The Seafaring Lady’s Guide to Love by Fenna Edgewood

Chapter 15

Philip was dreaminga dream he had had many times before.

It was the day he had returned home from France.

He was excited to be back, eager to see his wife. They had never been apart from one another for so long, and his heart ached from the four-month separation.

The carriage was pulling into the drive, pebbles crunching beneath the wheels.

He stepped out quickly, leaving his things inside for the footmen to carry in.

There was no one there to greet him.

Bewildered, he turned about, scanning the grounds.

A woman’s figure caught his eye—further off, walking in the garden.

Her chestnut hair glinted in the sunlight, and he felt a surge of relief and anticipation—Sarah, not Cherry.

He ran towards her like an eager child, shouting her name, and smiling so widely he thought it might actually split his face.

But though he called, she did not turn, but instead continued walking away, her steps slow and plodding.

With long-legged strides, he quickly gained on her, continuing to call, waiting for her to finally hear him, to turn, to light up with recognition and delight.

He neared her. Six paces, four.

“Sarah!” he cried again. Surely this time she would hear and turn.

She stopped, her back to him.

He admired her sweet figure—slender and petite. He could not recall seeing her in the dress she wore before. A pale blue gown with lacy sleeves.

Finally, she turned, very slowly.

Her face was not what he had expected. For a moment, he felt as if she were a stranger and not his sweet, beloved Sarah.

She had gone very pale. Her lips looked chapped and chill, and she was trembling although it was mid-summer.

“Sarah?” He questioned, squinting in confusion.

Then she turned fully towards him and his eyes took in her shape.

Ripe and heavy, her belly rounded.

As was always the case with the dream, his heart surged with happiness before his mind caught up.

Then the feeling was dashed away as hope plummeted in his belly and was replaced by a sinking feeling of horror.

Everything he had believed in was destroyed with a single look at the woman he had called beloved.

“Philip!”

He was disoriented. All was dark. His eyelids felt heavy and sticky. With tears or sweat?

“Philip, you’re trembling. What is it?”

He could feel himself shaking his head, already denying the question.

“Philip, look at me. What were you dreaming about?”

He forced his eyes open. It was still dark, but Rosalind had evidently been awake long enough to rise and light a candle. Now she was crouched beside him, a worried look on her face.

“Are you ill?” She asked with concern.

He shook his head again, brushing away her hand as she tried to feel his brow.

He felt an utter cad for doing so as he saw her stricken expression.

She leaned away from the bed. “What is it? What have I done?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled. “It’s nothing. You’ve done nothing.”

He was being cowardly. This was no way to begin with the woman he would soon call his wife.

If he wished for things to be different, to truly start anew, with new hope and new love, then there could be no secrets, no lies, no hidden fears.

He sighed and sat up, resting his head in his hands. Then he looked at her.

“I can never give you children,” he said softly.

It was not an answer exactly, but in his heart, he knew it was the true source of the dream’s awful power.

“What do you mean?” She watched him, her eyes puzzled and troubled. “Was that what you were dreaming about?”

He rubbed his eyes. They felt gritty and sore. “I was dreaming about Sarah. About the day I came home.”

He watched her expression as it softened. “I see,” she murmured.

“It was a terrible day,” he said, lamely.

“I cannot even imagine.” She reached out a hand and took his firmly. Her hand was soft and small, yet radiated strength, and as she touched his own, he felt that strength passing to him. He sat up straighter and met her eyes.

“When I arrived home, she was walking in the garden. She did not see me at first. I was so happy to see her, calling her name. Then she turned—and I felt as if I would die with happiness, Rosalind. For a moment. A very brief moment. I saw she was with child, and just for an instant, I thought that the child was mine.”

“Oh, Philip.” She looked as wretched as he felt.

“But then I understood the truth. If it hadn’t, Sarah’s face was transparent enough. It was like looking at a stranger. Everything we had shared was already gone. Dissolved completely. I had no idea who she was. I turned and walked back to the house. And I did not speak to her again. Until Cherry...”

“Forced you to talk to her?”

“Something like that.” He squeezed her little hand. “But that is not what I meant when I said...” He shook his head.

“When you said you could not give me children?” She prompted, gently. “Why do you say that, Philip?”

“Because it is the truth. And perhaps... before we wed... you should consider its implications fully. What woman would wish to wed a man who could not make her happy? Who cannot give you what most women desire for themselves? Marry me, Rosalind, and you may never be a mother.”

He tugged his hand from hers and averted his eyes, staring down at the floorboards.

“I will understand if you wish to part ways. I will do everything I can to maintain your reputation. There does not have to be any animosity...”

“What are you saying?” She looked amazed. “You are withdrawing your proposal?”

“Not withdrawing,” he said, quickly, stumbling over his words. “Simply releasing you. Setting you free from an agreement in which you did not have the full facts.”

“You already told me, Philip, that you and your wife had tried to have children. For more than four years, I believe you said,” she replied, slowly. “Did you think I did not grasp your meaning?”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Oh, indeed.” He watched her shake her head. “Do you really think a marriage may only be based on the prospect of children? That it is so meaningless a prospect without that hope?”

“Well, I...” He began.

“What makes you think I even want children? Not all women do, you know. Do you have any idea how terrifying childbirth can be for a woman? How many women do you know who have perished that way? I’m sure we both could list many. Perhaps instead of seeing it as a terrible loss, you might instead see it as a blessing.”

“A blessing?” He stared without understanding.

She sighed and touched his cheek. “All of the love, without any of the danger. Perhaps that is what you truly are offering, Phillip. If,” she added. “That is, if you are even correct about your inability to sire a child. Four years is hardly a lifetime. I would not put the matter to rest just yet.”

He started to speak but she put her hand to his lips to shush him.

“Moreover,” she went on. “Do you really believe I could simply disembark from this ship and pretend that nothing has happened between us? Not only would that be a wholly dishonorable thing for me to do, but it would be a betrayal.”

“A betrayal?” He repeated. A small spark of hope was coming alight.

“Of course!” She looked indignant. “A betrayal of everything that has passed between us. Do you really think me capable of such a thing?”

She looked as if she truly wanted an answer. He wet his lips. “Well, no...”

“No, of course not! Oh, Philip. What is it you truly want? Are you looking for a way out for your own sake or for mine? Are you truly so afraid?” Her face was full of pity.

“I’m not afraid,” he said stoutly, lying through his teeth.

She smiled. “I believe you very much are,” she corrected, gently.

“Maybe a little,” he accepted. He looked into her golden-brown eyes. “Perhaps more than a little.”

She leaned closer, clasping the back of his neck with one hand, and put her lips to his.

The kiss was soft, warm, full of love and reassurance.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said.

“Oh.” He could hear his voice—small and childlike. He should feel embarrassed, he knew. To be behaving like a boy and not a man.

But he did not.

He felt safe. He felt as if he had done the right thing.

“I’m glad you told me, however,” she allowed. “For at least now I may ease your mind. Philip, even if we never have children, I swear that I will love you the rest of our days. We will be family—you and I—with or without children. There are many ways to be happy. Children are not the only way. And besides, you have forgotten all about Philippa Rose.”

“Philippa Rose?” He blinked.

She clapped her hands to her mouth. “Do not tell me you did not even hold her when you went below last night?”

“I believe she was asleep...” he said quickly, feeling quite stupid. “Cherry was resting, as well.”

“Cherry is the most patient sister in creation to have allowed us to neglect her so terribly on the day she became a mother,” Rosalind groaned. “I can only hope that Gracie is helping her. We must make amends tomorrow and dote on that beautiful baby just as soon as the wedding is over.”

“Yes,” he agreed, feeling strangely happy. “How will we do that?”

“By praising the baby, helping with the baby, of course,” she said, looking at him askance. “Cherry will be exhausted. Infants do not sleep in straight spells, you know. There will be much we can do.” She patted his arm condescendingly. “I will teach you, Philip, never fear. Now are we up for the morning or shall we try to get some more sleep before dawn?”

“Come back to bed,” he begged, stretching out his arms to pull her close. “Come back to bed with me.”

She smiled archly. “Very well. It is my last few hours as your mistress, I suppose...”

“My mistress!”

“Or your betrothed,” she countered.

“Unquestionably my betrothed,” he grumbled. “I have never taken a mistress and am not about to start now.”

“Not even when you were a young handsome rake?” she asked, yawning.

“Not even then. And I am still handsome,” he asserted, putting his lips to her neck and stroking her breasts with his free hand. They were full and soft under the shift he had brought back for her, and he felt himself stirring instantly.

“I suppose you are,” she agreed. He felt her nipples puckering under his palms. “Mmmm.... Oh, Philip...”

“Perhaps just once more before we go back to sleep...” He murmured in agreement, pulling her shift up above her thighs.

The wedding took place on the deck of the forecastle the next morning.

Most of the crew were in attendance, as were all passengers and stowaways, both human and animal.

Captain Merriweather had insisted until he was blue in the face that he was fit to perform the service. Seeing their arguments were doing more harm than good, Philip agreed and the captain was dutifully assisted above deck by Ship’s Boy Grayson and First Mate Duffels.

Able Seadog Perita attended, accompanied by her beau, Able Seacat Pippa. The youngest Miss Gardner had adorned both creatures with neck ribbons. However, Pippa quickly shredded hers to bits, while Perita’s became almost immediately drool-encrusted.

Little Philippa Rose Lambe slept through the entire proceedings, which everyone agreed was for the best as her lung capacity had already been established the night prior.

A wedding breakfast was held above decks rather than in the galley, after Cherry decided it was much too gloomy a place to hold such a celebratory meal.

Captain James Rolle of the erstwhile pirate ship the Britannia had been invited to remain aboard, after having so thoughtfully disposed of the only unlawful impediment to the wedding, but had opted to return to his ship.

The attendees agreed that it was somewhat of a relief to no longer have the shadow of the Britannia hanging over the ship—even if the pirates had been appeased and were now led by a man who, if not of honor, was certain more honorable than his predecessor.

Philip had made sure to have a few more words with James. He did not relish the idea of reporting the Britannia’s new captain to the port authorities once they reached Tortola, and had urged Rolle to consider new territory for his next endeavours—preferably far from the West Indies.

He had finally held his lovely new niece.

She had promptly spit up on the shoulder of her uncle’s fine tailcoat. But undeterred, he had continued to cradle her until she had fallen back into the blissful heavy sleep which seemed the privilege of the very young and the very old.

Looking down into her delicately-featured small face, a memory came flooding back to him—not of that first day when he had learned Sarah was with child, but of the day that child had died.

What he had never fully admitted to anyone, even to himself, was how much the child’s death had grieved him—as much as, perhaps even more than, her mother’s.

For in the months before the terrible accident, he had begun to accept with resignation that he would soon raise a child who was not his blood. And as time passed, the resignation had changed into what might even be called a kind of eager anticipation. Part of him had begun to look forward to the prospect of becoming a father, even under such circumstances.

The love he had shared with Sarah was gone. It did not seem as if it would be easily restored.

But the infant carried the prospect for a new kind of love.

Then, that too had been suffocated.

The baby had been born without the spark of life.

She had not suffered. She had not lived.

She had been a beautiful little girl. Entirely Sarah’s. Fair-haired with those rare iris eyes. No sign of Martin in her face.

But even if he had seen his friend’s features in the child, Philip had known then as he held the still little body that he would never have been able to turn away.

No one so small and so innocent should have to pay for the sins of their father. Or their mother.

“Are you all right, brother?” Cherry put a hand on his arm and looked up at him affectionately. “Is she too heavy for you?” she teased.

“Not at all,” he protested, holding Philippa a little closer to his chest.

“You will have to return her to her mother eventually, my love,” Rosalind said, coming up to them with a smile.

“Yes, my love,” he said, obligingly. “Soon.”

“Captain Merriweather says we will be in Tortola by tomorrow. Or the next day at the latest. As long as the fine weather holds,” Cherry said to them, quietly.

“You must be so glad, Cherry,” Rosalind said, squeezing her friend’s hand.

Cherry nodded, but did not look as if the prospect of their arrival brought her much pleasure.

“Soon you will know either way,” Philip said gently, understanding her dilemma. “It is the waiting and not knowing...”

“Yes,” Cherry said, looking down at her hand and fingering her wedding ring. “That is it exactly.” She struggled to smile. “Of course, he must be waiting there. Soon Charles will meet his daughter.”

“He will be so happy,” Rosalind said quickly. “I cannot wait to meet Philippa Rose’s father. He must be a wonderful man.”

“He is,” Cherry said, softly, looking at her daughter’s sleeping face. “He will be a wonderful father.”

Philip’s chest tightened. Soon the truth would out.

All through the voyage, he had not held out the same hope which Cherry had.

And now it seemed as if her hope was waning as well.

Charles Lambe was a sensible, considerate man who would never have left his family in a painful purgatory without a word for months on end. Therefore, in Philip’s view, if there had been no word, the only reason could be that Charles had not been able to send it.

In his heart, Philip expected the worst.

Yet there were still measures to how dreadful the truth could be.

If Martin was involved, then the man would have destroyed not only Philip’s own happiness but his sister’s and her daughter’s.

And that would be intolerable.

If Charles had perished due to Martin’s malice or machinations, then Philip would have his due, no matter what it cost him to take it.

Even if doing so left his new bride in very unhappy straits.