Page 16 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)

H ow was he supposed to keep her safe? This was the question that Sidney was agonizing over.

A beautiful woman, the only one confined to a small space with a crew of unruly men.

Oh, Sidney trusted that his men were sufficiently mannerly, for the most part, but if they ran into any sort of trouble at sea, having Docila present was only going to cause problems. They would be forced to decide between her safety and their own, and there were so many things that could go wrong — besides the fact that any trouble could cause the men to lose their sense of propriety and make themselves abhorrent to the poor girl.

But was she so poor? She was the one who chose to climb aboard without a by-your-leave.

The lantern swayed gently with the motion of the ship as Sidney traced his finger along the carefully plotted course to St. Augustine. Pirates were a constant threat in these shipping lanes, and Blackwell was out there somewhere, perhaps already closing the distance between them.

What would happen if they were attacked? The thought of Miss Archer falling into the hands of pirates — or worse, into Blackwell’s clutches — sent a chill through him that had nothing to do with the night air seeping through the cabin’s wooden walls.

Sidney paced his quarters, as had become a terrible habit, and it was all her fault.

Why did she have to be so beautiful and so intelligent — and so very distracting?

Sidney heaved a disconsolate sigh, irritation nagging at him as though it were his childhood nursemaid.

It was almost impossible to ignore the constant fret that he was forced to endure with her presence.

If only he could put her off easily, put her ashore. But she refused to want to, even if it wasn’t going to be convenient for him. She acted as though he were abusing her if he ever suggested that she ought to be back on the mainland.

Did the chit think she could remain at sea for the rest of her life? Surely she would want to get off at some point and start a new life, even if she had no intention of returning to England. Unless she was more than daft, she must realize she couldn’t remain at sea indefinitely.

Her presence had altered the dynamic of his ship in unexpected ways.

The crew had largely accepted her, some even developing a protective attitude.

Fletcher treated her with fatherly kindness, while young Harrison followed her about like a devoted puppy.

Even crusty old Simms had been heard to compliment her skill with a knife.

Only Jenks maintained his distance, muttering darkly about bad luck whenever she passed by. Sidney had kept a close eye on the man, not trusting his sullen glares and whispered complaints.

For a moment, Sidney welcomed the tap on his door, looking for a distraction from his worries, but then his brain caught up to him, and he realized that that was the sound Docila made when she came to call.

As if he needed her warm presence in his small space.

Sidney rolled his eyes — not that it made much difference.

He was aware of her, no matter where she was.

“Enter,” he called out. “Leave the door open,” he said as she stepped through. “There’s a latch to prevent it from swaying,” he added as she looked at him with a startled expression.

“Is that new?” she asked, arching her eyebrows at him.

“It is,” he admitted, not in the least bit ashamed. “Your reputation is at stake, after all,” he added that by way of explanation before castigating himself. He didn’t owe her a single explanation of anything. He was the captain of this ship; if he wanted to make alterations, that was his affair.

The truth was, he had ordered the latch installed that morning, after overhearing sailors speculating about Miss Archer’s visits to his cabin. A woman who spent time alone with the captain invited speculation of a particular kind, however unwarranted.

“What can I do for you?” he prompted her impatiently.

“I wanted to discuss our destination with you — or rather, our journey,” she said. “I was looking at some of the maps, and I was wondering if there was perhaps a mistake.”

Sidney pulled back as though she had slapped him. “A mistake?” he repeated, haughty disdain dripping from his words.

The suggestion struck at his professional pride. Maps were his passion, his expertise. Since boyhood, he had been fascinated by cartography, spending hours studying the contours of coastlines, the depths of channels, the hidden reefs that could mean life or death to a sailor.

“I can assure you, there is no mistake. I made this map.”

She stared at him with incomprehension for a moment before she blinked her long eyelashes. “You made it?” she repeated, sounding incredulous.

“Why would this be such a shock to you?” he demanded. “Do I not seem capable of making a map?”

She stared at him a moment longer before lifting a shoulder. “I suppose you are capable. It just never occurred to me. Most captains are afraid to trust their own judgment overmuch,” she said carefully.

Now it was Sidney’s turn to stare. “What do you mean by that?” he asked her.

“Well, I would think a second opinion would be beneficial. If the ship is relying entirely on the captain’s judgment for both their destination and their direction, there is a chance of mistakes creeping in, is there not?”

Her response was measured and logical, acknowledging human fallibility without suggesting any particular failing on his part.

Sidney stared at her, rage and denial and admiration all warring within himself. “I suppose I can see what you mean,” he finally admitted. “However, I am highly capable of making an accurate map. I’ve been studying the science of it for years.”

She tilted her head and examined him much like some of his scientist friends would do. Sidney squirmed as he fought the sensation of being a specimen for her examination.

“‘Science of it,’” she repeated finally.

“What an interesting way of putting it. I suppose I can see why it would be considered a science. Very well,” she said.

“If you consider it a science, then I would expect that you took the matter quite seriously and exerted effort to have the utmost accuracy. I applaud you,” she said.

“However, I am still afraid that there might be a slight mistake on one of the maps we are relying upon. That is what I came to point out to you. I meant you no insult since I didn’t know that you were responsible for them, but all the more, you would likely want to know my concerns, wouldn’t you? ”

Sidney laughed, even though it didn’t sound like there was much mirth in it. “Very well, Miss Martin, tell me where you think the mistake has crept in.”

They took some time huddling over his desk, examining the maps.

He finally said he would have to examine it some more later.

He wasn’t willing to admit immediately that there could possibly be a mistake, but he could see why she might think so and was determined to compare that map with some of his others to ensure accuracy.

As they bent over the map together, Sidney found himself acutely aware of her proximity. The cabin suddenly seemed smaller, the air warmer and heavier with a faint floral fragrance that reminded him of his mother’s garden in spring.

Miss Archer was entirely focused on the task at hand, her finger tracing the coastline with confidence. “Here,” she said, indicating a small bay just north of their intended destination. “The depth markers don’t match what I remem — what I would expect for this area.”

Sidney studied the area she indicated. There was a discrepancy, he realized with chagrin. Not a major one, but enough to potentially cause problems.

“Now tell me, Miss Archer,” he said, trying to dismiss her, “how does it come to be that you know this area sufficiently to be able to pinpoint a potential mistake in the map?”

The change in address was deliberate, a small test to see how she would react to being called by a different name.

Her cheeks turned a becoming shade of red. “I’ve been here before,” she admitted.

“When would you have been here before?” he asked, keeping his voice calm when all his suspicions surged anew. He continued, “If you know the area so well, perhaps you could advise me as to where would be a good location to put you ashore.”

“Oh, no! I beg of you, do not put me ashore!” Docila said immediately, ignoring their argument about the map and failing to answer his question.

“It won’t be safe for me. Please, I beg of you, keep me on the boat.

I will do everything I possibly can to be helpful.

Swear to me you won’t leave me behind! I can help, I promise. ”

The sudden panic in her voice was startling, transforming her from the composed, intellectual woman of moments before into someone gripped by genuine fear.

Sidney ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. In the face of her begging, he couldn’t possibly deny her request.

“I’ve made no definite plans to put you ashore,” he said finally, his tone gentler than he had intended. “But you must understand, Miss Archer, that our journey is not without risk. We may encounter situations where your presence complicates matters considerably.”

She drew a deep breath, visibly composing herself. “I understand the risks, Captain. Better than you might think. And I assure you, I won’t be a burden in any crisis that might arise. I’ve faced dangers at sea before.”

There was a quiet dignity in her assertion that made Sidney believe her, despite his lingering doubts about her story. Whatever her secrets, Docila Archer was no ordinary young woman seeking escape from an unwanted marriage.

“You speak as though you expect a crisis,” he observed, watching her reaction closely. “Do you know something I don’t, Miss Archer?”

She hesitated, a shadow passing across her features. “Only that the sea is unpredictable, and fortune even more so. My father taught me to always be prepared for the worst while hoping for the best.”

It was a sailor’s wisdom, pragmatic and unvarnished.

“Sound advice,” he acknowledged. “Your father seems to have been a most... unconventional parent.”

A genuine smile transformed her face. “He was,” she agreed, fondness evident in her voice. “He believed a woman should be able to fend for herself in any circumstance, not just in a drawing room or kitchen.”

The ship lurched suddenly, a larger wave catching her broadside. The maps on the desk shifted, and Sidney moved quickly to secure them, his hand brushing against Docila’s as she reached for the same corner.

The brief contact sent an unexpected jolt through him. He withdrew his hand quickly, focusing his attention on straightening the charts.

“It’s getting late,” he said, his voice rougher than he had intended. “You should return to your cabin before the watch changes.”

She accepted the dismissal with grace. “Of course, Captain. Thank you for considering my concerns about the map.”

“Your observations were... valuable,” Sidney admitted, the concession easier than he had expected. “I’ll examine the charts more closely tomorrow.”

Her smile was warm, genuine in a way that made his chest tighten inexplicably. “Goodnight, then, Captain Peters. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Miss Archer,” he replied, watching as she moved toward the door, her steps sure despite the constant motion of the ship.

As the door closed behind her, Sidney remained standing at his desk, his thoughts in disarray. The conversation had not gone as he had expected, veering from professional consultation to personal revelation in a way that left him feeling slightly off-balance.

And yet, he couldn’t deny there had been something refreshing in their exchange.

As captain of this ship, Sidney was used to the crew conceding to him on all counts.

Her arguments were intelligent and not the least bit submissive at times.

He couldn’t help admiring that however much it irritated.

For all her secrets, Docila Archer had shown herself to be a person of intelligence, insight, and unexpected depth.

It was a realization that complicated his decision regarding her future. The sensible course remained the same — find a safe port, put her ashore, continue his mission without her complication. But the prospect of doing so felt increasingly... regrettable.

Sidney sighed, returning to the charts. The area Miss Archer had identified did indeed show discrepancies when compared with his other sources.

It was a minor error, one that would likely have caused little trouble, but it was an error nonetheless.

One that she had spotted with a professional eye that belied her youth and gender.

Perhaps there was benefit to having her aboard.

Her knowledge of the area could prove valuable as they approached St. Augustine.

And her presence had already had a positive effect on the crew — Simms was cooking with more care, the men were watching their language, and even Harrison seemed to be applying himself to his duties with greater diligence.

The dangers remained, of course. Pirates, storms, Blackwell — all posed threats complicated by Miss Archer’s presence. But were those complications insurmountable? Was the risk of keeping her aboard truly greater than the risk of leaving her in some unfamiliar port, alone and unprotected?

As Sidney carefully rolled the charts and secured them, his decision crystallized with unexpected clarity.

Miss Archer would remain aboard, at least until they reached St. Augustine.

He would take precautions to ensure her safety and perhaps share more of their plans with her, given her evident familiarity with their destination.

Whatever complications Miss Archer brought to his voyage, whatever secrets she still harboured, she had earned her place aboard his ship through her intelligence, her diligence, and her courage.

He would keep her safe, he resolved as sleep finally began to claim him. Not just because it was his duty as captain, but because Docila Archer deserved the chance to find the independence she so clearly desired.