The Seafaring Lady’s Guide to Love by Fenna Edgewood

Chapter 2

Rosalind approachedthe Witch with a sense of foreboding.

A grizzled old sailor stood barring the path up the gang plank.

Perhaps he did not mean to look so intimidatingly pirate-like—but he did. Smoke poured from his nostrils as he puffed a large pipe, adding to his dragon-like demeanor. His white-haired, muscular arms were folded across his protruding belly, which was just barely covered with a much-too-short shirt. His face was weather-beaten and his expression stern.

Apparently, she would need to run a gauntlet in order to board.

She took a deep breath and hoisting up her baggage once more, stepped forward.

“Excuse me,” she said.

She was only about ten feet away from him, yet the man had not even blinked at her approach. Nor did he respond.

“Excuse me,” she said, a little more loudly. “Sir?”

Could he be deaf?

“Eh?” The sailor grumbled. He turned his head from right to left, squinting intensely, as if searching for the sound.

Not deaf then, but perhaps impeded vision.

“Over here, sir,” Rosalind announced, waving one arm—which was difficult with a heavy leather valise hanging from it. “May I pass?”

“Pass? Course you may pass. It’s a public dock!” The man shook his head and took a deep puff, coughed a little, then took another.

Rosalind gritted her teeth.

“I would like to board the ship, sir, please.” She was practically yelling now. A young sailor passing by gave her a curious look, and she flushed.

“Please excuse me and allow me to pass,” she finished.

“I ain’t deaf, missy,” the grizzled man said, peering forward. “My eyes are tired, is all. All right, all right. Step forward.”

“Thank you,” she said, pleasantly, in a quieter tone. “And would you be kind enough to tell me where the passenger cabins are located?”

“On the gun deck.” He spat out a mouthful of vile brown phlegm. Rosalind leaped back just in time.

“The gun deck?” she squeaked. “I thought the Witch was primarily a cargo ship.”

“She is, these days. But she wasn’t always, now was she? We still call it the gun deck. Old habit.”

“Are there still guns?” Rosalind asked, curiously.

The sailor broke into a broad smile, then tapped his nose. “That’s for the first mate and the captain to know, missy. I’m not about to share ship’s secrets, now am I?”

“Are you the captain?” Rosalind asked, somewhat apprehensively.

The old sailor laughed and scratched his grey beard. “Lawd, no. I’m the first mate.” He gestured with his head towards the ship. “Go on ahead now, missy. One deck down. You’ll find them.”

“Thank you, Mister—?”

“Duffels. Barney Duffels.” He moved to doff his hat, then patted his head and seemed to realize he wasn’t wearing one. “You can call me Duffels. Everyone else does.”

“Thank you, Mister Duffels.”

Her first encounter with a crew member of her new home. It had not gone as badly as it might have.

She walked carefully up the gang plank, turning her body at an angle to balance the two valises she carried.

When she reached the deck, she paused to catch her breath and looked around. There—the stairs leading below deck. She peered down below. They looked rather narrow and steep. She was not sure how she would manage to climb them and carry her bags as well.

Well, there was only one thing for it.

Checking to make sure no one was passing below first, she threw her bags down and heard them land with a thud.

She followed them, holding her skirts with one hand and the rail with the other. Gracie had the right of it—trousers were much more suited to ship life.

Stepping onto the deck, she looked about with interest. She walked down a long narrow hall, lit by lanterns hanging along the walls. She passed by what she assumed was the galley, then a room filled with sturdy tables and chairs which must be the dining room.

A man was coming towards her, his head bent distractedly, walking quickly.

“Excuse me,” she cried, as he was about to pass her by. “Could you direct me to the passenger cabins?”

The sailor’s head popped up. He was quite young. Perhaps her age or a little younger. He seemed surprised to see her.

“Certainly, miss.” He pointed back the way he had come. “Down there, turn to the left. There’ll be a fork. Men’s cabins on the left, ladies on the right.”

He continued on his way as she called a quick thanks.

She came to the fork and looked each way. A man and a woman stood on the left side, with their backs to her.

The man was speaking so loudly, Rosalind could hear every word from where she stood and it did not take more than a second for her to realize it was the gentleman-ox from the ship’s office.

“...shouldn’t even be aboard in your condition. I could have done this alone,” he insisted, his deep voice resonating through the hall. “It is not too late for you to disembark, to go back home.”

“Yes, but I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to have to do it alone,” Rosalind heard the woman exclaim. “If you want me off this ship, you’ll have to—” But what he would have to do to the lady Rosalind did not hear, for the woman took a few steps further into the room and her voice faded away.

Rosalind gulped. She stepped quickly and quietly down the little corridor to the right, which opened into a larger room with four smaller doors opening off it into little sleeping areas.

She was pleasantly surprised. The room was essentially a sitting room, furnished with comfortable-looking chairs, and low tables. It even had a small bookcase and a writing desk. Natural light was coming from somewhere above.

She looked up and saw a round circle of green glass embedded in the wooden beams. Sunlight was passing through, diffused but still casting enough light for the room to do without the necessity of candles.

She put down her bags and stepped towards the first of the four doors. It was slightly ajar. She peeked in and saw a sparse but cozy little room with a narrow berth on one side and a chair and wooden chest on the other. The chest was open and had already been partly filled with a lady’s belongings. Other feminine items were strewn on the bed.

She nearly cried out in delight as she noticed the most striking feature of the sleeping compartment—a porthole, open to let sunlight and fresh air in. Two shutters had been opened to allow this—one of thick glass rimmed with metal, the other a larger wooden one which she assumed provided extra protection during bad weather.

She had never expected to have access to a window in her cabin. Even if it could only be used during fine weather, it was a welcome little addition, for when at home she would never sleep without first opening a window to let in cool fresh air.

The air in Tortola would not be very cool, of course. But it would be warm and salty and filled with new scents. She wrinkled her nose happily in anticipation and went on to the next cabin.

It was much like the first, only empty. She checked the next two—empty as well—before deciding to take the one in the middle, so as to give the other lady as much privacy as possible.

As she was putting away the last of her things the ship gave a little lurch and she put out a steadying hand before she could fall against the wall. Were they departing already?

She reached for a sun bonnet and made her way back to the staircase leading above deck.

As she went, her mind was racing. Based on the conversation she had overheard, she had to accept that she was about to be sharing accommodations with the wife of the man she had collided with.

The man about whom she had lied and claimed was her husband.

What would his wife have to say about that once she knew?

If the same thing had happened in a London ballroom, things might become very awkward.

But this was a new setting with new opportunities.

Rosalind had made a mistake and she would correct it.

After all, words were made for clearing up misunderstandings. She would use hers carefully and diplomatically, and pray that the woman would be a kindly soul with an unusual measure of patience.

As she stepped up out of the hatch, she saw with appreciation that the other lady was above deck and standing at the railing.

From behind her, all Rosalind could see was a trim figure with dark curls peeking out from beneath a blue bonnet.

Muttering a little prayer, she crossed the deck to stand beside the lady.

“That is a lovely bonnet,” she began, conversationally.

It was always a wise move to pay a compliment when making a new female acquaintance she had found.

She was rewarded for her effort. The woman turned to her with an expression of surprise—of course, she had not expected there to be another woman on board—which rapidly became a sweet smile.

“Thank you.”

Rosalind smiled back. She had a good feeling about this. Not only did the lady have pleasant features, but her face was very kind.

Moreover, now that the woman had turned towards her, Rosalind understood just what the conversation she overheard below had been about.

The lady was with child. And from the look of it, she might even be brought to bed while aboard this vessel. Though Rosalind sincerely hoped not, for the mother and child’s sake.

Before the woman could open her mouth to say another word, Rosalind jumped in with haste.

“My name is Miss Rosalind Gardner. I am the third of four sisters. We come from a very small village. I grew up in the country and have always longed to see more of the world. For the past three years, I have been saving to take this voyage.”

The woman continued to smile. She seemed to be listening attentively.

Rosalind pressed on.

“Today, I learned there were accommodations available upon this vessel—the most beautiful ship in the quay and the only one leaving for Tortola. However, when I reached the ship’s office, imagine my dismay when I was told that someone had purchased every single cabin. When I learned that there were far fewer passengers than cabins, I made a very foolish mistake and I pray you will forgive me for it when I tell you what it was.”

“Coming aboard was not the mistake,” she added quickly, seeing the confusion on the lady’s face. “But in my desperation to board, I told a terrible, most appalling lie in order to do so.”

The woman’s eyes were widening. Rosalind hoped she had not frightened her.

“Please, I do hope you will let me finish. I promise, I am not at all as frightening or as mad as I may seem. Only very excited and a little...” She searched for the word.

“Impetuous?” The lady offered, her lips beginning to turn upwards.

“Yes! Thank you. Impetuous.” Rosalind shook her head sheepishly. “Oh, I think you will laugh when you hear my foolishness. You have a kind face and a charming smile. I do believe we will get along once you have forgiven me.”

She took a deep breath. “You see, I told the clerk in the office that the man who had taken all of the cabins was my husband. But now that I have boarded, I see that he is in fact your husband.”

The lady put a hand to her mouth. She seemed to be trying not to laugh.

“I mean,” Rosalind said, with a groan. “I did not know he was your husband when I said he was my husband. Nor do I wish for him to be my husband. Oh dear, I am doing this very badly. I do wish I had not said he was my husband. To tell you the truth, I ran into him outside the ship’s office and he was very... well, off-putting. Terrifying, even, you might say...” Her eyes widened in horror. “Not that he might not also be a very decent and loving man. Oh, of course, he must be! For you chose to marry him and you look as if you haven’t a cruel bone in your body.”

She bit her lip and paused to rethink what she had just said. Terrible. All of it was dreadful. She was making a horrible muddle of an apology.

The lady still had a hand over her mouth. Her eyes looked as if they were dancing with amusement, not anger.

That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

Rosalind sighed. “In any case, I am very sorry. And of course, I shall reimburse your husband for the cabin—and whatever else he asks for besides. I assure you, I am not without funds and I am not asking for charity. Nor do I generally go about making such inappropriate claims about my connection to strange men. I truly do hope that you may find it in your heart to forgive me for my blunder, and perhaps even to agree to share accommodations with me on this voyage.”

She swallowed nervously. “Do you...think you might be willing to do that?”

The lady took her hand away from her mouth. She truly did have beautiful mischievous eyes.

“Of course,” the lady said, with a winsome smile. “But I think you should know that Philip is not my husband. Furthermore...” She pressed her lips together as if trying not to laugh.

The lady had been looking at Rosalind, but now peered over her head, her eyes lingering there.

“Oh, Dear Lord,” Rosalind breathed. “He is standing right behind me, isn’t he?”

With a sympathetic look, the woman nodded.

Rosalind closed her eyes and prayed for a quick death.

Philip was livid.

His wife?

She had claimed to be his wife?

How dared she. How the bloody hell had she dared to do such a thing?

What kind of a young woman would lie about being someone’s wife merely in order to acquire passage on a ship?

A conniving and dishonest one—that was what kind.

She might be a pretty little thing—but she was a vixen. A minx. A hoyden.

Did she have any idea what kind of a man she was dealing with?

Clearly, she did not or she would not have dared to lie about her connection to him.

To top it all off, Cherry was now standing there looking exceedingly empathetic to the girl’s predicament and shooting expressive glances which Philip supposed were meant to convey her desire for him to go easy on the...young woman. He would absolutely not call her a lady.

Cherry was a lady. This girl was a harpy, pure and simple.

He realized the girl had turned around and was staring up at him with a petrified expression.

He felt ever so slightly chagrinned. Was he really so terrifying-looking that he had cowed even this bold young vixen?

Then he hardened himself. She had called herself his wife.

“How dare you?” He spat the words down at the girl with a vehemence, keeping his gaze fixed on her, ignoring Cherry’s frantic arm-waving.

His cast his voice low, not wishing to be overheard by passing crew, but it seethed with a fury he made no attempt to disguise or contain. “How dare you pull such a stunt? How dare you call yourself a man’s wife for such a selfish reason! Do you have any comprehension of the offense which you have given?”

He could see her bottom lip begin to wobble, but ruthlessly pressed on.

“Moreover, do you have any idea whose wife you claimed to be? I am the owner of this vessel, young woman.” He sneered down at her. “I will not call you a lady. A lady does not behave as you have. I assume your ill-breeding has led to more mishaps than today’s. I can only imagine the shame and humiliation with which you go through your pathetic, wretched life of deception.”

Remarkably, she had not yet burst out crying. Her lip was still in a precarious state, but she had let no tears fall.

He felt a cruel wish to make her sob. To utterly break her.

It was not the first time he had experienced such a loathsome desire either, God help him. Not the first time he had taken out his anger and his sorrow on others in an awful attempt to make someone else feel just a miniscule measure of the self-loathing and pain he felt every single moment of every single day.

Usually, it was poor Cherry who was the victim of his hurtful outbursts—and God knew she least deserved it. At first, she had been tolerant, when his grief was still fresh. Now she had grown adept and could quickly shut down his eruptions with a word. Not this time though.

“You are a very silly and very stupid girl. Do you know that?” he went on, rolling the syllables out slowly, unable to stop himself. “As if a man such as I would ever, ever...”

“Philip!” Cherry’s voice rang out sharply. He raised his head and felt a pang of shame as he saw the sadness and disapproval on her face. “That is quite enough. What is your aim here? The girl has already apologized. Yes, you are the ship’s owner. But I am part-owner, am I not?”

Reluctantly, he gave a slow nod.

“Very well. As such, I see no reason why she may not stay. Or for your ridiculous whim in restricting the cabins! Why on earth would I need four cabins for my comfort? I may be with child, but I am not so huge as to require four beds, I think.” She looked down at herself then back up again, with a small smile, as if desperately trying to bring levity to the situation.

But the girl did not even turn around.

Instead, the young woman appeared preparing to speak.

She pushed herself up a little straighter, which unfortunately resulted in her thrusting her ample bosom upwards and towards him—like tantalizingly ripe fruit on display in a market.

He stole a glance down—just a single, quick one, hoping Cherry would not notice and mock him mercilessly later.

It was not what she might think. He could care less about the girl.

But he was a man, was he not? He had ignored the more male parts of himself these past two years.

Yet something about this young chit had startled them back into life.

Ah! He looked, then looked away as quickly as he could. Yes, they were as round and plump as he’d imagined they’d be. Her skin had a soft pretty glow and looked silky smooth. He could imagine cupping those large, ripe melons in his hands, kneading and squeezing as the little minx cried out, her back arching as he rubbed thumbs overtop her firm red tips...

“My face is up here, sir,” a voice dripping with icy disdain said loudly.

Bloody hell!

He felt the blood rush to his head and lurched his chin upwards.

The girl was trembling as she opened her mouth to speak again. With anger or shame, he could not say.

Certainly he was currently feeling a mix of the two, brainless animal that he was.

“Yes, perhaps I am silly, sir. Perhaps I am stupid as well, as you say.” She paused to take a breath. Her breasts quivered delectably just below. With every ounce of willpower he possessed, he managed to keep his eyes fixed firmly on her face.

Her eyes closed. Was she fighting back tears?

She was spirited. He would give her that.

Certainly, Cherry would find her a kindred soul.

“But I would rather be silly and stupid rather than...” She took another breath. “Rather than desperately unhappy. As I have been these past few years.”

Philip felt as if he had been shot through the heart.

Had he heard her correctly?

What did this girl have to be unhappy about? What did she know of sadness or of pain?

His conscience pricked him and reminded him there were many things on heaven and earth which he knew nothing of—most certainly that included the hearts of most of his fellow man.

No, he had made sure of that when he had shut life out two years ago.

The girl was turning back to Cherry.

“Now, if this kind lady...”

“Mrs. Charlotte Lambe,” Cherry interrupted. “But please, do call me Cherry. All my friends do. And I know we are going to be very good friends.”

Cherry reached for the girl’s hand and clasped it warmly to her chest before releasing it. “Please—I beg you to pay no mind to my completely idiotic brother. He believes the entire world should be as miserable as he is. I am sure you have just shocked him utterly by your announcement that a person may actually try to change their fate for the better rather than wallowing in misery.”

He saw the girl try to smile at his sister. It was a pitiful excuse for a smile.

He felt a twinge of shame. Somehow, he knew this girl was naturally full of light and sunshine. That she was a girl for whom smiling should come as easily as breathing.

But not now.

Not thanks to him and his cruel, callous words.

He opened his mouth to say something—to perhaps even form an apology, but the young woman got ahead of him.

“Cherry. Thank you, Cherry. I am exceedingly grateful.” She had a soft, womanly voice. Gentle and melodic. Decidedly un-harpyish. “Truly, you have no idea how very grateful I am. If you are certain that you will not mind sharing the accommodations, then I believe I will retire.”

She forced a small smile, then stepped quickly towards the closest hatch leading below—so quickly that she tripped over her skirts a little and had to reach out a hand to steady herself on a barrel.

Philip nearly took a step towards her then, to catch her arm, but an icy glare from Cherry told him this would be a very bad idea indeed.

And then she was gone.

He was alone on the deck with his enraged sister.

The ship would be sailing soon. He wondered if the girl would return to see the land fade away from view, or if she would hide like a rabbit in a hole for the rest of the voyage.

Would she return to face him? Choose defiance over fear? He felt a strange surge of excitement at the prospect of their next encounter.

What kind of a trip would it be now that he had just made an enemy of this girl? At least a more interesting one. He had guaranteed it.

He turned to Cherry and saw her furious expression. Perhaps he should make that two enemies.

“You know, Philip,” she began, speaking slowly and deliberately. “It may come as a very great surprise to you, but while I know you were raised to believe the entire world revolves around you and those of your ilk—” He opened his mouth to issue a rebuttal but she kept going. “—there are, in fact, other people on this good earth and some of them have even experienced their own fair share of pain and heartbreak.”

She put a hand on her hip suddenly and winced. He stepped forward.

“No,” she said, raising a hand. “Do not touch me. Let me continue. What you just did was cruel, Philip. Cruel and heartless. The girl made a mistake. A small one. Have you never made a mistake? I seem to recall a few which have been quite significant. But perhaps you would choose to forget about those. To pretend you are a higher being than the rest of us mere mortals. Certainly, you manage to pretend you are the only one who is entitled to feel. But I do feel, Philip.”

Her voice was rising now.

Part of his male brain panicked as he imagined her being brought to bed on the deck of the ship. Could one be brought to bed on the deck of a ship?

If anything happened to her or the child, he would never forgive himself. He had done this to her, brought her to this state of upset, with his lack of control and his anger.

Cherry snapped her finger in his face as she saw him eyeing her stomach, without pausing her tirade. “I have a heart and it is just as broken as yours. But you never remember that, do you, Philip? And somehow, I manage to treat my fellow man with the respect and dignity and, dare I even say, the kindness that he deserves, rather than as something to be ground under my shining Hessian boot.”

He tried to interject—for one, his boots were rarely shining, especially on the docks or at sea without a valet—but she ignored him. “And that girl—the one you had no trouble at all ogling in a lewd way while berating as a fool. When really, based on what she has just said, I feel she deserves commendation for her act of bravery in coming aboard today.”

She put a hand to her brow. “I have lost my train of thought,” she said crankily, with a frown. “But I am not finished with you. Not to mention that I have never taken you for the kind of man who sees women as merely the sum of their exterior parts. You have embarrassed me, Philip. You really have.”

“I know,” he said softly. This time when he reached a hand out to touch her arm gently, she allowed it.

“I am very disappointed, Philip,” she said, still stern.

“I know, Cherry,” he accepted. “But... she did claim she was my wife.”

“She did,” she acknowledged. “Knowing nothing of your history or who you were, she did say such a foolish thing.”

In a softer tone, she added, “I must admit, I am a little surprised it affected you so strongly. I had hoped that you might be... Well, perhaps ready to move on.”

“Move on.” He gave a harsh laugh.

“Yes, Philip. Move on. Move past what happened. Life is long, or so I’m told. At least for most of us.” He saw her bite her lip as she realized what she had just said, and looked away.

“Oh, Philip.” Now she merely sounded tired. “What are we going to do?”

He looked back at her quickly, and stepped closer, putting a protective arm around her waist. “We will rectify this, Cherry. I swear to God we will do so. I will have my vengeance, we will see justice done, and...”

“Oh!” She gave a brittle laugh. “Your vengeance. Yes, I see.”

He clenched his jaw. “Not only vengeance. You are right. I should not have said that. It is not the first concern.”

“No, it is not,” she snapped, breaking his embrace. “At least, it should not be, Philip. It truly should not be. And that you would say that, put it at the top of your list...”

She shook her head, then walked away from him without a backward glance.

He stood alone on the deck looking out at the water for a while, thinking about the other woman he had loved, who had also left him, as swiftly as she could manage—or so it had felt.

Only that time, it had been forever.

The last straggling crew members were coming up the gangplank. It would not be long now until their departure.

Some of the crew looked quite young. New cabin boys most likely. A cabin boy’s age varied, but they could be as young as eight or nine.

On the Witch, Philip knew the captain preferred to take on only older boys. They were better prepared for long voyages and hard work—not to mention being away from their mothers.

One of the boys was wearing a red cap pulled low over his ears, and hauling an unusually large sack. Probably stuffed with his belongings and precious treasures. The bulky luggage was a sure sign that the boy was leaving home for the first time, for a more experienced ship’s boy would already know that there was not a great deal of storage to be had in the crew compartments. Philip wondered where the boy would find room for all he had brought. Hopefully he would not be teased mercilessly by the others for carting so much along.

By contrast, the passenger cabins had been designed with ample storage. He hoped Miss Gardner would appreciate it.

Pressing his lips together, he turned away from the rail to find Captain Merriweather.

He was a stupid man, Rosalind told herself, as she strode quickly through the narrow corridor.

This was probably how he always was. Mean and snide to everyone around him.

Hadn’t the clerk said exactly that?

His words meant nothing. Less than nothing. She should not care what he thought of her. He did not know her, not truly.

Yet somehow a very small but significant part of her insisted that she did care—very much; and that bothered her as much as his words had done.

He was arrogant and rude and mannerless. Yet he was also oddly mesmerizing. Merely being in close proximity with him had a profound effect on her. She could not recall ever being so very aware of a man’s... well, manliness... before.

Philip Calvert was an unquestionably fine specimen of manhood.

Besides his width and height, there was something provocative about his bearing.

He seemed taut and coiled, full of unleashed passions. One could see it there, in his eyes, his powerful limbs. He was a man barely restrained, but from what she dared not guess.

He was an angry man, yes. But she was certain there was more to him than that.

Ironic that she was giving him the benefit of the doubt, when he had not bothered to do the same with her.

No, he had merely seen her as a foolish girl—albeit one he seemed to find attractive. She recalled the way he had stared at her chest and glanced down at herself.

She had never quite understood the appeal of a set of breasts. But apparently there was something so fascinating about them that it could turn a grown man into a drooling imbecile.

Not that he had been drooling. Though she rather wished he had. She would have enjoyed that.

She was on the plumper side of pretty. She knew that and it did not bother her in the slightest. Perhaps she had more lush curves and soft rolls than her sisters, but she loved her body. It was strong. It took her where she needed to go. It gave her pleasure when she prompted it.

Her sisters tended towards slenderness, although Gwendolen was becoming more prettily rounded and matronly with every child she bore. Angel did not seem to mind a bit, however, the dear man. He would love her sister to kingdom come for who she was, and not merely her appearance; Rosalind had no doubt of that.

She stopped her musings abruptly.

There was a cat on her bed.

Curled in a ball and sound asleep.

So much for lying down and taking a nap.

She stepped forward slowly, not wishing to startle the creature.

The cat was a pretty calico. Mostly orange and white, with some dark brown patches, and a pale pink nose.

At the sound of Rosalind’s footsteps, the cat twitched one ear and peeked its eyes open.

“Oh, you pretty little thing.” She stepped closer with a hand out for the cat to sniff.

Her hand was found acceptable and she gently rubbed the cat’s head, just between the ears.

“Did you bring a cat with you?” Cherry’s voice rang out from behind. She sounded amused.

Rosalind laughed and turned around to face her. “She is not mine. Actually, I do not even know if she is a she. They were on my bed when I entered.”

“What a beauty,” Cherry said, peeking into the cabin. “Hello, pretty puss.”

The cat accepted the praise with a lazy yawn and put its head back down to rest on its paws.

“She must be one of the sailor’s cats. Perhaps the captain’s?”

“Come to think of it, I believe Philip did say something about Captain Merriweather having a pet. He and Philip are old friends. I had assumed it would be a parrot named Polly, but I much prefer cats to parrots.”

“So do I,” Rosalind said, smiling. She bit her lip. “Thank you for being so kind up there.” She gestured with her chin. “I know I do not deserve it.”

Cherry tutted and waved her hand. “Nonsense. It has worked out perfectly. It will be nice to have some female company on the voyage. I can already tell that you shall provide a refreshing contrast to my brooding brother.”

Rosalind gave a small smile. Reaching for the valise she had left on a chair, she opened it up and began to take out clothing to lay in the chest in her cabin.

While she folded and organized, she snuck another look at Mrs. Lambe. The lady was difficult not to stare at. She wondered what the crew thought about having such a heavily pregnant woman aboard.

“How far along are you?” Rosalind blurted out. “I’m sorry. You do not have to answer that. Perhaps you do not wish to discuss...”

“Oh, no, it is quite all right,” Cherry said with a mellow laugh. She moved towards one of the wooden chairs and fell into it with a sigh of relief. “I believe I am about eight months along. But based on my elephantine size, you would easily be forgiven for assuming the babe is to come any day.”

In fact, Rosalind would not have been surprised one bit if it had. Her mother was often called upon to assist in deliveries in their country neighbourhood when the regular midwife who served the village area had been called away.

Rosalind had helped with some of the births. Based on her modest knowledge, Cherry appeared much further along than eight months.

But every woman carried differently and Cherry would, of course, know better than she.

Still, Rosalind decided to begin mentally reviewing all that her mother had taught her.

Rosalind longed to ask Cherry other questions. Such as whether this was her first child. And where Mr. Lambe might be. But she decided the poor lady had already been more than patient with her today.

The bellowing of a crewman interrupted her thoughts. The sound of “All hands on deck” came ringing through the cabin.

“That is quite a voice,” Cherry said, struggling to her feet and looking impressed. “Would you care to come up with me? It seems we are finally departing.”

Rosalind desperately wished to come up with her. Had she not imagined this moment countless times over the years?

But it had been less than an hour since the awful encounter with Cherry’s brother. She was not sure she was up for another clash with Philip Calvert that very same day.

Cherry saw her indecision and immediately understood.

“I promise, I will keep Philip away from you,” she said. “He will probably be busy in the captain’s cabin, anyhow.”

She started towards the door, then turned back and looked at Rosalind. “And Miss Gardner... I would like you to understand something about my brother.”

“Yes?” Rosalind wondered with some embarrassment if her dislike of the man showed so plainly on her face.

“Philip was... not always like this,” Cherry said slowly. “There are reasons for how he responded to you. For how he mistreated you, I should say, Miss Gardner.”

“Please, call me Rosalind,” Rosalind insisted. “It does not feel right for me to call you Cherry, as you have asked, while you keep up the formalities.”

“Very well. Rosalind.” Cherry smiled warmly. “Coming?”

Up on the deck, Cherry turned to her and pointed left and right. “Shall we view our departure from port or starboard?” She grinned. “You see? I know my nautical terms.”

She turned around, pointing upwards. “Mainmast, foremast, mizzenmast. There. Three more.” She put her hands on her hips proudly.

“Very impressive,” Rosalind said with a laugh.

“Well, as part-owner, I am trying. Although I admit, my knowledge is mostly limited to what I’ve just told you. This is only my second time on the Witch, in fact. So? Port or starboard? I will judge you based on your answer, you know,” she said, shaking a finger playfully.

Rosalind understood.  The ship was docked on its port side, and looked over the docks.

The starboard side, on the other hand, looked out over the Thames. The murky river water was not the open ocean yet, but it was the next best thing.

“Starboard. Most certainly starboard,” Rosalind said decisively.

“Excellent choice. I quite agree.”

“What does my answer tell you?” Rosalind asked curiously.

“That you are exceptionally optimistic—which I already knew—and that you believe in looking ahead in life, not backwards. I believe there is much you could teach Philip,” Cherry said, with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Hmph! I don’t believe that man could be taught a thing if he did not already believe it,” Rosalind grumbled, and heard Cherry chuckle.

The deck was busy with crew. Being careful not to get in the way, the two women crossed over to the starboard rail and stood looking out.

This was it, Rosalind thought, lifting her face up to the sun and imagining how much warmer the tropical sunshine would soon feel it. She was setting sail.

Not for the very first time, for she had traveled on small boats before and already knew she was one of the lucky tribe who did not become seasick.

But this was her maiden voyage of discovery. To lands and people which would all be new to her.

She had announced to Philip and Cherry that she had been desperately unhappy until now. The declaration had shocked even herself as the words had come out.

It was true that while she had been content with her life for the past few years, that contentment had slowly been fading into something else. An acceptance of dullness and mediocrity. The worrisome feeling that life would always be the same, never changing. That time would run on and on until she married, had her own household, her own children, and the cycle began to repeat. Without any variation. Without any novelty.

But then, one day, she had put her foot down and decided things could not go on as they were.

Once upon a time, she knew she had been the bold and vivacious sister. She had boasted of how she would travel and seek adventure.

She missed that old Rosalind.

Perhaps now, she was finally on her way to finding her way back to her.

Of course, she loved her family and her nieces and nephews. She would miss them extraordinarily.

But like a surgeon cauterizing a wound, this was a necessary pain.

“Come up to the forecastle,” a man’s voice said from behind. “The view is better there.”

“Thank you, Philip,” Cherry said sweetly, turning to look at her brother. “That will be all.” She waved a hand in a regally dismissive gesture, and Rosalind watched in fascination as Philip scowled at his sister, but then quickly walked away.

She could not imagine her sisters doing her bidding so easily. Perhaps brothers were different.

“I know you do not wish to be anywhere near him. On a ship, that will, of course, ultimately be impossible. But I can shield you for a few hours,” Cherry explained, tucking her arm through Rosalind’s and tugging her up the steps.

Well, Rosalind thought, as she held the other woman’s arm and stepped onto the higher platform, perhaps things were not off to too bad a start.

She had made an enemy today.

But she had also made a friend.