Marrying the Royal Marine. Carla Kelly

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      ‘Excellent!’ he declared. ‘If you’re up to it, I recommend you dress and go on deck. The surgeon found quite a comfortable canvas chair—I tried it out—and moved it to the quarterdeck. Believe it or not, it’s easier to face an enemy, which, in your case, is the ocean. We can’t have that, Brandon. Fearing the ocean is scarcely patriotic, considering that we are an island nation.’

      ‘I believe you are right, Colonel,’ she said, amused.

      He lifted her out of the sleeping cot, set her on her bare feet, and walked next to her, his hand warm on the small of her back to steady her, across the short space between his door and the door to her cabin. She could smell sulphur fumes behind the door, and was glad he had moved her trunk into the wardroom.

      She shook her head when he offered further assistance, even though she did have trouble standing upright.

      ‘You’ll learn,’ he assured her, then bowed and went up the companionway.

      She took what clothing she needed from her trunk, pausing a time or two to steady herself against the ship’s movement. She hadn’t even crossed the small space back to Colonel Junot’s cabin when a Marine sentry came down the companionway, the same Marine who had stood sentinel last night.

      ‘I want to thank you, Private, for alerting the Colonel to my predicament last night,’ she told him.

      ‘My job, ma’am,’ he replied simply, but she could tell he was pleased.

      That was easy, Polly thought, as she went into the cabin and dressed. Her hair was still a hopeless mess, but at least it smelled strongly of nothing worse than vinegar. ‘My kingdom for enough fresh water to wash this tangle,’ she murmured.

      She cautiously made her way up the companionway to the deck, where she stood and watched the activity around her. No part of England is far from the sea, but she had spent most of her eighteen years in Bath, so she felt herself in an alien world. It was not without its fascination, she decided, as she watched the Sergeant drilling his few Marines in a small space. Close to the bow, the sailing master was schooling the Midshipmen, who awkwardly tried to shoot the sun with sextants. Seamen scrubbed the deck with flat stones the size of prayer books, while others sat cross-legged with sails in their laps, mending tears with large needles. It looked endlessly complex and disorganised, but as she watched she began to see the orderly disorder of life at sea.

      She looked towards the quarterdeck again and Captain Adney nodded to her and lifted his hat, indicating she should join him.

      ‘Let me apologise for myself and all my fellow officers for neglecting you,’ he said. ‘Until Colonel Junot told us what was going on, we had no idea.’

      Hopefully, he didn’t tell you everything, Polly thought, even though she knew her secrets would always be safe with the Colonel. ‘I am feeling much better,’ she said.

      ‘Excellent!’ Captain Adney obviously had no desire to prod about in the workings of females, so there ended his commentary. He indicated the deck chair Colonel Junot had spoken of. Clasping his hands behind his back, he left her to it, resuming his perusal of the ocean.

      Polly smiled to herself, amused by the workings of males. She looked at the chair, noting the chocks placed by the legs so the contraption would not suddenly slide across the quarterdeck. She tried not to hurl herself across the deck, wishing she understood how to ambulate on a slanted plane that would right itself and then slant the other way.

      ‘Brandon, let me suggest that, when you stand, you put one foot behind the other and probably a bit farther apart than you are used to.’

      She looked over her shoulder to see Colonel Junot on the steps to the quarterdeck. He came closer and demonstrated. She imitated him.

      ‘Much better. When you walk, this is no time for mincing steps.’ He smiled at her halting effort. ‘It takes practice. Try out the chair.’

      She let him hand her into it, and she couldn’t help a sigh of pleasure. Amazing that canvas could feel so comfortable. I could like this, she thought, and smiled at the Colonel.

      He smiled in turn, then went back down the steps to the main deck, where the Sergeant stood at attention now with his complement of Marines. A word from Colonel Junot and they relaxed, but not by much. In another minute the Sergeant had dismissed them and he sat with Colonel Junot on a hatch.

      Polly watched them both, impressed by their immaculate posture, which lent both men an ever-ready aspect, as though they could spring into action at a moment’s notice. I suppose you can, she told herself, thinking through all of the Lieutenant Colonel’s quick decisions last night. He had not hesitated once in caring for her, no matter how difficult it must have been. And he seemed to take it all in stride. ‘You were my ever-present help in trouble,’ she murmured.

      She gave her attention to the Colonel again, after making sure the brim of her bonnet was turned down and they wouldn’t know of her observation. While Colonel Junot was obviously a Scot, he did look French. She realised with a surprise that she wanted to know more about him.

      Why? she asked herself. Knowing more about Lieutenant Colonel Hugh Junot would serve no useful purpose, beyond pointing her out as a flirt, something she knew she was not. ‘Bother it,’ she muttered softly.

      She had convinced herself that the best thing she could do for the remainder of this voyage was to follow her original plan and have as little to do with the Marine as possible. Once he was busy with whatever it was that had taken him on this voyage, she would be ignored, which suited her down to the ground. She had never sought the centre of the stage.

      Come to think of it, why was Colonel Junot on this voyage? Bother it, she told herself again. I would like to ask him.

      She knew better. Through Nana, she knew these men sailed with specific orders that were certainly none of her business, no matter how great her curiosity. ‘Bother it,’ she muttered again, and closed her eyes.

      She slept, thanks to the gentle swaying of the canvas seat, comforting after the peaks and troughs of last night’s squall. When she woke, her glasses rested in her lap. Lieutenant Colonel Junot stood next to her chair, his eyes scanning the water. She was struck all over again with his elegance. Compared to naval officers in their plain dark undress coats, the Marines were gaudy tropical birds. He had not an ounce of superfluous flesh, which made him different from the men she noticed in Bath, who were comfortably padded in the custom of the age.

      I am among the elite, she told herself, as she put on her spectacles, bending the wires around her ears again.

      Her small motions must have caught Colonel Junot’s eye because he looked her way and gave her a slight bow, then came closer.

      ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

      ‘I am better today,’ she said simply. ‘Perhaps this means I will not have to seek Portuguese citizenship and remain on the Iberian Peninsula for ever.’

      He laughed and looked around for something to sit on, which gratified her further. He didn’t seem to mind her company. He found a keg and pulled that beside her chair.

      He looked at her a moment before he spoke, perhaps wondering if СКАЧАТЬ