The Admiral's Penniless Bride Read online

  He had no qualms about gesturing with his hook. If he had lived with the thing since his lieutenant days, then it was second nature, and not something to hide. She looked around the dining room. No one was staring at him, but this was Plymouth, where seamen with parts missing were more common than in Bath, or Oxford. This is my husband, she wanted to say, she who barely knew him. He is mine. The idea was altogether intoxicating and it made her blush.

  He had hired a post chaise for the ride home. ‘I…we…are only three miles from Plymouth proper. I suppose I shall get a carriage, and that will mean horses, with which I have scant acquaintance,’ he told her. ‘It’s going to be hard for me to cut a dashing figure atop a horse.’ He shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know a good horse if it bit me…which it will, probably.’

  Sally put her hand to her mouth to keep in the laugh. With a twinkle in his eyes, the admiral took her hand away. ‘It is a funny image, Sophia,’ he said. ‘Go ahead and laugh. I imagine years and years of midshipmen would love to see such a sight. And probably most of my captains, too.’

  He fell silent then, as they drove inland for a mile, over the route she had taken on foot only yesterday. How odd, she thought. It seems like years ago already, when I was Sally Paul.

  He was gazing intently out the window and she wondered why, until the ocean came in sight again and he sat back with a sigh. He misses it, she thought, even if it is only a matter of a few miles.

  ‘You miss the ocean, don’t you?’

  He nodded. ‘I thought I would not. After I retired, I spent some weeks in Yorkshire, visiting an old shipmate far inland—well, I was hiding from Fannie and Dora. What a miserable time! Yes, I miss the ocean when I do not see it.’ He looked her in the eye. ‘Did you ever meet a bigger fool?’

  ‘Probably not,’ she replied, her voice soft, which made the admiral blush—something she doubted he did very often. ‘It it amazing what revelation comes out, after the ring goes on.’

  ‘I suppose you have deep, dark secrets, too,’ he told her, good humour in his voice, as if he could not imagine such a thing.

  He had come closer to the mark than was comfortable, and she wished again she had told him her real married name. It was too late now. She would have to hope the matter would never come up. Sally returned some sort of nonsensical reply that she forgot as soon as it left her lips, but which must have satisfied the man. His gaze returned to the view out the chaise window.

  ‘I do have a confession,’ he said, as the post chaise slowed and turned into a lane which must have been lovely at one time, but which now was overgrown and rutted.

  It can’t be worse than my omission, she thought. ‘I’m all a-tremble,’ she said, feeling like the biggest hypocrite who ever wore shoe leather.

  He chuckled, and touched her knee with his hook. ‘Sophia, I promise you I do not have a harem in Baghdad—too far from the coast—or an evil twin locked in the attic.’ He didn’t quite meet her gaze. ‘You’ll see soon enough. How to put this? I didn’t precisely buy this property for the manor.’

  He had timed his confession perfectly. The coachman slowed his horses even more on the last turn, and then the estate came into view. What probably should have been a graceful lawn sloping towards a bluff overlooking a sterling view of Plymouth Sound was a tangle of weeds and overgrown bushes.

  The admiral was watching her expression, so Sally did her best to keep it entirely neutral. ‘It appears you could use an entire herd of sheep,’ she murmured. ‘And possibly an army equipped with scythes.’

  She looked closer, towards the front door, and her eyes widened. She put her hand to her mouth in astonishment. Rising out of a clump of undergrowth worthy almost of the Amazon was a naked figure. ‘Good heavens,’ she managed. ‘Is that supposed to be Venus?’

  ‘Hard to say. You can’t see it from here, but she seems to be standing on what is a sea shell. Or maybe it is a cow patty,’ the admiral said. He coughed.

  There she stood, one ill-proportioned hand modestly over her genitals. Sally looked closer, then blushed. The hand wasn’t over her privates as much as inside them. The statue’s mouth was open, and she appeared to be thinking naughty thoughts.

  ‘I think this might be Penelope, and her husband has been gone a long time,’ Sally said finally.

  She didn’t dare look at the admiral, but she had no urge to continue staring at a statue so obviously occupied with business of a personal nature. She gulped. ‘A very long time.’

  ‘No doubt about it,’ the admiral said, and he sounded like he was strangling.

  I don’t dare look at him, else I will fall on the floor in a fit of laughter, and then what will he think? Sally told herself. And then she couldn’t help herself. The laughter rolled out of its own accord and she clutched her sides. When she could finally bring herself to look at the admiral, he was wiping his eyes.

  ‘Mrs Bright, you would be even more shocked to know there was a companion statue on the other side of the door. Let me just say it was a man, and leave it at that.’

  ‘Wise of you,’ she murmured, and went off in another gust of laughter. When she could muster a coherent thought, Sally realised it had been years and years since she had laughed at all, let alone so hard.

  ‘What happened to…ah…Romeo?’ she asked.

  ‘My steward—you would probably call him my butler—whacked him off at the ankles. I suppose he hasn’t had time to get around to the lady.’

  The admiral left the post chaise first. She took his hand as he helped her out. ‘I can scarcely imagine what delights await me indoors,’ Sally said.

  ‘Oh, I think you can,’ was all he would say, as he put his hand under her elbow and helped her up the steps. ‘Careful now. I should probably carry you over the threshold, Mrs Admiral Sir Charles Bright, but you will observe the front steps are wobbly.’

  ‘I shall insist upon it when the steps are fixed.’

  ‘Oh, you will?’ he asked, and then kissed her cheek. ‘Hopefully, our relationship will continue after your first view of the entry hall.’ He opened the door with a flourish. ‘Feast your eyes, madam wife.’

  The hall itself appeared dingy, the walls discoloured from years of neglect, but the ceiling drew her eyes upwards immediately. Her mouth fell open. She stepped back involuntarily and her husband’s arm seemed to naturally encircle her waist.

  ‘At the risk of ruining my credit with you for ever, Sophia, I saw a ceiling like this once in a Naples bawdy house.’

  ‘I don’t doubt that for a minute!’ she declared, looking around at a ceiling full of cupids engaged in activities the statue out front had probably never even dreamed of. ‘Over there…what on earth…? Oh, my goodness.’ Sally put her hands to her cheeks, feeling their warmth. She turned around and took her husband by the lapels of his coat. ‘Mr Bright, who on earth owned this house?’

  ‘The estate agent described him as an earl—the sorry end of a long line of earls—who had roughly one thing on his mind. Apparently, in early summer, the old roué used to indulge in the most amazing debaucheries in this house. After that, he closed up the place and retreated to his London lodgings.’

  She couldn’t help herself. She leaned her forehead against her new husband’s chest. His arms went around her and she felt his hook against her waist. ‘There had better be a very good reason that a man of sound mind— I’m speaking of you—would buy such a house, Admiral Bright.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘Not two minutes inside your new home and I am back to “admiral”.’ He took her hand. ‘Yes, there is a good reason. Humour me another moment.’

  She followed where he led, her hand in his, down the hall with its more-than-naughty inmates high above, and out through the French doors into the garden, which was as ill used as the front lawn. Beyond a thoroughly ugly gazebo was the wide and—today—serene expanse of the ocean. It filled the horizon with a deep blue that blended into the early summer sky. Sea birds wheeled and called overhead and she could hear wave
s breaking on the rocks below. In the distance, a ship under full sail seemed to skim the water as it made for Plymouth.

  The admiral released her hand. ‘One look at this and I knew I would never find another place so lovely. What do you think, Sophia? Should I tear down the house and rebuild?’

  She turned around and looked at her new home, sturdy with stone that might have once been painted a pastel; elegant French doors that opened on to a fine terrace; wide, floor-to-ceiling windows that would be wonderful to stand behind, when the day was stormy and still the ocean beckoned.

  ‘No. It’s a good house. Once a little—a lot—of paint is applied.’

  ‘My thoughts precisely. I got it for a song.’

  She had to smile at that. ‘I’m surprised the estate agent didn’t pay you to take it off his hands! Have your sisters been here?’

  ‘Once. Fannie had to wave burnt feathers under Dora’s nose, and they were gone the next morning before it was even light. I confess I haven’t done anything to the house since, because they assured me they would never return until I did. Until now.’ He sighed and tugged her over to the terrace’s stone railing, where they sat. ‘It worked for a few months, but even these imps from hell weren’t strong enough to ward off the curse of women with too much time on their hands. Fannie is planning to redecorate in an Egyptian style, and Dora tags along.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Any day now, which is why my cook is on strike and…’ He put his hook to his ear, which made her smile. ‘Hark! I hear the thump-tap of my steward. Here he is, my steward through many a battle. John Starkey, may I introduce my wife, Mrs Bright?’

  Yesterday, she might have been startled, but not today. From his peg leg to his eye patch, John Starkey was everything a butler was not. All he lacked was a parrot on his shoulder. If he had opened his mouth and exhibited only one, lonely tooth, she would not have been surprised. As it was, he had a full set of teeth and a gentle smile, even a shy one. She looked from the admiral to his steward, realising all over again that these were men not much used to the ameliorating company of women.

  But his smile was genuine. She nodded her head. ‘Starkey, I am delighted to make your acquaintance. Is this the strangest place you have ever lived?’

  ‘Aye, madam.’

  ‘But you would follow the admiral anywhere, I take it.’

  He looked faintly surprised. ‘I already have, Mrs Bright,’ he replied, which told her volumes about a world of war she would never know. It touched her more than anything else he could have said.

  ‘Starkey answers the front door, polishes my best hook—and any other silver we might have lying around—decants wine with the best of them and never considers any command too strange,’ the admiral said. ‘Starkey, the naked woman in the front yard will have to go. Lively now.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ He knuckled his forehead. ‘I ran out of time.’ He bowed to them both and left the terrace. In a few minutes, Sally heard the sound of chopping.

  ‘I’m low on servants,’ he told her as he got off the railing and started for the French doors. She followed. ‘That will be your task. Go back to Plymouth and hire whomever you think we need.’

  She walked with him slowly back down the hall, neither of them looking up. He paused before a closed door. ‘This is my—our—library.’

  ‘Wonderful! I was hoping the house had one.’ Sally started forwards, but the admiral neatly hooked the sash on the back of her dress and reeled her in.

  ‘Over my prone and desiccated corpse, Sophia,’ he said. ‘If you think these cherubs are…ah…interesting, you’ll be fair shocked by the walls in here. And the books. And the busts.’ He winced. ‘I’ve never seen such a collection of ribaldry under one roof. The earl seemed to prefer illustrations to words.’

  ‘My blushes,’ Sally said.

  ‘Mine, too, and I consider myself a pretty normal navy man.’ He laughed softly. ‘The old earl has me beat! I looked through one book and found myself darting glances over my shoulder, hoping my mother—she’s been dead nearly forty years—wasn’t standing close enough to box my ears and send me to bed without any supper.’ He removed his hook from the back of her dress. ‘I’m not a man who believes in book burning, but I’m going to make an exception, in this case. We’ll make an evening of it.’

  He continued down the hall, and she followed, shaking her head. He stopped before another door. ‘Speaking of meat…this is the way belowdeck to the galley.’ He straightened his shabby coat. ‘In case you are wondering, I am girding my loins. My cook is down there—don’t forget he is on strike.’

  Sally stared at the door, and back at her husband. ‘Is he that terrifying?’

  ‘Let us just say he is French.’ He peered closer. ‘Right now, you are probably asking yourself how on earth you let yourself be talked into marriage to a certified lunatic and life in a house of, well, if not ill repute, then very bad art.’

  He started to say something else, but he was interrupted by a crack from the front entrance and the sound of bushes shaking. ‘I think Penelope has more on her tiny mind now than Odysseus’s continued absence,’ Bright murmured. ‘I will choose discretion over valour, and not even ask what you think of all this.’

  You would be surprised, Admiral, she thought. I have never been so diverted. Sally took his arm and opened the door. ‘I think it is time I met your cook.’

  Chapter Five

  ‘His name is Etienne Dupuis, and I won him with a high card after the Battle of Trafalgar,’ the admiral whispered as they went quietly down the stairs. ‘He was the best cook in the fleet, but he can be moody at times.’

  ‘This is one of those times, I take it,’ Sally whispered back. ‘Why are we whispering?’

  ‘He told me if I ever allowed my sisters here again, he would leave me to Starkey’s cooking and return to La Belle France.’

  ‘And would he?’

  ‘I don’t intend to find out.’ His lips were close to her ear, and she felt a little shiver down her spine. ‘Let us see how charming you can be, Mrs Bright.’

  They came into a pleasant-sized servants’ hall. Thankfully, there were no cupids painted on these walls, but all was dark. The Rumford didn’t look as though there had been a fire lit for several days.

  ‘I think we’re too late,’ she whispered, not minding a bit that the admiral had pulled her close. ‘See here, sir, are you more afraid than I am?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he told her. ‘You didn’t know you had married the coward of the Blue Fleet, did you? Good thing there was no Yellow Fleet. Stay close, Sophia. He threw a cleaver at me once.’

  ‘Goodness! In that case, I think I should stay far away!’

  He took her hand and towed her further into the kitchen. ‘Etienne? I want you to meet my wife. She is the kindest creature in the galaxy.’

  Sally smiled. ‘You don’t even know me,’ she whispered into his shoulder.

  ‘I think I do,’ he told her, raising her hand in his and kissing it. ‘You’ve been here twenty minutes at least, and you haven’t run screaming away from this den of iniquity I purchased. I call that a kindness. Etienne? She’s nothing like my sisters. Can we declare a truce?’

  The admiral nodded towards the fireplace and a high-backed chair, where a little puff of smoke plumed. The man in the chair—she could see only his feet—didn’t move or say anything. He cleared his throat and continued to puff.

  ‘He’s more than usually stubborn,’ Bright whispered.

  ‘He sounds very much like the old ladies I tended,’ Sally whispered back. She released her grip on the admiral. ‘Let me see what I can do.’ She couldn’t help herself. ‘What is it worth to you, sir?’ she teased.

  Before he spoke, the admiral gave her such a look that she felt her stomach grow warm. ‘How about a wedding ring that fits?’ he asked at last, with the humorous look she was used to already, the one that challenged her to match his wit.

  ‘Solid gold and crusted with diamonds,’ she teased. ‘And
an emerald or two.’

  Sally picked up a chair at the servants’ table and put it down next to the high-backed chair. She seated herself, not looking at the little man. ‘I’m Sophia Bright,’ she said.

  There was a grunt from the chair, but nothing more.

  ‘Honestly, how can my husband even imagine you can work in this place, with no pots-and-pans girl, and no assistant? What was he thinking? And his sisters? That’s more than even a saint could endure. I shouldn’t be surprised if you have already packed your valise.’

  Another puff. Then, ‘I have been thinking long and hard about packing.’

  ‘I could never blame you,’ she said, shivering a little. ‘Do you have enough bed covering down here? I believe it would be no trouble to find a proper footstool for your chair. I will go look right now.’

  That was all it took. The little man got up from his chair and bowed. ‘Etienne Dupuis at your service, Lady Bright. Bah! What would I do with a footstool?’

  ‘Make yourself more comfortable?’ she asked, keeping her voice innocent. ‘And I will worry about you, shivering down here in the dark.’

  In a moment, the chef had pulled down the lamp over the table, lit it and sent it back up. He shook coal into the grate and lit it, then turned to the Rumford. ‘Would madam care for tea?’

  ‘I’d love some, Etienne, but I know you are a busy man and it isn’t time for tea yet. Besides…weren’t you about to pack?’

  ‘I will make time,’ he said, bowing graciously again and ignoring her question. ‘I shall have Starkey serve tea on the terrace.’

  ‘That is so kind of you,’ she said, not daring to look her husband in the eyes. She could see that he had not moved from where she had left him. ‘Perhaps some tea for the admiral, too.’ She leaned closer in a conspiratorial manner. ‘Poor man. It’s not his fault that he has such sisters.’

  ‘I suppose it is not,’ the chef said, busying himself in the pantry now. ‘They order me about and tell me what to do in my own kitchen! Me!’