Page 13 of Across the Star-Kissed Sea (Proper Romance Regency #1)

The plinking on the table brought me out of my reflection.

Catterick dealt out the cards to start another round of their game, and the others threw in chips.

It didn’t serve to dwell on things that could never return, like the life Papa had tried to make for us.

I would focus on the camaraderie before me. Reality meant more than wishes.

“Do you want to play now, Miss May?” Walcott asked.

I shook my head. The fatigue I felt did not lend itself well to cards.

“Care to sell your jack of diamonds?” he asked. Catterick stroked his square chin, staring at his faceup card. As he considered, Walcott leaned closer to me. “And how have you found your first week aboard? You’ve found your sea legs, it would seem.”

How had I found the first week? Lonely in my dark cabin.

Dull with so little to do. Strange, being in such close quarters with so many men after years of living only with Mama and Aunt Byam.

“Not as I expected.” The boredom had surprised me.

I’d thought I’d have more work under Mrs. Peyton’s employ.

“Sea life isn’t as exciting as you think it will be,” Shelby said wryly.

“Don’t you worry, miss. The French will give us enough excitement to last you a lifetime.

” He thought me weak, like all the others new to sea life.

I bristled. Of course, Charlie had told me only the thrilling parts, but I wasn’t naive enough to count on a blissful voyage.

“On the contrary, I’ve found the last few days fascinating.

” It wasn’t a complete lie. Seeing a glimpse into the lives Charlie and Uncle had lived while away from us had given me a new appreciation for those two wonderful men I missed so much.

My throat swelled. I rubbed the cloth of my skirt between my fingers, focusing on the woven texture sliding across my skin.

I’d let the past creep into my head too much.

If I didn’t push back the memories, they’d keep me awake late into the night.

“Wait until you’ve eaten nothing but salt pork and ship’s biscuit for four weeks,” Catterick grumbled. Then he waved Walcott off. “No sale. I’m keeping the jack.”

“I’ve found a bit of dried fruit helps with that,” I said. The peach slice’s brightness still lingered on my tongue from dinner. I’d saved the packet, rationing it so I could have a little dessert. As long as I had that to look forward to each evening, I might survive the tedious meals.

“Indulgent, aren’t we?” Shelby said. “Did you bring along tea, sugar, and cream for after your supper as well?” He’d changed his accent to sound like a fine matron of London Society.

I pursed my lips. “No.” Shelby would get my boot to his shins if I stayed here much longer. “Someone left it for me.”

What the devil did I admit that for? I wanted to clap a hand to my face, but that would only make it worse. Of all the idiotic things to admit. Why had I brought up the fruit?

Walcott pressed his shoulder against mine. “Sweetmeats from an unknown giver. Miss May, have you already secured an admirer on this voyage?” His brows lifted knowingly.

My face grew hot. “What a ridiculous notion.” Especially since he had probably been the one to leave them. The comical face he made and the too-enthusiastic tone he used gave him away.

“Who could it be?” Walcott thrummed his fingers on the table. “Mr. Howard would have the easiest time of it, what with having -access to all the food stores, but he’s got a wife and child, does he not?”

“As if that matters. Are you playing cards or matchmaking?” Catterick asked.

Heaven forbid Mr. Walcott take to matchmaking.

There wasn’t a man I wished to wed on this ship.

The only ones worth looking at were already married.

Well, except Mr. Doswell, but I’d rather die an old maid than marry a dull clergyman.

Even a kind one who brought tea to a sick neighbor.

Clergymen had to care for the sick, of course. It was expected of them.

Walcott nodded toward the other side of the table. “It’s Shelby’s play.” He flicked the corner of the topmost card on his stack, looking about the mess deck. “An officer, perhaps? They’d have the means for little luxuries. Who have you been cozying up to in the gun room?”

Shelby flipped over his card, a ten of spades that wouldn’t best Catterick’s jack.

“It’s your turn, Mr. Walcott,” I said through gritted teeth. He’d gone too far with his teasing, just like my brother, Lewis, did. Perhaps I didn’t enjoy the similarities after all.

“We don’t stand on ceremony here.” He plucked up the card and held it close to his chest. “You’re practically one of us.

Mrs. Peyton’s mate, if you will.” He tilted his head so it nearly rested on mine.

I wanted to pull the brim of his knitted cap down over those mocking eyes. “You might as well call me Frank.”

He’d left the packet of fruit. My eyes narrowed. The teasing, the flirting, the theatrics, the familiarity—it all made sense. He’d taken some sort of liking to me. Because I was the only unmarried female on board? The only one unprotected by connections? Had Mrs. Hallyburton been correct?

I swallowed. No, I would not believe that.

It wasn’t fair of me to instantly assume the worst. Mr. Walcott had offered friendship when I’d had nothing.

He could have sneaked the peaches into my cabin as a kind gesture to a lonely shipmate.

Why did I assume it had come from romantic feelings?

From what I knew of this young man, he’d use anything as an excuse to tease.

He could simply be trying to put me off his trail.

“If I call you Frank, will you take your turn?” I asked.

He laughed and tossed the card onto the table. The ace of diamonds. He’d won the round with the highest trump, and his companions voiced their displeasure as they gathered the cards.

Frank planted his elbow on the table, turning toward me. “We will find your sly beau.” He tapped his fist against his mouth. “I have a few possibilities.”

His calculating expression, so exaggerated, made me all the more certain.

Did he not want his friends to know? If it wasn’t romantic, why would he want to hide?

I scraped the bottom corner of the trunk with my heel, the nails of its iron-capped corner pushing against my boot.

I could easily picture Frank winning over young women who appreciated his flavor of humor, his crooked grin, and his magnetism.

I didn’t see myself among that crowd, though I couldn’t deny how flattering it felt that I might have caught his eye. I twisted my hands together in my lap.

“You should ask Peyton’s wife,” Shelby said as he raised his mug. “I hear she’s the master of secrets.” It earned him a few guffaws.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked. Secrets?

“She fooled the Deborah ’s crew for three years,” Frank said in a loud whisper. “Made them think she was a ship’s boy. Trousers and all.”

She wasn’t just on the Deborah ... She was part of the crew?

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came.

I’d grown up with stories of women like Hannah Snell and Mary Lacy, who’d run off to sea disguised as boys, but how could a delicate little thing like Mrs. Peyton, who couldn’t overcome her sickness after days at sea, have kept up such an act for so long?

No wonder Captain Woodall hadn’t allowed my aunt on board. She would have seen through the act in an instant. My insides coiled as the implications set in with even more certainty than before. Mrs. Peyton was the sole reason my aunt had been denied her last moments with her husband and son.

“I ... I hadn’t heard that,” I finally said with great effort.

“Miss Byam is about to faint from the shock.” Shelby’s delight grated on my nerves. He imagined me distressed. I was far from that. My jaw ached from clenching it.

“We are sorry to turn your opinion of your employer,” Frank said, giving my knee a reassuring pat. Could he feel that it was as rigid as one of the beams above us?

“That’s very interesting, to be sure.” What did this new story change?

Nothing and everything at the same time.

Not only had Woodall barred my aunt, but he’d done so to cover an even fiercer lie than I’d imagined.

My disgust over serving one of his relatives had eased since the start of our voyage, but now it surged back into my chest.

Catterick shoved the cards at Frank to deal, and the game continued, but I didn’t try to follow it. I bid them all goodnight, not pausing to hear Frank’s parting joke. I’d think over what to do about his gift and the potential feelings surrounding it tomorrow.

In my cabin, I dressed halfway between the door, with its canvas window covering I didn’t completely trust to keep out unwanted views, and the crack in the wall I shared with Mr. Doswell, which I didn’t trust at all.

My buzzing mind made it difficult to go through the motions.

I felt around in the dark, wishing for the hundredth time already that I’d had the money to bring a lantern.

Mrs. Peyton had gallivanted as a ship’s boy? I clutched my gown with both fists. My cousin died without his mother because that girl wanted a little adventure?

Trembling, I placed my clothes back in my sea chest. My fingers brushed Papa’s little book of Cowper.

I needed Cowper tonight to calm my reeling thoughts.

More than Cowper, I needed my papa’s calming voice to help me make sense of all this.

I pulled the book out and held it to my chest. So often in the last years, I’d beaten down any thought of missing him.

Since Mama announced that she’d be leaving, I hadn’t had the strength to push the feelings down.

I needed to douse my whirling brain in the poetry my father had loved.

But how would I read? I didn’t dare go out to the gun room in my dressing gown.

Could I borrow a little of Mr. Doswell’s light?

I crept to the gleaming ray coming through the partition. The hum of Mr. Doswell’s gentle muttering seeped through the opening like steam from a teacup. I could almost smell the ginger and lemon from the drink he’d brought me the other night.

I sat with my back to the wall, careful not to lean into it and make the wood creak.

For now, he seemed oblivious to the encroachment of privacy, and I wanted it to stay that way.

I did not turn to take even a peek through the crack.

He’d been in such a state of undress the last time I’d foolishly looked.

I ducked my head and forced myself not to relive the moment or the sight.

Whatever happened, I could not reveal that I’d stared at him, even if it meant lying to a clergyman.

There had to be a special place in purgatory for people who lied to clergymen, but the price was worth it to avoid this humiliation.

I held up the book so it caught the light of Mr. Doswell’s lantern and trained my eyes on the print.

The glow revealed a vertical sliver of words on one side of the page.

As I read, I slowly rotated the book, illuminating the text word by word.

Papa’s voice, painful and soothing all at once, read the words in my head.

Come, peace of mind, delightful guest!

Return and make thy downy nest

Once more in this sad heart.

Peace of mind. What I wouldn’t give for a few hours of that. The tension in my body loosened.

“What if I included another story here?” The voice sounded directly behind me, as though the bulwark had been removed. It took all my power not to turn around. Who was he speaking to? I hadn’t heard anyone enter his room. “People like stories. They help show ideas better than lecturing.”

He was talking to himself. And not in the unthinking way most people muttered to themselves but truly conversing. A smile slipped across my lips. He’d reassured himself of the new idea with all the enthusiasm of a supportive friend.

“Of course I don’t wish to bog down the sermon with too many stories.” Mr. Doswell’s voice quieted a little as he moved away from the wall we shared. “You have to take care. The men easily lose interest if you speak too long.”

I held my fingers to my mouth to keep back a laugh. I shouldn’t laugh. Who didn’t act in embarrassing ways when they thought they were completely alone? Such as crouching in the dark, trying to read with light from a crack in the wall.

That snapped my attention back to the page. I must look pitiful at the least, huddled here like a frightened mouse.

Nor riches I, nor pow’r pursue,

Nor hold forbidden joys in view,

We therefore need not part.

Cowper’s thoughts entwined with Mr. Doswell’s conversation. My neighbor seemed to have such peace of mind, memorizing his sermons and walking the deck at all hours in quiet bliss. He’d chosen his path rather than being forced into taking whatever work could be found. Some men had all the luck.

Perhaps that was what kept drawing me back to Frank Walcott, besides how much he made me remember my father and brother before life had turned upside down.

Unlike Mr. Doswell or the Peytons, Frank came from much simpler means and had to prove his strength and smarts to get to his current position. If only I could do the same.