Page 15 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)
“Well, if I had climbed onto a different ship with a different destination, that would lead me in a whole other direction, don’t you think?”
She thought of the other vessels in port that day — the Dutch merchant ship bound for the East Indies, the small fishing schooner that hugged the coastline, the naval frigate with its gleaming brass and rigid discipline. How many other possibilities might there have been?
Any one of them might have been her escape route, carrying her to destinations unknown, to fates she could scarcely imagine. Instead, chance had led her to the Seraphim and its reluctant captain.
The captain’s grunt was uninterpretable, and Docila didn’t bother looking at him as she continued working, pleased that her hands were finally growing enough calluses that handling the rough rope no longer hurt.
She had grown stronger in other ways too during her time aboard.
The constant physical labour had toned muscles that had grown soft during her confinement at Uncle Hugo’s house.
The sea air had brought colour to her cheeks, and even her seasickness had abated, becoming a distant memory rather than a constant companion.
She moved with more confidence now, her balance adjusted to the constant motion of the deck beneath her feet.
These changes had not gone unnoticed. She had caught the sailors watching her with increasing respect as she tackled tasks that would have daunted many experienced seamen.
Even Jenks, with his persistent hostility, had grudgingly accepted her presence, though he still made the sign against evil whenever she passed too close.
And the captain? His observations were harder to decipher, his keen eyes revealing little of his thoughts as he monitored her progress from a distance.
But she had sensed a shift in his attitude, a subtle easing of the suspicion that had marked their early interactions.
Not trust, certainly — she doubted Captain Peters trusted anyone fully, save perhaps his first mate — but a growing acknowledgment of her capabilities.
“I can’t help but be at least a little impressed with your work ethic,” the captain commented.
Docila grinned. It was obvious he didn’t appreciate being forced to offer her any commendation. Docila finally met his watchful gaze with a defiant stare of her own.
“Thank you, Captain,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.
She felt warmed by her own defiance as the blood surged in her veins.
She steeled herself inside so as not to react in any further way, except with her sarcasm.
It wouldn’t do to have him angry and decide he couldn’t be bothered with her anymore.
Docila wasn’t ready to figure out life on land on her own; she had so few coins with her and no one she could turn to.
Despite his grumpy exterior, she knew she could trust Captain Peters and that he would do his best to keep her safe for as long as she remained under his command.
Their eyes locked, a silent battle of wills that neither seemed willing to concede.
In the moonlight, the captain’s features were sharply defined, the planes and angles of his face cast in silver and shadow.
His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his steady gaze that made her heart beat faster, a mixture of challenge and.
.. something else she couldn’t quite identify.
“You’ve surprised the crew,” he said finally, breaking the silence. “Fletcher tells me you’re the first one on deck each morning and the last to retire at night. Turner says your knots would pass muster on a naval vessel. Even Simms has stopped grumbling about having you in his galley.”
Docila raised an eyebrow, surprised by this litany of praise, however indirectly delivered. “Are you keeping reports on me, Captain?”
“It’s my ship,” he replied simply. “I make it my business to know everything that happens aboard her.”
“And what do you think?” Docila challenged, emboldened by the darkness and the strange intimacy of their isolation on the moonlit deck. “Am I still just a problem to be solved? A stowaway to be deposited at the first convenient port?”
The question hung between them, loaded with all the unspoken tension of the past week. Captain Peters studied her, his expression thoughtful, as if seeing her properly for the first time.
“I think,” he said slowly, “that you’re a young woman of remarkable determination and unexpected skill.
I think you’re hiding something, though whether it’s dangerous or merely painful remains to be seen.
And I think that, despite my better judgment, I’m beginning to believe your story about your father. ”
The admission, however qualified, sent a surge of vindication through Docila. It wasn’t trust, not yet, but it was a step toward something less adversarial than their initial relationship.
“I’ve told you the truth about my circumstances,” she said, her voice steady despite the sudden flutter in her chest. “Not the whole truth, perhaps. There are things I... can’t speak of yet. But I’ve never lied to you, Captain Peters.”
It was as close as she could come to honesty without revealing the secrets she guarded so carefully. She held her breath, waiting for his reaction, half-expecting him to demand the full story there and then.
Instead, he nodded slowly, as if coming to a decision.
“Very well, Miss Archer. Let’s make a bargain, you and I.
You continue to earn your keep aboard my ship, and I’ll continue to provide you with safe passage to our destination.
When we reach St. Augustine, we’ll revisit the question of your future. ”
“And in the meantime?” Docila asked, wary of the simplicity of his offer.
“In the meantime, I’ll refrain from questioning your every move, and you’ll refrain from giving me reason to regret that decision.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Do we have an accord?”
It was more than she had hoped for — an unexpected armistice in their ongoing war of suspicion and defence. Docila nodded, aware that she was committing to a continued deception, however necessary it might be.
“We do, Captain,” she agreed. “Thank you.”
She knew he didn’t trust her, and she didn’t truly trust him, but she knew she was safe as long as she remained on this ship.
She reinforced her determination to be of use to the crew in exchange for the passage they had so unwittingly and begrudgingly afforded her.
She was safe here — at least bodily. Whether or not her feelings would remain uninjured remained to be seen.
The captain’s eyes lingered on her face for a moment longer than necessary, an intensity in his gaze that sent an unexpected warmth through her despite the cool night air. Then he stepped back, creating a proper distance between them once more.
“It’s late,” he observed, his tone returning to its usual brisk authority. “You should get some rest, Miss Archer. The morning watch begins early.”
Docila nodded, suddenly aware of the exhaustion that had been held at bay by their conversation. “Yes, Captain. Goodnight.”
As she gathered the remaining ropes, preparing to store them in the locker, Captain Peters moved as if to leave, then paused.
“Your father,” he said, his back to her. “He would be proud of how you’ve handled yourself. Not many young women — or men, for that matter — would have shown your resilience in similar circumstances.”
The unexpected compliment, delivered with such gruff sincerity, caught Docila completely off guard. She stood frozen, the coiled rope heavy in her arms, unable to formulate a response as the captain strode away, his tall figure soon swallowed by the shadows of the quarterdeck.
It was only when he had disappeared from view that she realized she was smiling, a genuine smile that had nothing to do with sarcasm or defiance. The captain’s words had touched something deep within her, a longing for approval she hadn’t realized she still carried.
Stowing the last of the ropes, Docila lingered on deck for a few moments more, her eyes drawn once again to the vast canopy of stars. She found the familiar constellations, tracing their patterns as her father had taught her, feeling closer to him than she had in months.
“I’m trying, Papa,” she whispered to the night sky. “I’m doing the best I can.”
The ship creaked and swayed beneath her feet, its rhythm as familiar now as her own heartbeat. Against all odds, she had found a place here, however tenuous. And for the first time since her desperate flight from Portsmouth, Docila allowed herself to feel a cautious hope for the future.
As she made her way below decks to her small cabin, she replayed her conversation with the captain in her mind.
His reluctant admiration, his unexpected compliment, the intensity of his gaze in the moonlight — all of it combined to create a confusing swirl of emotions she wasn’t prepared to examine too closely.
One thing was certain, however. Captain Sidney Peters was not the cold, suspicious tyrant she had initially believed him to be.
There was depth to him, complexities she was only beginning to glimpse.
And despite her better judgment, despite all the reasons to maintain her distance, Docila found herself intrigued by the man behind the stern facade.
She only wished she had sufficient boldness to smack the captain’s smirk right off his face.
The thought brought a smile to her lips as she settled onto her narrow bunk.
Whatever tomorrow might bring, whatever challenges lay ahead on their journey to St. Augustine, she would face them with the same determination that had carried her this far.
Captain Peters might doubt her story, might question her motives, but he could no longer question her worth.
And that, for now, was enough.