Shipmate: A Royal Regard Prequel Novella Read online

  Shipmate

  A Royal Regard Prequel Novella

  By Mariana Gabrielle

  Shipmate

  Copyright © 2015 by Mariana Gabrielle

  Smashwords Edition: 978-1-311-92716-3

  This book is available in e-book and print editions at most online retailers.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support. If you enjoyed this book, please watch your favorite retailer to discover other works by Mariana Gabrielle.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of fiction or are used in a fictitious manner, including portrayal of historical figures and situations. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To the readers and other writers in the Bluestocking Bookshop, to their respective characters, and to Bella’s once and future hero, Nick, all of whom have helped shy Bella Smithson grow into the woman I always knew her to be.

  Chapter One

  April 3, 1805

  Bath, England

  “There is Lady Lisbourne.” Beneath the raucous dance music, Minerva, Lady Effingale, spoke in almost a full voice to emulate a whisper, making her niece wince beneath the likelihood of public humiliation. “I plan to introduce you, but best wait until she is alone; her eldest son’s wife has a vicious tongue, and will not hesitate to call out your many faults.”

  Miss Isabella Smithson nodded, bottom lip caught between her teeth, fingers twisted in her skirt, knees shifting from side to side in her seat on the sofa between her aunt and cousin. Aunt Minerva’s hard eyes, set deep in her forbidding face, roamed from Bella’s hair, which must look a rat’s nest by now, after an hour in a warm ballroom, to her hem, which had been splashed by a carriage in the street.

  “Her fourth son is pockmarked, but not entirely without means, and if he won’t have you, we might be able to place you with her as a companion. I’m told she is a bit dotty. And that gentleman there, in the blue waistcoat, is a widower.”

  Charlotte, the Marchioness of Firthley, leaned in, “He is a good-for-nothing, Mother, with six untamable children and an estate mortgaged to the hilt. You’ll not tie my cousin to a man like that if I have anything to say about it.” She patted Bella’s arm, “And I do.” Charlotte gently steered the subject to the relative cheapness of the decorations in the Bath assembly rooms, as opposed to London, a topic likely to occupy Lady Effingale for at least ten minutes.

  For as long as Aunt Minerva was disparaging the environs, she could be relied upon not to criticize Bella. As soon as she reached the end of her complaints about the garish wallpaper, tasteless sculptures, and abundance of gold-trimmed mirrors, though, Aunt Minerva summed up with, “To think, I am reduced to socializing in Bath, of all places. If Isabella had managed to keep her lemonade in her cup and not on the Duke of Lanceley’s cravat, we would be in London, not a second-rate backwater. If only any gentleman there would look twice at you.”

  "Bath is hardly a backwater, Mother."

  "It is hardly London."

  Thankfully, Aunt Minerva didn’t rake over Bella’s encounter with the Duke of Lanceley. The very thought made her throat close. If only she could permanently close her ears against Lady Effingale’s opinions of Bella’s plain-as-pudding face, tree-stump-of-a-figure, stick-straight hair, drab-as-dirt disposition, designed-for-the-dustbin clothes, and havey-cavey father who provided a next-to-nothing dowry, then lost it in a gaming hell.

  Every time Aunt Minerva said, “my brother” in that tone, Bella felt she was calling Satan out of Hell. No matter how often Charlotte’s father, Viscount Effingale, told Bella she was under his protection, it wasn’t entirely true. Her father could remove her from the Effingales’ manor house any time he chose, and he had done so by magistrate before. If Sir Jasper Smithson discovered any small advantage to having a plain, shy daughter who would never attract a man, the baronet would yank her back to Evercreech faster than a horse could throw a shoe, no matter who was paying the expenses for her husband hunt.

  It wasn’t as though Bella had asked to be brought out; she had begged to be left alone. She couldn’t imagine a more horrid prospect than being forced to converse with unknown gentlemen on unknown topics amidst crowds of unknown aristocrats, with the end goal of being taken to wife by any man to make an offer. The thought of being alone with a new husband she had barely met made her stomach twist and mouth go dry. They had only been at the assembly a half-hour, and she already wished she were anywhere else.

  Aunt Minerva had introduced Bella to every vaguely acceptable man in the room, excepting, of course, any who could find more attractive wives, and Bella would now be happy to excuse herself, with a headache beginning to pound behind her eyes.

  When Aunt Minerva came out with, “…not remotely Incomparable, unless one had no other girl to compare with,” Bella stood so quickly, she might have upset the chair, had her uncle not reached a hand out to steady her.

  “If you will… er… retiring room. No, Charlotte, I will be perfectly fine alone.”

  When she reached the retiring room, she didn’t even need to open the door to know it was filled with clacking hens. Bella could hear the on dits flying among too many women, even through the door. Instead of entering to discover herself another topic, she turned down a smaller hallway that surely must be servants’ access to somewhere. No matter. Bella just needed a quiet place to rest her head and shut her eyes.

  Standing in the unlit back hall, her head leaned against a wall, she hadn’t even noticed the door open just a crack, about three feet away. Telling herself she was not, strictly speaking, a girl who would eavesdrop, she startled at, “…wallflower,” and leaned closer.

  She knew she had not put on a good showing tonight, but to be discussed and found wanting in the gentleman’s study at the very first party was beyond the pale. Her face burned, and she shuffled closer to the wall, as though by proximity to the lime wash, she might become part of it.

  “I take your point about wallflowers." The man’s sardonic tone seeped through the door. He sounded worn down and tired, like Uncle Howard after one of Aunt Minerva’s tantrums, but his voice was not resentful or angry, but kind, with a touch of humor. "Low expectations, humility, and gratitude are all excellent qualities in a wife who will be forced to settle for an upstart baron who lives his life drifting between seaports."

  "That’s not what—"

  "While I appreciate your effort to make His Royal Highness’s commands more palatable, I am fairly certain he has no legal standing to make demands of a woman I marry, or require I remain in active service with my private fleet. I am past fifty years old, with a new barony and more money than I can spend in ten lifetimes. Surely he can understand my desire for a settled life and heir.”

  Bella tipped her head and moved just slightly to see if she could spot the man speaking, but without further opening the door and chancing discovery, there was no way. The second voice was not so kindly, masked slightly by the clinking of glassware and crystal. “Did you take your elevation as
a reward, Holsworthy? For you might be better to view it as a bribe or a cudgel. The prince wishes you on the high seas, not rusticating on a country estate, or he would not be adding ships to your fleet.”

  “His wishes are not lost on me, but I have made the prince and his father millions of pounds, and Seventh Sea Shipping will continue to pay out dividends until the next King George and I are both dust. Can that not be enough?”

  “Not enough for the king, the prince, the Privy Council, most of Parliament, or the Foreign Office—not to mention your investors. You are the only one who thinks yourself unsuited as a diplomat. Do as your sovereign says, Holsworthy. Find yourself a seagoing baroness or board your new flagship without one.”

  Silence reigned for several long moments, until finally, the gentleman with the long-suffering tone said, “Clearly, the question of my living arrangements will not be solved today, but that is not to say I cannot seek out the future Lady Holsworthy, and your wife is waiting to begin the introductions. Shall we make good use of our proximity to the ballroom, where negotiations with appropriate young women can ensue? Perhaps if I find one amiable enough, she will talk the prince out of his new directive.” He laughed. “I would gladly marry anyone who can change the prince’s mind about anything.”

  Bella couldn’t untangle the mumbling responses from the laughter, but could not miss the man chuckle and say, “Such a face, my lord! I will have you know, I find nothing objectionable about wallflowers.”

  Chapter Two

  Bella must be in a servants’ corridor, because the men’s voices receded in the opposite direction, leaving her to the silence she had been craving. She stole the few minutes to will away the sick headache, and compose herself for another hour of veiled, and not-so-veiled, insults from her family and an endless round of gentlemen who didn’t want to look at her, much less ask her to dance.

  On her way back, only a few feet from her aunt and cousin, a tall man stepped into her path and bowed before her. His features were handsome where hers were plain, but his bronze hair and blue-green eyes were a mirror match to Bella’s. He escorted her the last few steps to her destination, greeting her family politely, “Lady Effingale. Lady Firthley.” He tweaked Bella’s nose. “Sissy.” Bella yanked her face away. “Have they married you off to the highest bidder yet, my sweet?”

  “We’ll not be able to marry her to anyone if she is seen with you, John Smithson, pockets always to let.” Aunt Minerva growled. "And your contemptible brother had better not be lurking." He opened his mouth to confirm or deny Jeremy’s whereabouts, but she spoke right over him. "After his behavior last Season with Charlotte… if Lords Effingale or Firthley see him, there is no telling what they will do, and whatever it is, it cannot be painful enough."

  "I offer apologies again for my brother’s despicable plan, Char—Lady Firthley. You may be sure he is vanquished in body, mind, and spirit after the duel with your husband, is grateful for the mercy shown his unworthy hide, and plans no further incursions into your vicinity."

  "See that it remains so," Aunt Minerva warned, shaking her finger at him. “Now, take yourself away from here, should you wish Isabella ever to have any prospects.”

  “Not before I take a turn about the floor with my beloved sister.” His face was taut and eyes sharp as he grasped Bella’s hand and placed it on his arm. She tried to pull away, but his hand tightened on hers as he walked her to the dance floor for a minuet. Unless she made a scene, which would call Aunt Minerva’s wrath down on both of them, she was resigned to performing the set. At least the dance was half finished.

  As she curtsied and he bowed, he whispered, “Jeremy has decamped for a house party somewhere in the country, so you needn’t worry about him turning up today, but Father will soon. He has taken it in mind to find a bridegroom for you himself. Someone from whom he can demand a portion of your dowry. He will be here two days hence.” She missed the fourth step, so John held his hand out to steady her. “Careful, my dear, or the gentlemen will not see what a perfect dancer you are.”

  “But Father said—”

  “Nevertheless, he will be here shortly to see what advantage he can gain. I said I would open the house and arrange invitations before his arrival.”

  Since her father had long since lost everything in the Smithson house in Bath, except the house itself, which was under entail, the men in her family would survive as they always did in the social centers. They would live in the empty Smithson town house with a cook/housekeeper, entertaining at clubs and gambling hells, and the baronet and Messrs. Smithson would ply their trade as entertaining dinner guests, unparalleled cardsharps, and terribly charming fellows.

  “‘Twould be easier to stop him, in truth, had Effingale not made it known he would replace your dowry.”

  “But he cannot—”

  “Have you ever known him to leave a shilling on the table if he could find a way to put it in his pocket? This will be his last chance to use you to bleed Uncle.”

  She sighed, her next turn slower, her feet dragging as though through mud.

  “But for the warning, I cannot spare you.”

  “I know.”

  She pasted on a smile for the benefit of company and forced her steps into the faultless precision she had practiced for months at Dame Hester’s Seminary for Young Ladies, on the slim chance anyone might ever ask her to dance.

  “Please say you’ll not assist him this time.” She hated the note of pleading in her voice.

  John said nothing, only squeezed her hand tighter on the next turn.

  She closed her face and resolved not to say another word, which John seemed to fully accept, not speaking again until he delivered her back to Aunt Minerva and Charlotte, whispering in her ear before he left them to find the card room to earn his keep, “I am sorry, Sissy. I will help if I can.” Which meant he would be no help at all.

  Aunt Minerva kept her eyes on the rest of the ballroom, alternately looking for not-too-terribly-objectionable men, and making certain no other Smithson males were hiding behind something, waiting to harm Bella’s chances even further. Charlotte grasped Bella’s arm as soon as John turned his back to stride away.

  “What is it? What did John say?”

  False smile firmly attached, though the blood had long since drained from her face, Bella whispered, “Not here, nor in front of your mother,” If the evening’s entertainments had ever held the slightest appeal, there was none left now. All she wanted was to find a mail coach and buy a ticket to Scotland. No, a ship to South America would be safer.

  ***

  Myron had never seen so many marriageable young ladies, nearly all of whom had been trotted out to be introduced to the new baron in the neighborhood. Apparently, being in trade wasn’t the barrier it might have been in London—not when Lady Pinnester made it a point to broadcast news of his growing fortune and the favor so recently shown by the Crown. It seemed the entirety of Bath now knew Myron was a wealthy—if brand-new—peer seeking a wife.

  Unfortunately, not one unmarried lady, nor any of their mothers, would entertain the addresses of a man who planned to leave England for unknown environs in two months’ time. With no luck, he had worked his way from prettiest to plainest, youngest to oldest, richest to poorest, starting with the one girl in the room whom Lady Pinnester said spoke of nothing but converting heathens. Sadly, no matter how well her godly temperament might suit Myron, she couldn’t see past Ireland.

  Perhaps Pinnester was overstating the need for a girl raised among the nobility. Surely, Myron could buy a book about which fork to use at a formal supper, much as he had bought this ridiculous suit of expensive clothes he might never wear again. Or he could continue what he had always done: follow along with everyone else, to the point it ran up against his faith. Adaptability was a key trait for a successful merchant, and in all his years, he had yet to entirely disgrace himself among the upper classes, or he would not now be in this disagreeable position.

  Best yet, he could talk
the prince out of his desire to make Myron into a diplomat. There was no reason to believe he would be an effective representative of the Crown among civilized men. He had been educated as a son of minor landholders, followed by years in service with the East India Company, then eventually, his own enterprise, but had fallen in love with the sea by the time he could walk, and run away to it by fourteen.

  It would be best to find a way around the prince’s edict, if a way could be found, before choosing a bride, and in any case, he needn’t choose tonight. Once in London, there would assuredly be more places to meet ladies.

  Lady Pinnester sidled up and whispered mischievously, “No young lady will wish to wed a man who scowls so much.”

  He immediately glued a smile on his face, but had never felt so false. She indicated with a tip of her head that there was, apparently, one girl he had missed in his endless turns about the room. “You will wish to seek an introduction to Miss Smithson. Her familial connections are dubious, and she has no dowry or prospects to speak of, but she is a daughter of the gentry. Her aunt is sponsoring her, and I never met a more unpleasant woman than Lady Effingale. I might marry Beelzebub himself to be removed from her care, though the viscount is not a bad sort. I believe I saw him head to the card room.”

  “As she is the last young lady left who has not turned me down flat, perhaps it is time I should make her acquaintance.”

  Chapter Three

  Charlotte had accepted a dance with her husband. Aunt Minerva was in deep conversation with two other matrons, probably about the trials of sponsoring an ugly debutante. Uncle Howard had escaped his wife in the card room. Everyone was so accustomed to Bella playing the wallflower that, even when she was the one husband-hunting, it was easy enough, by force of habit, to leave her to her own devices. Hoping against hope their party would soon depart, Bella was happy to be left alone on a bench in a quiet, darkened hall, facing away from the ballroom.