Page 8 of A Siren for the Duke

Jemima's eyes darted nervously around the room, taking in the opulence that had suffocated her for so long. The wedding gown was draped over the Japanese screen, and she ceased her frantic packing for a moment to run her fingertips over the delicate silk and exquisite beading. Two years ago, she would have been happy as a clam to wear such a gown. But Lionel Hunt had left, and now the dress had become a symbol of oppression as she considered the horrifying thought of marrying the Marquess.

“I will be the architect of my own happiness,” she said to herself.

Aunt Eliza would understand. Jemima had written to her as soon as she’d returned home from the fitting. She explained her situation and the reason for her arrival. Whether or not the letter would reach the Caribbean before she did, she could not be sure, but she had to give her aunt some sort of warning.

Her mother would be worried sick if she woke up to her daughter’s absence, so Jemima had written a note that explained her reasoning.

Dearest Mama,

When you first read this, it is likely I will be aboard a ship on the way to my freedom. As you well know, I cannot marry the Marquess. I am aware of my duty, but I know you understand my heart is not in this. You have always known I am one to forge my own path in life. There is no one who can understand my position better than Aunt Eliza, which is why I have decided to make my way to her residence in Jamaica.

Please do not be too alarmed. It is a long journey, to be sure, but English ships are the best in the world. I have no doubt that I will reach my destination safely. If you send Ferdinand after me, so be it – he will have to try to drag me kicking and screaming back to England. Please give my love to Sophia. She is dear to me, and I will miss her so very much. I will miss you as well, Mama. Please do not be too frightened, I beg you. I must do this, I see no other choices.

Your Loving Daughter,

Jemima

The letter felt a little callous as she read it back to herself, but Jemima had told her mother on several occasions that marrying the Marquess did not feel right. It was not just that she did not want to marry him, she had a deeply unsettled feeling in her bones when she considered being yoked to him for the rest of her life. It was not just about Lionel, either. Even if he did return and proclaim his love for her, she was unsure she’d accept him. No, this was a matter of deciding her own fate and not allowing herself to be used as a pawn in the social hierarchy of the ton.

Once packed, Jemima moved towards the window, hand trembling as she reached for the latch, her heart pounding in her chest. The window swung open, and tthe cold night air rushed in, caressing her flushed cheeks as if urging her forward. Jemima took a deep breath and stepped out onto the ledge. Why her mother had not sealed the window shut after the scandal broke, Jemima was not sure, but she was not about to jinx her luck right now. With one look back at her room, it struck Jemima that she was leaving behind her entire childhood. Never had she felt freer or more frightened, but wasn’t it worth the risk?

She climbed down the trellis as quietly as she could. When she reached the ground with a soft thump, she peeked her head into some of the windows on the ground floor. All was dark. No glimmering candles shone behind the warbled glass. In fact, she thought she heard faint snoring in the kitchen. Hoisting her skirts up, she rushed out of the garden and onto the empty street.

It was eerie how quiet the city was at this time of night. She’d spent her fair share of time sneaking out of the house at odd hours to meet Lionel, but the stillness of such nights never ceased to amaze her. There was no cacophony of voices, no rustling of skirts, no clicking of heels on the cobblestones, no clack of horse’s hooves or rumble of carriages. There was just the distant sound of the water lapping against the stone wall of the docks. Even the seagulls were quiet.

As she snuck through the shadows, she cursed herself for not paying better attention at the modiste’s. What was it the Irish maid had said? “If he doesn’t find somethin’ in three days, he’ll board the Navy ship back to Dublin an’ then find another to take him to the Caribbean.”

That was the only information she’d been able to glean. Surely a Navy ship wouldn’t be hard to spot…would it?

When she rounded the corner of the narrow street at the docks, the sight took her breath away. She’d seen it before, of course, but in the dead of night, with the moon shining so brightly overhead, the wharf looked hauntingly beautiful. The tall wooden masts stood proudly on the ships, and there were so many of them they looked like trees in the middle of winter, with sails like ghosts floating about.

And then the realization of her foolishness dawned on her. Portsmouth was a maritime city. Why on earth did she think it would be so easy to locate a ship she’d only heard about in whispers? Luckily Royal Navy ships were clearly marked and easy to spot. The only problem was that there were a couple of them, and they looked remarkably similar. Jemima narrowed her choices down to two: the HMS Fearless (she could use some of that fearlessness right now) or the HMS Regina, which she liked simply because she liked the Queen.

When she decided to scurry across the wharf, a group of drunken sailors passed by, laughing and singing a bawdy song very off-key.

“Oi, you lot! Pipe down!” The town watchman hissed, holding up the lantern and sneering at them. Jemima pressed herself closer against the stone wall of the nearby building, lest he see her, too. Had he been following her this whole time? Or had he just come upon the sailors right then?

The sailors giggled and shushed each other like little schoolgirls before boarding the ship, the HMS Regina. It was then Jemima noticed it was the only one with the gangplank down and a rope ladder hanging off the side. The HMS Fearless looked quite inaccessible. So, she had no choice but to scale the rope ladder of the Regina.

The noise of the drunken sailors was distant aboard the ship and moving further away, so Jemima felt a little more at ease sneaking aboard. She had to stick to the shadows, as some crew members were still out and about, perhaps on watch, but she made it.

Having grown up in a maritime city, Jemima knew her way around a ship. Once, when they were small children, the Royal Navy had docked and allowed civilians to tour the ships. Ferdinand, Sophia, and herself had been so enthralled that their mother had let them tour the ships every year. At the bow of the ship, she found a small, unassuming bedroom that looked private enough. Perhaps it was the first mate’s or the bowsain’s; she could not imagine a Captain staying in a room this small and spartan.

It was clean—far cleaner than she thought a ship might be. The walls and beams were painted white, which she imagined must be a nice contrast to the dark blue of the sea in the bay window beyond. There was a small bed in an alcove on the wall, with a respectable-looking blue quilt and pillow to match, and a dark wooden desk and chair—both bolted to the ground. Other than that, there was really no decor. Perhaps the room was unoccupied.

She set her small bag down on the floor next to the alcove, then sat on the edge of the bed.

“I suppose I shall have to wait and see,” she said to herself quietly. Although the relative silence of the ship was peaceful, she could see how such quietness could be a bother for an extended period of time. She laid back on the pillow, suddenly conscious of how tired she was. Just a short nap, she told herself. I shall awake soon and ask where the ship is headed.

But of course, she did not awake for quite some time.

CHAPTER FOUR

The relentless rays of the morning sun pierced through the mist, casting a golden glow over the vast expanse of the port. Lionel, his head throbbing from a night of excessive revelry, stumbled along the wooden docks, his worn boots clattering against the weathered planks. He could swear he still smelt the sickeningly sweet perfume of the all-too-eager barmaid on his coat. At least he didn’t smell rum-soaked and sour. As he walked toward the docks, which were already bustling with activity, even in the early morning, he saw some of his crew in similar states of being, wincing and holding their heads. A little indulgence before a long voyage was fine, as long as his crew behaved and could hold their own aboard the ship.

“So the Captain finally decides to make an appearance,” came a voice from above. Ellis Robinson, his first mate and loyal friend grinned, and his nearly white-blond hair whipped about in the wind.

“You’re up early,” Lionel commented as he walked up the gangplank.