Marrying the Royal Marine Read Free Page A

hear me?’
    Private Leonard returned with his lantern, holding it above them in the tiny cabin. The light fell on as pitiful a specimen of womanhood as he had ever seen. Gone was the moderately attractive, composed young lady of two days ago. In her place was a creature so exhausted with vomiting that she could barely raise her hands to cover her eyes against the feeble glow of the lantern.
    ‘I should have approached you sooner, sir,’ Private Leonard said, his voice full of remorse.
    ‘How were you to know?’ he asked. ‘We officers should have wondered what was going on when she didn’t come out for meals. Private, go find the surgeon. I am relieving you at post.’
    ‘Aye, aye, Colonel.’
    Uncertain what to do, Hugh hung the lantern from the deck beam and gently moved Miss Brandon’s matted hair from her face, which was dry and caked. She didn’t open her eyes, but ran her tongue over cracked lips. ‘You’re completely parched,’ he said. ‘Dryer than a bone. My goodness, Miss Brandon.’
    She started to cry then, except she was too dehydrated for tears. Out of his element, he didn’t know how to comfort her. Was she in pain? He wished there was a porthole he could open to let in some bracing sea air and banish the odour. Poor Miss Brandon was probably suffering the worst kind of mortification to be so discovered by a man she barely knew. If there was a better example of helplessness, he had never encountered it.
    Private Leonard returned. Hugh looked behind him, but there was no surgeon.
    ‘Sir, the surgeon and his mate are both tending to a foretopman who fell from the rigging.’ Private Leonard made a face. ‘He reminded me that no one dies of seasickness and recommended we get some water and vinegar so she can clean herself up.’
    ‘Private, she can’t clean a fingernail in her condition,’ he said. He stood there a moment, looking down at Miss Brandon, then at the Private. ‘Go get a quart or two of vinegar from Cook and a gallon of fresh water. If anyone gives you any grief, tell them they don’t want to know how bad it will be if I have to come up and do it myself!’
    The Private stood even straighter. ‘Aye, aye, sir. Should I get some cloths, too?’
    ‘As many as you can gather. Good thinking.’
    He closed the door behind the Private, who pounded up the companionway, obviously glad to have a purpose. He found a stool and pulled it close to the sleeping cot, which was swaying to the ship’s roll. He tried to keep his tone conversational, knowing that nothing he was going to do in the next hour would be pleasing to a modest lady. ‘Miss Brandon, the surgeon cannot come, but he has declared that no one dies of seasickness. You will not be the first, and certainly not on my watch.’
    ‘I. Would. Rather. Die.’
    At least she was alert. ‘It’s not allowed in the Royal Navy, my dear,’ he told her kindly. ‘When Private Leonard returns, I am going to tidy you, find you another nightgown, and put you in my sleeping cot, so I can swab down this one.’
    She started to cry in earnest then, which was a sorry sight, since there were no tears. ‘Leave me alone,’ she pleaded.
    ‘I can’t leave you alone. I would do anything to spare you embarrassment, Miss Brandon, but you must be tended to.’
    ‘The surgeon?’
    ‘Busy. My dear, you’ll just have to trust me, because there is no one else.’
    She hadn’t opened her eyes in their whole exchange, and it touched him to think how embarrassed she must be. She was obviously well educated and gently reared, and this was probably the first time in her whole life she had ever been alone with a man who wasn’t a relative. He wasn’t sure what to do, but he put his hand against her soiled cheek and held it there until she stopped her dry sobbing.
    Private Leonard returned with the vinegar and water. He had tucked clean rags under his arm, and removed them when he set down the bucket. ‘I’ll get some sea water, too, Colonel,’ he