by Lee Rowan
"Darling, I see nothing shameful about a man and his wife making a baby!"
"Wife?"
"Well, concubines are generally frowned upon, at least in England—"
"You—” Her lips parted but for a moment indignation left her speechless. “Christophe, you said nothing about a wife."
"That's because I haven't got one, but I thought if you—if we—” He got no further; Zoe pushed him flat on the ground and kissed him with such ferocity he couldn't think. By the time he collected himself, she stopped for a breath. “Zoe, for heaven's sake—"
"You—you English!” she said, and kissed him again.
He was ready for it this time, and it was awhile before either of them came up for air. “I do apologize,” he said at the first opportunity. “Made a mess of it, but you should know I've never proposed marriage before—"
But this simply was not the time for a conversation; he decided to save the words for later and demonstrate his feelings more directly. After a wholly delightful interval, he asked, hopefully, “May I take it your answer is ‘yes'?"
She ran a finger across his eyebrow, the one that now ended in a small, quirked scar. “If you can face your fine English ladies with a common French girl for a wife."
"I'd hardly be the first,” he pointed out. “My cousin Reggie married an actress, for heaven's sake, and I will be much amazed if the emigrés in London do not add a great deal of joie de vivre to our English families. Besides, you are a most uncommon French girl. It may be more the knightly tradition to marry the damsel one has rescued ... but I think that a damsel who can turn about and save her knight is a rare and wonderful lady."
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you certain you would not someday want a more pretty, exciting woman, like Angelique?"
What in the world? “Angelique is in France. I hope she will be safe,” he said, sensing that this was a one of those questions a man had to answer very carefully. “But I want a wife that I can trust—a partner in life, not a mere playmate.” It had been Zoe's quick thinking and patient care that had kept him alive, after all. Kit silently thanked Venus and Cupid for giving him the sense to send Angelique off to play with Philip.
"You will not change your mind?"
Kit wished he could guess what was going on behind those big grey eyes. “Angelique is too wild and vivacious for me,” he said firmly. “She will have to find her own Englishman. I'm no Turkish prince, to service a seraglio. Two of you would exhaust my vital forces."
She sat up and looked all around, then leaned back in the curve of his arm and put her lips very close to his ear. “How are your vital forces right now?"
Her breath tickled deliciously. “They're very—very—vital."
"Bon!" She busily began unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Have we time, do you think? Will anyone see?"
He held her at arm's length. “Zoe, for heaven's sake!"
"You do not want to make love? Christophe, that night was most wonderful. I have been waiting, I have tried so hard to behave respectably, but if we are to marry, I do not want to wait!"
She had him unbuttoned and was busily tugging his shirt out of his trousers.
"What about babies?” he said, still trying hard himself to behave respectably. Her father trusted Kit not to seduce his daughter, but there were limits to anyone's self-control.
"I want babies!” she said simply. “I want your babies!"
"My mother will adore you,” he said, trying to decide whether to catch her impertinent hands or help her get the trousers unbuttoned. How was any red-blooded man, however responsible, supposed to respond to a raven-haired beauty demanding the attention she so richly deserved? Kit stood up to survey the countryside. The donkey was tethered nearby, grazing peacefully, the cart screened them on one side, some shrubbery on another, and they had the hill at their backs. If anyone approached, Zoe would have time to dart into cover and they could claim she was answering a call of nature. Very well, then ... if it was babies she wanted, it was his duty to help her achieve that laudable goal.
* * * *
But the long, lazy afternoons were drawing to a close. The day after his unconventional proposal, Kit was bereft of Zoe's company; she found it necessary to travel to Lisbon with her father to visit the dressmaker she had seen when they'd arrived. He understood that she wanted to be presentable in England, and knew it would be a good thing if she looked her best when presented to the Dowager, but he grudged the lost time.
Before either of them was ready to leave, the conference was over and the doctor had made arrangements with another small boat that would get them out into the Channel. They bade a regretful farewell to Don Giraldo and his sunny estate with its many secluded trysting-places. Such a strange courtship, Kit thought as they stood waiting for the shoreboat. First that peculiar night together as strangers, then the honeymoon, and now, finally, they would sail home for the wedding. Assuming, of course, that he could find the courage to ask Dr. Colbert for his daughter's hand!
It was not making the actual request that deterred him, but the circumstances. As far as he knew—and as far as Zoe herself knew—Colbert had not really opposed the Revolution. He had decided to leave when it became obvious that the rule of law had completely broken down, and anyone might be picked up and executed without any reason whatever. Colbert had never been anything but courteous to Kit, but for two people living under the same roof they had spent remarkably little time in one another's company.
What would this French citizen of a disordered Republic say to an aristo's proposal of marriage to his daughter? The Revolution was a topic that everyone seemed to avoid; when either of the physicians said anything about it, their main regret seemed to be that it had failed. If Dr. Colbert felt strongly about the overthrow of aristocracy, Monsieur le Baron might be tossed out on his aristocratic ear for taking advantage of his position in the Colbert household—because of course Kit could not tell the man that the relationship between said Baron and his daughter had gone far past the point of no return. The presumption of bedding such a young girl, barely above the age of consent, might set Kit and his prospective father-in-law at pistol point, and that must be avoided at all costs.
Patience. He would have to have patience. Once back in England, Kit could pay courteous court to the Mademoiselle, take her to the theatre, go riding in the park, let Dr. Colbert become acquainted with the Dowager and other family members. When everything had settled down a bit, he could make the proposal in a decent way—if he could persuade Zoe to wait.
Ah, well. They still had to cross hundreds of miles of Atlantic to reach England, and even on a neutral vessel their best hope was to meet an English ship rather than a French one. That was enough to worry about for the time being.
Within hours, Kit had an effective distraction. The ship was no sooner out of the harbor than his seasickness returned with a vengeance. He resigned himself to an indefinite period of terrible soup and pease porridge, and accepted the doctor's wretched draughts between times.
Two nights after they sailed, Zoe came below, annoyingly pink-cheeked and cheery, to tell him that they had been stopped by a British vessel and were going to be taken aboard immediately. The doctor, she said, had some sort of safe-passage document for the trading vessel in exchange for its services.
They went aboard late at night; Kit was given medicine that made him so sleepy he barely remembered being swung up like a parcel of freight and carried to another hanging cot. Once he was tucked into his hammock, the physic put him into a deep slumber, and when he awoke again it was early afternoon of the following day.
Dr. Pierce was sitting in a hanging chair beside his cot. “Good day, your lordship,” he said cheerfully. “As you see, I have restored your title. Do you feel up to dining with Captain Smith and his officers this evening?"
Kit assessed himself cautiously. The ship they were on now must be considerably larger than the little merchant sloop, and correspondingly more steady in the water. His stomach quailed only
slightly at the thought of food. “If I can make myself presentable, yes. I ought to thank them, if nothing else."
"Excellent. The ship's surgeon has asked if he might examine your sutures—we have been discussing the trepan procedure—but I told him that would depend on your willingness."
"Doctor, but for you I would be nothing more than a memory. I am at your service as a lecture exhibit whenever you like."
"If only all my patients were so agreeable! I have told him he must wait a day or two, until you have had time to reap the benefits of the sea air."
"I think this ship has already done me good. Tell me, Doctor, this place—” he rested a finger on the spot on his head that always seemed cold to the touch. “Will this always be cold? Is that usual?"
"That is your silver patch. I suspect it will always feel slightly different, although the scar tissue should thicken in time, as circulation is restored."
The way he spoke was slightly different from his customary sanguine exposition, and Kit frowned. “Doctor, have you performed many of these operations?"
"Not many, no. It is rare to have the opportunity to practice such extreme measures."
Opportunity seemed a strange way to view the occasion. “I suppose not. How many have you done?"
It was the doctor's turn to frown. His air of professional authority slipped for the blink of an eye, and Kit realized that he was younger than he seemed, probably no older than thirty. “Including yours?"
"Well, yes."
"One.—But I assure you,” he hastened to add, “I trained with the best surgeons in Paris."
For a moment Kit was stunned, then he felt laughter bubble up. “My dear sir, you could have trained with a woodcutter, for all of me. I do not mean to complain! If the rest of your patients are as pleased with your skill as I, the line outside your surgery will stretch for miles down the street."
A flush of pleasure touched the doctor's pale complexion. “Thank you. Would you care to join me on deck? A bit of fresh air may improve your outlook."
Still a trifle under the weather, Kit declined. Some hours later, he joined Zoe and the two physicians in the captain's cabin. Zoe was beautiful, as always, and seemed to be completely comfortable at sea. She had on her reserved, social face, so he gave her only the most polite of greetings. How fine it would be when he could acknowledge her as his lady!
While the others were being seated, he noticed that one or two of the officers were looking at him, then at each other. He thought nothing of it until he took the chair offered and glanced at the officer sitting across from him. The young man, who was taller than St. John but had to be within a year or two of Kit's own age, was frowning at him, but said nothing. When he realized that Kit was aware of his scrutiny, he said, “I beg your pardon, sir. You remind me—"
He was interrupted by the entrance of the ship's captain. That was the strict etiquette of the Navy, Kit knew. When the captain was present, no other officer might speak unless invited to participate in conversation. As all the Navy men and male visitors scrambled to their feet, Zoe alone retained her seat and offered a charming smile.
"As you were, gentlemen,” the captain began, then spotted St. John. “Good God!"
Kit looked to the doctor, wondering if he had committed some horrible breach of Naval etiquette, but that gentleman appeared equally bewildered. “Captain, my apologies if I've—"
Captain Smith recovered his aplomb. “No, no. My apologies, Mademoiselle, my lord. I was taken aback, sir, by your startling resemblance to one of my officers."
Kit glanced round the table, but no one present fit that description.
"Considering the resemblance, I think it possible he might be a relation of yours,” Smith went on. “Midshipman Archer—"
"David?” He'd received several letters in the year or so since David had gone to sea, but now he knew why the captain's name had sounded familiar. “Yes, of course, my cousin. He's written to me, Captain. He was delighted to be transferred to your command. This is His Majesty's Frigate Calypso, is it not?"
Smith smiled. “It is. I'm forgetting my manners, gentlemen. Pray be seated.” When they were ranged around the table and the sailor serving the table had poured wine, the Captain explained. “We very nearly lost your cousin, my lord. We had a fever aboard this past month—no danger of contagion now, I assure you—but Mr. Archer was the last to be taken ill, and he was very ill indeed."
"He's on the mend, then?” Kit asked.
"Oh, yes. Our surgeon has only just allowed him up on deck, and for only a few minutes at a time. I hope to see him on limited duty in a week or two."
"It must gall him to be inactive,” Kit said. “David is one of the liveliest men I know. May I visit him later?"
"Certainly. I expect your presence will do him good."
"Thank you, Captain.” He made the expected polite responses while Smith introduced his officers. The man across from him who had been so nonplussed was one William Marshall, someone David had described as a friend and fellow midshipman. Marshall had come up in the world since that last letter—he was now an Acting Lieutenant.
Kit managed to finish his soup, but a few sips of wine made him dizzy, and his head began to ache. When the table was cleared in preparation for the main course, he looked in mute entreaty at the doctor, who nodded.
"Captain,” the physician said, “I fear my patient is in need of rest. Like his cousin, he is still convalescing from a serious illness. I believe it would be best if he were to return to his bed."
"Certainly, Doctor. Baron, I do apologize."
"Not at all, Captain. I apologize for startling you and your men. My cousin and I are much alike, I know; my father's sister married my mother's brother, and we're like pups from the same litter."
Smith nodded. “When you're feeling more yourself, I'll arrange a visit with your kinsman. For now, I'll have you escorted—"
"Sir?” It was Marshall, his face expressionless. “Captain, I would be happy to show our guest back to his cabin."
Another nod. “Thank you, Mr. Marshall."
With a nod and apologetic smile to Zoe, St. John followed Marshall out. He didn't really require an escort; he was familiar enough with shipboard arrangements that he could have found his way back to his cabin. But he appreciated the thoughtful gesture, and it was clear that, although he'd said little, Marshall was concerned about something.
"Thank you, Lieutenant,” Kit said as they reached the cabin door. “I'm pleased to have met you, after hearing of your exploits from my cousin. He thinks very highly of you, I know—"
Oddly, Marshall frowned. “He's probably had time to revise his opinion by now, my lord."
"I don't understand..."
"If it hadn't been for me, Mr. Archer would likely not have fallen ill. Please excuse me.” He turned abruptly and clattered up the steps to the maindeck.
* * * *
The seasickness that had been plaguing Kit proved endurable when the sea was calm. Zoe came and sat with him for an hour or so, and her conversation did him more good than the doctor's medicines. He fell asleep finally; she was gone when he awoke. He found his way up onto the deck into the early evening sunlight and was invited to sit on the poop deck at the rear of the ship. He saw Lt. Marshall on the main deck below, inspecting some work being done on one of the big guns, but the gentleman never looked up and Kit was reluctant to do anything that might distract him from his duty.
The doctor came up to join him and said that David had been awake for a little while during St. John's nap. “He wrote a short note for you. I believe he should be awake again soon."
"Greetings!” said the note, in his cousin's neat hand. “If you can stagger down to the Midshipman's Mess, and I use the term descriptively, you are most welcome to join me in a bowl of gruel. Bring Mr. Marshall with you if possible, the bowl is large enough for three."
"That's David, for certain,” Kit said. “How is he, Doctor?"
"Weak as a kitten, but mending. Their
surgeon believes it was gaol-fever, brought aboard when they captured a slaver. Captain Smith is lucky that he lost only two of his officers. Mr. Marshall's promotion filled one of those positions."
"He seems a capable officer,” Kit said, observing the obvious respect of the men with whom Marshall was working.
"Indeed. And a compassionate gentleman, as well. Mr. Archer is not actually in the midshipmen's quarters, however. He has ‘slung his hammock’ in Mr. Marshall's cabin, at that gentleman's request."
"I expect he could not resist the pun,” Kit said. “When we were younger we both took such delight in them that our parents forbade their use in company. I imagine an officer's quarters would be more comfortable."
"The cabin is the same size as the one you're in—barely room for two hammocks, but space enough when the other occupant is gone much of the day. Once the danger of contagion had passed, that was a much better place for him to rest and recover than a small chamber crowded with noisy youngsters."
That information added to Marshall's cryptic remark made Kit excessively curious, but he could not in all courtesy ask how it could have been Marshall's fault that David fell ill. Instead he made some innocuous remark about the weather, which appeared to be lowering, and then asked about the accommodations for the other members of their party. Captain Smith, it appeared, had nobly abdicated his own sleeping chamber for their fair passenger, and ousted his First Lieutenant, who in turn slung his hammock in with the Second Lieutenant.
"I'd no idea we would create such an upheaval,” Kit said. “Where did you and Dr. Colbert wind up in all this to-and-froing?"
"Down in the cockpit with the surgeon,” the doctor said. “Mr. Atkins keeps the place as clean as anyone could wish, and Captain Smith tells me it will only be for a few more days. We should be in England within a week."
"I shall be glad to have solid ground beneath my feet once more.” He would be glad to see his home, as well, and to reassure his mother that he was well. What he was not looking forward to was explaining to her that although her hope for a daughter-in-law would be realized, it might not be in quite the way she had expected.