The Seafaring Lady’s Guide to Love by Fenna Edgewood

Chapter 3

Perhaps enemy had beentoo strong a word for what Philip Calvert was to be to Rosalind.

She was not quite sure what he was. Besides infuriating and undeniably handsome, in a way that left her disarmed and flustered and grateful that he had left her blessedly in peace so far on the voyage.

She suspected Cherry had played a hand in that, but her new friend’s over-protectiveness was quite all right with her.

And there were other benefits to being friends with one of the ship’s owners.

One of them was the privilege of being able to sit up on the forecastle, in a spot that was sufficiently out of the way, in a chair with a good book.

The sun was bright and sparkling over the calm blue waters. Rosalind lifted her face upwards to let its warmth touch her cheeks.

She was very, very close to throwing all of her sun bonnets into the ocean and letting herself become as brown as she liked.

The appeal of pale skin on a woman had never been one she understood. Cherry had beautiful umber skin. Not to mention she had bragged that she had never been sunburned in her life.

But Rosalind had reminded herself that once she arrived, she might appreciate having them as the conventions of polite society took hold of her once more.

It was freeing not to have to worry about most of those conventions on board the Witch.

Only now was Rosalind beginning to realize how cloying and suffocating the strictures of polite London society had been—and she had not even been as fully out as she might have been. She was merely the sister-in-law of a duke, after all, and so hardly as in demand as the duke and duchess themselves.

The calico cat curled up on her lap stretched out and extended its claws.

“Ouch! Be careful Pippa,” Rosalind complained. The cat had already left runs in the muslin of one dress.

Pippa looked up, blinking slowly.

“Oh, don’t give me that innocent look,” Rosalind scolded. “I know you understand every word.”

Pippa ended the eye contact with a lick of her paw.

“Cats!”

Still, it was nice to have a cat on board. There was something cozy and comforting about Pippa’s presence, and she had seen the crew react to it as well. All of the men loved Pippa. It was sweet to see such normally gruff and rough men stepping daintily around the little cat when she slept in a coil of rope or sat on top of a barrel giving herself a cleaning.

She was the most beloved lady on board, second only perhaps to the ship’s figurehead, if it could be counted. Indeed, the men looked on the bare-breasted mermaid with a kind of reverence, touching her for luck whenever they believed they needed it. Rosalind had even heard some crewmen talking to the Witch when up at the bow.

Pippa might technically belong to Captain Merriweather, but with Cherry and Rosalind’s arrival she had taken up her place as the senior lady on the vessel and spent much of her time in the women’s cabins.

A sudden sound of pounding footsteps made Rosalind jump.

Pippa leapt off her lap, digging her claws in sharply as she bounded to the boards.

“Get back here!” a man’s voice called.

“Catch it!” she heard another yell.

What on earth could be happening?

Perhaps the men had found a snake in the hold.

There were animals on the ship, but only chickens and goats. Perhaps one had escaped from a pen. Though it was difficult to imagine a goat causing this much upset.

Standing up quickly, she spotted a blurred brown figure whizzing across the deck. It was headed right towards the forecastle stairs.

It was no goat.

“Perita!” Rosalind exclaimed with dismay.

The very, very large puppy raced up the stairs, spotted Rosalind, and proceeded to plop down instantly at her feet.

As Perita looked up at her from under long dark lashes, Rosalind’s heart sank.

“Oh no, oh no,” Rosalind hissed down at the canine, shaking her head. “I will have no part in this! This is not my doing. You are not my dog. What are you doing here, Perita? You were supposed to go home with Gracie!”

Gracie must be worried sick. She probably thought the dog had been lost on the docks. Poor Gracie!

“Is that your animal?” a cold voice demanded.

A group of men had gathered below and were looking up at Perita and Rosalind.

And right there in the middle, his arms folded across his broad chest and his arrogant face tilted up towards her was Philip Calvert. Of course, that dratted man would show up at the worst possible time!

“No, she is not,” Rosalind asserted, feeling a hot guilty blush stealing across her cheeks. “I did not bring a dog on board the ship, I assure you.”

“And yet you somehow know the dog is female,” Philip retorted, frowning. “How very interesting, Miss Gardner.”

“She certainly seems to think she knows you though, Miss,” one of the sailors observed with a smile.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Rosalind said lightly, trying not to meet Perita’s eye. She turned back to pick her book up off the chair and could feel the dog beside her.

When Rosalind ignored her, Perita pawed her skirt gently and gave a loud “woof.”

“Seems to me Duffels is right,” a younger crewman agreed. “Either that or its love at first sight.”

The group chuckled.

As Rosalind started down the steps, Perita stayed at her heels, panting happily.

Rosalind snuck a look at Philip Calvert. He was watching her closely, arms folded across his chest.

She suppressed a groan, and made another attempt. “Shoo!” She waved a hand in Perita’s general direction. “Go away, Per— Go away, dog!”

She stole another glance at her nemesis. He was looking at her through narrowed eyes as if he could see right through her lies.

“What’s this all about now?” Captain Merriweather had stepped out, making one of his brief appearances. “A dog on board?”

Captain John Merriweather was a calm and easygoing man, well-liked by his crew.

He was younger than Duffels, which had surprised Rosalind at first. And unlike his first mate, Captain Merriweather did not look quite so sea-weathered and salt-scorched. Tall and wiry, with brown hair shot with grey, he was perhaps five or ten years older than Philip and Cherry.

He and Perita looked at one another in a way Rosalind interpreted as mutual appreciation.

“What a beautiful creature. Come here, girl.” He patted his knee and held out a hand.

Perita looked wistfully at the captain, as if she truly wished she might do as he asked, but could not leave her mistress’s side.

Rosalind rolled her eyes. “Go on then,” she hissed. “Go to the captain.”

Perita looked up at her, then wagged her tail and trotted over, easy as could be.

The men were hooting

“You have her under your thumb, I’d say, miss,” one commented.

“Yes, well—” Rosalind wracked her brain. “I have always had a way with animals.” That was a bit of an overstatement.

“Here, my lovely.” The captain had crouched down and was speaking softly to Perita while running a hand over her soft coat. “How did you get here, I wonder? Someone must have been feeding you the last two days or you’d be much unhappier right now.”

“I assure you, it was not me, Captain Merriweather,” Rosalind made sure to say.

“Best to throw it overboard. Not enough rations for an extra animal,” Duffels declared loudly.

Rosalind could not tell if he was jesting or not, and felt a swell of outrage.

“Aye, just look at the size of her! Imagine how much she must put away,” a young sailor said, admiringly.

“That’s right. No place for dogs on a ship. We already have a cat,” Duffels proclaimed, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning.

Rosalind was horrified. Would they truly throw Perita overboard?

She decided she must do what was right.

“I must confess—” she began, biting her lip.

“Oh, this ought to be good,” she heard Philip Calvert mutter from where he stood off to the side. The dreadful man was actually smirking.

She glared at him, intending to wipe the grin right off his face, but when he held her gaze, she felt herself beginning to blush and quickly averted her eyes.

“You see, Captain Merriweather,” she said, bravely stepping forward. “She is not my dog, but I have seen her before. She belongs to my younger sister. But how Perita came to be aboard this vessel, I cannot say. The last time I saw her, she was on the docks with my sister and they were about to return home.”

“Ah, I see, I see,” the captain said, absent-mindedly, still patting Perita affectionately.

A moment later Captain Merriweather stood up and, looking between Rosalind and the ship’s owner, seemed to be considering something.

Then he nodded, and gave a slow smile. “Well, Philip. This vessel is your property. I believe I shall defer to you in this matter. If you’ll excuse me.”

Rosalind’s jaw dropped.

Did this mean she would have to beseech Philip Calvert for Perita’s life?

Knowing him, he would probably demand she do so on her knees.

She lifted her chin in air defensively as she turned towards him.

He was looking at her with an unreadable expression.

Cherry was no where to be seen. Of course, if she had been there, the matter would have been settled all too easily. Perhaps Rosalind could ask one of the crew to go and fetch her...

“The dog may stay,” Philip announced suddenly, in a loud deep voice that carried across the deck.

He turned and walked after the captain.

Rosalind had been prepared to do battle. Instead, she found her mouth hanging open in surprise.

She watched him walk away; his legs long and powerful, his stride confident and sure.

He may be the most miserable man alive, but there was no disputing he was an accursedly fine-looking one.

Philip was amazed with himself,

Notby his decision to let the dog stay, for really there had been no other acceptable choice.

He was not about to throw the poor beast overboard and no matter what Duffels had claimed, he did not believe any of the crew truly wished that either.

Truth be told, he was fairly certain the old sailor had simply been trying to get a rise out of young and innocent Miss Gardner.

If so, it had worked.

So, no, it was not his decision to keep the dog aboard that had surprised him, but rather his reaction to the prime suspect in the canine stowaway case.

Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His initial urge had been to interrogate Miss Gardner ruthlessly—for clearly there was more to her ridiculous story about the dog being her sister’s.

The result would have been an angry girl, humiliated before the crew she would be spending the next month among.

But he had not gone that route. He had kept himself in check. Howsoever Miss Gardner might irk him, he had to admit—to himself at least—that he was no longer angry with her for what she had done.

Nor could he seem to find it in himself to despise her, as she seemed to believe he did.

But he could tell that this did not go both ways.

When she had looked at him, her eyes had been full of undisguised disdain.

She had been fully prepared to fight him to the last breath to save that dog and had been astonished when it had not been required.

The interaction had given him unexpected insight into her character.

Miss Rosalind Gardner was brave and fierce and loyal. Loyal even to a dog.

With a sigh, he ran a hand over his face and opened the door to the captain’s cabin.