No, the Pirate Queen of the Caribbean was quite happy to leave Del right where he was.
Ned came wandering over to her. “Mama, shall I go find Cousin Grace and make sure she’s all right?”
“No, Ned. She just needs to rest.”
“But Captain Lord hasn’t come back.”
“I know.”
“Do you think he needs any help?”
His mother smiled and ruffled his hair. “I’m sure he’s doing just fine.”
Ned nodded gravely and wandered off to talk with the helmsman. On the deck below, a lantern swung just outside the tiny cabin where Grace slept fitfully, and the man who had carried her there sat in the chair and worried, increasingly, about the propriety of it all. He lived his life according to protocol and the high standards of both an officer and a gentleman. He shouldn’t be down here with her, all alone. Where was Lady Falconer? Her maid? Anyone?
He could not leave her.
To do so would be an even worse breach of the standards by which he conducted himself.
And so he sat there wishing someone would come to spell him, but also hoping that no one would, for it was bliss to sit here with her, to gaze upon her lovely face, listen to the little sighs she made in her sleep, fancy himself to be her great protector and yes, to be the owner of her sweet and generous heart.
He felt the ship change tack. The blanket slid a bit from her shoulders and he quietly pulled it back up, taking care not to wake her. But Grace only sighed, snuggled into the blanket, and lay still.
And dreamt.
Dreamt of that massive ship that was back in Portsmouth. The biggest, mightiest one in the harbor.
His ship.
“Take the wheel, Lady Grace.”
They were at sea, but his ship wasn’t cavorting like a frisky colt over the swells the way Ponsonby’s did; no, his ship was a heavy, solid, sure-footed warrior, stately, steady and strong, comfortable and, to the extent that a ship could be, considerate. It wasn’t trying to make her sick; it was trying to make her well. To make her seagoing experience a pleasant, even a happy one.
“Do you know which direction the wind comes from, Lady Grace?”
He was standing so close, and she felt her body responding to that nearness. He was as solid and strong and mighty as the vessel he commanded, resplendent in his smart blue and white uniform with the gold lacing, once more the patient teacher who’d taught her to navigate a little boat across a pond when she had no idea what he did.
What he was.
And this was no little boat, nor was it a pond.
“It’s coming from ... from the south, Captain Lord.”
“Very good,” he murmured, and leaned down even further—
And kissed her.
Grace came awake with a start. Around her, she could hear the creaks and moans of seasoned wood, the sea sluicing past the hull outside, and there was Captain Lord still in the chair next to her. He was not dressed in a naval uniform, nor could not have kissed her. His head was tilted back against the bulkhead, his eyes were closed, and his arms were folded loosely across his chest. As though sensing her perusal of him, he opened his eyes.
I had the oddest dream, she wanted to say.
But no. She would not make him uncomfortable by sharing it.
And yet the dream still clung to her, heavy, vivid and as warm and cozy as the blanket that covered her shoulders. She wondered at it. Why this man had been in the dream, and not Captain Ponsonby. Why in the dream he, not Captain Ponsonby, had kissed her.
And why she desperately resented the fact that she had woken up from it, just when he— not Captain Ponsonby— had been kissing her.
“Are you feeling better, Lady Grace?” he asked.
She sat up. There was no natural light down here save for what a swinging lantern just outside this small space offered, and in the close gloom, her companion was within touching distance. She flushed, still remembering the dream. She must be addled. It had to be the seasickness.
“Well, I don’t feel as dizzy,” she said, and tentatively sat up.
She swayed and his hand shot out, catching her. He moved from the chair to the bunk, and she leaned against him in gratitude.
“Thank you, Captain Lord,” she murmured, and looked up at him.
His gaze was intent, his face very close. His head began to lower to hers. For a brief moment, she thought... hoped... that maybe he might kiss her, but then he gave a start and jerked back, as though suddenly remembering himself. He cleared his throat and moved away, and Grace figured she had imagined it all. Read more into the moment than was actually there.
Of course she had. The world was still swimming. She didn’t trust anything she felt or saw at the moment, let alone thought.
Yes, she’d imagined it all.
“Are you well enough that I can leave you for a few moments?” he asked.
“I suppose I have to be.” She mustered a reassuring smile, still mulling over that odd moment where something had almost happened, though what that something was, she still wasn’t sure. “You have been very kind to stay with me all this time. I feel a bit guilty, and certainly very grateful. I won’t make any more demands on your time, Captain.”
“You misunderstand. I merely wish to find my trunk, wherever my coxswain put it, as I keep a generous supply of ginger there. I think it’ll settle your stomach.”
“Do you get seasick too, then?”
His grin was tentative, fleeting. “No. I just like the taste of ginger.” He stood up, filling the small space with his height. “I’ll be back shortly. Stay here, and don’t try to move around.”
He left, and she was alone. The space suddenly felt small and lonely without him, and she sat up on the small bunk, clearing a strand of hair from her forehead and clutching the blanket around herself.
That dream.
Oh, what of it? And why?
And why had it felt so right?
She sat leaning against the curve of the hull, weak but no longer quite as dizzy. Presently, she heard voices and there was Polly, rushing toward her with Captain Lord and Ned right behind.
“Milady! Can I get you something to drink? Some water, perhaps?”
But Grace’s gaze found Captain Lord’s. “That would be nice, Polly. But what I would really like is what Captain Lord went to find for me. Ginger. Because this is my first sea voyage, and I’m determined not to spend it down here being sick.”
He gave her a private little half-smile in acknowledgement of her resolve, and produced a small jar from his coat pocket. Polly went to fetch some water, Ned vowed to teach her some tricks to keep from feeling sick, and before the hour was out, Grace was on her feet and allowing both the boy and the man to help her back up the hatch and to the deck above.
It was her first sea voyage.
She was not going to waste it.
21
They headed east and the weather got dirty, forcing Ponsonby to keep the frigate well off shore in order to maintain plenty of sea room between his command and England’s southern coastline. Dover’s white cliffs were visible in the distance, the sea thrashing against their base in curls of fury, and as they cleared Ramsgate they saw, far to the east, a French corvette that quickly turned tail and ran at sight of the English frigate. Del figured that Ponsonby would have liked to impress their admiral by giving chase, but the enemy vessel was quickly lost to the mists and the frigate continued on her way.
The weather cleared and the Falconer girls grew bored and Captain Ponsonby did not offer to fire the guns for their benefit— which brought Ned straight to Del. The flag captain had reluctantly given up the care of his patient to her maid, and was now relaxing on deck reading a book.
Or trying to.
A movement caught his eye. Lady Grace was back on deck, and there she stood in the wind, pale and wan and even a little triumphant.
He tried not to look at her.
Tried to give his attention to the boy.
“He’s n
ot half as nice nor half as accommodating as you are, Captain Lord,” Ned was complaining, his mouth mulish and his arms crossed indignantly over his chest. “He’s trying so hard to impress Papa that he’s not even thinking about making the twins happy!”
Del’s gaze flickered again to Lady Grace. He watched her progress to the rail, ready to leap to his feet and assist her if she looked as though she were unsteady. “Well, Ned, he doesn’t have children of his own... surely, it doesn’t occur to him what children might like.”
“You don’t have children either, but you know!”
Del couldn’t help a tight smile. “I also had several thousand miles of boredom on an Atlantic crossing. Captain Ponsonby only has to get us from Portsmouth to King’s Lynn. By the time it might occur to him to entertain your sisters, we’ll be there.”
“You know as well as I do, sir, that it won’t occur to him!”
“Perhaps not, but we’ll be there soon enough and then they will have horses to entertain them. Lots of them, as I understand it.”
“Boring,” the boy muttered, and stalked off.
Del returned to his book. It was a treatise on naval tactics and sea maneuvers and at any other time he might have found it engrossing. But not now. Not with Lady Grace up on deck, one hand coming up to clear a tendril of misbehaving hair from her eyes and then shading it from the sun. She was looking for something.
Ponsonby, Del thought sourly.
But no, that peacock was in plain sight up on his quarterdeck, and the girl’s roving gaze had found and passed over him. She was clearly looking for something or someone else. She spied Del in his chair and to his surprise he realized, by her sudden smile and the way she started toward him that he, not Ponsonby, was the target of her attention.
Delight, quickly tamped down, swept through him.
He knew better than to get his hopes up. She was only being kind, and probably coming over to thank him for caring for her when she’d grown ill.
Unsteadily, her balance corrected with a lurch to the right and a sudden one to the left, she continued in his direction. Immediately, Del got to his feet and offered her his chair.
“Are you feeling better, Lady Grace?” he asked courteously.
“I am. The ginger you gave me helped settle my stomach, and I’m not feeling dizzy anymore.” Her quick, infectious smile appeared. “In fact, I’m actually rather hungry.”
“Some people just need adjusting. Others never get over seasickness. I’m heartened to see that you appear to fall into the former category, which bodes well for the rest of this rather short voyage.”
She sat down in the chair he’d offered. “Will you join me?” she asked. “We need to discuss... tactics.”
“Tactics?”
She cut her gaze to Ponsonby and back, her eyes dancing.
“Oh. Right.”
Young Ned was nearby. “I’ll get you a chair, sir!” He ran off, only to return a few moments later with one which he placed very close to Lady Grace’s.
Del carefully slid the chair away to a more respectable distance and sat down, putting the book on the deck near his foot. By habit, he glanced up at the pennant and the trim of the sails and to his chagrin, found nothing with which he might fault his rival.
Rival?
There, he’d said it.
Or rather, thought it.
For all the good it does you, his mind said. To her, you are nothing but a casual friend whose sole purpose is to help her catch the man of her dreams. And you are not that man.
His gaze went to the quarterdeck, part of him hoping, for her sake, that Ponsonby was watching. But he was immersed in conversation with the equally insufferable James Akers.
And Akers was glaring daggers at him and Lady Grace.
What a convolution. The lady pining after Ponsonby, both he and Akers pining after the lady. Del coldly met Akers stare until the other man looked away. He made a mental note to keep an eye on the lieutenant. He had never trusted him.
“So, Captain Lord,” Lady Grace was saying. “I have, unfortunately, managed to repel him twice now. First with the Soup Incident and now with the Seasickness one. As a man, do you think I have any chance whatsoever to catch his interest?” She put her hands between her knees and peered at him, smiling, but he could see the desperate hope hidden beneath that cheerful demeanor.
He thought carefully about how he should respond. Ponsonby’s squeamishness was not, he felt, becoming of a naval officer. He would like to say as much, but he did not have it in his heart to dash her hopes, nor to appear as churlish as he felt.
“Give him time,” he said, somewhat evasively.
“I don’t have time!”
“Perhaps when we get to Norfolk, opportunities will present themselves where he’ll notice you in the ways you desire,” Del said, lamely. Like the sparkle in your eye and the beauty of your face, the kindness of your heart and the way you make a man feel all light and happy just by being near him.
Sunlight broke through the clouds and brightened Lady Grace’s bonnet. The wind caught its ribbons and she threw back her head to feel both sun and wind on her face, exposing the line of her throat. Del’s finger itched to trace that line, to feel its softness.
She brought her head down and caught him looking at her like a love-struck puppy.
And smiled.
“I hope you’re right,” she said.
“I hope I’m not.”
“And why do you say that?”
“Well, if you’ve driven off your quarry with hairs and an upset stomach, perhaps that leaves me room to convince you that I suffer from no such squeamishness.”
“Captain Lord!” Her eyes were sparkling.
His lips twitched at her exaggerated affront. “Did I actually say that?”
“You did!”
“Well now, should I apologize?”
“Whatever for?”
“Seems to me you have enough on your plate, without adding to everything you have to digest right now.”
“Don’t use the word plate. Or digest. Unless you’ve got more ginger to give me.”
Her laughing gaze met his, and held. He felt his smile growing, and marveled at how naturally the flirtation had come to him when he was normally so stiff, so unwilling to even put a toe across the bounds of propriety, when he habitually kept his thoughts and his heart so... contained.
But she didn’t seem to mind.
In fact, there were twin spots of color in her cheeks, and she appeared to be as comfortable in his company as he felt in hers.
“However,” he said with forced graveness, “I usually am.”
“Usually what?”
“Right. Which means that your captain will not let a hair or an accident involving his shoe stop him from pursuing the most enchanting and beautiful woman that England has yet to produce.”
She turned in her chair to look at him. “Why aren’t you married, Captain Lord?”
“Well, now, I—”
“The truth.”
He drew a breath, rubbed at the corner of his eye, and by habit, gazed up at the sails, checking their draw. “The truth is, Lady Grace, I haven’t met the right woman. I keep thinking I’ve met her, but she always seems to choose another. And so I’ve stopped trying.”
“That is sad.”
“Don’t feel bad. The right one will come along.” He shrugged and smiled, not wanting to spoil things for her. “Someday.”
“She will be a very fortunate young lady. I do think I’m a little bit envious.”
“No you’re not.” He forced himself to grin. “You’ve got your sights firmly set on Ponsonby.”
She ignored that with a little shake of her head. “But you are an interesting person. And you have endless patience, both with my little cousins and surely toward life itself. I mean, you must, being Uncle Gray’s flag captain. I can’t imagine the things you have seen and done. Have you been to lots of places, Captain Lord?”
“In England?”
“Around the world.”
“I spent time in duty off the coast of North America. I’ve seen almost all of the West Indies, a bit of the Orient, and more of the French coastline than I’d care to remember, given the endless monotony of patrolling it.”
“And is the Caribbean really as blue as they say it is?”
“Bluer. Times ten.”
“Oh, how I should like to see it some day!”
“But it’s not really blue. It’s more green, actually. Or a perfect blend of them both. You can see the bottom, even if it’s eight, ten fathoms down, as though it’s no more than a few feet away. The water is that clear.”
“Oh!”
“And there are all kinds of colorful fish, and coral. It is quite beautiful there, though also very hot.”
“Are you eager to get back?”
He shrugged. “I go where your uncle directs me to take him.”
“Have you ever seen gold from a Spanish shipwreck?”
“No.”
“Ever had a parrot sit on your shoulder?”
“No.”
“Ever seen a pirate?”
Del cut his gaze to Lady Falconer. “Yes.”
She saw where he was looking, and laughed. “And now tamed by my uncle, by all accounts.”
“I would not bet on that.”
She looked at him and cocked her head in that charming, birdlike little way she had. “Do you know, Captain Lord, I think perhaps you should not have told me you’d swoop in and try for me if Captain Ponsonby were out of the picture. Because now I’m wondering if you were serious.”
He said nothing.
“Were you serious?”
He looked at her, the confusion and despair and indecision in her earnest gaze, and realized an admission would only complicate things for her. It would muddy the waters, push their developing friendship in a direction that quite likely would end it. Women were like that. Hadn’t his own sister once told him that it was all but impossible for a lady to be mere friends with a man? That the man almost always developed feelings for her, which then got in the way of the friendship itself since the woman, expecting and wanting nothing more from the man than that friendship, was then forced to end it for the sake of his besotted heart? A besotted heart that always yearned for more than she was able to give?
My Saving Grace Page 13