Her Three Captains
Arabella Sheen
The
Honorable Olivia Trevillion lifted the long skirts of her embroidered silk
evening gown and stepped cautiously down from her carriage into the grey
oppressive darkness of the night. She had come straight from a rout party given
by her aunt. Adorned with glittering jewels and festooned in her best finery,
Olivia was hardly dressed to visit a sailor’s tavern on such a cold November
night, but time was of the essence. She was in need of help and guessed that
the gentleman she thought most likely to be of assistance to her was probably
to be found amid the thirsty patrons of The Sailors Haven, which was the
black-and-white timber-framed watering hole before her.
A
thick fog was rolling in on the evening’s tide, and several of the tall ships
docked on the quayside were already half concealed by the heavy mist that was
falling. The unsettling noise of the inn’s inebriated patrons emanating from
the tavern could be heard above the soft sound of the lapping waves as they hit
gently against the wooden hulls of ships and the stone walls of the dockside,
but she wasn’t deterred. She wasn’t here on a whim. She was on a mission and
had a purpose.
“Wait
here, Barnet,” she said, impatient to be gone. “I shall not be long.”
Her
coachman touched a finger to his forelock and, with a flick of his hand,
signaled for the young groom beside him to go to the front of the carriage and
take hold of the horses’ heads.
“Aye,
miss,” Barnet mumbled. “But I ain’t happy about you having no one with you. You
ought not to venture in there alone. Would you like Wicks to accompany you?”
Olivia
shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”
Reminded
of possible danger, she felt in the folds of her cloak and was reassured by the
heavy weight of her pistol.
“It
won’t be safe for you, miss,” Barnet warned.
Barnet
had worked for her family for many years. He was an old and loyal servant, and Olivia
always trusted his judgment. But this was something she had to do, and she had
to do it tonight … and alone.
Drawing
her cloak tightly about her person and ignoring her coachman’s counsel, she
walked with steady determined strides toward the flickering lights of the
tavern. Placing her hand against the gnarled wood of the door, she pushed it
open and entered the hostelry.
The
tavern was dimly lit. A roaring fire burned bright in the hearth, and several
men with a tankard of ale in one hand and a pretty wench in the other were
making free and merry, uncensored by the noisy crowd around them.
“And
what can we do for you, my dear?” asked a buxom woman.
The
woman’s hands were rested on her well-rounded hips, and her dress, where the
neckline had slipped low and deep, showed an ample amount of cleavage. She
didn’t look like one of the taverns’ punters, more like the landlady. And there
was also an air of authority about her that suggested she might actually own
the place.
Olivia
peered into the horde of drunken revelers, searching for a familiar face, but
she couldn’t see the man she was looking for.
“I
was told Luke Crowe might be here this evening,” she said. “Perhaps I was
misinformed.”
Olivia
had just come from her aunt’s rout party where she had overheard mentioned that
a ship, The Mattea, had docked in Bristol’s harbor that morning.
It
was also suggested that Luke Crowe and his unsavory crew would undoubtedly be
enjoying some of the worldly pleasures that were to be found in one of the quayside’s
many taverns that very night.
“No,
my lovely, he’s here all right.” The woman smiled, showing an uneven row of
rotten teeth. “You’ve come to the right place. But our Captain Luke ain’t one
to sit with the likes of these unruly gentlemen.”
The
woman flicked her head in the direction of her customers as if to indicate they
were the undesirables.
Olivia
sighed her relief. “You mean, he’s here? Captain Crowe is here?”
The
fact Luke was to be found at the tavern gave her hope. When entering The
Sailors Haven unaccompanied, she had taken a chance and risked her reputation,
but it seemed as if her gamble was about to pay off.
“He
always asks for our best parlor at the back of the house. And it’s never
anything else but the best. Drink, food … women.” The woman winked. “If you’re
after him, he’s sitting with some fine fellows he calls friends, but he doesn’t
like being disturbed, not when he’s playing a winning hand of cards.”
“But
I must see him,” Olivia insisted. “It’s an urgent matter, and I must speak with
him privately.”
“As
I said, he won’t see anyone, especially if they are a stranger to him.”
“But
I do know him. We were once acquaintances, friends, but…”
“Ahh,
you’re a lady friend of his, are you?”
Olivia
didn’t make an effort to deny the landlady’s wrong assumption. Instead, she
dipped her hand deep into her reticule and retrieved several coins. She pressed
them into the woman’s palm. “If you would now lead the way…”
With
her palm greased, the woman soon changed her tune. “Well, as I’ve never known
him to refuse a pretty lady anything before, you’d best come with me, miss.”
Olivia
was taken to the back of the tavern, where the landlady pulled aside a dark
velvet curtain to reveal a room clouded in thick smoke. Men were sitting around
a table, and by the pile of coins stacked high in the center, it looked like a
game of cards had been in full swing for some time.
A
dark-haired man, strikingly handsome in countenance, with broad shoulders and a
broad chest, with supreme confidence in his actions, laid down his cards and
leaned across the table. With the arrogant assurance of a winner, he spread his
arms wide, and then giving a loud laugh of satisfaction, he gathered the
mountain of coins into a heap, pulling them toward him.
“Thank
you, gentlemen. It was my pleasure,” he said.
The
man was indeed Luke Crowe.
Even
though it had been ten years or more since Olivia had last met Luke at Chamber
Manor, her family’s home in Devon, she would have recognized him anywhere. He
was decidedly older, but just as good-looking, if not more so. A sudden rush of
heat surged through her. His dark chestnut-brown hair was tied back from his
face with a black ribbon, and a smattering of grey tufts showed amid his dark
tresses, but unlike before, Luke was dressed not in a seafaring uniform, but
elegantly in a suit made from a rich, finely woven cloth. Matured, sun-kissed
and weathered, he still held a mysterious fascination for her.
Luke
raised his eyes from the table and their gazes locked. For a brief moment, a
frown of puzzlement marred his brow, and then, with slow deliberation, his hand
lifted the thin cheroot he was holding between his fingers to his lips and he
inhaled deeply. After exhaling a long, threadlike cloud of tobacco smoke into
the air, he stood and bowed low.
“Gentlemen,
there’s a lady in our midst,” he said in a deep, commanding voice.
Olivia
felt deflated. He hadn’t recognized her.
She
had thought he might have remembered her from when she was a child, but he
obviously couldn’t recall who she was.
A
scraping of chairs on the hardwood of the bare tavern floor could be heard, and
the men seated at the card table hurriedly got to their feet to acknowledge her
presence.
They
were all dressed to the height of fashion.
Wearing
fine linen shirts with high pointed collars reaching to just beneath their
chins, and kitted out in fancy tailored waistcoats embroidered with fine gold
threads, it was apparent that these gentlemen were not of the same social
standing as the occupants toward the front of the tavern. But that didn’t mean
they had absolutely nothing in common with their fellow patrons. It was clear
these men were also inebriated to the point of near senselessness. Most of them
were well into their cups and were standing unsteadily on their feet.
“A
lady friend of yours, is she, Crowe? And a mighty pretty one at that.”
The
man who had spoken lifted a glass to his lips. Tilting his head back, he
drained the dregs from his goblet. Tottering, he staggered, falling backward
onto his chair, and as his head and torso tumbled forward onto the table, the
loud snorts and grunts that followed were an unmistakable indication of his
level of unconsciousness.
“You
must excuse Lord Hepworth, my dear,” Luke said. “The sight of a beautiful woman
tends to have that effect upon him.”
Olivia
caught her breath at the innuendo behind the backhanded compliment. She was not
flattered.
“Captain
Crowe, my concern is not for Lord Hepworth and his reaction to the female form.
My business happens to be with you, sir. Is there somewhere private where we
may speak? I have something I must ask and would feel more at ease if we were
alone.”
Luke
gave an indifferent shrug, and she began to wonder if he, too, had overindulged
in the carafe of wine that was close to his hand. Was he sober enough to hear
her out?
“As
you can see, there is nowhere private in this place. We are as private as we’re
likely to be. Which is perhaps a good thing. I would not wish your reputation
to be sullied.”
“Sir,
I care not for my reputation. I must speak with you about—”
“Madam,
you might not care for your reputation, but I certainly have mine to think of.
All too often I’ve been caught off guard, and never again will I trust a
woman.”
Several
men burst into laughter, but even though she knew it was partially the drink
talking, she had difficulty seeing the humor in Luke’s remark. Was his glib
insult directed at her, or was there something else behind his harsh words?
Tilting
her chin upward, she said, “Please forgive me for wasting your time, Captain. I
am at fault. I had thought you could help, but it’s apparent that tonight I’ve
made a needless journey. Good night, sir.”
Pulling
her cloak securely around her, Olivia turned and left the room. She was
defeated. She had braved the perils of the sailors’ watering hole and had
pinned all her hopes on persuading Luke to help her, and it had been to no
avail.
Making
her way back through the crowded tavern, she emerged into the chill of the
November night and filled her lungs with clean, sea-scented air. She felt dirty
and soiled and crushed. Her encounter with Luke had left her feeling defeated.
He was obviously not the gentleman she remembered him to be.
The
fog had cleared. Walking to the edge of the quayside, she looked down and saw
the bright shadow of the moon reflected as its yellow light rippled across the
dark waters of the harbor. Somewhere without family, and lost on the other side
of the ocean, was her brother, Joseph.
She
had hoped to help him, but tonight she had failed.
Returning
to where the carriage was stationed, she looked up at the coachman. He sat with
reins in hand, awaiting instructions.
“You
may take me home, Barnet. Unfortunately, Captain Crowe is not the man I
remembered him to be. He cannot help us.” And with a heavy heart, Olivia made
her way home, trying to think of other ways in which she might help her brother.
BUY LINKS: https://books2read.com/u/3G6DlL
About Arabella Sheen
Arabella Sheen is a British author of contemporary romance and likes nothing more than the challenge of starting a new novel with fresh ideas and inspiring characters.
One of the many things Arabella loves to do is to read. And when she’s not researching or writing about romance, she is either on her allotment sowing and planting with the seasons or she is curled on the sofa with a book, while pandering to the demands of her attention-seeking cat.
Having lived and worked in the Netherlands as a theatre nurse for nearly twenty years, she now lives in the south-west of England with her family.
Arabella hopes her readers have as much pleasure from her romance stories as she has in writing them.
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