Chapter One

Chapter One

Someone’s whole life can rest on a split decision. In the time it would take to blink an eye, a person can be established or undone. Destiny is balanced on finely tipped scales.

He set his course by a moment’s pause. He made up his mind and in that single choice lives would be determined.

“Hold the coach!” he commanded.

“Yes sir!” came back the reply.

“Laurence, you know we are running late. This could mean our heads! We cannot stop here,” said his friend Bennett.

“Five minutes will not make much difference. I must see the Spartan even if it is for a few moments,” replied Laurence.

He left his uniform coat and grabbed his cloak as he stepped out of the coach.

Bennett forebodingly shook his head fearing further delay. They had already lost time on poor road conditions. The Admiralty in London would not be so understanding.

“It would mean our literal heads if we belonged to Napoleon’s navy and not his Majesty’s. The French overwork Madame Guillotine, I am told,” said Andrews.

“Their National Razor will have to shave close to turn back our hero,” Bennett added.

“Who wants to lay odds he will be gone longer than five minutes?” chirped Miles. He figured if he had to wait, that it might as well profit him.

“There’s no point in betting when we know he’ll be late,” responded Andrews.

“A female can’t turn his head, but a ship is another matter altogether,” Miles smirked.

“He’s never been on a seventy-four gunner before. He has most likely swooned in raptures by now,” Andrews said dryly.

“We may have to fetch him in a minute or two and drag him away,” suggested Bennett.

He had hardly spoken the words before Laurence was back in the coach dripping wet.

“Drive on!” he ordered.

The coach lurched forward. All three men had their mouths opened at once trying to ascertain what had happened in those few short minutes. Laurence watched them with a slight smile. He was out of breath and waited for effect.

“Did you decide on a night’s swim?” asked Bennett.

Laurence knew his friend too well to take the offered bait and made no reply.

“Did you lose your balance and fall into the sea?” teased Miles.

“Remember who you are speaking to, Miles!” said Andrews with a twinkle in his eyes. “Laurence’s footing is always sure.”

Laurence smiled through their banter. He could afford to be patient. Taking off his boots, he drained the water from them and rung out his vest.

His friends watched the procedure with impatience. They wanted answers but would have to wait. Laurence was in control and they all knew it.

“Hand me your cloak.”

“Where is yours?” asked Bennett, as he tossed his to Laurence.

“I left it to warm a young lady.”

“What!” they exclaimed at once.

Now Laurence had them where he wanted them: eating out of the palm of his hand.

“Tell us what happened!” Miles implored him.

Laurence chuckled, leaned his head back on the seat, and sighed. He was in no hurry.

“I was running down the quay when I saw a group of young people walking toward me. One silly girl was balancing on the edge. It took no great premonition on my part to see her falling into the ocean. As if on cue, she tumbled and I dove in after her feeling for her hand. When we broke to the surface, I noticed she was not breathing.”

Laurence left his friends hanging out of plain mischief. Miles’ telltale hue of frustration signaled an emanate eruption when he mercifully decided to continue his tale.

“I climbed the dinghy stairs, pitched her over my knee and pounded on her back. She expelled the water and gave a great gasp for air. Since her dress was made of light material, and the water had been very cold, I threw my cape over her and told her friends to get her into a warm bath as soon as possible. They were asking for my name as I ran back to the coach.”

“Did you give them your name?” asked Bennett.

“Was she pretty?” chimed in Miles.

“Was she heavy?” added Andrews.

“No, yes and no,” said Laurence simply.

“Is that all you are going to say about her?” asked Miles.

“Let us go back over the questions,” Laurence said methodically. “Number one: my cloak has my initials on it. Let her fancy fill in whatever name she desires. Number two: saving her life was all that mattered, I was not concerned about how she looked. Her hair partially covered her face and I did not get a clear view, for it was getting dark. It all happened very quickly you see, but since you are waiting with bated breath,” he grinned, “I shall do the best I can of recounting her appearance for you.” He paused for greater effect in the story-telling and greater irritation to Miles.

“She had black hair, a slender, graceful neck and a slight figure. I would guess her age to be anywhere from fourteen to sixteen years old. She was very pretty indeed.”

“What color were her eyes?” asked Andrews.

“She didn’t open her eyes, at least, not while I was bending over her.”

None of his friends were happy with his limited description, but Laurence had nothing more to tell them.

“Number three: she hardly weighed anything at all.”

“Then why were you out of breath?” inquired Andrews with a raised brow.

“I ran back to the coach,” he said in defense.

“Nonsense! I’ve seen you fight hard and be less out of breath than you are now,” Bennett said.

“Maybe there is more to this young lady than you are telling us,” added Miles with a quick wink at the others.

Laurence ignored the implication: his friends could think of it any way they pleased. He was confounded, however, that he was more breathless than he thought possible. He had hardly exerted himself. He chuckled at the mere suggestion that a young girl could cause a rise in his heart rate. He dismissed the thought with a shake of his head which his friends acutely noticed. They glanced at each other and grinned. Laurence turned his head away from them, and looked out the window for some needed distraction. It did not improve his thoughts or his emotions.

In the fading light, he saw a young family pass by. They were common farmers. The father had his young son up on his shoulders while his wife walked by his side. They smiled as the little boy laughed. The coach passed them quickly, but not fast enough to blot such a picture.

Laurence closed his eyes and felt a stab of pain in his heart. He had a deep longing for a family. He had no memory of a mother: the calming voice, the swish of a skirt, the fragrance of the feminine. As a little boy he would attempt to hug the housekeeper, Mrs. Elm, but she would always shoo him away. His only satisfaction came from his father who would hold and rock him to sleep.

He remembered his father was often gone. As a child, Laurence did not understand his absence until he was five years old when his father took him on board a ship. During those long days of separation, Laurence missed his father desperately. His greatest thrill was seeing a ship approaching the harbor. He should have hated the sea but he did not, could not—it stirred him deeply.

As he grew older, he perceived his father’s sadness, as if living every moment took effort. One day, Laurence burst through his father’s bedroom and found him fingering a dress that had belonged to his mother.

Captain Laurence embraced his son and began to weep. “I miss her…I miss her desperately!” he whispered to his son.

Laurence responded by tightening his arms around his father’s neck. He was only eight years old, but sensitive to people’s needs. Laurence tried his best to support his father, but could not remove the sadness from his eyes, not even with all the jokes and funny stories he could think of.

The carefree joy of his boyhood ended abruptly, adding bitterness to those sweet memories. He remembered a bleak, rainy October morning; everything moved in slow motion. The world had turned black and white; all the color had washed away. He saw his father’s casket lowered into the ground with heaps of dirt thrown on top. Part of his heart would remain buried with him. Laurence shed his last tears at his father’s grave.

Captain Edward Laurence survived his wife by ten years. He fought hard to live for his son, but it was a losing battle. When Laurence had barely turned twelve, his father gave up the long struggle. He was only thirty-nine. If ever a man died of a broken heart, it was Captain Laurence.

It was on the day they buried his father that Laurence remembered meeting his uncle for the first time. A tall, distinguished gentleman introduced himself. He knew he had an uncle because his father had often told him amusing stories of their antics as boys, but any resemblance his uncle had to his father ended with his eyes: there was no compassion in them. It sent shivers up his spine. Laurence went that very day to live with his uncle in London.

All the grief and loneliness he felt produced a drive he directed toward his studies. His nature was not prone to self-pity, but geared toward action. He learned at an early age that he could not control what happened to him. Life had acted and taken his father away. He reacted by setting his course in life through diligence and hard work. He faced life head-on leaving childhood behind.

Lord Richard Laurence was an exacting man, but he was not cruel. Laurence never experienced his unforgiving nature until later in life. He was not the kind of man that would incite affection in anyone. He was handsome but also cold and aloof; wealthy, unmarried, childless—too selfish to share his life with anyone. His one good quality was that he recognized it and never inflicted this potential misery on any woman by marrying her. He did not take in his brother’s son out of pity; mercy did not mix in his calculation. His nephew happened to be the only one who could continue the family line.

Lord Richard never forgave his brother for going to sea, and would do everything in his power to shape his nephew away from such a profession. His goal was to groom his nephew to take his place. He shrewdly factored in education, travels, and gifts to draw the boy away from his father’s world. He would experience the best life had to offer: a safety net to keep him tied to a certain standard of living. He was a master puppeteer and knew how to pull the strings. Too much was at stake to let his nephew make the choices. He had a high calling and was the last scion of two noble houses—his path was already marked out for him.

Laurence began his real education under his uncle’s guidance and had the best tutors and went to the most elite schools. At university, he excelled in many endeavors and joined several sports clubs. He was proficient in fencing, archery and boxing, and trained his body with physical discipline.

When France declared war on Britain during his first year at Oxford, he could hardly contain his anger. The conversations he had with fellow classmates about the conflict only intensified as time went on. His desire to join the Royal Navy was no longer cavalier, but in defense of what he loved.

He left Oxford at the end of his eighteenth year and wrote to his uncle who immediately disinherited him. He was on his own. No one would help him make his way, and that was how he preferred it. He had the best that education and physical training could make of him. He had done all he could on land to prepare for life at sea.

Five years had since passed and Lt. Michael Laurence was in the full vigor of youth. Tall, dark haired, black-eyed, he had a roguish appearance that made a woman look twice. He caused a riot in many of their hearts, but was always on his guard around them. He saw every single female as a threat to his chosen way of life, and felt suffocated whenever there were too many around. He believed marriage was a trap he could avoid—he knew where the snares were set.

He did not understand his transition from boyhood, when he needed a woman’s touch, to manhood, when he looked upon them as a necessary evil. Like most people, he was a mixture, with visions of family producing a struggle in him between longing and loathing.

Laurence did what he needed to survive and suppressed any desires conflicting with his love for the sea. As a man determined to remain a bachelor, he felt more than compensated. The sea was his wife, the ship was his home, and his shipmates were his family. This became his reality and identity.

Meeting Christopher Bennett initiated the first crack in the hard exterior loneliness caused in him. Thomas Andrews appeared a short time later, adding an undying cheerfulness to his life. He had brothers now, a family, and the affection he had suppressed in his nature came out in loyalty for his friends.

Laurence was a man of extremes and never did anything halfway if he decided to do it. His commitment had no half-measures—he would have given his life for his friends. The love he felt inside took the form of true brotherhood. Women could not break into that sacred fellowship and Laurence took special care to assure that they could not. He counseled and warned his friends whenever he sensed any female becoming too manipulative which happened quite often since Laurence was suspicious of them all.

His friends took it in good-humor. They knew him well and understood his watchful, protective nature. They accepted one another wholeheartedly; the strengths and weakness in their character tied them in a growing bond as the years went by.

Laurence settled on his seat more comfortably as the heat from his body dried out his clothes. He pictured her again. He had never held a woman in his arms before, except for the occasional dance, when he had to hold their hands. He never let them get too close. They were a mystery to him, but this girl was different. Her unconsciousness put him at ease, her need of rescue tore down his walls. In this exchange, everything was safe.

It was a sweet sensation to think of it. How good it felt to save someone’s life! A family in Britain would have their daughter back. He wondered about them. Her dress was of fine quality. Perhaps she was a lady. It pleased his imagination to save the life of a young girl who would grow up with some distinction. It was a miracle he found her hand to rescue her in the first place. The more he thought on it, the more amazed he was by the whole thing. He dozed off to the sounds of such thoughts.

Five years would pass before a young woman affected Laurence again.