wait for long.
Margaret took a deep breath. “I accept.”
A surge of happiness that he could not explain and would not question rose up in his chest. “You – you are truly accepting me?”
She laughed, and once again it was as though she had stepped out of the shadows of life and into the land of the living. “I must be mad, but I accept! We shall be married.”