Page 22 of Across the Star-Kissed Sea (Proper Romance Regency #1)

May

F ierce winds tore at my gown and bonnet as I stood near the stern rail watching Frank at his work.

The Marianne had sustained less damage than I would have guessed, from what I’d heard below.

Superficial, as Frank had called it, but the splintered planks and yards made me shiver.

étienne had pulled similar-looking pieces of wood out of Fitz and the others two nights ago.

“Is the captain’s wife going to stay in her cabin the whole voyage?” Frank asked, lining up a new length of wood to replace the mangled section.

I shrugged. “She seemed rather ill again this morning, except when the captain was around. But the moment he went above, she was back to the cot.”

“What a luxury to spend the day in bed whenever one wishes.” Frank fished a nail from a pouch at his waist. “As you have nothing else to do, would you hold this here?”

“You could ask without the niggling,” I said, moving to hold the piece of wood.

“Nothing against you, Miss May.”

I pressed my lips together. Though she didn’t empty her stomach every morning, I had no doubt of Mrs. Peyton’s genuine illness.

What if it were something grave? I’d brought it up when I’d passed étienne yesterday in the gun room.

He’d seemed unconcerned, though that had done little to comfort me.

He must have been distracted by his work with the wounded.

I’d thought perhaps Mrs. Peyton’s fatigue had been a sign of the week all women loathed, but I hadn’t found any napkins in my laundering.

No additional articles to clean. We’d been at sea nearly three weeks, so it had to be coming soon, but her fatigue had lingered relatively unchanged since she’d first taken seasick.

Having just ended myself, it was on my mind.

How uncomfortable dealing with feminine struggles on a ship full of men.

The soft tapping of Frank’s hammer joined the whistle of the wind in my ears, which Mama’s bonnet didn’t completely shelter. I turned so the brim blocked the afternoon sun, pointing my face directly at Frank, who grinned.

I instantly dropped my gaze to the rail.

Frank’s treatment of me hadn’t changed since I’d boarded, but I couldn’t help worrying about feelings forming on his part.

The attention he gave me, the way I caught him shamelessly staring at me, the nudging and bumping, the teasing—either he was Portsmouth’s most audacious flirt, or he’d formed an unreciprocated attachment.

“Your Mr. Chaplain seemed ill during the service yesterday,” Frank said. It was as though he sensed whenever I was wondering about his feelings toward me and tried to throw me off his trail with jokes about Mr. Doswell.

Mr. Doswell hadn’t seemed ill to me. Just withdrawn, as though he were sheltering himself behind a wall to recover.

He’d hardly spoken to me yesterday or today, despite my attempts to engage him.

When I returned his coat this evening, I would corner him.

I gripped the wood tightly. Make him tell me what the matter was, the way I had to force my family members to if I wanted to know anything going on in their heads.

I frowned, imagining him backed against the bulwark, his eyes untrusting. Perhaps cornering was not the best approach with him. If he were trying to recover, as it seemed, a gentle approach might be best.

How exactly did one do that? Gentle approaches were not my specialty.

“You’re deep in thought this afternoon,” Frank said.

“Am I?” I flinched as the ribbons of the bonnet swept across my face. Drat. The bow had come untied. Thank goodness for the pin that held it on my head.

“You didn’t respond to my comment about our estimable chaplain.” Frank waved me off. “You can let go.”

I stepped back. “I was only wondering ...” What to say in order to not give him fodder for teasing.

“Why he chose the topic of charity for his message.” That was ridiculous.

Why would I be wondering that? Besides the fact that his words had lingered with me the past few days.

It would have made a very good sermon if he’d applied himself.

That dullness in his voice, though, had dampened everything.

Frank snorted. “Perhaps he was trying to call Mrs. Hallyburton to repentance.”

“Perhaps.”

“Poor man,” Frank said without a hint of sympathy in his voice. “Couldn’t handle Saturday’s battle.”

I bristled, putting more distance between us. “Mr. Doswell wasn’t brought on for fighting. Of course a person unused to such danger would find it difficult to bear.”

Frank chuckled, running a hand along the seams between the new section of rail and the old. “No need to get defensive, Miss May. I won’t hold it against the coward too much.”

“You shouldn’t hold it against him at all.” I folded my arms, trying to keep back the rising heat inside me. “I know you dislike him, though I don’t understand why. He is a good man. A caring man. And I will not hear you ridicule him any longer.”

“This is a different tune from the one you sang when first you boarded.” His words had an edge to them.

He was correct. I’d simply grown tired of Frank’s criticism of anyone and everyone aboard. I rubbed at my nose, realizing I’d crinkled it again. When had that habit started? “I simply realized we’d had a misunderstanding, and it was little use holding on to my -offense.”

“Then, I hope you can offer me the same courtesy.” A wicked gleam touched his eye. In one swift movement, he caught hold of the pin holding my bonnet and pulled it from my head. The knot of hair at the back of my head loosened, and my bonnet skewed.

“Frank, give that back.” I held out my hand. “We are not children.” Though sometimes I wondered when it came to him, despite his being two years older than I.

He tapped the dull end of the pin against his cheek. “Are we not, Miss May? Adults are not really as different from children as we purport to be.”

“That much is clear.” I swiped for the hat pin, but he moved out of reach.

“What will you give me for it?” He ticked it in front of his face, from one side to the other, like the hand of a clock. Mocking me. “Perhaps a few dried peaches?” He waggled his brows at me, which did him no favors.

I scowled. “I already finished them.” And craved them now, but I wouldn’t admit that to him and boost his ego.

“A kiss, then.”

“Never.” It was a hat pin. Let him have it if he was going to make preposterous demands.

And may he stab his hand with it for suggesting that.

I clenched my fists at my sides, teeth grinding.

This was exactly the sort of teasing he’d doled out our entire voyage.

Why this afternoon’s prodding finally irked me past my limits, I couldn’t say.

I pivoted. Time to check on Mrs. Peyton anyway.

As I turned, the wind caught the brim of my bonnet and tore it from my head. It sailed toward the port rail, ribbons whipping behind it. I lunged, but Mama’s bonnet hit the rail, bright sun catching the little white flowers, and tumbled over the side.

Frank cursed and ran to port. We arrived just as the bonnet got pulled under the Marianne in the churn of her wake.

“It’ll resurface,” Frank said. “We’ll fish it out.” He called to one of the carpenter’s crew to bring him a line.

I stood at the rail, staring into the ocean. It was a hat, which I would have worn to pieces and replaced without thought in a few years. Why did this numbness open up inside me as I scanned the waves?

I trudged back toward the stern, eyes smarting. It was a stupid bonnet. One Papa had given Mama before practically abandoning us. And then Mama had given to me before abandoning me. I shouldn’t have any feelings about it besides appreciating it as my only hat.

“You’re never going to see that again,” Catterick said, leaning over the rail. When had he come over?

The churning waters below us showed no sign of the bonnet. Even if we could find it, the straw would be terribly misshapen, the silk flowers ruined. I tried to swallow, but my throat felt thick and dry.

Frank glanced at me, panic in his eyes, and continued to swear under his breath.

Without another word, I left the quarterdeck and strode toward the forecastle, my insides roiling.

The child May, who still lived somewhere deep down in the recesses of my heart, wanted to weep over the loss, not just of the bonnet but also of my entire family now spread to the far corners of the earth.

Another part of me wanted to scream at Frank. His unfeeling teasing had caused this. When would I draw the line with him? But the part of me that spoke the loudest simply wanted, against my better judgment, to go below and seek out—

“Miss Byam?”

The gentle voice washed over me like a sip of warm ginger tea. Mr. Doswell stepped to my side, brow knit. “Has something happened? Where ... where is your bonnet?”

Of course stylish Mr. Doswell would notice something like that. I couldn’t help the corners of my mouth ticking upward. He’d spoken to me. He hadn’t done that unprompted since before the battle.

“Lost at sea, unfortunately,” I said, attempting indifference.

“How did that happen?” The concern in his eyes lifted my spirits, though I couldn’t say why.

“A mishap with my hat pin.”

He swept his straw top hat off his head and extended it toward me. “Here. Use this until we can get you another.”

Another? I didn’t have the money for that.

I didn’t even have funds for a lantern, and I needed that more than a bonnet.

I wouldn’t be paid for another month. “Oh, I couldn’t.

I’d look ridiculous.” He always wore that hat above decks.

It was how I could spot him through the crowds.

The crew’s straw hats tended to be flat with much wider brims, and the sea officers wore felt cocked hats.

“Plenty of fashionable women sport toppers when they ride,” he insisted.