‘I thought respectability was the most important thing to him,’ she murmured.
‘If it was, I don’t suppose he’d keep the boy so close. Most people will think the same thing as you did. Understandably, I might add.’
Ianthe sat back on her heels, trying to adjust her version of reality. She ought to be pleased. If respectability wasn’t so important to Robert after all, then maybe there was a chance she could tell him the truth about her past and he might forgive her. Except that now her deceit seemed even worse in comparison to his honourable behaviour.
‘He doesn’t care for me, Aunt.’ She shook her head stubbornly. ‘He says he’s not capable of love.’
Aunt Sophoria looked thoughtful. ‘If he took after his father then I’d agree that might be the case, but from what I’ve seen, he’s only inherited the looks. The more important question is, do you care for him?’
Ianthe bit her lip, unable at that moment to frame an answer. Did she care for him? She shouldn’t. It was madness to even consider it. And yet, after their kiss on the beach, her emotions were so tangled that she couldn’t deny it either. But how could she open up her heart and risk being hurt again, especially with a man who’d openly said he couldn’t love her? And even if he could, he was already damaged enough. She couldn’t risk hurting him any more. If she truly cared for him, she’d have to tell him about Albert—then see the horror on his face when he realised the sort of woman he’d married.
No. She couldn’t bear the thought of it. She had to bury her feelings, whatever they were, before it was too late. She couldn’t risk that kind of pain for either of them. They had to keep to the terms of the original agreement for their own good. Even if she wasn’t sure that she could...
She forced her features into a smile as Robert and Matthew emerged from the water at last, running up the beach and throwing themselves in the sand at their feet.
‘You look like a pair of wet dogs.’ Aunt Sophoria chuckled.
‘Hungry ones, too.’ Robert grinned. ‘So what do we have to eat?’
Ianthe peered into the hamper, listing each sandwich in turn. ‘Beef and Worcestershire sauce, chicken and celery, cress and cucumber, ginger preserve, cheese...’
‘Beef, please.’
‘There are some pies, too. As well as crackers and sardines, cold salmon, grapes and a strawberry tart each. We’re not going to starve.’
‘Perfect.’ Robert propped himself on one elbow with a contented sigh.
‘Aren’t you going to get dressed?’ She threw a swift glance towards him, trying not to be distracted by the way his swimming costume was clinging to his muscular torso.
‘Not yet. It’s too hot for layers. Your aunt doesn’t mind, do you, Miss Gibbs?’
‘Not at all. You provide quite a charming vista, if I might say so.’
‘Aunt!’
‘I’ll have a ginger sandwich please, Ianthe.’ Aunt Sophoria’s eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘So, Mr Felstone, I understand that you’ve been giving my niece swimming lessons?’
‘Yes.’ Robert looked unperturbed. ‘We made a deal.’
‘Indeed?’
‘Swimming in exchange for poetry. I said that she couldn’t live in Whitby and not swim. She said I couldn’t criticise poetry until I’d actually read some. So...’ He finished the last bite of his sandwich and then sat up, brushing his hands together as he turned towards her. ‘Ready for my side of the bargain?’
‘Now?’ She regarded him with astonishment. ‘Where’s your book?’
‘I don’t need one.’ He tapped his forehead.
‘You memorised it?’
‘It’s not very long, but it’s my favourite. Pay attention, Matthew. It’s time for some poetry.’
‘Poetry?’ Matthew shoved the last crumbs of a pie into his mouth. ‘Why?’
‘Because it’s important to learn new things.’
He gave her a wink and then fixed his eyes on the horizon, clearing his throat before reciting the verse in a strong, clear voice. Ianthe held her breath in amazement. It was her poem. ‘To Ianthe’, Shelley’s sonnet to his newborn daughter, words that perfectly described the awakening of new love. Not that she ought to read too much into that, she warned herself.
‘That was wonderful.’ Aunt Sophoria was the first to congratulate him. ‘You ought to have been an actor, Mr Felstone. Such wonderful enunciation.’
‘That’s my poem.’ She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. ‘The one I was named after. You found it.’
‘You told Violet Harper it was by Shelley.’
‘But you remembered.’ Her cheeks flushed self-consciously. ‘My parents said it expressed how they felt when they had me.’
‘I think it suits you very well.’
His gaze held on to hers for a few moments before Matthew interrupted. ‘Can you help me build a sandcastle now?’
‘Philistine.’ Robert sighed and heaved himself to his feet. ‘Save me some food, ladies.’
‘We can’t promise.’ Aunt Sophoria gave a knowing chuckle once they were out of hearing. ‘Still think he’s not capable of love?’
Ianthe looked away, resisting the temptation to hope. ‘It’s just a poem, Aunt. It doesn’t mean anything. And besides, the truth behind it wasn’t so beautiful.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Shelley left Ianthe’s mother for another woman before she was even born.’ Her mouth twisted slightly. ‘So much for words.’
‘Your parents still liked it.’
‘They were too romantic for their own good, remember?’
‘I didn’t mean it like that, dear. Their romantic sensibilities worked for them, but there are lots of different types of love. One for everyone, I like to think.’
Ianthe looked down at her fingers, twisting them together anxiously. ‘He married me because he thought I was respectable, Aunt. What if I tell him the truth and he doesn’t want me any more?’
‘It’s a risk, dear, but you can’t live your life pretending to be someone else. And it seems to me that he rather likes the real you. You ought to give him the chance to really know her.’
Ianthe stared out to sea, watching a flock of seagulls swoop down to land on the water. Maybe it was possible. Maybe he could care for her. Maybe she would tell him the truth.
Just as soon as the deal with Harper was over.
Chapter Fourteen
Robert peered out of his office window and frowned at the lowering sky. The morning had been bright and golden, but now mid-afternoon looked like twilight. A bank of clouds was already building to the west, piling up in a ridge to block out the sunshine, turning the sky a drab, monochrome grey. It might all come to nothing, but he’d have to keep one eye on the horizon. A sea storm could blow up in minutes and, if it did, they’d need to work quickly to cover the dry docks and batten down the workshops.
He glanced towards the gates, distracted by the arrival of a carriage. His carriage. Damn. He swore softly under his breath, torn between conflicting emotions of frustration and excitement, wondering what strange impulse had possessed him to invite Ianthe to visit the shipyard that day. He’d been under no obligation to do so. She hadn’t learnt to swim properly yet and there was no rush to show her around, yet he’d heard himself issue the invitation at breakfast as if his brain weren’t in charge of his mouth. It hadn’t helped that she’d been wearing her new blue-and-white striped dress, his favourite of their recent purchases, with her hair scooped up in a loose chignon that made her features look softer and her doe eyes even bigger and more captivating, like pools of rich toffee gazing at him across the table. She seemed to have gained weight in the past week as well, her cheeks filling out and taking on a healthy glow he hadn’t seen there before. Somehow the thought of spending a whole day away from her had seemed far too lo
ng to contemplate.
He moved away from the window and rolled down his shirt sleeves, vaguely discomforted by his own eagerness. She was becoming a distraction. There were a thousand things he ought to have been doing that past week, and yet he’d spent his time organising picnics and swimming lessons instead. He ought to have been drawing up legal papers and visiting the bank, but he’d felt strangely unfocussed, unable to concentrate, thinking about his wife far too often for comfort. He ought to have been closing the deal with Harper and yet he’d had to remind himself even to think about it. He wasn’t sick—he wished he could explain such uncharacteristic behaviour so easily—but whatever the matter with him was, it seemed to have started on the beach, in that moment when she’d asked what he wanted and he’d realised he wanted to kiss her.
He’d found himself asking the same question repeatedly over the past couple of days, telling himself that the answer was obvious—Harper’s shipyard. That was what he wanted, what he was working towards, what he knew how to get—it was the whole reason he’d married her, for pity’s sake! She was a means to an end, not an end in herself. And yet on its own, somehow the shipyard didn’t seem like enough any more. As if there was something else he wanted as well. Something he wanted more.
No. He pushed open the front door, dodging around some barrels as he strode purposefully across the yard. He wasn’t going to think about that. He was probably just nervous about the dinner he’d arranged for the following night. Harper was ready to sign the deed of sale, he could sense it. A good dinner, arranged by his respectable wife, with Giles and Kitty there for support, and the yard would be his. That was surely all he was worried about. He certainly wasn’t fool enough to fall in love with a woman he’d married for business reasons. Love was for fools. Love caused pain. It had brought his mother nothing but suffering. He didn’t, couldn’t care for her. Even if he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
‘Ianthe!’ He raised a hand in greeting, resenting the tightening sensation in his chest as she turned to smile at him.
‘Oh, Robert. Your driver was just telling me there might be a storm coming.’
‘He might be right.’ He took another look at the sky. It seemed even darker than it had a few minutes ago.
‘It was sunny when I left.’
‘Sea climates are unpredictable, especially when the weather’s been warm like this.’
‘Is it a bad time to visit? I can always come back another time.’
‘No,’ he heard himself answer incredulously. It would make a lot more sense for her to visit another time, but now she was there he felt strangely reluctant to let her go again.
‘If you’re sure.’ She looked around the yard, craning her neck with curiosity. ‘Are all these buildings yours?’
‘These four workshops and the two dry docks over there. We have our own loft for sail-making as well, but when I buy Harper’s it’ll be twice the size.’
‘Very impressive.’
‘Thank you.’ He smiled, suddenly unable to contain his enthusiasm. ‘Come on, I’ll show you around.’
Eagerly, he led her across the yard and into the largest, barn-like workshop, stopping beneath a giant grey hulk.
‘What is it?’ Ianthe looked between him and the hulk uncertainly.
‘You tell me.’
‘It’s metal. Is it a ship’s hull?’
‘Exactly, but made entirely of iron. When it’s finished it’ll be the first full steam ship we’ve ever built. One of the first in Whitby.’
‘It’s huge! How long until it’s ready?’
‘Four months maybe.’
She looked impressed. ‘So won’t you build any more wooden ships at all?’
‘A few smaller ones, perhaps.’ He led her outside, past a group of surprised-looking metalworkers, to one of the dry docks. ‘Here’s where we still work in wood. This cat’s almost finished.’
‘Cat?’
‘It stands for coal-and-timber ship. Most people call them colliers, but Whitby cats are famous. They’re shallow with wide beams, easy to pull on to the shore.’
‘What are they doing?’ She gestured to where two men were working on the deck with mallets and chisels.
‘They’re caulking the planks, driving oakum into the seams to make them watertight. It’s a skilled job. Too much or too little pressure and the planks leak.’
‘And will you still need caulkers once you switch to metal ships?’
He grimaced. ‘The decks will still be made of wood, but it won’t be the same. We’ll have to retrain as many people as we can.’
‘So such skills might be lost? That seems a shame.’
‘It does. It’s one of the reasons why men like Harper don’t want to see it happen. I sympathise, but the alternative is that we all go bankrupt.’
She let out a long breath, gazing around with an expression of admiration. ‘It’s incredible. How do you organise it all?’
‘Practice.’ He frowned suddenly, feeling a rush of salty air on his skin. That was it—all the warning he needed.
‘What’s the matter?’ She followed his gaze out to sea. ‘Is it the storm?’
‘The start of it. Come on.’ He took a firm hold of her hand, pulling her behind him. ‘You need to get inside.’
‘What about you?’
‘I need to shut everything down.’
He flung open the door to the offices, almost dragging her along the corridor to his room at the back. It wasn’t much—a spartan, wooden-floored office with a paper-strewn desk in the middle—but it had the benefit of large windows along two sides, perfectly positioned to see everything that went on in the shipyard.
‘You’ll be safe here.’ He strode across to his desk and pulled out a red leather chair for her to sit down. ‘Don’t move. I won’t be long.’
* * *
He was gone so quickly that Ianthe didn’t have a chance to answer.
She glanced briefly at the chair he’d pulled out for her and then crossed to the window instead, watching as he strode back out into the yard. A group of serious-looking men approached him at once and they all huddled together, talking intently for a few moments before marching off in different directions.
There was a low rumble of thunder, and she looked up at the sky. The clouds were definitely gathering now, lining up like a battalion of grey soldiers, ready to charge at the harbour. She looked back to where Robert had been standing, but he wasn’t there any longer. Anxiously, her eyes searched the yard, skimming over the caulkers and joiners and ropers who were all rushing to close the workshop doors and take shelter. Where was he?
She gave a cry of relief as she found him at last, out on the mudflats, though how he’d reached them so quickly she had no idea. He was working alongside his men, hauling giant tarpaulins over the mud before hoisting them up and over the boats on the shore, trying to provide the half-built vessels with some protection from the elements.
She tightened her grip on the windowpane as it started to rattle ominously, wishing she could do something to help. The wind seemed to be gaining in strength every second. What had started as a gentle breeze now had the power to almost wrench the tarpaulin out of their hands. Robert’s shirt was billowing around his chest like a sail, while the boats in the river were pitching from side to side so violently it looked as though they might never come upright again.
Then the rain started. There was no drizzle, no light warning shower, just a sudden sheet of water falling straight from the sky, drenching the men in seconds. There were only a few of them left outside now, Robert amongst them, hammering pegs into the mud as he lashed the tarpaulins to the ground. She fought the urge to call out to him, hardly daring to breathe until he finally got up, waving at the others to take shelter as he ran back towards the office.
‘Robert!’ She hurtled out
of the room and down the corridor.
‘I’m all right.’ He slammed the door shut, running a hand through his hair as a puddle started to form around him. ‘Where are the clerks?’
‘Who?’
He gestured towards another door. ‘My clerks work in there. Are they still here?’
‘I haven’t seen anyone. Oh!’ A vague memory came back to her. ‘The door banged a little while ago. I saw some men run across to the workshop. That must have been them.’
‘They were probably going to help.’ He nodded with satisfaction. ‘They’ll be safe over there.’
‘What should we do?’
‘Keep away from windows for a start. The storm’s worse than I expected.’
‘Will the boats be all right?’
‘We’ll have to wait and see. There’s nothing we can do about it now.’
‘What about the ships out in the harbour?’
His expression turned sober. ‘Those aren’t the ones to worry about.’
‘You mean the ones at sea?’ She gasped at such a terrible thought.
‘This type of storm rises up out of nowhere. I don’t know of any ships due in port today, but if there are any out there and they don’t reach the harbour in time... It wouldn’t be a good place to be.’
She shuddered, and he put an arm around her before pulling away quickly again.
‘I’m soaking.’
‘It’s all right.’ She leaned back into his embrace. ‘I don’t care.’
‘Wait.’ He reached down and pulled his shirt over his head. ‘I don’t want you catching a chill.’
‘Me? What about you? Your trousers are soaking wet, too.’ She clamped a hand over her mouth as she realised what she’d just said. Bad enough that he was standing half-naked in front of her already. She oughtn’t to encourage him to remove anything else! ‘Not that you should take them off. I didn’t mean that.’
The Convenient Felstone Marriage Page 19