by Jayne Davis
He might be laying himself open to a rejection, but it would be cowardly to not even ask. If he didn’t ask, he definitely wouldn’t get what he wanted. And he’d been certain for some time that Phoebe was the one woman he did want, and love.
On that thought, he took himself to bed.
Alex slept soundly and, for the first time in a week, awoke feeling well rested. He lay staring up at the base of the top bunk, listening to the creaks and groans of the Lily in motion, and the rush of water past the hull.
Last night he’d noticed another trunk next to his own on the floor of the tiny cabin, but had thought no more about it. The trunk was still there, and now he could see ‘Lt Deane’ stencilled on it—he must have slept through both Deane retiring to his bunk and getting up this morning.
More importantly, there was a perfectly good cabin across the narrow corridor, so there must be another passenger besides himself and Deane. As Deane was here, could that passenger be…?
No—he could see no reason why Phoebe would be sent to Gibraltar.
Ready for some breakfast, he shaved, peering awkwardly into the tiny mirror fastened to the bulkhead, and changed into a fresh shirt.
He pushed open the door to the day cabin and froze.
Phoebe was eating breakfast with her brother, and looked up with a smile, as if nothing were out of the ordinary. He clamped down on the sudden rush of happiness. What he wanted to say, he wasn’t going to say in front of her brother.
“Good morning,” she said cheerily.
She looked wonderful.
“I’m sure Owen will be bringing some more coffee,” she said. “You slept well?”
“I… er… good morning.” He cleared his throat. “Very well… I mean, yes, I slept well, thank you.” He’d wanted to talk to her, although he hadn’t expected it to be so soon. But the sight of her firmed his resolve—the sooner the better. “Why are you here, Phoebe?”
“Joe is escorting me to Scotland,” she said. “Or Gibraltar.”
“How did you know about Gibraltar?” Deane asked.
“The cabin walls are thin,” Phoebe said. “I heard you last night.” She lowered her voice. “Ellie is still in bed next door, not feeling well.”
Alex shook his head, and sat down where a third place was set across from Phoebe. Owen came to fill his cup and put a bowl of porridge in front of him so he began to eat—he needed something in his stomach before he could work out what was going on here. While he was eating, Deane reached into an inner pocket and took out a sealed packet.
“The next set of orders?” Phoebe asked with interest.
“Next set?” Alex asked, content to deal with this minor mystery first.
“Joe opened his sealed orders last night,” she said. “This next packet was with them, not to be opened until we were on our way.”
“From Marstone?”
Deane said nothing, breaking the seal and unfolding the paper. A small key fell out onto the table.
“He’s very good,” Phoebe said approvingly. “I would have opened all of them straight away.”
“That’s why women aren’t in the navy,” Deane muttered.
“Well, what does it say?” Phoebe asked, ignoring this comment. “Are we going to Gibraltar or Scotland?”
Deane looked at his orders again, scratching his head.
“Well?” Phoebe asked.
“It says that you and Westbrook will tell me where we’re going,” he said, more quietly than before. “And there’s a letter for each of you in the trunk.” He shook his head. “What the hell is going on here?”
“Who gave you the orders?” Alex repeated. “Marstone?”
“Yes—I thought I was supposed to be taking Phoebe to Oban, and also assessing how well the Lily and her crew are suited to longer voyages. No-one said anything about Gibraltar. Why did you think—?”
“Marstone gave me a packet for the governor there, to be delivered in person. Perhaps those letters you have will clarify things?”
Deane grunted, and squeezed around the end of the table to go to his cabin. He brought the little trunk back with him and set it on the table. Alex and Phoebe peered in with interest when Joe unlocked it and lifted the lid. There were several more sealed letters inside, on top of a dozen books.
Deane handed one letter to Phoebe, and passed him the second, sitting down to open a third. Watching, Alex left his own letter on the table, noting with some amusement that Phoebe had done the same. Deane’s brows rose as he read, his expression smoothing when he finished. He folded the letter and tucked it into a pocket. “Aren’t you going to open yours?” he asked, looking at Phoebe, who was calmly sipping her coffee.
“No. What did yours say?”
“I’m not supposed… I can’t tell you. Just read yours, Fee,” Deane pleaded.
Phoebe shook her head.
“Westbrook, what does yours say?”
Alex, with porridge and several cups of coffee inside him, was beginning to think more clearly. “I think I’ll leave mine sealed for a while too,” he said. If Marstone was making this kind of mystery of Deane’s orders, he was up to something. He wanted to talk to Phoebe without Marstone’s plans getting in the way.
“They’re orders—” Deane protested.
“We’re not in the navy, Joe,” Phoebe said.
Deane turned to Alex. “You work for Marstone.”
“Not in the way you work for the Admiralty,” Alex said.
“But we need to know where we’re going.”
“How soon do you really need to know?” Alex asked. “Last night, you said the course would be the same for a while.”
Deane thought for a moment. “Not until we near Start Point, I suppose. This evening, if this wind holds; tomorrow if it drops.”
“I’ll open my letter before you need to change course,” Phoebe promised. “Will that do? I want to talk to Alex first,” she said. “Without that,” she poked the letter disdainfully, “without whatever that says interfering.”
She really was a mind-reader at times.
“So talk.”
“Alone.”
“I can’t leave you… I mean, your maid…” As if on cue, there was a retching sound loud enough to be heard through the cabin wall.
“I don’t think Ellie’s a good sailor,” Phoebe said.
Alex caught Joe’s eye. “We could go on deck, Deane,” he offered, as a spatter of rain dashed against the window.
“Oh, very well, stay in here.” Deane gave in with poor grace. He drained the last of his coffee and got to his feet. “I’ll make sure Owen keeps you supplied with coffee,” he said. “At frequent intervals!”
Chapter 55
Phoebe gazed at Alex as the door closed behind Joe. She’d been encouraged by the mixture of pleasure and surprise on Alex’s face when he first walked into the cabin; now she felt butterflies in her stomach. There was a lot at stake.
“Do you really have a message for Gibraltar?” she asked, starting with an easy question.
“Yes.” He leaned back against the bulkhead. “Why did you think you were here?”
“Marstone said I needed to be protected, and it would be safest if I went to his estate in Scotland by sea. But Bella thought there might be another reason.” Phoebe stopped, wondering if she was about to make a complete fool of herself. “She… she said that it was difficult to run away when you were on a ship.”
“I wasn’t running away. Marstone needed me in London.”
“You weren’t going to come back, though, were you?”
“Not if you were…” His words faltered. He fiddled with his coffee cup before looking back up at her, his face set. “Phoebe, did Harlford ask you to marry him when he was at Oakley Place?”
“Yes, but I turned him down.” She could see some of the tension leave his face as she spoke.
“It would have been a good match for you.”
“Except for the fact that he thinks he knows what is best for me, like most men—eve
n Joe. No, I want more from life than financial security. When it came down to it, that was all I would have gained from Harlford.”
“Have I been deciding what is best for you?”
“No.” She bit her lip—that wasn’t quite true, and this discussion needed honesty. “Mostly not,” she amended.
“I realised that,” he said, his face still serious.
“You stayed away because ‘young ladies of the ton—’”
“—do not marry bastards,” he finished for her, with a shake of his head. “Not only was I deciding for you, I was letting other people’s opinions make the decision.”
“You were going to come to talk to me, though?” she asked.
“Yes, as soon as I was back in England.”
Phoebe couldn’t help chuckling. “Marstone,” she explained, not wanting Alex to think she was laughing at him. “He went to all this trouble to get us together, and you were going to see me again anyway.”
“Ha, yes.” Finally, he smiled. He looked at the sealed letters, still lying on the table. “I suspect there’s more to it than just ensuring I can’t run away,” he added.
“That can wait,” Phoebe said, pushing them to one side. “What were you going to talk about when you caught up with me?” He hadn’t actually asked her to marry him, but she was now sure he wanted to. Why else would he have avoided her earlier for the reasons he gave?
He leaned back again, a wry smile on his face. “I hadn’t got as far as working out exactly what to say,” he admitted. “Apart from asking you what you want. Did you enjoy your season?”
“What there was of it, yes.” She looked him in the eye. “It’s not enough, though, and the thought of doing the same things, with mostly the same people, year after year…” She shook her head. “Alex, my parents were happy without all that. They loved each other, they worked together, and they used their skills to help people. I want a life like that, where I can learn things, and use what I know.”
Aware that her voice had risen while she talked, Phoebe took a deep breath and sat back in her seat. Was he worried that she would grow tired of a life with him—a life beyond the society her uncle frequented? “You like being useful?” she asked.
Alex nodded.
“I do, too. Ever since my parents died I’ve not been useful. I’ve been tolerated, at best, by my aunt. My uncle was… distant until we were back in London. Harlford is a good man, I think, and pleasant enough, but he only asked me because he needs an heir. That’s not what I want.”
“You wouldn’t be received,” Alex said, the words coming out before he realised the implication. “I mean,” he added hurriedly, “if—”
“I’d be received by the people I like,” Phoebe interrupted. “And the people who won’t want to know me—I think I’d be quite happy not to know them.”
He owed it to her to point out all the pitfalls of a possible life together, although he was happy to have his points dismissed so easily.
“I spend a lot of time—” He broke off as boots clattered along the corridor outside, and the door opened.
“Well?” Deane asked. “Have you decided to open your letters yet?” He glanced at them, his brows drawing together. “It’s stopped raining,” he went on. “If you haven’t finished talking yet, you can do it on deck.”
Alex hadn’t noticed the lightening sky outside—there were even a few patches of blue. Deane’s gaze was almost a glare.
He suppressed a smile as Phoebe glared back. “Joe, what exactly do you think we are going to do in a tiny cabin like this with no lock on the door? Besides, we can’t open the letters on deck—spray would make the ink run.”
Deane glared at them, but finally gave in. “Oh, very well.” He turned on his heel and left, pointedly leaving the door open.
Alex went to close the door, but instead of resuming his seat, he went to stand before the stern window. His pulse accelerated as Phoebe came to stand close to him, her shoulders almost touching his. He caught the faint scent of her hair.
“Phoebe…” Reaching out, he captured a few stray strands and tucked them behind her ear. The smile she gave him as he did so took his breath away.
“I love you, Phoebe, you must know that.”
Her nod and smile were clear, and she briefly put her hand to his cheek. She said nothing—she could hear the ‘but’ coming, no doubt.
“Why do you want… why me?” he asked. “Most people would say I’m a bad bargain, especially for someone like you.”
She didn’t answer him immediately, her gaze sliding away and becoming unfocussed. “You… you were kind when you gave me back my sketchbook. You rescued us from Perrault and me from Sarchet—”
“I don’t want your gratitude,” he interrupted harshly.
“More importantly, though,” she went on, meeting his eyes, “you treated me like a person, you let me help, you didn’t assume I couldn’t do things because I am a woman, you let me judge for myself what I thought I could or couldn’t do.”
He saw the shine in her eyes as she looked aside again. “No-one has done that since my father. I felt as if we were working together to do something important.” Her eyes met his. “I don’t think feelings—love—can be explained, really. But as far as they can, that’s why.”
He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. She did love him then. He’d thought—hoped—she did, but hearing her say so affected him more than he’d expected.
There were still the disadvantages of his situation to point out. He’d seen enough other marriages descend into indifference or outright hostility—he didn’t want that to happen to them. Love was not always enough.
“I’d be away on Marstone’s business a lot—”
“So are army officers, and naval officers. Other women put up—”
“I don’t want you to have to ‘put up’ with anything.” It wasn’t much of a life for the women left at home, although the idea that she was willing to do so warmed him. But that wasn’t what he wanted, either.
“Are you going to carry on doing the same kind of thing?” she asked. “I thought you couldn’t go back to France for a while?”
“I don’t know what Marstone wants.” He’d said nothing about what Alex was to do after this trip to Gibraltar. “I suppose I could go back to work at Pendrick’s.”
She must have seen something in his expression, his doubts about such a boring life. That had as little appeal for him as the social season did for her.
“You’d do that?” she asked, then shook her head. “Shall we see what Marstone’s letters say?”
He turned and leaned on the table. Picking up his letter, he broke the seal and unfolded the single sheet. When he looked up again Phoebe had finished reading her own letter.
“Marstone wants to thank me for helping get your list back to him,” she said. “He’ll give me a good dowry if my uncle won’t, and make sure we can afford a nice house.”
He didn’t need her dowry—and Marstone knew that. From her expression, Marstone’s offer was as unattractive to her as it was to him.
She looked at his letter. “What bribe is he offering you?”
He smiled—the offer did sound like a bribe. “He seems to think that I didn’t like working at Pendrick’s because I wasn’t in charge. So he’s going to set me up with my own import business. It will be a safe place for agents to take refuge, and he’s offered me the Lily so I can organise transport as well.” He refolded the letter and tossed it onto the table.
“That would be a useful job,” she said. “It is also a job that almost anyone could do.”
Her words mirrored his thoughts so exactly that she surprised a crack of laughter out of him. “You know, your habit of mind-reading can be rather disconcerting at times!”
“You don’t want that, do you?” She looked straight into his eyes. “Alex, what do you want?”
You—in my life, in my arms…
“When I was trying to find Brevare’s family in France,” he said, “I wan
ted you.” He put one hand behind her head, his thumb stroking gentle circles in her hair.
“I wanted you as a partner, to talk things through with you, to work things out together. As well as this…” He leaned towards her, and she turned her face up to his, her lips parting slightly. That was enough encouragement, and he bent his head towards hers.
“Westbrook!” Deane’s voice made them both jump.
“Go away, Joe,” Phoebe said crossly, but she pulled away from him all the same. “And yes, we’ve opened our letters, and no, they do not say where we are to go.”
“But do you agree to the proposition in the letter?” Deane asked.
Alex caught her quick glance his way, and shook his head. Marstone would not have gone to the trouble of organising this trip on the Lily merely to get someone to co-ordinate agents. Her quick smile showed she’d worked that out as quickly as he had.
“No, we don’t,” Phoebe said. She peered into the little trunk as Joe unlocked it, recalling the books she’d seen earlier. Joe removed a bundle of papers, handing another letter to Alex.
“What are those books?” Phoebe asked.
Joe didn’t reply, his eyes on Alex as he read the letter.
“Did your orders tell you not to let me see them?” she persisted, irritated.
“No.” Joe waved a hand towards the box. She lifted out the volumes to read their spines. There were several dictionaries and books of grammar—Portuguese, Spanish, and Italian. That promised a more interesting offer in the latest letter.
Alex’s brows rose as he read, then he handed the letter to her without comment. She read it through twice, keeping her expression bland in spite of the excitement building inside her.
“Well, what does this one say?” Joe asked impatiently.
“It says that it is not unknown for merchants’ wives to accompany them on trading voyages,” Phoebe said. “And that a ship fitted out as a fast privateer could safely investigate trading options in the Mediterranean while also being useful in other ways.”
Joe looked from her to Alex as he worked out the implications. “But you’re not a merchant’s wife.”