“Come in, Samuel!”
Sophia gave him a small smile then turned away to wind a bandage around her ankle. When she glanced back, he was staring at it.
“It’s fine,” she said, preempting his question. “I had a little stumble while out walking this afternoon.”
“Are you sure? I could cancel—”
“—and I would be exceedingly cross if you did. Now, you two have a wonderful time. I have my books and my letters and will be perfectly happy.”
She gave Samuel a mock frown and motioned as if to shoo them both from the room. Laura giggled and, after an assessing look, Samuel smiled back.
A few months ago, being gifted such a smile from him would have had her head in the clouds for hours, wondering whether this would be the day he would declare his interest. Now it warmed her heart in a different way, like the smell of an old leather-bound book, comforting and familiar.
Sophia felt a twinge of conscience. She had exaggerated the injury on her foot to beg off going to dinner and cards. She was never much good at games anyway. And while she assured Laura she was not avoiding Samuel, she had to own it being a half-truth.
What had surprised her after her initial shock of his news and her embarrassing outburst, was how little Samuel’s engagement distressed her. Memories of the heady passion she found in Kit’s arms warmed her. Was she a flibbertigibbet who switched fancies as often as she switched gowns? She didn’t like to think so.
And what of Kit? He had been at sea all week. Perhaps, the clear salt air had caused him to wake up to himself. She didn’t like to think that either.
She stood and tested her weight on the foot once more. The cold water bath had done its job in reducing the slight swelling. Sophia lightly tied her slippers and gingerly walked to the desk drawer and withdrew her personal journal to write down the account of the day.
What to make of Selim Omar? He was charming and his interest in Laura was plain – and why wouldn’t it be? Laura always turned heads. Sophia might have dismissed Kit’s dislike of the man, and perhaps come to the conclusion he exaggerated whatever had been said at the reception. She put her pen down and thought. There were Omar’s words to her when she slipped. The warning had more than one meaning, she knew it.
The lamps lit earlier by the maid had bathed the room in a warm glow and the last of the twilight’s glimmer made way for the night. From the balcony, the waxy white jasmine in bloom, its vines winding up the side of the hotel, brought in a heady, almost creamy aroma. Outside, a lone troubadour strummed his guitar and sang. She could not understand all the words, but the tune itself was enough to tell her it was a tragic love story.
Ah, wasn’t it always the way?
Sophia watched the man stroll the street. He glanced up and, seeing he had her attention, walked to beneath her balcony. His face was illuminated by a flickering street lamp.
She knew that face! It was Elias Nash from the Calliope. He saw her recognition, nodded, and continued to sing. Her heart did a little leap. If Elias was in Palermo, Kit was, too. She couldn’t contain her delight and showed it in a wide smile. Sophia bent down to the trough of blood red geraniums in bloom at her feet, picked one, and tossed it down to Elias as though he were a courtier.
The jasmine vines rustled.
A hand reached out…
Chapter Twenty
There was someone on the balcony with her! Sophia drew a breath to scream.
“Shhhh, it’s me.”
Kit stepped from the shadows and Sophia channeled her fright into a punch, hitting him squarely in the shoulder.
“Are you quite insane?” she whispered harshly, anxious to keep her voice low.
Kit chuckled and rubbed his shoulder. “Around you, I’m certifiable.”
“What on earth are you doing on my balcony? If you’re going to pay a call why didn’t you go to the front door?”
“Now, what would be the fun in that?” Kit reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. Where he touched, tingles followed. “Come on, we’re going somewhere.”
“Where?”
Below them, Elias played on.
“Do you always ask so many questions?”
“If you’re not going to answer them, then clearly I’m not asking enough.”
The kiss to the hand became a kiss on the cheek, dangerously close to her ear.
“It’s a party on the Calliope. Jonathan is getting married two days from now. Say you’ll come.”
“But I’m not dressed for a party, I don’t have…” A long, tapered, index finger pressed itself lightly on her lips. “You look beautiful just as you are. Now… do you trust me?”
Sophia looked into those chameleon eyes and found herself lost in them.
“I do.”
The two little words made him smile and he swooped in for a kiss.
“Then hold on tight, we’re going over the balcony.”
Sophia only stopped smiling because her cheeks hurt. How long had it been since she had enjoyed herself with such carefree abandon as she did tonight? She sipped dry white wine and pondered the question.
The answer was found on this very ship and the first night they danced beneath the stars on the voyage from England. Before that… well, Sophia couldn’t ever recall a time she didn’t feel out of place.
Surrounded by the Calliope’s crew and friends from Palermo, she realized this seemed more home to her than the Cappleman estate or the convent where she had spent her childhood. This was where she belonged.
Kit had spent the early part of the evening by her side, introducing her to other guests. Now he played the gracious host, spending time with everyone onboard. She was content to sit for a while, taking the weight off her injured ankle, which she refused to draw attention to.
She was delighted to see Marco’s leg was healing though he still used a crutch.
“The doctor says I can go back to my duties in a few weeks, Miss Green,” he told her with all the enthusiasm of youth, sweeping his arm out into the inky darkness of the sea beyond. “The sooner we’re out there dealing merry hell to—”
“Marco!”
The lad shut up at Giorgio’s sharp rebuke. The cook cuffed the back of the boy’s head. “Go make yourself useful.”
The cabin boy stumped off with a grin, none the worse for wear.
Jonathan Afua approached with a striking woman on his arm. She was a statuesque beauty with a patrician bearing, whose dark, curly hair was piled on her head. The navigator introduced her as his fiancée, Morwena.
Sophia learned, to her surprise, it was she who owned the ironmonger’s shop at the Ballaro markets. She was the “M” in the M Gambino on the calling card Kit pressed into her hand all those weeks ago. What a remarkable woman, to be running a business that was hers alone. Morwena’s love for her fiancé showed plainly, as did her affection for the crew of the Calliope. It didn’t take Sophia very long to realize Morwena was very much a mother to this group.
Morwena introduced her to the man who had spoken to her at the store, her father, Thomasso. He did not speak English but he remembered who she was – the English woman who bought a trowel, he said. Hardacre’s woman.
Sophia smiled and nodded, only catching every tenth word as he spoke in rapid Sicilian. Was that what she was? Hardacre’s woman? Hearing it from someone else’s lips seemed to make it more real.
This engagement party was no fine ball with guests dressed in silks and satins; the manners, mores, and music artfully staged. Here, the laughter was hearty, and sometimes bawdy, but it was genuine and joyful. The teasing was all made in good fun and good humor.
Everyone who attended brought something special to honor the couple – the food, the wine or the entertainment. Now, Elias picked up the guitar again and sang a beautiful ballad:
“Our ship she lies in harbor,
Just ready to set sail,
May heaven be your guardian, love,
Till I return from sea!
Said the father to th
e daughter,
‘What makes you so lament?
Is there no man in all the world
Could give your heart content?’
Said the daughter to the father,
‘I’ll tell the reason why:
You have sent away that sailor-lad
That could me satisfy.’
‘If that’s your inclination,’
The father did reply,
‘I wish he may continue there,
And on the seas may die!’
She, like an angel weeping,
On the rocks sighed every day,
Awaiting for her own true love
Returning home from sea.
‘Oh, yonder sits my angel!
She’s waiting there for me,
To-morrow to the church we’ll go,
And married we will be.’
When they had been to church,
And were returning back again,
She espied her honored father
And several gentlemen.
Said the father to the daughter,
‘Five hundred pounds I’ll give,
If you’ll forsake that sailor-lad
And come with me to live.’
‘It’s not your gold that glittered,
Nor yet your silver that shined;
For I’m married to the man I love
And I’m happy in my mind!’”
Elias accepted the applause with a bow and, with the audience’s attention still on him, strummed violently on the strings. He changed chords and strummed again before plucking the individual strings with his right hand while his left began a dance of its own along the fret board.
The tune was unmistakably Spanish. Sophia had heard many such tunes as a girl. The luthier would spruik the quality of his workmanship by playing in the square on market day, and, occasionally, a cantaor would join him singing the most heartbreaking tale of love and loss.
Elias ended the tune abruptly.
“There is something missing friends,” he called.
“We need the dancer!” someone else yelled out. Sophia could feel the stir of an atmosphere charged with anticipation. She turned to Morwena but she was intently listening to Jonathan who was explaining what was going on. She looked out over the lamp-lit crowd looking for Kit.
Stomp, Stomp!
Behind her, booted feet stomped again. One. Two.
Elias started frenetic strumming and Marco started a rhythmic clap.
The stamping became faster and combined with an audible shuffle. Kit emerged from the darkness into the center of the gathering, hands fisted and fixed to his sides. Whoops and cries of encouragement grew louder.
The music paused and restarted with renewed vigor. Kit rose to his toes, his arms slowly and sinuously rising above his head to the sound of the strings. He arched his back, forming an arc from knee to head and stepped once, then stepped again, clicking his fingers. The music increased in tempo and Kit moved with even more enthusiasm. Sophia was mesmerized, transfixed by his eyes always on hers as he danced.
He moved with such sensuousness. It was as though he invited her to watch his body, the dance drawing attention to each part of him, starting with the heel stamps. Hands slapped the side of his boot as one leg, then the other lifted behind him. Not once did he lose his balance, his strength evident. His hips swayed, drawing attention to the part of his anatomy she ought to blush at. She followed the sway of his arms as though he were pushing energy upwards and out through raised hands that clapped louder and louder.
He twirled faster and faster. His feet stamped in rhythm before he suddenly dropped to his knees to spin once and stop right in front of her. The tempo of the music slowed. Sophia felt herself becoming breathless, recalling the words he spoke at the reception. He said he could not woo her with words, but he did so with his body, and she felt her own respond.
He rose to his feet unhurriedly, performing a talon – slapping the soles of his boots as the heel touched his calf. Elias’ guitar strumming increased in pace once more, and Kit moved athletically around the ship’s skylight, gathering cheers as he went. He was before her once more, performing kick turns and double foot stamps while the tune built to its crescendo. Then it stopped.
Kit poised on his toes for several seconds to accept the applause. Jonathan tossed him a flask. He drank from it deeply and tossed it back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His other hand he extended to Sophia.
She rose to claim it. She could feel heat radiate from his body as he enfolded her into a hug while others slapped him on the back, congratulating him on such a performance.
“As soon as I think you have no more secrets, you surprise me once more,” she whispered. His expression became serious for the briefest moment before returning to that ebullient man she had come to know.
“I have more secrets than will take you a lifetime to know.”
Sophia knew the words were weighted. Her curiosity ran deep, but before she could ask anything more, Kit had been pulled away from her by other guests. He offered her a rueful expression, but she pretended to shoo him away with her hands while she approached Elias Nash.
“Mr. Nash! Your playing is superb.”
Kit’s first officer bowed. “Miss Green, all evening I’ve wanted to have a word with you.”
“We’re friends, surely. I insist you call me Sophia.”
“Then I to you am Elias. And your servant. I… uh… wanted to ask of Miss Laura, and to ask that you thank her for the portrait. Is she well?”
Sophia’s heart warmed at the earnestness she heard in Elias’ voice. Of all the potential suitors Laura might attract, she couldn’t imagine anyone more honest, charming, or pleasant than Elias Nash. And, sadly, that was why she had to disabuse him of any notion of harboring tender feelings towards her cousin. Samuel and the rest of the family would never allow Laura to marry anyone below her station. Laura, herself, would never consider such a match. The last thing Sophia wanted was to give the man false hope.
“Laura is well. She’s going back to England soon in readiness for her brother’s wedding. We’re all delighted you understand…”
Sophia was conscious of running on and dropped her eyes from his.
“Well, if Miss Laura and, ah, you, of course, require an escort anywhere before you leave, and, if the captain is not available, of course, I’d be honored to be fulfill that duty…”
Her heart went out to him. Nash was a good man, a gentle man. Sophia touched his arm.
“Thank you, Elias, I know Laura would thank you, too.”
Behind them, laughter broke out. Sophia and Elias looked across to see Kit in the center of a group of people.
“You mean a lot to him,” Elias said seriously.
Sophia didn’t demur. “There’s so much about him I don’t know. I don’t know where he grew up, how he came to be here, or anything…”
Elias nodded his agreement. “Kit Hardacre is not an easy man to know. He doesn’t allow many people close. In seven years, I’ve seen him at his best and worst, but I can vouch there is no man more loyal, more driven, or more passionate.” He paused a moment, waiting until she gave her full attention. “But there are demons from his past that will try to destroy him. He won’t be an easy man to love, Sophia Green.”
“Lo… who said anything about love? I—”
Elias bent down to pick up his guitar. “–Forgive me if I’ve spoken out of turn. I saw the way you looked at him tonight when he danced, and I thought…” He shook his head as though to clear his thoughts. “I know it’s not my place, but as Kit’s friend – and yours, too, I hope, if you ever need someone to talk to – I hope you know you can confide in me.”
He bowed once more and joined the others around the banquet table where Giorgio had outdone himself again with a stunning feast. Trestle tables, painted white and decorated about their edges with fragrant multi-colored flowers, groaned under platters of lobster, plates of fresh fruit and cheeses, delicate slices
of cured meats. An effervescent white wine, like a champagne which Sophia learned was called prosecco, cooled in water-filled barrels.
But after a while, the noise and the food and the drink became too much. Sophia searched for somewhere quiet. She wandered to the Calliope’s bow and rested her elbows on the rail. In the late twilight, she could see other ships silhouetted in black against an indigo sky. A few were lit with lamps, the little pinpoints of yellow made it easy to pick out shapes.
Sitting at anchor out in the bay was the large, impressive ship belonging to the Turkish ambassador. Another boat, dwarfed in size, headed towards it, the long oars glistening in the light of the moon as they lifted out of the water. Even at a distance, she could hear the sound they made as they ploughed the sea.
She recalled the odd encounter with Selim Omar, and wondered what Kit would make of it if she told him.
“You’re missing the feast.”
Sophia started. She hadn’t heard Kit approach. He joined her looking out over the bow. “It’s not often Giorgio gets to show off his culinary skills with a full range of fresh produce, but what that man can do with a bit of salted beef after two months at sea…” Kit shook his head with apparent fondness.
She offered him a half-smile in response.
“I was just thinking I still don’t know anything about you.”
He leaned back against the railing and shrugged, folding his arms as he did so.
“There’s nothing to know. I am what you see.”
She shook her head, feeling the strands of her hair flutter with the rise of a slight evening breeze.
“No, there’s more to you than what you choose to show.” She heard him shift on his feet and suspected she hit a nerve. “I’ve never heard you once mention your family, or where you grew up, or how you came to be at sea.”
“Is it important?”
“It is if I am to know you. It is if you’re serious about courting me.” Sophia paused to pull her next thoughts together. She could not look at him, so she kept her eyes on the inky blackness of the water below. “Perhaps you look at this as merely an amusing diversion for the summer – to give the poor half-caste spinster a little thrill.”
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection Page 153