The Admiral's Ward Read online

  The Admiral’s Ward

  By

  Dinah McLeod

  Copyright © 2020 by Stormy Night Publications and Dinah McLeod

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

  www.StormyNightPublications.com

  McLeod, Dinah

  The Admiral’s Ward

  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

  Images by Period Images, Shutterstock/NiglayNik, Shutterstock/Dzha33, and Shutterstock/Paul shuang

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  More Stormy Night Books by Dinah McLeod

  Dinah McLeod Links

  Chapter One

  “Come, Delia. Be reasonable.”

  Delia McDowe glared at her father, fists clenched at her sides, wondering if any woman in the history of the world had calmed down because a man told her to ‘be reasonable.’

  “He’s from a good family after all.”

  “You’re trying to sell me to the highest bidder, but people say I come from a good family.”

  The earl’s face flushed. “Young lady, that is no way to talk to me. I am your father! I demand that you show me some respect!”

  “Yes, Father.” She bobbed a little curtsey. “I shall indeed, the very moment you prove worthy of it.”

  “What... you... you horrid, ungrateful child!” he bellowed, his neck and face crimson.

  She supposed she was that. She certainly felt ungrateful, but her father had just announced that she was to marry the Duke of Lancaster.

  “You will be Duchess of Lancaster!” her mother said, her eyes shining with longing. But all she’d ever dreamt of was being royalty, having her every need met by servants. It was a constant disappointment to her that she’d given birth to a daughter who didn’t share her dream.

  Perhaps Delia would have felt differently if the duke wasn’t old enough to be her grandfather. How did either of her parents expect her to be grateful for a life no woman of eighteen would wish for?

  “I will not do it,” she insisted, stamping her foot.

  The earl glared at his wife, as though she too were defying him. As though his mousey, agreeable wife didn’t obey his every wish.

  When he turned back to his daughter, there was a gleam in his eye she’d never seen before. Then again, she’d never defied him before. “You will do exactly as you’re told, you will marry the duke, you will become his wife, you will bear him children.”

  “Children,” she echoed with a snort. “A man that age who has had three wives and no issue? That might be a bigger task than I can handle, through no fault of my own.”

  The earl looked enraged to the point of speechlessness. His mouth moved, but there was no sound coming out.

  “But think what that means, Delia.” Her mother reached for her hand. “Then you will be the dowager duchess. You can marry again—”

  “That could take years!” Delia cried.

  “Fine counsel to give her before her wedding,” her father snorted.

  “There isn’t going to be a wedding! I am not going to marry him.” She crossed her arms and stamped her foot.

  “You will!” The earl, who had hardly ever raised his voice in her eighteen years of life, shouted. He moved closer, his tall, bulky frame towering over her. “You will obey me, or I swear I’ll have you whipped!”

  Her bravado slipped for a moment. He... couldn’t be serious, surely? As an adored only child, she’d never been beaten, not even when she’d done more than enough to deserve it. She looked to her mother, whose face looked as horrified as Delia felt.

  “Harrod...” She tugged on her husband’s sleeve. “Be reasonable, love. She—”

  He didn’t take his eyes from his daughter’s face. “She will do as I say, or learn a most painful lesson. Your headstrong daughter needs to learn that I am master of this house, and I will be obeyed!” He turned his dark, glinting eyes on his wife. “Or do you need a reminder also?”

  The Lady of Lansing, who had, it seemed, been about to defend her child, shrank back. “No. No, my lord.”

  He nodded his satisfaction and turned to his only child. “You have until morning to give me your answer. If it is anything but happy acquiescence, then I will wield the whip myself!” He left the room with great ceremony of stomping to show his displeasure.

  “Mother...”

  The lady of the estate gave her daughter a pained look. “I am sorry, Delia. You’ll have to do it. You know you shall.”

  She supposed she should have been surprised by her mother’s siding with her husband, but she was not. She had many years’ experience with this particular brand of disappointment. Though her father did not tell her no often, when he did his wife fell in line. It was her duty, after all.

  Delia tilted her proud chin upward, her lips pursed, resolute. “No. I shall not.” Then she turned on her heel and swept out of the room with her mother calling after her, begging her to see reason.

  She found her governess in her room, waiting. She rose from the chair she’d been sitting in the moment Delia stormed into the room.

  “Mistress...”

  Delia faced her, pinching her lips together to hide the fact that they were trembling. “Did you know?” She held her breath as she waited.

  Miss Ashley looked her up and down, then nodded once. “I can see you’re taking it much as I predicted.”

  She turned away, feeling anger turn to despair. “I cannot believe you kept this from me.” Delia quickly bit down on her lip again and blinked back tears. When she felt her governess’s hands on her shoulders, she felt certain she would soon lose the battle.

  “Your father forbade it, cher.”

  She tried to shrug away Miss Ashley’s hands, but the older woman would not be so easily put off.

  “I am sorry you are disappointed, dearest.”

  Delia mustered a tiny smile. Her governess had been with her for the last twelve years of her life and was much more her mother than the woman who had birthed her. Miss Ashley understood her—she loved her charge, at least Delia liked to think she did. She knew that the situation she found herself in was in no way her governess’s fault and she would be remiss to pretend it was. “I understand why you kept this secret.” She walked over to her bed and flopped onto the quilts. “I only wish...”

  “Yes?”

  “I wish I knew what to do.”

  “What to do?” Miss Ashley’s voice was sharp, cautious. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Delia sat up, feeling wounded by the disapproval etched on her governess’s face. “I know I am from a wealthy family, I know I must help improve our station. I know my duty, Miss Ashley. Never fear. I only wish there were some other way.”

  Her governess came over and sat down on the bed beside her. She patted her lap and Delia laid her head there, curling into a ball the way she used to do when she was very small. Miss Ashley began to run a comforting, motherly hand over her hair. “I know, cher. I know. You will make your peace with this. You will persevere like the strong woman I know you to be
.”

  She smiled, grateful for the words of comfort. “Tell me a story, Miss Ashley?”

  “Oh, cher... I think you’re too old for stories.”

  “No, I’m not. And even if I was, I’d still wish to hear one. You tell the best stories of anyone I know. You should put them in a book!”

  Miss Ashley chuckled ruefully. “No one would publish the tales I tell you, child.”

  “Please?” She looked up hopefully. Her governess always knew how to make her feel better and from the time that she came to begin Delia’s lessons, she would tell her a story whenever she needed cheering up.

  “I think that my stories are perhaps part of the problem,” she mused. “I’ve tried to stay true to the course your parents want for you, but I think women can be meant for more than to be mere arm ornaments.”

  “Not me,” Delia said, the word more sad than bitter.

  “Perhaps your daughter, then.”

  “Maybe.”

  “All right, very well then. Once upon a time, there was a lovely princess.”

  “And she didn’t need a prince to save her,” Delia guessed.

  “Who is telling this story?” her governess demanded, but she was smiling.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll be good.”

  “Indeed, I’m sure you shall.” She rolled her eyes skyward, for they both knew that Delia liked to interrupt. “Her name was Asmellia and she was very beautiful. Her parents had found many suitors for her hand, but Princess Asmellia refused them all...”

  * * *

  Delia was using her ivory-handled brush to brush out her long, blonde hair when she heard the soft plink against her window. She dismissed it and continued her nightly beauty routine, counting the strokes as she pulled the brush through, watching how shiny her tresses were becoming.

  When the noise came again, she saw her curious expression mirrored back at her through the looking glass. She went to the window and looked out, catching her breath at the sight of the gentleman standing below. He was tall, dark-haired, and muscular. She could see that already and she wanted to see more.

  “Lady Delia?” His voice was rich and husky, making her smile, try as she might to hide it.

  “Who asks?” she replied in her most courtly voice.

  “It is I, the Duke of Lancaster.”

  Her breath caught. It couldn’t be. She’d thought him to be an old, frail gentleman. It was said that he was losing his sight. She needed a better look.

  “I shall be down in a moment.” She threw a dressing gown over her pajamas, knowing her mother would be scandalized and not caring. In fact, it only served to add excitement to her step as she ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  When she threw open the door, he was standing there, waiting. Her pulse began to race as she took in his dark eyes, his strong jaw.

  “But... you look so...”

  “Young?” he guessed and chuckled. “You were expecting something else?”

  “Well...” A blush crept up her cheeks. “I thought... It’s only that I had been told...”

  “Close your eyes.”

  “What?” She laughed a little. “Why?”

  “Do as I request, my lady.”

  She obeyed, shutting her eyes and feeling a smile curve her lips as she did so. “May I open them?”

  “You may.”

  When she opened her eyes she saw that he was holding a beautiful, large red rose toward her. She gasped, reaching for it. Delia noted that the stem had been trimmed so that it had no thorns. Her fingers brushed against his, but instead of the firm, supple fingers he’d held out a moment ago, they were wrinkled with age spots.

  Somehow, the man in front of her had transformed while her eyes had been closed. He was no longer young and handsome. His face was wrinkled, the skin pulled taut and showing the hard angles of his chin and cheekbones. His hair was thin and silver. His smile revealed a few missing teeth.

  She gasped and stepped back. “I... I thought... what has happened to you?”

  He shook his head, tsking. “You’re a vain woman, Lady Delia. I know it. How well I know it.”

  She gasped as though she’d been struck, stepping back into the doorway. “I... is it so wrong to want to marry someone young? Someone who might give me children? Who might...” She’d been about to say who might come to love me, but she couldn’t force the words past her lips.

  The duke, his dull eyes assessing her, threw his head back as though he knew what she was about to say and couldn’t believe she’d dare dream so high. Delia slammed the door shut and raced back up the stairs, but she could still hear his mean laughter. It chased on her heels, followed her into the bedroom, and rang in her ears even with the pillow pulled tightly over her head.

  “Go away!” she shouted.

  “Lady Delia?”

  “Go away!”

  But then she was being shaken and she bolted up in bed, gasping. Her eyes struggled to focus. It was still night—darkness surrounded her except for the flickering of a single candle. Delia took deep breaths, trying to steady her racing pulse.

  When she felt calmer, her eyes began to focus. She saw her governess holding the candle.

  “What is, Miss Ashley? What has happened? Is it—”

  “No, no, do not worry, mistress. Your parents are both well, only...”

  “Yes?”

  The older woman shocked her by setting the candle down on the table beside her bed and taking a seat beside her. Miss Ashley was a firm proponent of proper decorum, and in all the years that she had been Delia’s governess this was one breach of station that had never occurred.

  “Your father has dismissed me.”

  Delia’s gasp echoed throughout the room. “What? I do not understand. Why should he do such a thing?”

  “Because... you are to be married, my dear. You no longer require a governess. Truthfully, he would be quite angry if he knew I was here. I was to leave without seeing you, but...”

  “Oh, Miss Ashley.” She felt tears sting her eyes. “I’m so glad you came.” She leaned over and broke another of her governess’s rules when she hugged her.

  But Miss Ashley did not scold her. In fact, she returned the embrace. “I would not have woken you, only I could not think of when I might have another time.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “At once.”

  Delia couldn’t believe it. It seemed as if what she was hearing could not be true, that it was an extension of her nightmare. “How long have you known?”

  “He told me last night. I was to pack my things and leave straight away without a word to you.”

  Delia couldn’t believe this. Her father letting Miss Ashley go was horrid in and of itself, but to insist she shouldn’t be told? She was feeling her anger rise, but she pushed it aside for the moment and gave her governess’s hand a squeeze. “I could speak to him. I could insist—”

  Her governess shook her head with a small, sad smile. “I thank you, mon cher. Truly. But... what reason would your father have to listen to you?”

  “I shall make him listen. Believe me, I plan to create such a storm that he shall never again think to dismiss anyone without asking me!”

  Miss Ashley tsked her tongue. “My dear, I truly wish we had more time together, for I fear I’ve been remiss with your education.”

  She was shocked to hear her speak so. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “My sweet child,” she stroked Delia’s golden hair, “you’ve had a very privileged upbringing. Your parents have given in to many of your whims.”

  Delia opened her mouth to object, but her governess held up a hand and she desisted out of habit.

  “I have seen it myself in these many years. I do not say these things to hurt you, but only to make you see.”

  “But... I do not see.”

  “How well I know it,” she sighed. “Mistress Delia, the truth is that the wealth in which you’ve been raised, and being an only child, have made you spoiled.”


  Delia spluttered in protest.

  “I do not mean that you are not kind and given to acts of charity. But you do not truly understand the way of the world. You are a woman, my dear, and while I pray that it might not always be so, your desire only means as much as your father, or your husband, is willing to grant you.”

  The words stung. Delia drew away from her governess and felt her cheeks heat. She wanted to deny it, to say that she would make such a world for herself, but when she opened her mouth to speak, the words died before leaving her lips. She knew that Miss Ashley meant her no harm and only spoke the truth for her benefit.

  “Forgive me.”

  She shook her head, her curls bouncing. “There is nothing to forgive.” She reached for her governess’s hand once more. “Miss Ashley... thank you so much for everything you have done for me. There are not enough words, or enough time...” Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away.

  “It has been a privilege and a joy to oversee your education, Lady Delia.”

  “Where will you go? Will you find another girl to...” A lump rose in her throat that she couldn’t speak over. The idea of her beloved teacher with another pupil pained her.

  “Truthfully, I do not know. I had thought to retire, but...” She gave a shrug of her elegant shoulder. “I will have to see. I will try to write, if your father will tell me where to send my letters.”

  She dropped her hand and rose to her feet. “One moment.” She walked to her bedside table and opened the drawer, taking out a handkerchief she’d tied in a knot. Inside was a pouch filled with silver. She had been saving it, and though she had never known precisely what for, Delia had been certain that a time would come. Walking back to the bed, she put it in her governess’s hand.

  “What is this, child?”

  “A little token only, to remember me by.”

  “No, I could never—”

  “Please.” Her voice trembled and her eyes held a sheen of moisture. “It would do my heart good if you would accept it. Then I would know... that you were safe.”

  Miss Ashley put the handkerchief to her heart. “Thank you. Though I need nothing to remember you by, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”