Dare To Love (2 page)

Tommy sat up and watched the room tip…then
topple the opposite way. “Unsure, but I’m going up deck to find
out.”

Gwendolyn yanked at his arm again, “Don’t you
dare leave me alone—I’m going with you!”

Both of them jump when pounding fists and the
jingling of the doorknob echoed throughout the room.

“Children! Children!”

Tommy quickly pulled up his breeches and ran
to the door. Swinging it open, he was faced with the captain’s
panicky first mate. “Ralph, what is it?”

“Master Tommy, stay in your room something is
amiss!”

“Is it a storm, Ralph?”

“Yes,” he yelled, running down the hallway,
“Stay in your room! I shall return…I shall return—”

The ship tilted sideways and caused Tommy to
lose his bearings to a bolted down bench. Looking up from the
floor, he pinpointed Gwendolyn who was already out of bed,
searching for her shoes.

“The sea was calm last evening.”

“We must have sailed right into a monsoon,”
he joked, trying to lighten up her panic. He then gulped at the
sight of her shoving her arms through her coat. “Planning on taking
a stroll?”

“My mother—my brother, I want to be with
them.”

“Ralph said to stay put.”

“Are you going to stay here, or are you going
to follow me?”

Tommy doesn’t even think about it. “Button up
your coat then; I don’t want my brothers ogling you.”

Moments later, loud rumbling sounds of wind
being hurled through the planks greeted them at the hatchway.
Gwendolyn grabbed hold of Tommy’s arm in hesitation. “Do not open
the door Tommy, the wind sounds funny.”

“I want to see what is happening out there, I
don’t see my brother’s, my mother, yours, where did everyone
go?”

“I will stay behind you.”

Tommy head out first and swung the door open.
Covering their faces with their hands, the strong airstreams of
rain hit them like pebbles pitched to the skin. To their shock, all
around them was nothing but thick, grey fog; the air was equally
icy and unnatural, the sea had taken over and swallowed the ship
with every dunk and turn.

Tommy gazed up at the sails. Carrying only
her topsails and a small jib in the violent windstorm, the topsails
were low enough for easy reefing, but still high enough to catch
the wind. It was purposely done, Tommy thought, knowing that the
Junia could hold her course through the fierce storm without
overtaxing the masts and rigging. He could not believe no one was
on deck; she was completely bare of every officer and ship hand.
Captain Porter was nowhere in sight and the helm spun freely round
and round.

“Stay here, go back to the room!” Tommy
shouted to Gwendolyn, pushing her back through the door.

“I’m not going back without you—I’m scared!
Where is everyone?”

Tommy flinched from the further shower and
wind that slapped his face like needles. “I don’t know!” He shouted
again, feeling his heart sink. His brothers should be maintaining
the topsails at least. Where did everyone go? The Junia was like a
specter ship, running itself and then left eerily alone. Tommy took
a step forward without Gwendolyn to see if he could spot anyone
around the bend; but found no one, nothing. When he turned to grab
Gwendolyn’s hand, the ship suddenly veered left causing his stance
to slip and Tommy’s whole body slid down the embankment towards the
sheer.

“Tommy!”Gwendolyn screeched, watching him
rapidly hitting the side of the mizzenmast in pain.

Tommy grabbed hold of the inert damp column.
Reopening his eyes, he distinguished Gwendolyn clear across the
span extending out her arms as if she could reach him.

In the corner of his eye, he noticed an
airborne rope that was freely waving at his side. Outspread and
susceptible, he tried to catch the rope that dangled enticingly in
front of his face. Waiving his one free arm— while the other grasp
hold in a struggling grip, Tommy finally caught hold of the
serpentine cord and made an attempt to wrap it around his torso.
But to no purpose, the rope loosened and blew behind him, forcing
him to let go of the pole. He tried to snatch the cord another
time, but the persistent gale swept him frontward and his body went
tumbling down the embankment. Grasping and clinging to anything in
order to stay compact, Tommy’s heartbeat escalated when noticing a
wave of green sea rushing towards him in an alarming rate. He
closed his eyes from the visible strike and the breaker swallowed
his weightless body up and whisked him over the ledge to his
ultimate rest.

Tommy had vanished, gone from the ship?!

Oh God, oh no! Gwendolyn let go of the
ratlines and ran towards the sheer. “Tommy!” She yelled out again
and again, but it was no use, the murkiness was way too thick—and
she was forced to her knees. The ship continued to sway in the
opposite direction causing Gwendolyn’s fragile body to collapse
back into the ropes. With all her might, she grabbed hold of the
cords and began her fit of terror. “Where—where are you? Tommy!
No—no—no, you cannot be dead…you just can’t be. Oh God, not my
Tommy, not my beautiful husband…Oh God, please… please do not do
this to me…don’t you dare leave me alone!”

CHAPTER ONE

London, 1808

Ten Winters Later

“It is a shame your fiancé could not make the
trip, Gwendolyn.”

Gwendolyn does not bother to look at her
friend but continues to stare out the window and the scenery
beyond. “Yes it is I miss him so. He wanted to be with me, but it
was necessary for him to attend the rancher’s caucus.”

“Your fiancé is such a wonderful man,”
Phyllis Tallymen noted, looking out the stern window. “Considerate
and hard-working, he will make a wonderful husband and a good
father to Mary.”

“Yes,” Gwendolyn agreed with a joyful smile.
“I insisted she come as well, but you know how stubborn she is in
wanting to stay behind with her best friend,” she replied,
adjusting her bonnet and tying the ribbon. “By the by, I am truly
sorry to have dragged you away from your home Phyllis. Although I
no longer need a chaperone, I am so grateful for your company…I
simply hate to travel alone.”

Phyllis smiled at her young friend; “I would
do anything for you my dear. Your Great-Aunt was my best friend,
and after she passed, I feel it almost necessary to watch over
you.”

“Thank you Phyllis, you are too kind,”
Gwendolyn offered, gazing out the window another time.

“I wish we were coming to London under
happier circumstances though. The reading of a will is so
disheartening.”

“I agree…I too am not looking forward to this
a’ tall,” Gwendolyn decided, feeling cheerless by her Great-Aunt’s
death.

“Anyhow, haven’t been to London since I was a
girl, where are we staying?”

Gwendolyn continued to stare outside. The
hills had suddenly vanished and unrecognizable structures began to
appear. “The Quail Inn,” she said with a sigh. Both tall and
unfathomable, dirty and breath taking, London appeared to be a
metropolis of contemporary convenience. With so many people
hurrying about, there were carriages of every stature and
notoriety; men on horseback, women, children, dogs, livestock
marching upon the streets—a chaos of convolution.

The hack slowed down and came to a complete
stop. “Here at last!” Phyllis exclaimed happily. “Three weeks from
Kettlewell to London – let me out of this fancy contraption before
I vomit again,” she demanded, unlatching the coach door and
swinging it open.

Gwendolyn was first to be let out by the
footman, followed by a queasy Phyllis. Stepping down onto the
gravel, Gwendolyn immediately gazed up and around her. To her
amazement, they had arrived at a garishly painted courthouse,
deeply impressive with French influence and design. Gwendolyn then
instructed the hack to wait for them while they finished their
business inside.

Gwendolyn had never been so nervous before!
In anticipation of what, she had no idea, but her stomach was in
knots and her hands could not stop trembling. The two women walked
arm-in-arm down the long corridor, peaking through glass windows
and halting at the door of their intended goal. An engraved
nameplate of “ARCHWALD” on its glass face caused Gwendolyn’s pulse
to race with further anxiety. She looked down at her hands…they
were shaking again. Why should a reading of a will make her so
uneasy?

Once inside, a stunted man stood up
immediately. “Mrs. Hollinger?” He asked openly, receiving his
confirmation when Gwendolyn nodded her head, “So sorry to hear
about your Great-Aunt.”

Gwendolyn studied her Great-Aunt’s solicitor.
Mr. Stewart Archwald owned kind eyes, a hefty build and baldhead.
He wore glasses on the edge of his nose that appeared to be too
snug a fit and pinched his skin to redness. “Thank you Mr.
Archwald,” Gwendolyn acknowledged, trying not to laugh at his
cheery beak, “She always had kind things to say about you.”

Mr. Archwald accepted the praise with
dignity, “Thank you Mrs. Hollinger, and may I extend my gratitude
to you for making this long journey. If it was not for my brother’s
hospitality, I would not have been able to use his fine office here
in town. Several other wills in London I must recite, so sorry to
confess, otherwise, I would have met you in Kettlewell.” He then
extended out his hand to show her a chair. “Please—please, do sit
down,” he asked of her, eyeing Phyllis in the background.

“And who is this charming lady?”

Gwendolyn arched her brow and eyed Phyllis,
“My friend, Miss Phyllis Tallymen, Mr. Archwald, my Great-Aunt’s
solicitor.”

Mr. Archwald received Phyllis’s gloved hand
and kissed it respectively, “So nice to meet you Miss
Tallymen.”

Phyllis Tallymen, fifty-two winters with
violet eyes and peppered hair, was spellbound.

Mr. Archwald took his seat and then met eyes
with Gwendolyn. This was no country girl; in fact, she was the
epitome of classic beauty and imagined she would have made a fine
prize for any titled gentry but had been wasted away in the
countryside for far too many years. Properly dressed in a cobalt
bonnet with ribbon fastenings, she wore a navy blue pelisse over a
thin white chemise. Deep russet curls framed a pair of heavily
lashed brown eyes that were concentrated and hypnotic. She was
absolutely stunning, just stunning, but his inspection of her went
on far too long however, and he fidgeted in his chair trying to
clear his embarrassment. He gave Phyllis a momentary look before,
“Let us proceed, shall we?”

“Mr. Archwald, pardon my interruption, but I
want to make sure that my Great-Aunt’s cottage will not be sold at
auction. If there is anything that can be done, I wish to keep
residing there. I do not have much money, but please, kind sir, I
have come to love its simplexes and wish to remain its lessee.”

“I was hoping you would say that, Mrs. Holl—”
he wheezed, pounding his chest repeatedly, coughing up phlegm.

Gwendolyn and Phyllis both leaned away from
him in their chairs, the reaction sounded consequently painful.
“Mr. Archwald”

“A bit of a cold…so sorry,” he coughed again,
grabbing the middle of his chest.

“You should see a doctor, sir.”

“Yes—yes,” he agreed, shuffling papers on his
desk. “Now, the cottage is yours Mrs. Hollinger, along with your
Great-Aunt’s extensive book collection,” he pronounced, clearing
his throat for the fourth time, “But asked specifically that your
daughter receive the zinc and limestone assortment once belonging
to your Great-Uncle.”

“Oh Mary will love that!” Gwendolyn gushed,
gazing at Phyllis apparently immersed by Mr. Archwald’s poor
health.

Mr. Archwald met eyes with Phyllis and then
continued on, “Your Great-Aunt and Uncle were very modest,
good-natured folk and they will be greatly missed.”

“You are too kind,” Gwendolyn smiled, eyeing
her companion gazing intently into Mr. Archwald’s eyes now.
Gwendolyn does a double-take and nudged her friend. “And the
cottage?” She asked, incredulous that her friend was now in a deep
magnetic trance. “It is free and clear? Why, that’s wonderful!
Isn’t that wonderful Phyllis?”

Phyllis just nodded her head. Gwendolyn
rolled her eyes and then focused on Mr. Archwald’s pigment, he was
blushing now, and his complexion swiftly blended in with his nose—a
nice rose-tinted hue. Gwendolyn held back her amusement and heard
him clear his throat yet again trying to continue, “She also left
you a trust fund.”

“A what?”

“From what I gather, Mrs. Hollinger, or may I
correct myself and properly address you as Lady Hollinger?”

Having stopped shaking, Gwendolyn allowed the
accolade to sink in. It had been a long time since anyone had
addressed her formerly; she was not used to it. “You may,” she
stated softly. “But I must admit it is uncomfortable to hear the
title.”

“Are you by any chance associated with the
Hollinger Commerce Company?”

“The what?” Gwendolyn asked, unsure of what
he was asking; and then it hit her, “As I recall, it was a shipping
trade, a lineage Mr. Archwald, a company I no longer have
association with. Why do you ask, sir?”