Page 38 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)

T he lantern swayed gently with the ship’s motion, casting shifting shadows across Sidney’s cabin. The chart lay spread between them on the desk, its edges curling slightly as if trying to protect its secrets.

In the dim light, the ink markings seemed to move, ancient pathways leading to a destination that had consumed years of Sidney’s life — and apparently, William Archer’s as well.

Docila’s finger rested lightly on her father’s familiar handwriting in the margins, the recognition that had sparked this confrontation. Her expression remained composed, but Sidney could see the hurt in her eyes, a wounded dignity that pierced him more deeply than any accusation could have done.

“You knew,” she said finally, breaking the tense silence that had stretched between them since their initial confrontation. “You knew about my father’s connection to your treasure hunt, yet you said nothing.”

Sidney’s hands moved to the map, fingers trembling almost imperceptibly as he began to roll it carefully. Each movement was deliberate, buying him precious seconds to gather his thoughts, to decide how much to reveal.

“Not at first,” he admitted, securing the chart with a length of twine. “When you first told me your name — your full name — I recognized it, of course. William Archer was known in certain maritime circles.”

“But you didn’t mention it,” Docila pressed, her voice steady despite the emotion Sidney could see rippling beneath her controlled exterior. “Even when I shared stories of sailing with him, of the lessons he taught me, you remained silent about any connection.”

Sidney placed the rolled chart in its protective case, the familiar motions doing little to calm the turmoil within him. His carefully constructed defences — the walls he had built around his quest, around his heart — were crumbling beneath the weight of her justified hurt.

“I wasn’t certain of the extent of his involvement,” he said, though the excuse sounded hollow even to his own ears. “And I... I’ve learned to be cautious about sharing the full scope of this quest.”

“Then share it now,” Docila said, her voice gentle but unflinching. “Please. I’ve been honest with you about my background, about my father’s activities, about my own experience. I deserve the same honesty in return.”

Sidney sank into his chair, suddenly weary under the weight of secrets kept too long.

“You’re right,” he conceded, surprising them both with his frankness. “You deserve the truth. The complete truth about how this quest began, and how it’s... evolved.”

He gestured to the chair opposite, and after a moment’s hesitation, Docila seated herself, her posture still rigid with tension.

The lantern light caught the copper highlights in her dark hair, reminding Sidney incongruously of the first time he had truly seen her — not as an unwelcome stowaway but as a woman of remarkable courage and intelligence.

“This quest began years ago,” he started, “with my friend Sean Smythe’s, Lady Evangeline.

Among her previous husband’s papers, she discovered what appeared to be clues to a great treasure.

The scholarly society we belonged to was fascinated — we spent months analysing the documents, debating their meaning, arguing over what the treasure could be. ”

Docila leaned forward, intrigued despite her hurt. “What kind of treasure did you think it was?”

“That was the source of great debate,” Sidney admitted, a rueful smile touching his lips.

“Most of my friends were convinced it was intellectual treasure — lost libraries, ancient texts, perhaps even remnants of the library of Alexandria or books removed from Oxford when the Anglican church was established. Mr. Darby, our astronomer, was particularly convinced it was knowledge we sought. He was adamant on the topic. I suspect he didn’t want to hope. ”

“But you thought differently,” Docila observed.

“I did,” Sidney confirmed. “As the only one among us who truly understood navigation, who could interpret the maritime references in the clues, I was convinced from the beginning that we were pursuing actual treasure — gold, gems, something of tangible value.”

He rose, moving to the small cabinet where he kept a decanter of brandy, pouring two measures with hands that had steadied now that the decision to share the truth had been made.

“For months and months now, we’ve worked together and separately, each contributing our expertise.

We’ve been led to new clues from the original ones.

The clues led us in circles, seemed to contradict each other.

Some of the lads have been distracted, finding love along the way.

But at Jasper Linford’s wedding, Miss Meredith Martin, the bride’s best friend, helped us realize we had been interpreting the coordinates incorrectly. We had them in the wrong order.”

“And that led you to the truth about El Dorado?” Docila asked, wrinkling her nose in confusion.

Sidney nodded, offering her a glass of brandy.

“It led us to Dorset, to a hidden cache of documents that revealed the full story. Not just vague clues, but specific information about the Spanish galleon El Dorado, its captain Alvarado, and the treasure’s location.

Everything we now know about the sunken ship and its cargo. ”

“Your friends must have been disappointed to learn it wasn’t the intellectual treasure they sought,” Docila observed.

“They were, yes, although they did find some of the Oxford library, but they don’t know the details of the true treasure yet,” Sidney admitted, surprising her.

“I found the final clues, gathered my crew, and set sail immediately. The astronomical alignment Pierce calculated only occurs at specific times — I couldn’t afford to wait for lengthy discussions about the nature of our quest.”

“So you’ve been pursuing this alone,” Docila said, understanding dawning in her eyes.

“I wrote to them before we left England,” Sidney explained. “They know I’ve discovered something significant, but I plan to share the full details when we return... victorious. I didn’t want to put it into writing, of course.”

He paused, studying her face. “That’s why your father’s involvement is so intriguing. He wasn’t part of our scholarly society, yet his contributions to these charts suggest he had access to information that paralleled our own research.”

Docila was quiet for a moment, processing this revelation.

“My father had contacts everywhere — merchants, naval officers, even former pirates who had reformed. They would visit our home, share stories over brandy much like this. He was particularly interested in Spanish colonial history, in the ships that carried treasure from the New World.”

“That would explain his knowledge,” Sidney said. “Men like your father — experienced mariners with connections beyond the ordinary channels — they often had access to information that never reached academic circles.”

“But why?” Docila asked. “What was his specific interest in El Dorado? I knew he pursued treasure hunting generally, but why this particular quest?”

Sidney hesitated, uncertain how much William Archer had shared with his daughter about his more clandestine activities.

“The line between merchant and treasure hunter is not always clear at sea,” he said carefully. “Many legitimate captains have pursued... additional opportunities when they presented themselves.”

A flash of understanding crossed Docila’s face.

“He had a passionate interest in historical artifacts and lost treasures,” she admitted.

“Our home was filled with curiosities from his voyages — items he claimed were ‘liberated’ from the sea rather than taken from any rightful owner. I knew there was more to it than simple collecting, but he never shared the specifics of his research with me.”

The tension between them had eased somewhat, the shared exploration of her fathers’ connection creating a bridge over the hurt that had initially divided them. Sidney sensed an opening, a chance to explain what drove his own pursuit of the treasure.

“My father is still alive,” he said, returning to his chair.

“We maintain a polite correspondence, though he’s never approved of my chosen profession.

He always believed I should have pursued something more.

.. respectable. He couldn’t accept my scholarly pursuits, nor my seagoing. I think it’s fear, more than anything.”

“That must be difficult,” Docila said softly.

“It is,” Sidney acknowledged. “Which is perhaps why this quest has become so important to me. Not just the treasure itself, but what it represents — validation that my path was worth taking, that my skills and knowledge have value beyond his narrow definition of success.”

Docila’s expression softened with understanding.

“And is it worth it?” she asked, her voice gentle but unflinching. “The risks you’ve taken, the men you’ve lost, the single-minded pursuit that has shaped your life. Is a sunken treasure truly worth such a price?”

It was a question no one had dared ask him directly — not Fletcher, not his friends who shared his quest, certainly not the crew who followed his orders without questioning their purpose. Coming from Docila, with her direct gaze and genuine concern, it struck him with the force of a physical blow.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, the honesty of the response surprising them both.

“For years, the answer has been an unequivocal yes. I’ve always been seeking treasure.

This treasure will be everything — validation, security, fulfilment of a promise I made to myself when I first took command of my own vessel. ”

He reached across the desk, his fingers brushing the case that held the chart. “But lately, I’ve begun to wonder if the true treasure might be something else entirely. Something I never anticipated finding when I set out on this voyage.”

Docila’s eyes widened slightly, a flush colouring her cheeks as his meaning registered. For a moment, the cabin seemed to shrink around them, the space between them charged with possibilities neither had dared to acknowledge openly.

“Sidney —” she began, but whatever she intended to say was cut short by sudden shouts from above deck, the thundering of feet across the planking overhead.

They both rose instantly, the intimacy of the moment shattered by the unmistakable sounds of alarm. Sidney moved to the door in swift strides, Docila close behind him.

“Captain!” Fletcher’s voice carried down the companionway, urgent and tense. “Captain, you’re needed on deck immediately!”

Sidney flung open the door to find his first mate’s face drawn with concern. “What is it, Fletcher?”

“Ship on the horizon, sir,” Fletcher reported grimly. “Coming up fast from the southwest. Bearing down on us with purpose, by the look of her.”

A cold weight settled in Sidney’s stomach. “Colours?”

“None that we can make out yet, sir. But her course is deliberate — she’s tracking us, no doubt about it.”

Sidney exchanged a brief glance with Docila, seeing his own concern mirrored in her eyes. In that moment of shared understanding, the hurt and secrets between them were set aside, eclipsed by the immediate threat.

“I’ll be right up,” Sidney told Fletcher, who nodded and hurried back toward the deck.

Turning to Docila, he spoke quickly, the captain’s authority returning to his voice.

“Stay below until we know what we’re dealing with.

It could be nothing — a naval patrol, a fellow merchant vessel curious about another ship in these waters. ”

“Or it could be Blackwell,” Docila said quietly, naming the threat they both feared. “Or worse, someone sent by my uncle.”

Sidney didn’t deny the possibility. Instead, he reached out impulsively, his hand closing around hers in a brief, firm grip. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it. But our conversation isn’t finished, Docila. When this is dealt with —”

“I know,” she interrupted, her fingers tightening around his for a moment before releasing. “Go. The ship needs its captain.”

Sidney held her gaze for one more heartbeat, then turned and strode toward the companionway, his mind already shifting to the tactical considerations of a potential pursuit. Behind him, Docila remained in the doorway of his cabin, her expression resolute despite the uncertainty surrounding them.