Page 10 of Across the Star-Kissed Sea (Proper Romance Regency #1)

May

M rs. Peyton steadied herself with a hand against the hull as I laced her stays the next morning. I cinched the laces snug until the edges of the stays nearly touched.

Ten months ago, I would have turned up my nose at lacing Captain Woodall’s daughter into her stays. How my life had changed.

“Is that comfortable?” I asked. Whatever my feelings about her father, I would do my job the right way. I would be the best lady’s maid she’d ever had and prove to myself and my family that I could do this.

“Yes, thank you.”

I tied off the laces and bent to lift the plain yellow gown I’d laid out across her chest of clothes. She had a very simple taste in fashion. Some of my own gowns had more frills. The simplicity made my job easier, certainly, but it all seemed too modest for a captain’s wife.

Mrs. Peyton turned slowly, holding her forehead in her hand. I paused in gathering up the dress to put over her. Her face had gone pale as a dinner plate.

“Are you ill, ma’am?” I asked.

She shook her head slowly without looking at me.

“Let’s get you dressed and open the windows.” She looked as though she could use some fresh air and perhaps a proper meal. She hadn’t eaten much of what the steward had me deliver that morning, as evidenced by the tray of practically untouched food on the desk.

The young woman nodded once, then swallowed slowly, breathing deeply.

I tilted my head. “Are you certain—”

She groaned and whipped around, knocking into the dressing screen as she dashed for the starboard privy.

The door clattered shut behind her, and I winced at the sound of her retching.

Aunt Byam would say to hope she didn’t get it on her stays for me to clean.

I frowned, banishing the horrible thought.

I deposited the gown on the cot and retrieved a handkerchief from her trunk. I dipped a corner in the bowl of water I’d brought for her to wash her face. She’d be right as rain in a day or two, once she got used to the rocking of the ship. I praised the skies that seasickness hadn’t hit me.

When she finally slipped out of the privy, her cheeks had taken a green tint. Her eyes shone as though she were about to cry.

I extended the handkerchief toward her. “Would you like me to get the captain?”

She took the damp square of linen and murmured her thanks. “Oh, no. I don’t wish to bother him over this.” She wiped at her mouth, then started to breathe heavily again.

“Do you need something to drink?” I volunteered. “The steward brought tea.”

“No,” she said tightly, eyes closed. “Thank you.”

I retrieved her dressing gown. “I don’t think you’re well enough to go to services this morning.” I certainly wouldn’t want to sit and listen to Mr. Doswell’s self-righteous preaching while ill. “You might feel better with a little more rest.”

Mrs. Peyton stared at the dressing gown. Finally, she put her arm out for me to fit into the sleeve. She didn’t say anything as I wrapped it around her. I could feel her trembling through the fabric. For someone who had supposedly gone to sea before, she didn’t act the part.

After I’d helped her back to bed, I headed for the gun room.

I might as well inform Captain Peyton of his wife’s illness.

As I came down the ladder, Mr. Doswell exited his cabin in a solemn black coat, waistcoat, and breeches.

I grudgingly admitted the ensemble suited him so well as to make up for the dreary colors, and his copper hair added a vivacity that made him almost . ..

No. I’d given enough sympathy to people I’d sworn to hate this morning. That high-and-mighty man would get none of my good will, attractive or not. I jumped out of his way, keeping my eyes down and ignoring his greeting.

Captain Peyton stood in his dress uniform beside the sailing master, Mr. Merkley, who pointed to a spot on a large map laid out across the dining table.

I stepped inside the gun room. “I beg your pardon, sir,” I said with a curtsy, “but Mrs. Peyton won’t be attending services today. She’s fallen ill.”

His attention snapped quickly to me. “She’s ill? How is she ill?”

The same way several of the crew were at this point in the journey. “Seasickness, I would expect, sir.”

He gave me a look of confusion. “That’s unusual.”

I shrugged. He must have overestimated the fortitude of his wife’s stomach. “She returned to bed.”

“I’ll look in on her. Thank you, Miss Byam.”

I backed out of the gun room and wandered toward the ladder. The crew would be called to worship soon. Could I find a corner near the great cabin to hide from view of two men in particular?

“Miss May.”

I inwardly groaned. Frank Walcott. Some girls might leap at the chance to sail, what with all the unmarried young men of varying heights and complexions and intelligences. My experience, however, had proved humiliating. I mounted the ladder without acknowledging Mr. Walcott.

“Oh, come now,” he said. “You’re not still sore about yesterday?” The ladder shifted beneath me as he followed close on my heels.

It wasn’t the joke but the fact that he respected no one. Why should I have expected him to show me any regard? When he’d rescued me from the chaplain’s embarrassing accusation, I’d given him more credit for gallantry than he’d deserved. His ridiculous trick concerning the head had proven that.

Something caught my ankle as I reached the top of the ladder. I fell forward, nearly smashing my face against the gun deck. My palms smarted as they slapped the planks. I kicked, but what I figured out was a hand held tight to my foot.

“I’m warning you, Mr. Walcott,” I hissed, regaining my balance with one foot on the ladder and frantically gathering my skirts to keep them from flying up, “if you do not leave me be, I will ...” I aimed my boot at his chest, but he twisted away, still holding on.

“No need for threats, Miss May,” he said through his laughter. “Only, you can’t be too angry with me. It was nothing more than a bit of fun.” He finally released my ankle, and I scurried onto the gun deck.

The Royal Navy might raise sailors, but it did not raise gentlemen. I shot toward the great cabin. I’d stupidly assumed officers and mates would be like Uncle and Charlie—kind, dutiful, and chivalrous. One more way ignorance had made my life miserable.

“You can’t run from anyone on this floating washbasin.” He snatched my hand, and the force whipped me around. “I’m sorry about yesterday. It won’t happen again.” A twinkle in his eyes made that hard to believe. I tugged against his grip. “Promise,” he said quickly. “Forgive an old friend.”

“Ha! We are nothing near to old friends,” I said. His apology felt as sincere as Mr. Doswell’s.

Walcott dropped my hand. “We can fix that.” Then he threw me a smile that could have melted ice. “You’ve no one to sit with during services. Come sit with me and the mates. At least you’ll have someone to share in your boredom during Mr. Chaplain’s blathering.”

“I take it you aren’t very religious.” I folded my arms, trying to keep my stern visage.

Mr. Walcott wagged a finger heavenward. “We’ve an understanding.”

The sentiment sounded too familiar. Papa might have been standing before me. I could practically hear his voice in Mr. Walcott’s words. I unclenched my teeth. The little girl deep inside wouldn’t let me refuse him.

“There now.” He could see it, my softening. “Sit with us. A girl needs friends in a mangy crew like this.” He took my arm and pulled me toward one of the guns before I could make an excuse to check on Mrs. Peyton.

Friends. I hadn’t had many of those since Papa’s conviction. I didn’t need them. I’d survived six years without. And yet the word resounded in my soul. I may not need friends ... but was it so terrible if a small part of me wanted them?

Elias

My first sermon of the voyage. I sat at the little table set out on the gun deck for me and arranged my notes and Bible. Stoic faces stared back. As usual.

Why do you do this if they don’t want your preaching?

I gave a silent sigh. Why, indeed. In a country parish, most worshippers came by choice. In the navy, though not required, it was expected.

A trio of tawny-haired boys sat together near the front of the gathering. The smallest stared up at me with wide, glazed eyes. The other two stared at the deck, shoulders slumped. New ship’s boys. Poor lads. They must be exhausted.

Captain Peyton arrived without his wife and nodded at me to begin.

I took a deep breath. I was here to share hope.

Even if it touched only one soul, my work was worth it.

Miss Somer’s father had told me that a few months ago, back when it had seemed certain I would soon become both his curate and his son-in-law.

Visions of Miss Somer threatened. I cleared my throat. I did not need her face before me just now. With a deep breath, I lifted my gaze and caught a pair of deep-blue eyes boring into me with the force of a whaler’s harpoon.

Miss Byam. She of all people would not wish to listen to me. I hadn’t found a time to apologize in the twenty-four hours we’d been at sea.

Liar. You haven’t found the courage.

Yes, that as well. She had spent a good deal of time with Mr. Walcott, and after the uncomfortable situation yesterday morning, I didn’t relish the idea of trying to have a conversation with her in his presence.

I cleared my throat again. My sermon. “‘And the Lord said, if he had faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye might say unto this sycamine tree, Be thou plucked up by the roots, and be thou planted in the sea; and it should obey you.’”

Oh, to have that sort of courage.

Miss Byam sat with the mates, who all spoke quietly among themselves without an attempt to look as though they listened.