Page 28 of Across the Star-Kissed Sea (Proper Romance Regency #1)

May

A s though the sea had sensed my turmoil, not two days after my confrontation with Frank, a full-blown gale unleashed its wrath on the Marianne , and with it came the return of Mrs. Peyton’s illness in force.

By afternoon, the waves tossed us with such violence, I expected them to tear our hull to shreds.

Mrs. Peyton lay in her cot, hands covering her face. I attempted to comfort her, but the motion of the ship made it difficult to do much more than cling to the cot’s ropes as the deck bucked and lunged.

“Can I fetch something for you, ma’am?” I called over the roar of the sea.

In the dimness, I could barely see her shake her head.

The deadlights covering the windows rattled in a gust of wind.

The Marianne pitched, bow rising sharply.

I tightened my grip on the ropes, yelping as my feet skidded out from under me. My stomach leaped to my throat.

The deck rolled back, allowing me a second to regain my footing and brace myself against the bulwark before the stern shot skyward.

When we gained a moment of levelness, Mrs. Peyton groaned and threw her legs over the side of the cot.

I helped her out, and she dashed for the privy.

I sighed, rubbing my damp brow. If only there were some way I could help.

She shouldn’t have anything left in her belly by now, and still, she retched.

Shouts and the pounding of feet announced another half hour had passed.

Cold air swept in under the door as seamen opened the hatches for the watch change.

Water washed across the deck to a chorus of squelching from sodden shoes.

I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the cot’s ropes.

A little cottage in the country sounded just fine to me right now.

Adventure had a steep price. My limbs ached from all the bracing I’d done that day.

Mrs. Peyton opened the privy door just as we hit another swell. I reached out to help her back to her cot. Perhaps I should try to take her down to the orlop. She wouldn’t appreciate the smell, but there was less motion below.

The Marianne slammed to the side, knocking me down.

I hit the deck hard, elbows first, and pain flashed through my bones.

I couldn’t breathe. Seawater soaked my face and hair.

My eyes smarted. After a moment, the pain subsided to a dull ache.

When I could finally get air, I lifted my head.

The great cabin had been cleared of anything not easily nailed or tied down, but something lay on the floor unmoving.

Mrs. Peyton.

I pushed myself up, the ache suddenly gone. “Ma’am!” I crawled toward her, hands slipping on the slick deck. “Ma’am, are you hurt?” I scrambled around to see her face, praying she hadn’t been. Anyone else on this ship, but not her.

Her eyes were wide, the faintest light reflecting in them. She had her arms cradled around her abdomen. Even in the darkness, I could see the ashen hue to her skin.

Please, no. I grasped her arm. “Tell me. Is it the baby?”

She turned her face toward me and stared. Her brows pinched together. “I don’t know.” Her voice was nearly lost in the storm.

“Let’s get you back to the cot.” It was safer there than rolling about the deck. She clung to me, trembling, but before I could get us both to our feet, the ship rocked. We huddled together, bracing ourselves, until the deck leveled again.

Mrs. Peyton gasped for breath as we stood.

“Everything will be all right,” I said as much to myself as to her. I tried not to think of the dangers of such a hard fall to a woman in her condition. “Let’s get you safe, and I’ll go for the captain.”

“No!” She halted. “He can’t know.”

I wanted to ask her why she insisted on keeping it a secret from him, but I let it pass. “étienne, then. We need someone .”

She shook her head. “I just need to lie down. I’ll be well in a moment.”

I helped her back into the cot. She moaned with every movement. She needed a doctor, if for nothing else, to calm her fears. And mine.

“Does étienne know?” I asked, returning to gripping the cot’s ropes.

She stiffly rested her head on the pillow. “I haven’t spoken of it with anyone. Except you now.”

I’d spoken of it with Mr. Doswell, but I didn’t mention that.

I wiped my face with my sleeve, grit scraping my skin.

What a burden to bear. I couldn’t help her with these matters.

Though he was a ship’s surgeon and likely more familiar with grapeshot wounds than babies, I had to hope the Frenchman knew more than I.

“Promise me you won’t tell him. If he knew, he’d leave me behind.”

I wiped damp hair out of my eyes with the crook of my elbow. “You should tell him, ma’am. It isn’t—” We hit another wave, and I fought for balance.

Mrs. Peyton gripped the side of her cot. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” I said reluctantly. I couldn’t fault her not wanting to be left. I knew the feeling far too well.

The storm raged on, and I stood watch over Mrs. Peyton, who’d gone still as stone, holding her stomach.

Once in a while, she would rub at her hip where she’d landed, but she always returned to the same position.

Amid trying to keep upright, I mulled what to do.

I didn’t dare try to take her below now.

She was hurt—I hoped with no more than bumps and bruises—and we only risked worse injury on the ladders.

Her sickness seemed to have calmed, perhaps from the distraction brought on by pain.

I licked my lips, salt and grime filling my mouth.

Here I’d thought my employer a delicate flower, not suited for the harshness of the sea.

That wasn’t right at all. She was stubborn as the ship’s goat, unwilling to be left behind or to trouble anyone else.

Even her hired maid. Perhaps it wasn’t so difficult to imagine her playing the part of a ship’s boy.

Her breaths came rapidly, and after a particularly violent pitch, she covered her face.

“Does it hurt?” I asked. Given the intensity of my own soreness, I could only imagine hers. She shook her head, but I didn’t believe her. Her breathing didn’t slow. “You’ll worry yourself sick. I’m getting étienne.”

I launched myself toward the door, not waiting for an answer and not hearing one.

I practically slid down the ladder, it was so wet.

Curse the slippers I’d decided to wear that day.

They found no grip on the rungs. My knees would be as bruised as my elbows from banging into the wood with each slip down the ladder.

At the bottom, I bolted for the gun room. “étienne!” Someone sat slumped against one of the cabin doors in an oilskin cloak, not raising his head at my shout. Too tall to be the Frenchman. The table had been stowed below, so I dashed uninhibited toward étienne’s cabin. “étienne!”

I grabbed hold of the bars across his cabin window, peering into the darkness. Something swayed. His cot, but it looked empty. Devil take it. Where was he? He must have gone to the orlop. Without light, it would be near impossible to maneuver. I pounded my head against the bars. What did I do now?

“Miss Byam?”

I turned. Mr. Doswell stood at the door of his cabin. When the deck steadied, I ran across the room to him. “I need to find the doctor.”

He seized my arm. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s Mrs. Peyton. She had a fall.”

His grip tightened. “étienne is above.”

“Above? What is an idler doing above?” I put my hand over his, needing the strength of his touch.

“He has as much sailing experience as many of the men. He’s helping the captain.”

But he needed to be below. I pulled away, heading back toward the ladder.

“Where are you going?” Mr. Doswell cried.

Midshipmen shouted. Men stumbled up to the gun deck. Nearly time for another watch change.

“I need to find him,” I said, darting into the mass of seamen.

“Miss Byam, wait!”

I made it up the ladder, and moments later, the hatchway opened, releasing a deluge of seawater on me and the crew. Wind howled across the opening. Weary bodies jostled. No one stopped me as we mounted the ladder.

When I emerged onto the upper deck, the rush of the storm took my breath away.

I stumbled toward one of the masts, momentarily forgetting which direction was fore and which was aft.

I caught the nearest line for balance and wiped at my eyes.

Though brighter up here, the rain drilled into my face, making it even harder to see.

Waves raced across the deck. White spray erupted on all sides.

How was I to find the surgeon in all this?

I could barely make out individual forms, let alone faces.

I shielded my eyes. The bow broke through a waterfall of ocean several yards away.

That meant I stood at the mizzenmast toward the stern.

I inched around the mast, stepping over lines and cables while trying to keep hold on something that would prevent me getting washed out to sea.

Officers in oilskins stood around the helm. Was étienne among them?

My coat went from damp to drenched in a matter of moments. Water dripped from my hair down the back of my neck. I clenched my teeth against a gust of wind.

I spotted the tallest of the officers. Captain Peyton, for sure.

He lowered his head to listen to a shorter man beside him.

Long, dark hair poked out from under his brimmed hat.

My heart leaped. étienne! The captain nodded, turning to the helmsman and shouting something in his ear.

I doubted I would be able to get étienne without drawing the attention of Captain Peyton, but I didn’t care.

I had to get him below as fast as I could.

“Hold fast!” someone bellowed behind me.

I glanced around. A wall of water bowled into me, breaking my grip on the line, stinging my eyes, cutting off my air. The world spun, frigid and gray. I couldn’t find the deck.