Loyalty is Lieutenant Owain Morgan’s watchword—loyalty to England’s Queen Elizabeth XII, to her daughter the Princess of Wales, and to the Royal Navy in which he serves. When his loyalty leads him into danger, an unseen something—or someone—lends a helping hand. Is he imagining it? Could it be a guardian angel? Or is it someone—or something—else?
Enter the intriguing Benjamin Fletcher. Owain knows that sharing a drink and a steamy afternoon together doesn’t have to mean anything, but Benjamin’s quiet charm works its way into his heart…. Until Benjamin turns up in the Earl of Essex’s retinue, that same Earl who, rumor says, is angling to marry the Princess of Wales and make her power his own.
Every encounter with Benjamin binds Owain’s heart more tightly to this enigmatic man yet tests his loyalty to Queen and Country. Will Owain be forced to choose between love and loyalty?
The Young Man’s Guide to Love and Loyalty is part of the Magic Emporium Series. Each book stands alone, but each one features an appearance by Marden’s Magic Emporium, a shop that can appear anywhere, but only once and only when someone’s in dire need. This alternate history contains princesses, palaces, steam trains, fumbling lovers, and a guaranteed HEA.
1
The nation celebrated the coronation of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth XII on Tuesday, June 20th, at the Cathedral of Westminster. Our monarch descends from the long line of Tudor rulers, beginning with King Henry VII, who ascended to the throne in the Year of Our Lord 1487. Presided over by the Archbishopress of Canterbury, the ceremony presented Her Majesty to Her subjects and invested Her with the royal orb, scepter, and crown. In clear, ringing tones, Her Majesty swore Her oath to protect Her realm of England and Wales. Prince Robert, Duke of Lancaster, was then crowned as Her Majesty’s consort…
The Times of London, Wednesday, June 21, 1843
A plea to Our Gracious Queen from Her Loyal Subjects – Release us, Your Loyal Subjects, from the Public Fear created by Your Walsinghams, who, not content with exercising their mission to secretly gather information from Foreign Powers that is useful to Her Majesty and Her Government, have increased Public Fear and Dread by including Her Loyal Subjects in their espionage activities….
Broadside discovered pasted to the wall of Hampton Court Palace, 1789
I was born in the second year of the reign of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth XII of England and Wales, and now, in the twenty-fifth year of her reign, it seemed likely I would die.
A shell exploded in the water on the port side as I reached the quarterdeck. The ship heeled hard to starboard. Ears ringing from the blast, I grabbed the splintered starboard rail and hung on.
Below me, a dozen sailors sprawled on the main deck. Gun carriages shifted, threatening to break loose from their moorings. I had just ordered them twice-tied, but there had not been time to do so.
Fool. I should have ordered it done as soon as we engaged the enemy. I cursed myself, a poor excuse for a first lieutenant.
Above, rigging monkeys held on desperately as the ship righted itself. Masts creaked. Canvas sails luffed as the helm fought to keep the wind.
The Isle of Wight lay ahead, but the damned Irish might cripple and board us soon. If only we could reach the safety of the Solent. That strait separated the Isle of Wight from England and Portsmouth, our nearest haven. The Irish had surprised us off Portland Bill, and we had played cat-and-mouse in the mist until it cleared two hours ago. Now they threatened to out-sail us. I pulled out my spyglass and scanned the enemy ship again.
’Strewth! They were indeed flying Irish colors while sailing one of the new French ironclads. But how? The French and Irish were at each other’s throats over land in the Americas. Had the French joined the Irish and Spanish alliance? And what about Scotland? If our four greatest foes combined forces, England would be crushed.
Did the Admiralty know? Did the Crown know?
And they had upgraded armaments. Built for speed rather than pitched battle, our Leicester was outclassed and outgunned. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. Time to do my utmost to save the crew and the ship. Damnation, we were so close to shelter…
Another shell exploded, sending splinters and shrapnel flying, the sound deafening.
Across the quarterdeck, Captain Wright staggered then gained her feet, clutching her right arm. Dear God, she was hit! Before I could run to her, she motioned for me to remain at my post.
On the main deck, a gunner collapsed, blood pouring from a wound in his throat, his mouth gaping open. Poor Dawkins. He didn’t deserve to die, especially with home in sight.
As the ship came around, I signaled to return fire. The ship shook unceasingly as our guns continued their barrage. I feared it was a futile exercise, despite the new barrel rifling. Our shells just couldn’t pierce their armor.
A gust of wind parted the smoke. Sunlight half-blinded me and my nostrils filled with the scent of limes. Limes?
“On your left!”
I leapt to the right. A splintered spar crashed into the deck, just where I had been standing. Who had shouted the warning? I spun around, but no one was nearby. And how had I heard it? I was still deafened by the blasts.
No time to think of that now.
The ship shuddered as the wind shifted and caught our sails. We surged forward, gaining a brief advantage. Our only hope now was to sail dangerously close to shore. The Leicester pulled a shallow draught. If we could reach the range of our coastal fortifications, the threat of our long cannons would send them packing. If we didn’t go aground first.
No doubt understanding our strategy, the Irishmen sent a cascade of shells after us. None struck home.
“Thank you,” I murmured to whoever might be listening—both for the warning about the falling spar and for the favorable change in wind direction. Had miracles graced us? My theology was practical rather than spiritual, but at this point I was grateful for any bit of luck coming our way.
We headed toward the shore. There was no time to use a lead line to sound our route. We had to rely on the helm’s skill. And luck.
I signaled a watch for obstacles both from the deck and the rigging. Crew scrambled to take their places. Water churned around us as it shallowed. The Irishmen sent another volley, too close for comfort. We tacked, hoping to throw off their firing calculations, perilously close to land.
The ship juddered, her keel scraping the sandy bottom.
My heart sped. We were pulling more depth than usual. Why? I shook my head in disgust at my lapse of memory. Of course. The treasure filling our hull increased our draught.
We had sailed through so many perils, surely we could not fail within sight of safe harbor. I held my breath, willed the ship free. After a long moment, we slid forward.
I blew out a sigh. A close call.
But we had slowed. Had our enemy gained ground?
Looking back, I raised my glass. I could scarcely believe what I saw. The Irish were turning, heading back into the Channel waters.
Why?
Had they decided not to risk the cannon batteries in our fortifications? But we were still out of range….
A hail sounded from the rigging. A familiar silhouette had just emerged from behind the island, sailing toward us. The York, coming to our aid!
Relief actually weakened my knees. I leaned against the deck rail for a moment before standing and brushing some of the grime from my uniform. I could not rest yet. My duties still called.
We sailed past the Isle of Wight into the deeper waters of the Solent. I ordered signal flags to acknowledge the York’s help, then looked around the quarterdeck for the captain.
She stood in her accustomed position, still on her feet, but swaying slightly. Her face was pale, her left arm hanging limply. Stubborn woman, she would not even lean against the railing, despite her injuries. I admired her and cursed her at the same time. As I hurried across the quarterdeck to her side, I sent a powder monkey to fetch the ship’s surgeon. She must be seen to.
When he arrived, she waved him off. “There are others more grievously wounded.”
“But Captain, you must…” I began.
Her face grew even paler and she staggered. I caught her uninjured arm. She leaned heavily against me for a moment, panting. Pushing away from my support, she lurched again.
I summoned my courage. Captain Wright was not unreasonable, but she did not suffer unwarranted interference. In this situation, however….
“Captain, I must insist you rest.”
Her scowl gradually turned into a wry smile, and she nodded. “Very well, Lieutenant. You have command. I shall be in my cabin. Inform me when we have reached Portsmouth.”
After assigning a midshipman to assist the captain to her cabin, I checked the crew’s status.
On the main deck, the surgeon attended to the wounded, and now that we were no longer under fire, the dead were moved out of the way until they could be identified and given a proper burial. Carpenters worked on running repairs as gunners and powder monkeys, exhausted, slumped against their gun carriages.
In the absence of the captain, I shouldered my responsibilities with as much dignity as I could muster. I commanded the ship as we sailed to Portsmouth harbor, escorted by H.M.S. York. My heart swelled with gratitude and a cheer went up from the crew when we sighted the weathered stone walls of the Royal Garrison Church. A tangible sign that we had almost finished our year-long journey. Another cheer sounded when we passed the Square Tower and then the Round Tower, those massive fortifications built by Her Majesty’s ancestors, the first Tudors to rule England and Wales.
The familiar bustle of the port was both exhilarating and comforting. The crew seemed to gain heart as we limped into shelter, performing their duties with energy and good will.
I was proud to be first officer of H.M.S. Leicester.
My duties kept me busy the next few hours, and it wasn’t until twilight softened the harsh lines of the port’s fortifications that I was asked to join Captain Wright and Admiral Kyd in the captain’s quarters.
Several lamps had been lit, and charts lay strewn across the large worktable, along with an inkpot and pen, and several sheets of closely written foolscap. The captain’s unfinished report, no doubt. Three glasses filled with the captain’s best port sat on the table, the bottle beside them.
“Lieutenant Morgan.” Admiral Kyd acknowledged my salute and waved me to a seat before dismissing the steward.
“Captain Wright insisted that you join us before she shares her report of your adventures, beginning with the recent attack on the Leicester.” “Captain Wright is too kind,” I replied, with a nod. “As I told her, I was able to get a good look at the ship through my glass. Although it was flying Irish colors, I believe it to be one of the new French ironclads.”
“Indeed.” Admiral Kyd’s brows drew together. He glanced at the captain. “This is disturbing news. We have received hints that a new set of alliances may be forming, but our Walsinghams have provided no concrete information.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Have you shared this with anyone other than Captain Wright?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. I will see that this information is sent on to the Admiralty and the Privy Council by secure channels. I expect the Admiralty will wish to question you further about what you witnessed. You are to report to them immediately.”
“Yes, sir.” Stifling a sigh, I tried not to show my lack of enthusiasm for the journey. Given the state of the late spring roads from Portsmouth to London, “immediately” might take two days. Three if the coach broke an axle.
Admiral Kyd continued. “I will see that you receive authorization to take the locomotive tomorrow morning.”
I gasped. The locomotive? I, First Lieutenant Owain Morgan, would be granted authorization to travel on the railway? My news of the iron-clad must be more vital than I had imagined. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Admiral Kyd raised his glass and drank deeply before turning to the captain. “And now that has been dealt with, I would hear the news of your mission. I believe it was successful?”
Captain Wright grinned and lifted her own glass. “Beyond our wildest dreams.”
“And the information regarding the Spanish fort?” asked the admiral.
“Our Walsinghams were accurate. The guards had grown complacent, as we were informed.” The captain gestured to me. “Lieutenant Morgan led the raid, and the Spanish were none the wiser until we were well away.”
“Excellent! Her Majesty will be well pleased.” The admiral offered a toast to our success, and I dutifully drank.
The port was good quality—a far cry better than I was accustomed to—and warmed my belly, easing aches from bruised muscles. I sank back into my seat and yearned for bed as exhaustion set in. No chance of rest for many hours, though.
When we finished our glasses, the admiral rose. “And now I would like to see your prize. It is not every day that the Queen’s coffers are fattened by a ship filled with Spanish silver.”
Welcome to the Magic Emporium, where magical creatures and some not-so-magical creatures find their matches. Is it a dating service? No, but it is a magic shop that can appear in any world or realm, it never shows up in the same place twice, and it only appears for creatures in dire need of one of its magical items. How is dire need defined? Depends on who's telling the story. Oh, didn't I mention that? There are 12 amazing novellas in this multi-author series and each has characters who need HELP. If these characters all find love along the way... well, how enchanting.
Contributors: Jacki James, Eliot Grayson, Sam Burns/W.M.Fawkes, Kim Fielding, Meghan Maslow, Rowan McAllister, Rhys Lawless, Clara Merrick, Angel Martinez, EJ Russell, Rachel Langella (Ari McKay), and Morgan Brice.
Clara Merrick was the kid who buried her nose in a book as she walked to and from school and the teen who read ahead in class and then complained of boredom. “Just let me finish this chapter” became her life motto at an early age and hasn’t changed over the years. She expects they will be her last words, as well.
The Young Man's Guide to Love and Loyalty
Magic Emporium Series
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