The Admiral's Ward Read online

  * * *

  Though she had tried, Delia had not been able to go back to sleep once her governess had departed. She was too angry. She tossed and turned, thinking of how hateful her father was being. She tried to banish the thoughts from her mind with little success. And then there was the matter of the Duke of Lancaster. Each time she closed her eyes her dream came rushing back to her, and a wizened face was waiting for her, the gaping holes in his mouth producing a smile that made her shudder.

  It was just her imagination, she knew. Her governess had always said she possessed a mind too active, but she could not help it. The image would not go away.

  She was not surprised when she was summoned to break her fast with her parents.

  “You are not dressed, Lady Delia?” The maid looked scandalized.

  Indeed, Delia was surprised at herself at well. She had been up for hours, long enough to watch the sun rise from her window, but she had not gotten out of her nightgown or done her hair.

  The maid tsked her tongue reprovingly as she helped Delia dress. “I heard you are to marry the duke,” she said while Delia slipped out of the gown. “I daresay you shall have your own lady to help you dress there.”

  “Hmm,” she replied, hoping the maid would realize she had no desire to discuss it.

  “Your mother is quite pleased you shall be a duchess.”

  “Yes, I believe so,” she murmured.

  “What say you, Lady Delia? Are you as thrilled as your lady mother?”

  “Of course.” The lie came out a whisper. For what else could she say? It was not the place of servants to ask such things, but she could not give any cause to gossip on her behalf. “I can manage well enough on my own, thank you.”

  The maid bobbed a curtsey and took her leave.

  Delia brushed her hair, put dabs of rosewater on her wrists and behind her ears, and stared morosely at her reflection in the looking glass. She supposed she was ready, though for the first time she had no desire to break her fast. She could not bear to see her father, the man who seemed to be taking everything away from her—first her governess, and now, her freedom.

  She supposed she’d never been truly free. She had been but seduced by the illusion of freedom.

  “There you are, at last,” her father said when she walked into the dining room.

  Delia curtseyed and took her place at the table.

  “We have been waiting,” he grumbled. “We should have eaten without you.”

  Under normal circumstances, she would have apologized. It was what he wanted, what he was waiting for. But she could not bring herself to do it. She simply draped the cloth over the lap of her dress and picked up her goblet, taking a deep swallow of fresh water.

  With another grumble, her father picked up a piece of meat in one hand and a pastry in the other, but he didn’t begin to eat. Instead, he glared across the table at his daughter.

  She pretended not to notice and took dainty bites of the buttered bread. “Delicious,” she said to her mother, who nodded.

  “Stop playing games,” her lord father snarled.

  Delia turned to him, feigning surprise. “Why, Father, whatever do you mean?”

  “I want your answer.” He crammed the pastry in his mouth as he looked at her with narrowed, beady eyes. “I want it now.”

  “Tell me, Father,” she said instead. “Where is Miss Ashley?”

  He frowned, pieces of pastry studding his beard. “What does your governess have to do with anything?”

  “Well, I would ask her, only, I cannot find her.” She glanced at her mother, who she could tell hadn’t a clue what she was talking about.

  “I dismissed her.”

  “But why?” Delia asked.

  “Oh, Harrod,” her mother said at the same time.

  His empty hand balled into a fist which he banged on the table. “Because I am lord of this household, lest you forget, and I will do as I please.”

  “And it pleased you to remove my governess, the woman who has been with me for the past twelve years?” Delia struggled to keep her tone from sounding angry, though she was so livid she felt herself shaking inside.

  “Daughter, I am not sure why it troubles you. You will be married soon. Miss Ashley’s time here was done. Surely you both knew it.”

  Delia’s hands closed into fists underneath the table. “She could come with me. I shall write the duke for permission, of course,” she added before her father could object, “but surely he will allow it, for the sake of our future children’s education.”

  “That is not how it is done.” He shook his head, another pastry in his hand. “What man, even one as rich as the Duke of Lancaster, wants to pay a servant years before he even has children in need of her? It will not do.”

  Delia swallowed with difficulty. “She was more than just a servant to me.” To her surprise, she found her mother’s hand on her arm.

  “Try to understand, dearest. This is the way of things.”

  The knot in her belly was tightening more by the moment. She had been so blind, so ignorant to what life would really look like for her. “Yes. I see that now. May I be excused? I find I do not have any appetite.” She looked to her father, who nodded his permission.

  When she returned to her room, she was exhausted. Physically and emotionally drained. She had hoped to go back to sleep but found a maid in her room.

  “Yes?” she asked, struggling to remain courteous.

  “Your lady mother sent me here to get your measurements, madam.”

  “Why, whatever for?”

  “For your wedding gown, my lady.”

  Chapter Two

  Delia had not even had a full day to absorb the news of what she was expected to do before she was staring at lengths of ivory silk, lace, and boxes of seed pearls. The sight of them made her feel ill, so much so that she excused herself from the room.

  The moment she was out of the bedroom, she turned on her heel and fled. Suddenly, she knew exactly what she must do. She had to leave. There was no other answer. If she did not, her father would carry through with his outlandish threat—she knew it. And while a whipped bottom was surely hard to endure, an even worse fate would be to be forced to marry a man she could not love.

  She could not suffer it. There was no other way. As quietly as she could on quickly fleeing feet, Delia left the house. She did not turn around, not even once, to bid farewell to her home of the last eighteen years for fear someone might see.

  She did not know where she was going. How could she? She had hardly been outside these walls, a fact that did not escape her as her eyes darted around as she moved. It was a long walk to see another house. It was grand, though not quite so grand as her own—her father had seen to that. Once she passed it, Delia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Along with it, she exhaled a bit of the anxiety she’d been feeling too.

  The further she walked without incident—though she did not slow her step the slightest bit—the more she allowed herself to relax. As she did, she began to take in her surroundings. She had never enjoyed living in the country, truth be told. It was something that her mother had insisted on and that her father acquiesced to. Not unhappily, either, because he had a hankering to hunt, though he didn’t do it well.

  But if it had been up to Delia, she would have much preferred the noisy bustling of a busy city. Where you didn’t have to travel miles to see a neighbor. In all of Miss Ashley’s stories it had been the ones of the busy cities with their big adventures that she’d enjoyed the most.

  That’s what I’ll do, she decided then and there. I’ll live in a city. What she’d do when she got there Delia didn’t have the faintest, but one step at time.

  * * *

  By the time she reached the city market, Delia was tired, sweaty, and her hair was askew, tendrils pulled free from the proper bun she’d styled it in that morning. Nonetheless, she wore a smile from the moment she heard the back-and-forth of loud, boisterous voices, and eagerly m
oved toward the noise.

  Delia was swept into the crowd almost at once. Accustomed since birth to being deferred to because of her station, here no one seemed to notice her at all. People moved all around her, heavy baskets on their arms, jostling her to and fro as though she were invisible.

  She felt panic begin to rise within. Think, Delia, think!

  What was she to do? Despair warred with panic as she was bumped from behind. Was she going to be trampled in this stampede like a mouse? On her very first outing away from home?

  No. She squared her shoulders, allowing resolution to conquer the panic, the fear. She was not a mouse. She was the daughter of the Earl of Lansing. She would not shrink back from this.

  “Excuse me!” she called out, projecting as she’d been taught. She began to move at once. “Begging your pardon, please!” She could feel a few looks flit her way, but for the most part people simply moved out of her way. It seemed a simple thing, yet she was breathless once she’d made her way to a stall.

  She’d happened upon a meat vendor and the delicious aromas of smoked turkey and chicken, sausage links and bacon made her mouth water. She cleared her throat. “Excuse me,” she said again.

  “Yeah? Whatcha want?” he asked, scarcely giving her a glance.

  “I was wondering if I could have a sausage link, please. Perhaps three.”

  He cut the meat down without a word, laid it on a bit of cloth, and pushed it toward her.

  Delia was so hungry she managed not to flinch at the dirt on the cloth. She reached for it, looking back in surprise when it was pulled out of her grasp.

  “That’ll be five copper pieces.”

  “Oh.” She felt her stomach drop in keen disappointment as heat flooded her face. “I see. I am dreadfully sorry, I am afraid I do not have any money.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed and his mouth drew into a thin line. “What’re you playin’ at, girl? Don’t ask for somethin’ ya not gonna pay for!”

  “I... I would, I assure you, only—”

  With a sneer, he snatched the cloth off the counter and turned his back on her.

  Delia felt horrified tears fill her eyes. She had never been so embarrassed in all her life. Stupid girl, she berated herself. She’d left home without any money, without anything to sell. What had she been thinking? How was she going to survive?

  But at that very moment, as though she had voiced her fears aloud, she heard a deep, masculine voice.

  “Four sausages, please.” Before the vendor had even turned all the way around, the coins shone on his counter.

  He snatched them up, nodded sharply, and made quick work of securing the meat in another dirty cloth. This he passed into a strong-looking gloved hand.

  Delia knew it was rude to look, but she allowed herself a glance all the same. What she saw made her forget every lesson in decorum Miss Ashley had forced her to sit through. Standing just behind her was a man unlike any she’d ever seen—or indeed, even dreamt of. With hair blacker than the night sky, perfectly sun-kissed skin, and sapphire blue eyes, just his face made her forget to breathe.

  But there was more. As her eyes traveled down, she could not help but notice the uniform he wore. The deep blue jacket with gold trim and buttons suggested he was a seaman. She had never seen one up close before, or anywhere but storybooks, so even though she knew it was rude to stare, she couldn’t seem to help herself.

  The man smiled at her. “Good day to you, madam. I believe you wanted these.”

  She was so stunned when he offered her the cloth that she merely stared at his hand.

  After waiting an inordinate amount of time, he took her hand and gently opened her fingers before depositing the cloth on her palm.

  “I... ah... thank you.” She looked at him again, blinking in the early morning sunlight. She knew she was making a total fool of herself. But what else was she to do? She had not been trained on how to deal with members of the opposite sex, with the single exception of formal courting.

  His smile widened, revealing perfect straight teeth. “You are quite welcome, madam. No one should have to go hungry.”

  Delia heard her stomach growl as the wonderful smell wafted to her nose, acutely aware of the warm cloth in her hand.

  “Please, do not wait on my account. Eat.”

  She felt heat surge to her face. It was humiliating to have one of her first encounters with a gentleman in such a sorry state! “I couldn’t possibly.”

  He shocked her further still by locking eyes with her and repeating in a firm voice, “Eat.”

  Delia had never been spoken to that way before. He had not raised his voice, but something in his eyes had changed and he spoke with authority that left no doubt in her mind that he was a man used to being obeyed. She did not think twice, but opened the cloth, inhaling the delicious aroma wafting toward her before she began to eat. She was famished, and despite the feeling of his eyes on her, her growling stomach was too much to ignore. Miss Ashley would have been horrified to see the way she devoured the sausages one after the other, hardly pausing for breath.

  It was only when she was done that she remembered herself. She felt the heat in her cheeks return, hotter than ever. Oh, dear. She must have appeared quite savage to the handsome stranger. Trying to save some of what was left of her dignity, she daintily dabbed her mouth with the cloth.

  “Thank you again.”

  “You are most welcome, my lady.”

  Not for the first time, her mouth fell open in surprise. “How did you... I mean...” She gestured helplessly at her soiled gown, knowing her hair was a mess, her face shiny with sweat.

  “Yes, I gathered that I caught you... on a bad day,” he finished, the picture of politeness. “However, in a gown such as that, with your polished manners, no one could mistake you for anything other than a lady.”

  “Manners!” She threw back her head and laughed. “I fear if my lady mother had seen me eat just now she would disagree with you.”

  The gentleman smiled at her once more. “Perhaps. Please forgive my poor manners, for I have neglected to introduce myself. I am Admiral McCray, my lady, at your service.” With his hands at his sides, he gave a little bow.

  “I... Admiral.” The word came out a gasp. “It... it is a pleasure... to make your acquaintance, sir.” She curtsied as beautifully as she ever had, dirty gown or no.

  “The pleasure is all mine. Are you far from home, my lady?”

  Delia felt the stirrings of warning in the pit of her belly. What was she to tell him? Not the truth, surely. He would not look too kindly on what she had done. No gentleman would understand a woman fleeing her home to escape her duty. She was certain of it. What then?

  Think, Delia, think! she chided herself, aware that with each passing moment he was bound to become suspicious. She must think fast.

  Then it came to her. A plausible tale, and not only that, perhaps the key to her escape as well. “My lady mother died.” The words slipped from her lips no sooner than she had thought them. She quickly arranged her features to look suitably forlorn. It was not too hard, for she knew if her plan worked she would never see her mother again.

  “Ah, my lady, I am so sorry.”

  She nodded her appreciation. “But it is worse than even that. You see, my father married the most disagreeable woman. She is terribly difficult to live with.” Delia bit down on her lower lip and looked up at him.

  The admiral’s brow was furrowed. “Whatever do you mean, my lady?”

  “She... she flies into horrible temper if ever I fail to curtsey deep enough, or... if I am late to break my fast.” She spun the tale as she went, hoping he would think the pauses in her story to be from reluctance to share the personal details.

  His posture stiffened the slightest bit. “I am sorry for your troubles, madam. But I am certain that, given time and strict compliance on your part, things might go well for you.”

  “She beats me!” Delia burst out.

  The admiral’s head jerked with v
isible surprise. “Surely not. Did you tell your father?”

  “Yes, of course. But he... he is so stricken with the loss of my mother, you see, and desperate for a companion to fill the loneliness...” She trailed off, her eyes filling with tears. She needed him to buy her tale and feared he would not, that she would have no other choice but to return home. But the sheen of moisture in her eyes lent an air of authenticity to her story as nothing else could.

  “I see.” His mouth was in a firm line. “That is... most unfortunate. Most unfortunate indeed.”

  “She threatened to have me sent away, but first she promised to have me beaten until I would need to summon a carriage to leave.”

  The admiral’s face twisted in sympathy. “I hardly know what to say, my lady. Perhaps I could speak to your father.” He pulled a silver pocket watch from his coat and peered at it. “I am due to depart shortly, but for this cause, I would be willing to delay.”

  Delia felt excitement and fear knot her belly in equal measure. She had to choose every word carefully. “Perhaps you could take me with you.”

  He looked at her without speaking, those intense sapphire eyes moving over her face. “I do not think it possible, my lady.”

  Fear tightened inside her. He had to help her, he had to! This would surely be her only, best chance. “Please. I... I have nowhere else to go.”

  The furrows in his brow deepened as he considered her plea. “We are traveling to Baasing, and I do not have the faintest idea of what I would do with you when we got there.”

  “Why, that’s perfect!” Her face lit with a smile as hope filled her. “I have family in Baasing, and they would take me in, I know they would.”

  He tapped the toe of his polished black boot against the ground. “I do not know... I still think it would be best for me to have a word with your father.”

  Impulsively, she grabbed his hand, her eyes pleading as she gazed into his face. “Please, sir. Have some pity. I have lost my mother, and in a way, my father is lost to me too. Please, I implore your honor as a gentleman that you would take me to the only family I have left.” She could tell he was moved by her appeal. Yet, she held her breath as she waited for him to make a decision.