An Unwilling Alliance Read online

  Contents

  An Unwilling Alliance

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Author’s Note - Contains Spoilers

  By the Same Author

  About the Author

  An Unwilling Alliance

  By

  Lynn Bryant

  Copyright © 2018 Lynn Bryant

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author.

  Front cover artwork

  Copyright © 2018 Richard Dawson

  All rights reserved

  No part of this cover image may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the illustrator.

  To three people who have taken this journey with me

  Jacqueline Reiter

  Mel Logue

  Kristine Hughes Patrone

  This one has been more fun to write through sharing it with you . Thank you.

  Acknowledgements

  There are many people who have helped with An Unwilling Alliance. Of all the books so far, this is the one I’ve had most help with along the way and thanks are due to the following people.

  Dr Jacqueline Reiter and Catherine Curzon for help with sudden and bizarre requests for sources and information - they never come up empty-handed.

  The staff at the Manx National Heritage library at the Manx Museum and the staff at the Henry Bloom Noble Library in Douglas for their help finding sources and books.

  Dr Jacqueline Reiter, Kristine Hughes Patrone and Mel Logue for reading sections of the book and giving me feedback and suggestions and also for endless online chats about characterisation, history and the Duke of Wellington.

  Heather Paisley for editing and proof-reading and making really bad jokes.

  Various people online for advice, information and support, in particular members of the Historical Novel Society, the English Historical Novelists Society, Scribblers Tavern and many other online groups.

  My son, Jon, for sharing my study, playing guitar from time to time while I’m working and completely ignoring me when I talk to the computer or laugh out loud at my own jokes.

  My daughter, Anya, for sharing my love of history, putting up with hours of Wellington lectures and forcing me to leave my desk for sunset hot chocolate on Marine Drive or lunch in the park.

  Richard, the man I married, for combining the roles of tour bus driver, photographer, beta reader, cover designer, website designer and husband. No wonder he’s tired. He is the reason I’ve been able to do this and I love him to bits.

  Finally, to Toby and Joey, the best company in the world and the stars of Writing with Labradors.

  Chapter One

  It was growing late. The long summer evenings confused time as always, but the shadows were beginning to fall and the sun was sinking below the horizon as Roseen Crellin got to her feet from the springy heather of the hillside and turned her face reluctantly towards home.

  She had walked out after dinner, neatly dodging her aunt who would have had questions about where she was going and why and whether she had completed her sewing or her prayers or her allotted time sitting reading to her elderly and very deaf grandmother. Up on the hillside at the very edge of her father’s lands she had sat, her arms wrapped around her knees and her dark hair blowing loose in the fresh evening breeze and watched the packet sail out towards Whitehaven, blinking back the tears she was too proud to shed in front of her family, who would have called them wasted.

  She was also too proud to shed them in front of the man for whom she cried. He was young, an English lieutenant in the Manx regiment of fencibles, eight months on the island and a man she had danced with and flirted with, and kissed, stretched out on the soft grass of the foothills above Castletown, always conscious of his eyes on the time and the path upwards in case her father or his commanding officer should pass by and catch him.

  “I love you, Rose. You know I do. But your father has said no, and I need to respect his wishes. He wants what is best for you and a penniless officer on his way to war is not part of his plan for you.”

  “His plan for me is to find a man with money and property and a place in local society,” Roseen had said, angry and mutinous. “And I want none of those things. He’ll marry me to some elderly fool with a parcel of land and a drunkard’s nose for the pleasure of seeing me with a man of consequence. As though consequence on this island matters a damn!”

  “Roseen, please.”

  Her language had upset him and she had moderated it for his sake, although growing up half wild after her mother’s death, Roseen had spent more time with the grooms and the farmhands than with her own kind. She had resisted the rounds of tea parties and dancing lessons and church picnics, preferring to spend her time riding the hills and fishing with the boys who had been her childhood friends.

  Lieutenant Edward Barton had changed that, turning her thoughts for the first time to the arrangement of her hair and the colour of her gown and making her wish that she had spent more time learning the rules of polite society since it was very obvious to her that for all his lack of money he came from a good English family and was used to the ways of the gentry.

  Roseen’s family were gentry of a kind, solid Manx landowners with generations of farming behind them. Her father had married well, a cousin of the English nobility, and she had been raised as a lady until her mother’s death when she was twelve. Since then she had been allowed to run wild, her father more interested in his lands and his shipping business and the accumulation of money which he would pass on in time to his solid and practical son, Finlo. She had been happy with her lot until Mr Barton’s curly brown hair and gentle green eyes had made her wish that she had paid more attention to her lessons.

  He had accepted the transfer to a regiment of light infantry with delight, trying hard to conceal his happiness from her as he said his goodbye. Roseen had gritted her teeth and squared her slightly determined jaw and managed not to sob at his leaving.

  “I’ll never forget you, Rose,” he had whispered, kissing her passionately in the darkness of the castle grounds while the fiddlers played dance tunes in the hall above. “I wish to God it had been different.”

  “You could speak to my father again.”

  “I’ve spoken twice already, and he has said no. And I couldn’t marry now anyway without the permission of my new commanding officer.”

  “Will you write to me?”

  “It wouldn’t be right. You need to forget about me. I’ll always love you, darling. But this was never meant to be.”

  Roseen paused at the crest of the hill and looked back once more. Across the silver mirror of the sea, the packet boat looked small and fragile, almost like a child’s toy, its sails outlined against the darkening sky. It had sailed late for some reason and she had sat up on the hillside and cried at its leaving, knowing that it was taking Edward from her, probably forever. With the sun dropping and the breeze picking up, she was cold suddenly and ready to go home.

  The walk back to her father’s big grey stone house situated
on the hillside overlooking Castletown and Derbyhaven took half an hour or so and by the time she arrived back in the yard at the back of the house the lanterns had been lit and the stablehands were about their evening work feeding and bedding down the horses. Roseen crossed the yard, exchanging greetings with one or two of the lads and approached the side door which led in through the kitchens and service area. There was more activity than she would have expected and she paused at the door to the big, stone-flagged kitchen to watch the cook, Mrs Gawne, putting bread into the oven.

  “What’s going on, Jem?”

  The bootboy turned and grinned at her. “Where the devil have you been, Miss Roseen? Himself has been yelling for you an hour past. He has a guest, come up from the ship that’s docked over at Derbyhaven and he’s not happy that you’re out this late. Best get yourself cleaned up and pretty.”

  Roseen shrugged. She was too unhappy to feel more than a faint curiosity about the identity of her father’s guest. A merchant or trader, she imagined, his ship docked for a week or so to load or unload goods. It happened often enough and she had no interest in some elderly business associate of her father’s. She made her way along the dark passage which separated the service area of the house from the main hallway and emerged into bright lamplight, blinking slightly, and found herself face to face with a man in naval uniform who had just emerged from the parlour.

  Roseen stopped. The stranger had paused, looking at her from steady grey eyes. He was tall and broad shouldered with brown hair worn long and tied back neatly from a distinctive face with well marked cheekbones, a decided nose and a humorous mouth. She guessed him to be around thirty, younger than most of her father’s guests.

  The stranger bowed. “Miss Crellin, I’m guessing. I beg your pardon, we’ve not been introduced but since I’m in your house let me rectify that. Captain Hugh Kelly, at your service.”

  Fairly caught, Roseen dropped a curtsey. “I’m happy to meet you, sir. Your pardon, I should make myself presentable.”

  She moved forward and was surprised by his soft laugh. “Not on my account, lass, I’m enjoying the view very much as it is.”

  Roseen blushed scarlet. She was very aware of her dark wavy hair falling about her shoulders and the probability of grass stains on her skirts. Murmuring an apology she slid past the captain and up the stairs to her room.

  She found her maid, Karran, awaiting her with her second best gown and a mountain of hairpins. “Miss, where have you been? The master has been well cross with you, he’s ordered a late supper for his visitor and wants you to dress and join them. Quickly now, let’s get you changed or he’ll be shouting the house down.”

  Roseen bit her tongue on her enquiries and submitted resentfully to being washed and combed and pulled into stays and petticoats and a high waisted gown in yellow silk which her aunt had ordered from Manchester. Ready at last she descended into the hallway amidst candles and oil lamps and found her father dressed in his best coming forward to lead her into the dining room.

  “Captain Kelly - my daughter, Roseen. Child, make your curtsey.”

  Kelly was smiling. “Miss Crellin has already done so earlier, sir, I ran into her in the hallway. Miss Crellin, I am charmed.”

  He bowed over her hand and Roseen smiled reservedly and sat down. She was not hungry, having dined earlier but it was clear that the meal was intended for the captain and he ate well and seemed pleased with all. The conversation moved freely over matters of sailing and trade and local affairs and Roseen picked at her food and listened until their guest turned to her.

  “You were out walking earlier. It was a fine afternoon.”

  “It was, sir.”

  “Where did you walk?”

  “Up to the western wall, it’s sheltered up there with the trees. I was watching the packet go out.”

  Kelly smiled. “I used to do that as a lad. I would run up to the hills and watch the ships sail out when I was supposed to be learning my letters and doing my chores.”

  “You’re local,” Roseen said. She had known it from his accent.

  “Over by South Barrule, the old Cretney estate. My father had a smallholding but lost it in bad times. I joined the navy just after he died, I was a lad of sixteen.”

  Roseen studied him. Already she was suspicious of her father’s sudden interest in a man he did not know and she was resisting her own interest in Hugh Kelly. With thoughts of Edward still piercing her heart she had no time for a prosperous sea captain. At the same time she was curious.

  “You’ve done well.”

  He smiled, a warm smile inviting her to share his enjoyment. “I have. I’ve been lucky. Fought in a few major actions and caught the eye of one or two people. It’s why I’m here. I’m awaiting a refit of my own ship, and I’ve taken the opportunity to visit my new home.”

  “New?”

  “I’ve bought the old Cretney estate.”

  Roseen lifted her eyebrows. “All of it?”

  “I’ve been lucky with prize money, Miss Crellin.”

  “You must have been, Captain, that’s a big estate. Good lands. I was friendly with Josh Cretney before he died. It was a grief to his father.”

  “It must have been. I was in correspondence with Mr Quilliam in Castletown, looking for property to buy for a year or more. He’s a cousin of my mother’s. He told me what happened. I understand that the heiress lives in England.”

  “Yes, a cousin, she married and has no interest in coming back to the island. I’m glad a Manxman has bought it although I’m guessing you won’t be living there.”

  Kelly smiled. “Not for long. There’s a war on and I’ve just been given a new command, I can’t settle for a while yet. But I’ll be here for a month or two. I’ve appointed an agent to manage the estate for me, a lad by the name of Isaac Moore, a friend of mine from boyhood. When the war is over I look forward to coming home. Raising a family.”

  “Are you married?”

  “Not yet, Miss Crellin. I’d like to be.”

  Roseen felt a lurch in her stomach. She glanced briefly at her father and looked away, understanding. She had known for some time that he was looking about him, weighing options and opportunities. Her elder brother had been married in the winter and his wife, a good solid local girl, was already big with child, away at her mother’s house now in preparation for the birth. Roseen, wrapped up in her love affair with Lieutenant Barton, had given little thought to her own marriage but she knew that for her father it was a very real problem to be solved. She wondered suddenly if Edward’s tentative application for her hand in marriage, swiftly rejected, had set Josiah Crellin on a new course.

  Captain Kelly, having stated his aim, had turned the conversation neatly to the war and some of the political machinations in London. As he talked, Roseen took the opportunity to study him covertly, seeing him suddenly through new eyes. He was, she supposed, an attractive enough man, not traditionally handsome but distinctive enough to please most women. There was something very decided about his manner which gave the impression of a man of definite opinions although his manners were good and he deferred to his host very civilly. She wondered how old he was.

  Towards the end of the meal her father turned back to her. “Captain Kelly is staying with us for a week or two, Roseen,” he said. “The house up at Ballabrendon has been under covers for a year or more and it will need some work to be habitable.”

  “You’re very welcome, Captain,” Roseen said as pleasantly as she could. She was irritated by her father’s obvious tactics. She was also faintly annoyed that Captain Kelly was clearly willing to go along with them. She had not given herself an opportunity yet, to think about what she would do if her father proposed a marriage she did not like. Her thoughts had all been of Edward, and in the misery of his departure and the probability that she would never see him again she had given little thought to her own future. But she was twenty-one and she knew that in her father’s eyes it was more than time a husband was found for her.


  It was a pity that his choice seemed to have fallen upon Kelly. Roseen had no intention of being pushed into a match with a man she barely knew and would have no time to know if he was only staying on the island for a short while. All the same, Captain Kelly was without doubt the most interesting guest that her father had invited to stay and she would have liked the opportunity to talk to him and question him about his world. Roseen had only left the island twice, for visits to her aunt in Manchester, but she was fascinated by the difference to her tiny island. She was not sure that she would like to live in England with its bustling, noisy cities and what seemed to her vast distances. But she was curious and would have liked to be able to talk freely to a Manxman like Kelly who had seen so much of the world, without being concerned that he would see it as encouragement of his suit.

  He rose early from the table, citing tiredness after his journey and her father escorted him to his room with a candle and civil goodnights. Roseen was unwillingly impressed with Kelly’s manners and curtseyed politely. He came forward with a smile and took her hand. It was done so neatly that she could not draw back without snatching her hand away and appearing rude. The captain raised it to his lips and then released her, smiling.

  “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Crellin. I spend too long at sea with purely masculine company, it’s a joy to spend an evening in company with a pretty girl.”

  Roseen smiled, managing not to grit her teeth. “Thank you, Captain. I must presume that as long as I sit quietly and look pretty you have nothing more to ask of me.”

  She heard a sharp intake of breath from her father. To her immense surprise Captain Kelly laughed aloud.

  “Oh lord, I did ask for that, didn’t I?” he said, and she was unexpectedly charmed. “I am sorry, Miss Crellin, I told you I was out of practice, but that’s no excuse since it’s very clear to me already that there is a lot more to you than a pretty face. I will try to redeem myself, I promise you. Do you ride?”