Page 7 of Across the Star-Kissed Sea (Proper Romance Regency #1)

The gun room? That was where the sea officers stayed.

Uncle hadn’t even been allowed a cabin there.

I’d be living among men far above my station, enjoying the most privacy one could find on a ship, except for the captain’s great cabin.

“Are you certain? There aren’t things to organize here? Schedules to learn?”

Mrs. Peyton fingered the short curls at the back of her neck.

“My husband and I have much to discuss on the subject of schedule. And there will be plenty of time to set things to rights in the great cabin. Settle your things first.” A glimmer of concern crossed her eyes.

She motioned toward the door in an awkward dismissal.

I curtsied stiffly, torn between not wanting to be too civil with a Woodall and wanting to appear a competent servant. “I will be brief.”

“Take all the time you need,” she said. “Though we sail with the navy, we do not always have to adhere to their customs.” Such as housing servants with officers. Odd as it was, I couldn’t complain.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, walking toward the door.

“Byam?”

How odd it felt to be called that. But it was what women of rank usually called their lady’s maids. I turned.

“I’m glad you are here,” she said.

Glad? I swallowed. I couldn’t say the same about being her servant, not when her family had caused ours so much pain.

The genuine gratitude in her expression made me squirm inside.

I curtsied once more and rushed from the cabin, not wanting my disgust at the situation I’d found myself in to come tumbling out.

I would need to repeatedly remind myself that anything was better than the scullery.

May

The crew had already begun their supper when I descended the ladder with my rough-hewn tray.

They’d pulled down the tables usually secured against the hull and gathered their sea chests and barrels around for seats.

The comfortable rumble of conversation washed over me, and I paused when my shoes met the deck.

Dozens of accents hailing from many lands across the seas mingled in the dank air. Men from the North Sea sat beside crew from the Mediterranean and Caribbean seas, talking and drinking and eating.

Mr. Walcott and the other mates sat at the nearest table, their laughter louder than the rest. He raised a hand when he spotted me and motioned me over.

“Join us,” he said. “I insist.”

I didn’t need much urging. He slid to one side of his trunk, allowing me a narrow seat. It kept us in rather tight quarters, with my arm and leg pressed against him. I scooted to the edge of the chest, as far over as I could be without falling off, but we still touched.

“What was your name?” he asked. “I don’t think you mentioned it the other day. Rather impolite, as I so graciously gave you mine.”

I laughed, uncertain how to respond. “My name is May Byam.”

He nodded. “This here is John Catterick, boatswain’s mate, and George Shelby, gunner’s mate.” He indicated a large young man on the other side of the table and then one whose eyebrows seemed locked in a scowl.

“I’m pleased to meet you.” I took a spoonful of the lobscouse. The salty, hearty, thick mound of fish, onion, and potato warmed my mouth.

“Enjoy that bread.” Walcott pointed to the slice on my plate. “Won’t be long before we have ship’s biscuit forced on us.”

I wrinkled my nose. Charlie always complained about the rock-hard, tasteless disks the navy used for bread.

“First voyage?” Shelby asked.

I nodded, trying not to look too enthusiastic. Lack of experience, especially overly optimistic inexperience, always drew out terrible tales from experts. I already knew the horrors of life at sea. “But I have many family members in the service, and I’ve lived in Portsmouth all my life.”

“You hail from Old Pompey as well?” Walcott drew out his Portsmouth accent, brash and wonderful to my suddenly homesick ears.

“I do.” Mama and Aunt Byam would have made it to Fareham hours ago. I mechanically shoveled in my next bite. Did she like her employer and the girl she’d be fussing over? The daughter couldn’t be older than I was. How would it feel to have someone so young ordering her about?

“Look here, Miss May,” Walcott said with a sly grin, elbowing me in the ribs hard enough to hurt. “It’s your Mr. Chaplain.”

The clergyman took one look at the mess deck and hurried toward the gun room with an air of displeasure. Good heavens. And I’d have to pass him each day coming out of my cabin. I could only hope his cabin was in the opposite corner from mine.

I nearly refuted his suggestion of my interest in Mr. Doswell, but Walcott wanted me to respond so he could tease.

I refused to give him the pleasure, especially if the teasing was over a pompous dandy like the chaplain.

Instead, I rubbed my side, grateful that the boning in my stays had softened the blow of Walcott’s elbowing.

Good natured as he had meant to be, I wished he’d learn a little more gentility.

Walcott got a twinkle in his eye, so like Lewis and Papa used to when teasing me. “Think he’ll ask you for—”

“What time do you think we shall depart in the morning?” I asked. I did not care to hear the end of his question. On my brother and father, that expression meant distasteful words were about to spew from their mouths.

“Tide will be early,” Mr. Catterick said, scraping his spoon across the wooden plate. “If you want to catch the last sight of the city, you’ll have to be up before sunrise. The Isle of Wight blocks our view fairly quick heading south.”

“Miss May doesn’t need a final look.” Walcott nudged me again. Why did he call me that? I hadn’t been Miss May in years. Not since Agnes had married. “Her eyes are on the horizon. She sails for death and glory.”

I swallowed, the taste of lobscouse souring in my mouth. That was hardly what I wanted in this journey. Charlie. Uncle Byam. Where was the glory in their deaths? I stood, the deck suddenly tilting and not from the waves. I grabbed onto the bulky rope that supported the table.

“Miss Byam.” The sharp voice made us all turn. Mrs. Hallyburton loomed near the standing officers’ cabins outside the gun room, arms folded. “A word.”

I excused myself, grateful for a reason to get away, even if it meant conversing with the shrewish boatswain’s wife. She wore a checked apron over a dull crimson gown. Her steely expression sent gooseflesh over my arms, and for a moment, I thought to scurry into my cabin and barricade the door.

“You’re not to fraternize with the crew,” the woman said.

“Pardon?” She couldn’t be serious. These were the only people I could converse with for the next months. She couldn’t expect me to remain silent for all of it.

“You’ll stay away from the crew, mates and officers included.” Mrs. Hallyburton looked me up and down. “Our crew have no need of your wiles.”

I curled my hands into fists, heat flying to my cheeks.

First the chaplain’s insulting episode a few days ago and now the boatswain’s wife suggesting the same thing.

“I will associate with whom I wish, thank you, ma’am.

” The honorific left a nasty taste in my mouth I couldn’t attribute to the lobscouse.

“My word is law,” the angular woman growled. Take away the dangerous scowl and she would be a rather handsome woman north of forty. With the scowl, she was a veritable sea witch. “You won’t like the consequences if you cross it.”

I pressed my lips together. I knew navy life better than that.

She didn’t earn one ha’penny on this ship.

Only her husband did, and they had to share his cabin, share his rations, and share his hammock, unless they could pay for additional supplies with their own funds.

My aunt and uncle had discussed it for long hours last year when trying to get her aboard.

Why Mrs. Hallyburton thought she had any right to set rules was beyond me.

“You think you’ve found friends your first day aboard,” she said.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news.” In truth, she seemed gleeful to be the messenger.

“These men—none of them—have your best interest at heart, girl. The unmarried women usually aboard these ships don’t have anything left to lose. ”

“I will decide who I interact with for myself.” I retreated a step, keeping my chin high.

A few tables of seamen had stopped their chatter to watch us.

Mrs. Hallyburton recoiled, but I rode over her before she could open her mouth to complain.

“You have no authority,” I said, digging my fingernails into my palms. “Not from the Admiralty nor from Captain Peyton.”

“I am the—”

“Woman who lodges with the boatswain, yes. Meant to help him with his duties rather than harass those you deem yourself above.” I’d seen her scolding a trio of young boys earlier while I’d been setting Mrs. Peyton’s things aright. The whole crew seemed to tread carefully around her.

“How dare you,” she hissed.

“You have no authority where I am concerned. I answer to the Peytons. And the Peytons only.” Much as it pained me to say it.

I turned on my heel and stormed to my cabin, slamming the door with a satisfying crack. Sailcloth had been tacked over the window, blocking out the gun room’s lanterns. No doubt Mrs. Hallyburton’s attempt to save the innocent officers from my “wiles.”

Now plunged into darkness, the reality of what I’d said hit me like a first-rate’s broadside.

I’d just made an enemy of the least agreeable person on this ship.

I reached out, feeling for my trunk. The faint rocking of the ship I’d hardly noticed before now unsteadied my steps without the comfort of light.

I stumbled into my belongings and fell to my knees.

Rather than using the chest to push myself back to my feet, I folded my arms over the lid and buried my face in the sleeves of my spencer. The trunk creaked as I sank against it.

My aunt’s words, my mother’s pleadings, and Mrs. Hallyburton’s commands roared in my ears. But somehow, the face I saw was that of Mr. Doswell, his eyes wide in bewilderment at my presence.

No one wished me here. So many had tried to dissuade me.

If the Peytons knew I shared in my family’s hatred of Captain Woodall, they wouldn’t want me here either.

I lifted my head, setting my jaw. But I would not let them deter me from making this voyage.

Tomorrow, we would get underway, and I would be at the bow.

No looking back, only ahead. And I’d spit in the face of anyone who tried to stop me.