She had some idea. Even now, Anna smiled, remembering. Mama had been her usual forthright self, spelling everything out and offering reassurance, ending with her ringing endorsement of the married state: ‘There now. You’re of amiable disposition and should do quite well as the wife of a sober man.’
A sober man? Anna had been raised in a sober household of a conscientious, God-fearing and trustworthy clergyman, a vicar of rectitude, a man of good example.
‘But Mama, tell me one thing,’ she had asked. ‘Is what you are telling me enjoyable?’
Then came Mama’s never-to-be-forgotten smile. ‘If you are most fortunate, you’ll never regret a minute.’
That was the promise and hope she took with her, thinking of the adventure before her in this watery world of danger—she had seen it—and desperation—she had also seen this when she’d answered her door and her whole life had changed. ‘Will you trust me…?’ rang in her ears and suddenly she wavered.Do I know enough about you, or you about me, for us to trust one another and make this marriage a success?she wondered.Is this course of action wise when I have already lost so many people I care about?Only time would tell, and it was past time for having any regrets over agreeing to this course of action. She had to focus instead on the practicalities of her situation.
Something else touched Anna’s heart. You, sir, have also lost many people you care about:My own brother, a wife you must have loved but rarely saw.Anna also knew there had to be many more, considering how many men of the sea had died because one man tried to rule the world. ‘What can I possibly mean to you?’ she asked herself quietly. ‘Do you even know? Do I?’
So many questions, but one thing heartened her: She knew Captain Beattie was a good man. Her own dear brother had told her that many times. She couldn’t have explained it to anyone, but there it was. John Beattie was a good man living in hard times.
A practical woman, she needed to focus right now on the events of the day. She had no wedding dress, only a simple sprigged muslin she had stuck in her trunk because it took up almost no space. As Pru watched from their shared bed, her eyes lively, Anna shook it out and despaired of the wrinkles. There was only one thing to do. She dressed in yesterday’s dress, also wrinkled, but at least free from blood.
Sprigged muslin in hand, she opened the door to the main room to a hearty greeting from Admiral Collingwood, alreadyseated at a desk drowning in documents. Bounce padded over for a pat on the head, quickly administered because she liked the dog with his pointy ears and expression of perpetual interest.
‘Sir, is there anyone aboard who might press my dress?’
The Admiral tinkled a bell, which summoned the steward. ‘Adams, Miss Fontaine could use a press.’ And to her, ‘Miss Fontaine, hand it over. TheSwallowshould be arriving soon, and I relish a wedding. Haven’t seen one in years.’
Neither have I, she thought,and this one is mine.
‘Papa, do you ever get tired of bobbing up and down?’
His son’s announcement at the usual hurry-up morning meal in theSwallow’s cramped wardroom brought a general chuckle from the surgeon, the master, John’s first lieutenant, a Royal Marine who was visiting, and the new second luff.
What a rare and wonderful moment it was to take his small son on his lap, feel him settle back as if it was his favourite place and tell him, ‘Allan, there is an old story—maybe it was on Noah’s Ark—that when the bobbing of winds and waves stopped, everyone on board fell over in a heap.’
Allan considered the fact. ‘I thought so,’ he said, which resulted in more laughter from his officers.We haven’t been laughing much, John thought.I like this.
‘Do you like bobbing up and down?’ his son persisted.
‘I believe I do.’
‘Will Missy and Pru?’
‘Hard to say, but they won’t be on the ship often,’ he said, and didn’t like the sudden hollow feeling from such a statement, one that would usually have troubled him not at all, except that he had met Anna Fontaine, and something had happened to him. Certainly, she would not be on theSwallow, and what a pity.
From the usual clatter of his brain at sea, another thought demanded attention:I wasn’t aboard either, John. Don’t forget me, your own Cathy.
‘I won’t,’ he said softly, so his son could not hear.
‘I like Missy and Pru,’ Allan said.
‘So do I, son,’ he replied, even as Cathy remained in his mind.
He took that thought with him onto the quarterdeck, Allan tagging along, then standing still in imitation, legs wide, with one in front of the other, to the amusement of his crew on deck. John watched as theHartfordcame alongside in early morning. Through a brass speaking trumpet he hailed Captain Tyler, who informed him in turn that theJauntyhad safely made port in Gibraltar.
‘For which our Navy thanks you. Will you come with us back to theQueen?’ John asked. ‘There’s a wedding.’
Captain Tyler must be the cheeky sort. ‘If there is cake.’
Would there be?
‘I… I…do not know that myself,’ he said, embarrassed how little he knew. He even wondered if Anna was having second thoughts. He’d be surprised if she wasn’t. This was war, after all.
‘P’raps I shall be there,’ Tyler told him. ‘I haven’t kissed a bride in ages.’
