Shipwrecked With The Captain

‘Shall I come and help you undress when the time comes?’ Mrs Molloy asked.

Claire forced her gaze away from the mirror. ‘That would be very kind.’

‘Anything else we can do for you?’ the woman asked.

Claire responded. ‘I can think of nothing—’

Lucien interrupted her. ‘Baths? May we arrange baths?’

Mrs Molloy smiled. ‘To be sure you’ll be wanting baths after what you’ve been through. Would you want your clothes laundered, as well?’

‘I am not certain they are salvageable,’ Lucien said.

‘We’ll just have to find you something else to wear, won’t we?’ She patted his arm and left.

Claire could not take her eyes off the mirror, but she hesitated.

Lucien took her by the arm. ‘Delay never helps.’ He walked her over to the mirror and stood her directly in front of it.

His grip gave her courage. She lifted her head and looked in the mirror.

‘What do you see?’ he asked.

She laughed in relief. ‘I see me! I feared I would see a stranger, but I look like me. Same brown hair, same eyes, same nose that is unfashionable, same lips. I look like me.’

Was she a beauty? If so, she disliked the stares of men.

Except for Lucien. That he thought her beautiful made her feel warm all over.

His reflection was behind hers, his expression unreadable. He was so very handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, hair and beard dark as the night, eyes as brown and alert as a fox’s.

Alert as a fox’s. Where had that thought come from? She inhaled a quick breath. Had she remembered him?

She opened her mouth to tell him she might have had a memory, but shut it again. How could she explain it was all about him?

Instead she turned to face him. ‘Brilliant of you to ask for baths, Lucien. A bath will seem like heaven.’

She remembered how pleasant it was to lie in a warm bath, to rub soap against her skin and to feel clean again.

She just could not remember a time or place before this when she’d taken a bath.

The bath was in a room close to the kitchen, so the hauling of water would not be too onerous for the maids and the water would remain hot. Lucien allowed Lady Rebecca to go first and he went in search of Mr Molloy, mostly to distract himself from thinking of her naked in the tub, stroking her skin with soap.

‘Molloy,’ he said, finding him back in the public rooms. ‘I need your assistance. We have nothing. Where can I purchase necessities?’ He had some coins that had remained in his pockets, sufficient to buy what they needed.

‘You’ll be wanting Brady’s store.’ The innkeeper directed him to the place.

He purchased a razor and comb for himself, toothbrushes for them both, a hairbrush and hairpins for Rebecca. And ribbons.

Mrs Molloy made good her promise to find them clothes.

* * *

By the time the sun had set, the last vestiges of the sea were washed away and clean clothes replaced ones ruined by salt water.

‘It feels wonderful,’ Rebecca said. ‘I wonder if I have ever had a bath that felt as glorious or clothes that felt as good against my skin.’

He could agree. He was glad to be rid of his beard and the only clothes that would feel more right to him would be his uniform.

They returned to the public rooms to dine. The rooms were more crowded than before, with both men and women sharing food and drink, but the people were warm and welcoming. Their story of surviving the shipwreck had spread and they spent the meal answering questions about the event.

Lady Rebecca, so at ease among these simple villagers, surprised him at every turn. When had he known any aristocratic lady like her? Even his mother, who merely aspired to the aristocracy, looked down her nose at those she perceived as inferior. Of course, Lady Rebecca did not remember being of high birth. That must explain it.

They were treated to endless tankards of ale and the inn’s brew was particularly hoppy and refreshing. All the voices in the room grew louder as the night wore on, but Lucien could hear Rebecca’s laugh above the din.

A lovely sound, one he remembered from the packet. So she had been the lady with the captivating laugh. She swayed and caught herself by leaning against a table.

Lucien came to her side. ‘It is time to retire, my lady.’

She nodded with a grateful look and coloured with the hum of approval that followed in their wake.

‘I feel so unsteady,’ she said as they entered the hall and started up the stairs.

‘It is the ale.’ He kept a firm hold on her.

‘It was quite delicious ale, was it not?’ She reached for the banister. ‘I wonder if I liked ale before, because I quite like it now.’

‘I noticed, my lady.’

She stopped on the stairs. ‘It feels so odd for you to call me “my lady.”’

‘Because you do not remember,’ he said.

‘I do not like it.’ She leaned against him and tipped her head up to look him in the face. ‘It makes me different from everyone else.’

‘That is not so bad a thing,’ he reassured.

‘I suppose I am different.’ She kept staring into his eyes. ‘I have no memory.’

‘Even so, you have done well in every situation you’ve encountered,’ he told her.

‘Have I?’ She smiled and swayed closer to him, tantalisingly close.

He took a bracing breath and eased her away. ‘It is time you were abed.’

Her eyes widened and her lips parted.

God help him.