Page 23 of Across the Star-Kissed Sea (Proper Romance Regency #1)

I shook my head. “I am not a fashionable woman.” By any stretch of the word. And even if I were, Frank’s taunting about wearing it would be unbearable to add to my frustration with him. I couldn’t manage both.

“It’s terribly easy to get burned at sea.”

“Yes, I know.” I held up my hands, half expecting him to put it on my head without my consent. But no. That was what Frank would do. Mr. Doswell wouldn’t dream of it. “Truly, I will manage. Thank you for your concern.”

“Of course.” The disquiet didn’t leave his face.

My cheeks suddenly warmed under his attention.

Why should he worry over me? I smoothed back my hair, finding the knot at the back of my head sagging and strands of hair loose, flailing in the wind.

Gracious. I must look a sight. How many times would he catch me like this?

A disheveled hackney horse toe-to-toe with a thoroughbred stallion.

“If ... if you’ll excuse me.” I hurried for the hatchway like a ninny, not waiting to hear his response.

Losing the bonnet, with all its strange emotions, had left me unprepared to speak with Mr. Doswell.

I seized the ladder’s rungs and descended as fast as I could.

Yes, that was it. How else could I explain how utterly tongue-tied I’d become conversing with a simple chaplain, of all things?

A well-dressed, soft-spoken, far-too-caring chaplain.

Elias

I sat against the wall of my cabin, turning my straw hat over.

I should have been writing my sermon for Sunday or going over my notes for tomorrow’s trigonometry lesson with the midshipmen.

Important things I hadn’t been able to focus on while trying to still my mind after the battle two days ago.

But filling my head was Miss Byam’s brave face as she’d attempted to mask the sorrow at losing her bonnet that morning, and I clung to the change of focus.

Worrying over her lack of head covering was silly of me.

We’d make it to Malta in a few days if the weather held, and she could find another bonnet there.

If she could afford it. I could buy her another, though Walcott deserved to pay for the damages.

I clenched my teeth. Michael Carden, the oldest of the three brothers, had recounted Walcott’s thoughtlessness that had resulted in the loss. The cad.

I selected a piece of charcoal from my writing box, which sat in a heap of shoe ribbons and sewing supplies.

Without some sort of hat, she’d have to take care not to go above in the heat of the day.

As much as I enjoyed walking the deck under a sky full of stars, I knew she liked to take in fresh air in the warmth of the day.

A few days below would drive anyone mad.

On the underside of my hat, I drew a line slanting across the brim on either side, then a semicircle to connect them across the crown.

I held the hat next to my head, trying to visualize my scheme.

The brim stood at a right angle to the crown—not ideal for a bonnet—but with some steam and coaxing, I might be able to get it into a better shape.

I rubbed at the semicircle and redrew a better hollow to fit about her neck.

If I went more conservative on the first cut, I’d have more room to adjust later.

I took up my shears and brought them to the brim.

She might laugh at this attempt. I swallowed.

Why was I doing this? Ruining my favorite hat to turn it into a makeshift bonnet for someone who didn’t like to accept my help.

She was a woman who preferred to do everything on her own, to not bother anyone.

But every person needed someone to care for them, and I could make do with my felt hat.

With one last look at the straw topper, I took a breath and began to cut.

The lines of plaited straw crackled, trying to resist as the blades sliced through.

It wouldn’t be a terribly fetching bonnet, with its black band across the crown and edged in black shoe ribbon I’d brought just in case, but it would do the job well enough.

A tapping at the door made me pause with the shears. Too soft to be any of the officers. “Who is it?” My heart started a strange pattering at the thought of who might be standing on the other side of the door.

“Mr. Doswell?” I knew that voice too well, though it carried a greater tone of uncertainty than I tended to hear from her.

“Might I ask you something?” She stood to one side, her face not visible through the window.

Just one shoulder of that Saxon blue gown.

Confound it. I jumped to my feet and threw the hat, its cut piece flapping, into my trunk.

I felt for my cravat, making sure it was there.

The last time she’d arrived at my cabin, I’d already removed it.

I did not want multiple instances of her catching me in such a state of undress.

“Yes. Yes, of course.” I opened the door, revealing her upturned face.

Had she seen what I was doing? “How can I be of service?”

“You don’t always need to be of help to me.” She tilted her head as she regarded me, one of her gentle curls falling across her brow.

I glanced around the empty gun room. “But I ...” I liked to, but I couldn’t say that. “I simply thought ... That is to say, I do not mind helping. Not if it’s you.” Stop talking, for all love .

The corners of her lips curled upward, but in a split second, the smile vanished. “In truth, I wished to inquire after you.”

“Me?”

“Might I come in?”

Come in? I glanced over my shoulder at the pile of shears and shoe ribbon surrounding my sewing kit and writing box.

Even without the mess, I couldn’t very well invite an unmarried young lady into my cabin.

How did I express my concern without resurrecting the same humiliation I’d brought upon myself at our first meeting?

She’d think I was suggesting her forwardness to be improper.

“Only for a moment,” she said, moving my arm from the doorframe and brushing past me. She paused just inside. “Are you repairing something?”

I hurried over, nudging the disarray closer to the bulwark. “Yes. Repairing.”

“Would you like me to mend it for you?”

“No, no. I am quite proficient at mending.” Humble, Elias .

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” She finally looked up from the pile on the deck.

I cleared my throat. “You wished to ask me something?” The door creaked shut as the Marianne tilted to starboard. A little thrill raced up my spine. She stood so close, studying my face in a way that turned my brain to mush.

“I simply wished to know how you fared. After the battle.”

The battle. Our engagements on the Deborah hadn’t shaken me nearly so much.

It was strange how memories I thought long buried had resurfaced, not just in my head but in my entire body, as though it remembered the paralyzing terror I’d experienced as a boy of twelve.

My shoulders tensed, and the tautness traveled through my limbs.

Surely she meant the scratches I’d sustained, not the mental strain it had thrown me.

I held up my hand with a forced laugh. “Healing well.” It hadn’t bled for long, and I wouldn’t need a bandage by tomorrow.

This mounting tension from simply mentioning the battle suggested I had a ways to go to return to the place of healing I’d found in the aftermath of my time as ship’s boy.

“That isn’t what I referred to.” She pulled her lips to one side and seemed to consider. Then she sighed. “It seemed to affect you. In ways it didn’t affect the others.”

My stomach twisted. It certainly had. I tugged at my collar, holding my breath and steeling myself for the flood of memories.

I didn’t have the strength to be here, and I failed to even pretend I did.

“I’m a blasted coward, Miss Byam.” The words shot from my mouth, harsh and cold, before I could consider the consequences.

She flinched, expression hardening. “I apologize for asking. It wasn’t my place. If you’ll excuse me.” She yanked open the door.

Dolt . “Wait, I did not mean to imply you were—”

The door clattered shut behind her before I could find the right explanation.

I clapped a hand to my forehead. Why had I let that slip out?

Raw emotion never led to good ends. I’d learned that long ago.

I couldn’t think through the emotions like Miss Byam could, saying the right thing at the right moment and not regretting it.

I leaned back against the bulwark that separated our two cabins, my project all but forgotten.

She’d seen the cloud that had filled my soul the last two days and had made an effort to approach me about it.

Few but my sisters had made any such attempts.

I’d unintentionally rejected the outstretched hand by hurrying her out.

I groaned. And here I was accusing Mr. Walcott of being a cad.

May

I slogged toward the galley, my sour mood from the previous day clinging to me like a barnacle.

Stupid Frank and his callous idiocy. I buttoned my spencer against the chill of the gun deck, with its open ports.

Though only the first day of the month of October, it had hit us with a distinct chill I hoped would ease as the day progressed.

Not that I could go above and enjoy it for long without getting burned and miserable.

Unless the captain had ordered the awning, which he’d rarely done this voyage.

Perhaps I should have swallowed my pride and accepted Mr. Doswell’s top hat.

Was my refusal his reason for the short response when I’d tried to bring up his reaction to the battle?

No, he’d seemed more cordial, if not a bit flustered, before that.

I wrapped my arms around myself. I’d need my threadbare coat before too long.