Page 15 of Across the Star-Kissed Sea (Proper Romance Regency #1)

Harvey’s shoulders slumped as she disappeared below, and for a moment, I thought he’d faint.

“How old are you, Mr. Carden?” I asked.

He glanced warily at the lieutenant, who seemed deep in thought. “Not yet ten, sir.”

Yes, far too young to be at sea. I’d been twelve, and that was too young. What had Peyton been thinking, signing him and his brothers on? Their family must have been in dire straits.

“I will discuss this situation with Captain Peyton and Mr. Hallyburton,” Lieutenant Roddam said. “For now, go find your brothers.”

The boy grabbed for the brim of his cap in salute, despite not having one on his head. He looked to Miss Byam, then threw a grateful glance at me before dashing away.

“How can you leave him in such a situation?” Miss Byam muttered.

“Miss Byam, in the future you will stay out of disciplinary matters on this ship,” Lieutenant Roddam said. While his voice held no rudeness, he was firm. “You also have no authority, and Captain Peyton will agree with me.”

Her hands clenched at her sides. “Captain Peyton hardly seems the type of man to beat little boys for ridiculous reasons.”

“What you deem ridiculous reasons could be life or death for the entire crew.” Irritation flickered in the usually stoic lieutenant’s eyes.

Hostility blazed in hers. “No one deserves—”

“I suggest you keep to your duties, miss. The order in our way of life stems from the danger we face. Please, try to understand.”

I could practically see steam rising from her flushed face, a stray spark from a cannon that could send the whole interaction up in flames.

“There must be another position for the boy,” I said, wringing my hands.

“The boatswain has quite a bit of help with his wife aboard. What of étienne? He hasn’t a loblolly boy or a mate.

” I hadn’t realized he’d never secured a mate until our conversation four nights ago.

No one wished to serve under a Frenchman, it seemed.

“He might use young Mr. Carden’s assistance. ”

Lieutenant Roddam nodded. “I will discuss it with the captain. Now, if you would excuse me.” The lieutenant nodded in my direction. “Miss Byam,” was the only farewell he gave her. He strode toward the fore of the ship.

I let out a slow breath. Miss Byam watched him go, lips pressed together.

It didn’t take much imagining to guess what sort of praise for Lieutenant Roddam circled through her head.

I stood between them, seeing both Roddam’s insistence on order and Miss Byam’s demand for mercy.

Their desires didn’t contradict necessarily.

Only their means of achieving those desires.

“Miss Byam, would you join me in a turn about the quarterdeck?” I asked.

She’d refuse me, but if she went below, she’d have to pass the Hallyburtons’ cabin to get to hers.

She and the boatswain’s wife looked ready to keelhaul the other.

Another altercation could lead to worse explosions than we’d just seen.

If I could keep her above decks until feelings cooled, would it prevent the worst of it?

I offered her my arm, and she hesitated just as she had when I’d offered to help her stand Sunday evening.

This wouldn’t work. Perhaps I could entreat her to check in on Mrs. Peyton.

I hadn’t seen the captain or his wife yet this morning.

Or Miss Byam couldn’t have eaten yet, so a visit to Mr. Howard in the galley would stall.

Her hand slipped through the crook of my elbow, and she turned her face up toward mine. Wisps of honey-colored hair framed her forehead, curling softly about her temples. Her blue eyes ran over me, drawing heat to my skin.

A jolt rocked through me as I studied her.

She shared too many similarities to Miss Somer, in her light-brown locks and well-defined cheekbones.

No wonder she’d held my attention more than she should have.

My heart faltered for a moment as I imagined the last time a young lady not of my family had taken my arm.

It had been that afternoon in the garden when my perfect world had fizzled into oblivion.

“Only for a moment,” she said.

Her quiet acceptance should have calmed me—a reprieve from the battle that certainly hadn’t resolved—but as I led her aft, it took all my strength to keep the pain at bay.

May

He only wished to pacify me, to keep me from running straight down the hatchway to grapple Mrs. Hallyburton’s stick from her and beat her over the head with it. Mr. Doswell liked peace above all.

What an exceptional clerical specimen.

Despite it, I allowed him to lead me up the steps to the quarterdeck.

A cherry sunrise peeked over the horizon.

Few men walked this upmost deck reserved for officers and helmsmen.

When Uncle had first received his assignment to HMS Deborah , Charlie and I had sneaked up to the quarterdeck and pretended to steer when she was docked.

That was just before Charlie had gone to sea and left me behind.

“It’s a lovely sunrise,” Mr. Doswell offered, guiding me toward the stern’s bulwark.

“It is.” My hand warmed, wrapped around the wool sleeve of his greatcoat. I needed only to exchange pleasantries for a moment, then make my excuses of needing to see to Mrs. Peyton.

I released his arm and steadied myself against the bulwark. The wind filling the sails swept past my uncovered arms, sending bumps along my skin. Had Mrs. Hallyburton snatched up little Harvey below-decks? She’d looked ready to eat him with gruel for breakfast and wash him down with a dish of grog.

“Something is troubling you,” he observed.

A strip of hair fell out of my hasty pinwork and slipped through the ruffles of my cap to hang limp against my neck. Wonderful. Loose hair, bare arms, no coat. Some streetwalker I was turning out to be. “Why would you think so?”

“You wrinkle your nose when you are displeased.”

Did I? My hand flew to my nose before I could stop myself. How humiliating! I must have done it often if someone I knew so little had noticed. No one had told me I did that before. Had I recently picked up the habit? I pinched the bridge of my nose as if that would erase the tendency.

“But something is distressing you, isn’t it?”

Too many things, none of which I wished to discuss with him. But the gentle tone he used made it difficult to resist.

“You needn’t tell me, if you don’t wish to,” he said.

“I do apologize. It isn’t my place to pry.

” He fidgeted with the cuffs of his sleeves.

An indigo jacket, a more brilliant blue than any other coat I’d seen aboard, poked out here and there from under his tan greatcoat.

His neckcloth was sprigged with lighter blue diamonds.

Everything about him seemed in perfect harmony, from his polished shoes to the way his red hair swooped stylishly off his brow.

And yet he lowered his eyes and shuffled about as though uncomfortable in his own skin.

“If, however, you do wish to talk about it ...” He straightened his fingers and pulled them from his cuff. “That is, if you haven’t anyone else to talk to about it ... What I mean to say is that I listen very well.” His words quickened the longer he spoke.

I couldn’t help a laugh. Poor man. Though I wanted so badly to hold on to my anger at the humiliation he’d put me through, my conviction had steadily slipped since he’d brought me the tea.

The sincerity of his jumbled volunteering had broken down the last of the ramparts protecting my belief of his being a judging and pompous peacock.

“I’m sure you wish to be alone in your thoughts,” he said, stepping back from the rail. “I’m sorry to have intruded. I should—”

“It is the twenty-fourth of September.”

Rather than giving me a confused scowl or congratulating me on keeping track of the date, he waited.

I sighed. I did wish to talk to someone. Mama and Aunt Byam, specifically. But they were a distant dream now. Somehow, I knew Frank would brush this off, and I could hardly tell Mrs. Peyton my woes. Ladies told maids their troubles, not the other way around.

“My cousin died on this day last year.” Saying that aloud felt strange. Had it only been a year? It might have been a lifetime.

Mr. Doswell returned his hands to the rail. “Yes, I remember. Charlie Byam.”

The familiarity in his voice struck something inside me. “You knew him?”

He nodded. “I was on the Deborah .”

I pressed a hand to my stomach. If only I—or more importantly, my aunt—could have sailed with them.

To sit with him in his final moments. I scrunched my eyes shut as the hatred for Captain Woodall swirled in fiery torrents through my whole being.

Letting these emotions rage would only make my situation harder to bear.

But, oh, how I loathed holding it back.

A hand rested on my elbow, and I looked up into Mr. Doswell’s full, green eyes. The steady pressure of his fingers around my arm anchored me in the storm. I couldn’t say why I did it, but I curled my fingers over his. The warmth of his skin against mine seeped into me, banishing the morning chill.

“I oversaw his burial,” he said hesitantly. “And I was with him his final day.”

The thought of kindhearted Mr. Doswell sitting in when my aunt couldn’t eased the tearing in my heart. “Were you?”

“The captain had us secure a little piece of land outside the port town, where it was quieter and more peaceful.”

To relieve his own conscience, no doubt. “Tell me about it. Please.”

He tilted his head, eyes focusing on something far in the distance. “It was near the beach, encircled by waving palm trees. The water was clearer in that area, and there were more birds about.” He gave my arm the barest of squeezes. “It was a beautiful place.”