Shipmate: A Royal Regard Prequel Novella

A
Royal Regard Prequel Novella

By Mariana Gabrielle

Shipmate

Copyright © 2015 by Mariana Gabrielle

Smashwords Edition: 978-1-311-92716-3

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents are either a product of fiction or are used
in a fictitious manner, including portrayal of historical figures
and situations. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is
entirely coincidental.

To the readers and other writers in the
Bluestocking Bookshop, to their respective characters, and to
Bella’s once and future hero, Nick, all of whom have helped shy
Bella Smithson grow into the woman I always knew her to be.

April 3, 1805

Bath, England

“There is Lady Lisbourne.” Beneath the
raucous dance music, Minerva, Lady Effingale, spoke in almost a
full voice to emulate a whisper, making her niece wince beneath the
likelihood of public humiliation. “I plan to introduce you, but
best wait until she is alone; her eldest son’s wife has a vicious
tongue, and will not hesitate to call out your many faults.”

Miss Isabella Smithson nodded, bottom lip
caught between her teeth, fingers twisted in her skirt, knees
shifting from side to side in her seat on the sofa between her aunt
and cousin. Aunt Minerva’s hard eyes, set deep in her forbidding
face, roamed from Bella’s hair, which must look a rat’s nest by
now, after an hour in a warm ballroom, to her hem, which had been
splashed by a carriage in the street.

“Her fourth son is pockmarked, but not
entirely without means, and if he won’t have you, we might be able
to place you with her as a companion. I’m told she is a bit dotty.
And that gentleman there, in the blue waistcoat, is a widower.”

Charlotte, the Marchioness of Firthley,
leaned in, “He is a good-for-nothing, Mother, with six untamable
children and an estate mortgaged to the hilt. You’ll not tie my
cousin to a man like that if I have anything to say about it.” She
patted Bella’s arm, “And I do.” Charlotte gently steered the
subject to the relative cheapness of the decorations in the Bath
assembly rooms, as opposed to London, a topic likely to occupy Lady
Effingale for at least ten minutes.

For as long as Aunt Minerva was disparaging
the environs, she could be relied upon not to criticize Bella. As
soon as she reached the end of her complaints about the garish
wallpaper, tasteless sculptures, and abundance of gold-trimmed
mirrors, though, Aunt Minerva summed up with, “To think, I am
reduced to socializing in Bath, of all places. If Isabella had
managed to keep her lemonade in her cup and not on the Duke of
Lanceley’s cravat, we would be in London, not a second-rate
backwater. If only any gentleman there would look twice at
you.”

"Bath is hardly a backwater, Mother."

"It is hardly London."

Thankfully, Aunt Minerva didn’t rake over
Bella’s encounter with the Duke of Lanceley. The very thought made
her throat close. If only she could permanently close her ears
against Lady Effingale’s opinions of Bella’s plain-as-pudding face,
tree-stump-of-a-figure, stick-straight hair, drab-as-dirt
disposition, designed-for-the-dustbin clothes, and havey-cavey
father who provided a next-to-nothing dowry, then lost it in a
gaming hell.

Every time Aunt Minerva said, “
my
brother
” in that tone, Bella felt she was calling Satan out of
Hell. No matter how often Charlotte’s father, Viscount Effingale,
told Bella she was under his protection, it wasn’t entirely true.
Her father could remove her from the Effingales’ manor house any
time he chose, and he had done so by magistrate before. If Sir
Jasper Smithson discovered any small advantage to having a plain,
shy daughter who would never attract a man, the baronet would yank
her back to Evercreech faster than a horse could throw a shoe, no
matter who was paying the expenses for her husband hunt.

It wasn’t as though Bella had asked to be
brought out; she had begged to be left alone. She couldn’t imagine
a more horrid prospect than being forced to converse with unknown
gentlemen on unknown topics amidst crowds of unknown aristocrats,
with the end goal of being taken to wife by any man to make an
offer. The thought of being alone with a new husband she had barely
met made her stomach twist and mouth go dry. They had only been at
the assembly a half-hour, and she already wished she were anywhere
else.

Aunt Minerva had introduced Bella to every
vaguely acceptable man in the room, excepting, of course, any who
could find more attractive wives, and Bella would now be happy to
excuse herself, with a headache beginning to pound behind her
eyes.

When Aunt Minerva came out with, “…not
remotely Incomparable, unless one had no other girl to compare
with,” Bella stood so quickly, she might have upset the chair, had
her uncle not reached a hand out to steady her.

“If you will… er… retiring room. No,
Charlotte, I will be perfectly fine alone.”

When she reached the retiring room, she
didn’t even need to open the door to know it was filled with
clacking hens. Bella could hear the
on dits
flying among too
many women, even through the door. Instead of entering to discover
herself another topic, she turned down a smaller hallway that
surely must be servants’ access to somewhere. No matter. Bella just
needed a quiet place to rest her head and shut her eyes.

Standing in the unlit back hall, her head
leaned against a wall, she hadn’t even noticed the door open just a
crack, about three feet away. Telling herself she was not, strictly
speaking, a girl who would eavesdrop, she startled at,
“…wallflower,” and leaned closer.

She knew she had not put on a good showing
tonight, but to be discussed and found wanting in the gentleman’s
study at the very first party was beyond the pale. Her face burned,
and she shuffled closer to the wall, as though by proximity to the
lime wash, she might become part of it.

“I take your point about wallflowers." The
man’s sardonic tone seeped through the door. He sounded worn down
and tired, like Uncle Howard after one of Aunt Minerva’s tantrums,
but his voice was not resentful or angry, but kind, with a touch of
humor. "Low expectations, humility, and gratitude are all excellent
qualities in a wife who will be forced to settle for an upstart
baron who lives his life drifting between seaports."

"That’s not what—"

"While I appreciate your effort to make His
Royal Highness’s commands more palatable, I am fairly certain he
has no legal standing to make demands of a woman I marry, or
require I remain in active service with my private fleet. I am past
fifty years old, with a new barony and more money than I can spend
in ten lifetimes. Surely he can understand my desire for a settled
life and heir.”

Bella tipped her head and moved just
slightly to see if she could spot the man speaking, but without
further opening the door and chancing discovery, there was no way.
The second voice was not so kindly, masked slightly by the clinking
of glassware and crystal. “Did you take your elevation as a reward,
Holsworthy? For you might be better to view it as a bribe or a
cudgel. The prince wishes you on the high seas, not rusticating on
a country estate, or he would not be adding ships to your
fleet.”

“His wishes are not lost on me, but I have
made the prince and his father millions of pounds, and Seventh Sea
Shipping will continue to pay out dividends until the next King
George and I are both dust. Can that not be enough?”

“Not enough for the king, the prince, the
Privy Council, most of Parliament, or the Foreign Office—not to
mention your investors. You are the only one who thinks yourself
unsuited as a diplomat. Do as your sovereign says, Holsworthy. Find
yourself a seagoing baroness or board your new flagship without
one.”

Silence reigned for several long moments,
until finally, the gentleman with the long-suffering tone said,
“Clearly, the question of my living arrangements will not be solved
today, but that is not to say I cannot seek out the future Lady
Holsworthy, and your wife is waiting to begin the introductions.
Shall we make good use of our proximity to the ballroom, where
negotiations with appropriate young women can ensue? Perhaps if I
find one amiable enough, she will talk the prince out of his new
directive.” He laughed. “I would gladly marry anyone who can change
the prince’s mind about anything.”

Bella couldn’t untangle the mumbling
responses from the laughter, but could not miss the man chuckle and
say, “Such a face, my lord! I will have you know, I find nothing
objectionable about wallflowers.”