Page 33 of The Indigo Heiress
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Being in a ship is being in a jail, with the chance of being drowned.
Samuel Johnson
Leith watched the topmen climb the rigging to the mast’s towering topsail. Working aloft in such windy weather was a marvel of fortitude and footwork. Standing on the yardarm, these monkey-like jacks stowed the sail amid the ship’s careening. The ship was tacking, zigzagging in and out against the wind. The cold air that pushed against Leith braced him and likely weakened him all at once.
Months before, the Clyde-built twin to the Glasgow Lass had been lost at sea. In the spring he’d stood on the west quay of Port Glasgow and watched the Ardent leave, laden with manufactured goods, salt, and wine for the Americas. The pride of the Buchanan fleet boasted the best master of any merchantman he knew. But the ship never arrived in Philadelphia, the crew and cargo lost. The fortune of flesh and goods haunted him.
He went below, down the stairs to his—their—cabin. Was Juliet awake? The door to her sister’s adjoining cabin was closed. He’d still not come to grips they were on his ship, these unexpected Virginia lasses.
Remembering to knock, he waited till Juliet bade him enter. She was standing at the windows, the sea streaming behind her, clad in a blue gown he’d not seen before. And they were alone.
She turned toward him, and he imagined her bedecked in gems, attending a fête at Ardraigh Hall or an assembly in Bath. He hadn’t told her he’d invested in Bath’s Royal Crescent, due to be finished any day. Best keep that close like a trump card in whist. He’d been invited to that very game in the captain’s quarters after supper tonight if he didn’t have other plans.
“You need to rest,” she said when he began to cough. “You’re still—”
He stopped making noise, his breathing labored. “Peely-wally.”
“I haven’t any idea what that means, but it seems to fit.” Concern softened her and made her even more lovely. “I’ve no wish to arrive in Glasgow without you.”
“The indigo widow rather than the indigo heiress.”
“Imagine the explanations I’d have to give your relatives.”
He imagined it with vicious humor, sitting down in the chair she seemed intent he occupy. “It would be a frightful shock since they dinna ken you’re landing with or without me.”
“So we’re to create something of a tempest.”
“I mean to replace the usual slanderous headlines with news of a bride, aye.”
She took the chair opposite him in the circle of the tiled stove’s warmth. “And what is the usual slander?”
He leaned back, stifling another cough. She was a forthright woman with none of Havilah’s subterfuge and secrecy, but it led to a familiarity he wasn’t entirely comfortable with.
“My late wife was fleet of foot and prone to running away.” He rarely spoke of it, but the lack of surprise on Juliet’s face made it easier to continue. “She was Romany, known for their wandering. A Romany princess, if there is such a thing.”
“Romantic.”
“It was at first,” he admitted, allowing a past door to crack open. “And then it wasn’t.”
She looked thoughtful but was too well bred to press him further, as if she sensed it was still a sore matter. When he coughed again, she got up and poured him a glass of water. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’ve never been good at running.”
He gave her a half smile, taking the water and downing it in a few swallows. “I’d rather you ride. Ardraigh Hall has a fine stable. You’ll have your pick of any mount you please.”
“Generous of you.” She sat down again, holding her hands out to the heated tiles, her sleeve ruffles cascading onto her lap. “I’m sure I’ll be more than ready to canter about after being aboard ship. ’Twill feel like freedom itself.”
He looked about their close quarters and wondered how they’d manage for weeks without tripping over each other. “The captain has invited us to dine with him tonight in the great cabin. Your sister too.”
“Kind of him. Loveday isn’t feeling well, though I hope she’ll get her sea legs shortly.”
“And Hobbes?”
She looked like she might laugh. “Fit as a fiddle.”
“Then he’s welcome at table too.”
“Does the Glasgow Lass have a cat?”
“Aye, a half-feral feline by the name of Jezebel. Hobbes best take care.”