The Admiral's Penniless Bride. Carla Kelly
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of you,’ she murmured, and went off in another gust of laughter. When she could muster a coherent thought, Sally realised it had been years and years since she had laughed at all, let alone so hard.
‘What happened to … ah … Romeo?’ she asked.
‘My steward—you would probably call him my butler—whacked him off at the ankles. I suppose he hasn’t had time to get around to the lady.’
The admiral left the post chaise first. She took his hand as he helped her out. ‘I can scarcely imagine what delights await me indoors,’ Sally said.
‘Oh, I think you can,’ was all he would say, as he put his hand under her elbow and helped her up the steps. ‘Careful now. I should probably carry you over the threshold, Mrs Admiral Sir Charles Bright, but you will observe the front steps are wobbly.’
‘I shall insist upon it when the steps are fixed.’
‘Oh, you will?’ he asked, and then kissed her cheek. ‘Hopefully, our relationship will continue after your first view of the entry hall.’ He opened the door with a flourish. ‘Feast your eyes, madam wife.’
The hall itself appeared dingy, the walls discoloured from years of neglect, but the ceiling drew her eyes upwards immediately. Her mouth fell open. She stepped back involuntarily and her husband’s arm seemed to naturally encircle her waist.
‘At the risk of ruining my credit with you for ever, Sophia, I saw a ceiling like this once in a Naples bawdy house.’
‘I don’t doubt that for a minute!’ she declared, looking around at a ceiling full of cupids engaged in activities the statue out front had probably never even dreamed of. ‘Over there … what on earth …? Oh, my goodness.’ Sally put her hands to her cheeks, feeling their warmth. She turned around and took her husband by the lapels of his coat. ‘Mr Bright, who on earth owned this house?’
‘The estate agent described him as an earl—the sorry end of a long line of earls—who had roughly one thing on his mind. Apparently, in early summer, the old roué used to indulge in the most amazing debaucheries in this house. After that, he closed up the place and retreated to his London lodgings.’
She couldn’t help herself. She leaned her forehead against her new husband’s chest. His arms went around her and she felt his hook against her waist. ‘There had better be a very good reason that a man of sound mind—I’m speaking of you—would buy such a house, Admiral Bright.’
‘Oh, dear,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘Not two minutes inside your new home and I am back to “admiral”.’ He took her hand. ‘Yes, there is a good reason. Humour me another moment.’
She followed where he led, her hand in his, down the hall with its more-than-naughty inmates high above, and out through the French doors into the garden, which was as ill used as the front lawn. Beyond a thoroughly ugly gazebo was the wide and—today—serene expanse of the ocean. It filled the horizon with a deep blue that blended into the early summer sky. Sea birds wheeled and called overhead and she could hear waves breaking on the rocks below. In the distance, a ship under full sail seemed to skim the water as it made for Plymouth.
The admiral released her hand. ‘One look at this and I knew I would never find another place so lovely. What do you think, Sophia? Should I tear down the house and rebuild?’
She turned around and looked at her new home, sturdy with stone that might have once been painted a pastel; elegant French doors that opened on to a fine terrace; wide, floor-to-ceiling windows that would be wonderful to stand behind, when the day was stormy and still the ocean beckoned.
‘No. It’s a good house. Once a little—a lot—of paint is applied.’
‘My thoughts precisely. I got it for a song.’
She had to smile at that. ‘I’m surprised the estate agent didn’t pay you to take it off his hands! Have your sisters been here?’
‘Once. Fannie had to wave burnt feathers under Dora’s nose, and they were gone the next morning before it was even light. I confess I haven’t done anything to the house since, because they assured me they would never return until I did. Until now.’ He sighed and tugged her over to the terrace’s stone railing, where they sat. ‘It worked for a few months, but even these imps from hell weren’t strong enough to ward off the curse of women with too much time on their hands. Fannie is planning to redecorate in an Egyptian style, and Dora tags along.’
‘When?’
‘Any day now, which is why my cook is on strike and …’ He put his hook to his ear, which made her smile. ‘Hark! I hear the thump-tap of my steward. Here he is, my steward through many a battle. John Starkey, may I introduce my wife, Mrs Bright?’
Yesterday, she might have been startled, but not today. From his peg leg to his eye patch, John Starkey was everything a butler was not. All he lacked was a parrot on his shoulder. If he had opened his mouth and exhibited only one, lonely tooth, she would not have been surprised. As it was, he had a full set of teeth and a gentle smile, even a shy one. She looked from the admiral to his steward, realising all over again that these were men not much used to the ameliorating company of women.
But his smile was genuine. She nodded her head. ‘Starkey, I am delighted to make your acquaintance. Is this the strangest place you have ever lived?’
‘Aye, madam.’
‘But you would follow the admiral anywhere, I take it.’
He looked faintly surprised. ‘I already have, Mrs Bright,’ he replied, which told her volumes about a world of war she would never know. It touched her more than anything else he could have said.
‘Starkey answers the front door, polishes my best hook—and any other silver we might have lying around—decants wine with the best of them and never considers any command too strange,’ the admiral said. ‘Starkey, the naked woman in the front yard will have to go. Lively now.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’ He knuckled his forehead. ‘I ran out of time.’ He bowed to them both and left the terrace. In a few minutes, Sally heard the sound of chopping.
‘I’m low on servants,’ he told her as he got off the railing and started for the French doors. She followed. ‘That will be your task. Go back to Plymouth and hire whomever you think we need.’
She walked with him slowly back down the hall, neither of them looking up. He paused before a closed door. ‘This is my—our—library.’
‘Wonderful! I was hoping the house had one.’ Sally started forwards, but the admiral neatly hooked the sash on the back of her dress and reeled her in.
‘Over my prone and desiccated corpse, Sophia,’ he said. ‘If you think these cherubs are … ah … interesting, you’ll be fair shocked by the walls in here. And the books. And the busts.’ He winced. ‘I’ve never seen such a collection of ribaldry under one roof. The earl seemed to prefer illustrations to words.’
‘My blushes,’ Sally said.
‘Mine, too, and I consider myself a pretty normal navy man.’ He laughed softly. ‘The old earl has me beat! I looked through one book and found myself darting glances over my shoulder, hoping my mother—she’s been dead nearly forty years—wasn’t standing close enough to box my ears and send me to bed without any supper.’ He removed his hook from the back of her dress. ‘I’m not a man who believes in book burning, but I’m going to make an exception, in this case. We’ll make an evening of it.’
He continued down the hall, and she followed, shaking her head. He stopped before another door. ‘Speaking of meat … this is the way belowdeck to the galley.’ He straightened his shabby coat. ‘In case you are wondering, I am girding my loins. My cook is down there—don’t forget he is on strike.’
Sally stared at the door, and back at her husband. ‘Is he that terrifying?’
‘Let us