Frances · Braunstone.

Frances Braunstone was not always the tall, resolute woman that stepped off of the HMS Herald on that humid day in July. In fact, she had been quite different a mere three years before.

When Nathaniel Braunstone had come around to speak to her father on the topic of marriage, she had been quite taken aback. She considered herself to be little more than a girl, even if the gossip was that she never would marry. At least, she would not marry if she did not keep her hands off of sweets and her mouth firmly shut. Being the middle child, she had none of the prospects of being the eldest or the ingenuity of being the youngest. Even at the age of twenty-two, she had the distinct crestfallen air of a spinster about her.

News of their attachment flew from mouth to mouth in Bath. The gossip was like a wildfire, spread by tongues flailing behind lace fans. Soon enough, her aunt from London wrote to inquire as to the engagement. Her Fanny was affianced to the most handsome and promising man in all of England, she spouted to her closest confidantes.  Such a lovely girl. She, as well as all of the other nay-sayers, went on about how they had suspected she would make a smart match.

At first she had fought her father’s decision. She had been introduced once to Nathaniel. Such a quick engagement could hardly be proper. But, no one would listen to her. Her father thought her mad for wanting to decline such a generous offer. Her mother and sisters thought her mad for wanting to decline such a handsome man.

Soon enough, though, Fanny fell to Nathaniel’s charms. It was difficult not to. Women from the ages of fifty to thirteen seemed to melt beneath the genial warmth of his eyes. Why such a handsome man had chosen her, she hadn’t the faintest. After they were married, they spent a short time touring the Continent, as was expected. But, unlike most married couples, they did not conceive in the first two years of their marriage. The blame fell entirely upon Fanny, and it gave Nathaniel leave to seek employment elsewhere. It was an excuse to get away from the gossip, not get away from his wife. If he had been given the choice, he would have taken her with him.

Nearly two years later, a letter arrived at the Braunstone’s apartments in Bath. It was from Nathaniel, entreating her to go to Port Royal. He wrote in the most splendid, romantic way. She had never read such passionate words in a letter from her husband. While he was a good man, he was hardly the poetical sort.

Nathaniel’s face was the first one that she saw and the only one she recognized. He was standing on the deck, an arm folded behind his back and his eyes focused upon the dinghy that she had been lowered down onto minutes before. When he realized that she was looking at him, he raised a hand to her in greeting, a pleased smile melting across his lips. She returned his wave, smiling a nearly identical smile. Seeing him had lifted a very heavy weight from her shoulders, and she felt as if she had the strength to fling herself from the dinghy and swim to shore by her own accord.

When they reached the dock, she found that Nathaniel’s hand was the one that offered to lift her out of the boat. “Oh,” she murmured, her cheeks flushed from the heat. “Thank you.”

Nathaniel nodded, hoisting her out of the boat without much trouble. It was evident in this that his time spent in Port Royal had strengthened him. He would have never been able to do such a thing before. “How was your trip?” he asked, motioning with a swift flick of the wrist for his manservant to see to her luggage and her companion. Charlotte, who was undoubtedly as light as air, was lifted out of the boat by two men, who both seemed to adulate beneath her giggled gratitude.

“It was no trouble in the world, Nathaniel,” Fanny said with a smile. “I did not get sick the entire time. I looked after Charlotte, since she could hardly get out onto the deck. You should be proud of me.”

“I am,” her husband chuckled, holding out his arm for her. Clearing his throat, he continued, “We must make ourselves ready for dinner. Lord Beckett has extended an invitation as a welcome. Will Charlotte be up for it?”

Fanny turned around and glanced at her friend, who stood between the two men that had helped her out of the boat. They were both enormously tall compared to her, but their demeanor had been reduced to that of sixteen year old boys. “I do believe she is already recovered,” Fanny laughed, curling her arm tighter around that of her husband. “I am very glad that you seen for me. I have missed you terribly.”

“And I, you, my dear,” he murmured, patting her firmly on the hand that was bent around his forearm. She had not a clue what would follow. She suspected nothing. But, that night, she would learn that she had not been summoned by a husband in want of his wife. No, she had been summoned by a man in want of approval.

Greetings.

I suppose that I should begin with an introduction. My name is Frances Winifred Braunstone, and I am six and twenty years of age. At this precise moment, I am aboard the HMS Herald. We are sailing for an island called Port Royal, where I am to join my husband and this ship will unite with the others. Unlike my companion, Charlotte, the long trip has not bothered me one bit. I will tell Nathaniel this the moment I see him. He is sure to be proud.

It has been a year and two months since my dear Nathaniel left our home in Bath to pursue a career in the Navy elsewhere. He claims that it was not his decision, that the blame should fall upon his commanding officer, but his manner in leaving informed me otherwise. I fear that I have been a horrible wife for him. In our three years before his departure, when most young women would be able to provide their husband’s with a child, I had not. But, that is a delicate subject and one that I should not worry over. I shall put things right.

Poor Charlotte demands my attention night and day. One would think that I was a servant, what with all of the running about that I have been doing. Fetching water for her burning head, holding her hand as the boat heaved this way and that, churning her empty stomach to God knows where. I do hope that she is able to regain herself before we arrive.

In that vein, I overheard the captain today. We have only just over two days time until we reach Port Royal. My heart begins to race at the very thought of seeing Nathaniel again. I cannot wait to dine with him, to speak with him, to look upon his handsome face. Oh, his face. I remember it quite well, regardless of our distance. His smooth cheeks and thick brows. His piercing gray eyes. His full lips. I can hardly contain my excitement. For, despite everything, he is a good man, just as he is a good husband. I would do anything for him if he should ask.

For now, I shall go speak to Charlotte or take a walk on deck. The men aboard the ship are very kind, though I have felt a certain uneasiness about them in my presence, as if they are not saying precisely what they think. Under the watchful eye of this captain, I am not surprised!

Ever yours,
Fanny.