The Seafaring Lady’s Guide to Love by Fenna Edgewood

Chapter 5

Low voices. Flickeringlight.

His head was pounding like the devil and he hadn’t even the memory of good liquor to make up for it.

A cool hand pressed against his temple, then was gone.

A few moments later a soft wet cloth replaced it, gently dabbing at his forehead.

The scent of lavender began to fill the room.

The voices were beginning to become more than mere sounds.

More than one person was speaking. He started to pick them out.

“...no ship’s doctor...” That was his sister.

“I have laudanum in the medicine chest...” That was Captain Merriweather.

“Perhaps later,” he heard a woman’s voice say firmly. “Not yet. We do not wish for him to sleep too deeply. Not now.”

Ah, Miss Gardner. So she had followed him from sea to sick bed, had she?

“I have valerian to help him sleep, as well as powder of cinchona for the pain. I will make a tincture—if you will permit it, Cherry?”

“Of course. And the lavender is for...?”

“Merely to calm him and improve the air in the room. My mother would use lavender sachets when we were ill,” he heard Miss Gardner say softly.

A cool hand touched his head again.

He wondered if it was Cherry’s or Miss Gardner’s. He rather hoped the latter.

“He is feverish but not scorching. He was hit hard, but in the water, he was awake and seemed sensible. We must hope for the best. The only thing we can do now is let him rest and pray that he will come to.”

The voices became too low to hear. The last sound before he slept was the door opening and closing.

When he next awoke, he could fully open his eyes.

Miss Gardner was still there. Asleep in a chair beside the bed.

She had angled her body so that she could rest her head on her arm along the back of the chair.

She had not put up her hair. It was still damp and loose around her shoulders.

Unlike most people he knew—his sister included—Miss Gardner did not appear to be one of those individuals who drooled in their sleep.

Rather, she looked quite pretty. Her lips were rosy and slightly parted, her cheeks flushed and glowing.

She was altogether lovely and innocent-looking.

And she was there for him. Sitting vigil by his bed. Ministering to him, if he recalled her earlier words correctly.

Strange that they had spoken to each other mostly in bitterness and anger, and yet he had no doubt she sincerely had his welfare at heart.

He trusted her. Implicitly.

Once again, something in his heart reached out to this woman. The feeling troubled him.

Perhaps it was simply that she had just saved his life.

And in doing so, she had completely unmanned him. He had been attempting to school her, to rescue her—rather forcefully as he recalled. If he had gotten her below with that damnable dog, what would he have done next?

Given her the scolding of her life, probably.

Or kissed her thoroughly.

Such tripe. Miss Gardner was sooner to slap him than kiss him.

Yet... what kind of a woman threw herself into the sea to save a man she hardly knew?

God knew, he was larger than her by far. If he had been less lucid, he might have pulled her under and they would both have been lost.

She would have done the same for anyone, he told himself. It had nothing to do with him, personally.

If the dog had fallen in, she would probably have jumped in even more unhesitatingly. Without the rope around her waist.

He watched her sleep until his eyes closed once more.

Rosalind stifled a yawn.

A wooden chair was, not surprisingly, no replacement for a bed.

Or even a wooden berth, when it came to it. At least her berth had a thin mattress and soft blankets.

She was ready to sink right onto it.

Captain Merriweather had insisted she allow someone else to take her place, and she was too tired to argue.

Besides, Philip Calvert had been lucky. She had looked at the wound again and did not think it even bore stitching. He would have a large dark bruise, a long cut, and a terrible headache, but she was fairly sure he would live.

He had better live, after all the effort she had gone to keeping him alive.

At least Perita had not fallen overboard as well in the chaos of things.

She gave a yawn and stepped into the women’s sitting room.

Cherry was sitting and sewing.

“A baby’s gown?” Rosalind guessed.

“Thank you, that is very charitable. I was hoping one could tell it was an article of clothing and not simply a very lopsided small blanket.” Cherry’s smile flickered. “He will be all right. Won’t he, Rosalind?”

“He will,” Rosalind reassured her. She was nearly certain this was so, or she would not have said it. She did not believe in telling lies and giving cruel false hope. “He is a very strong and healthy man. He should be on his feet very soon.”

“Probably sooner than he should be, knowing Philip!” Cherry said with a humph. “He is strong as an ox and ten times as stubborn. You know, I do believe he may be the most stubborn man alive.”

“Since you are siblings, does that make you the most stubborn woman alive?” Rosalind asked, mischievously.

Cherry looked at her thoughtfully. “I am not sure whether that designation shall ultimately go to you or I.” She shook her head. “I still cannot believe you went in after him, Rosalind. You must be mad.” Her tone was awed.

“Would you have preferred I left him there?” Rosalind asked, forcing a serious expression to her face. “The voyage would have been much more peaceful, I suppose.”

Cherry chortled. “You are awful! But no, I am glad you fished him out. Though Lord only knows there has been no love lost between you.”

Rosalind flinched at the word.

Love. She loved her family.

She was beginning to think she could easily come to love Cherry.

She most certainly did not bear any love for Mr. Philip Calvert.

So, perhaps love lost was an apt expression.

“I...am unspeakably grateful, really,” Cherry went on. “I truly do not know what I would do without him. I...” She stopped. Her face was oddly contorted.

“Why, Cherry!” Rosalind exclaimed. “Are you crying?” She had meant to tease, but seeing the tear trickle down Cherry’s cheek, she jumped up and going over, crouched beside the other woman’s chair. She took up her hand.

Cherry wiped her eyes with the other and gave a little laugh. “Strange is it not? I never cry. And I do mean never, Rosalind.” She sighed. “I would rather laugh than cry. I would rather smile at evil than tremble before it.”

“Evil?” Rosalind asked curiously. “That is an odd word to use.”

“Is it? But don’t you know, Miss Gardner?” Cherry said, in a mocking tone. “We are on a voyage of vengeance.”

Rosalind’s eyes widened.

Cherry sighed again. “I should not have said that. Philip would not like it.”

“Philip?”

“Yes, my dear older brother is on a quest. One which apparently supersedes even my own.” She drew a shaky breath.

Rosalind waited, only pressing her friend’s hand gently to show she was listening.

“My husband is missing, you see,” Cherry explained, quietly. “We have not seen him since... Well, he does not even know he is to be a father yet. That is how long it has been.”

“Oh, Cherry,” Rosalind said softly. “I am so sorry. You believe him to be in the West Indies?”

“His destination was Tortola, just as ours. He left England over seven months ago, on business for our family’s shipping company. But he was expected back long ago. Every letter we have sent has gone unanswered,” Cherry explained, managing to keep her voice even. “When Philip found out that his... Well, he learned that someone he knew was living on Tortola, and it made him intent on going there to see if they might know where Charles could have gone. Of course, when I found out, I insisted on coming along. He is my husband, after all.”

“Of course!” Rosalind agreed.

There was much more to it than that, Rosalind could tell, but she would not pry. Let Cherry tell her when and if she wished. They had weeks yet to spend together.

“I am sure you will find him,” Rosalind said, reassuringly. “Letters go astray all of the time, especially over such great distances. Perhaps there was unexpected business which delayed him. Imagine how overjoyed he shall be to see... well, to see you!”

“To see such an unexpected and mammoth surprise, you mean,” Cherry laughed. She sniffled a little. “Yes, I am sure you are right. I must believe that, Rosalind. It is the only way I can laugh and not cry myself to sleep every night. After all that poor Philip has gone through... I cannot imagine experiencing the same. But I suppose we must all go through it.”

She saw Rosalind’s puzzled look and clarified. “Losing someone dear to us, I mean. Philip lost his wife, nearly two years ago now. He has not been the same since. Her death was preceded by... Well, by great unhappiness. She was not a happy woman when she died. And her death was very unexpected. In childbirth, in fact.” She grimaced.

“Childbirth can be dangerous,” Rosalind acknowledged. “Are you very afraid of it, Cherry?”

“Not more than I expect any woman is her first time,” Cherry said with a shrug. “I would prefer not to give birth on a ship, yet I sometimes wonder if I will make it to Tortola with the way I grow and grow and the way this little one kicks harder and harder.” She patted her belly and smiled a little.

Rosalind had thought much the same thing. If Cherry’s husband had left England over seven months ago...

Cherry let go of Rosalind’s hand and began to struggle up. Rosalind stood to help.

“There is more to Philip than his gruff exterior, Rosalind,” Cherry said, panting a little as she stood. “He is a man worth saving. I promise you that. He truly is.”

She lay her sewing on her chair. “And now, I believe I will go and check on that cantankerous man. If he is awake, I am sure he will need someone to complain to.” She laughed suddenly. “And after all—his head is sure to explode when I remind him ever so sweetly that you were the one who rescued him.”

“I did very little,” Rosalind called after her, but Cherry simply waved a hand.

Rosalind stretched and groaned. She felt ancient and crochety.

She turned to her cabin, already anticipating the glorious sensation of stretching out fully.

And then came to a standstill.

“You must be joking,” she said hollowly, looking inside.

Pippa and Perita were sleeping on her bed, curled up together on top of her favorite blanket. It was incredible that Perita had managed to jump that high. True love made one do desperate things, she supposed.

Hearing Rosalind’s steps, Pippa opened one eye.

“You do know that you are sleeping with a dog, Pippa?” Rosalind whispered.

Was she really trying to be considerate of a sleeping dog? She was becoming as bad as Gracie and Eliza.

Well... Perita was a pup. She needed her rest just like any child, didn’t she?

Ah, and now she had compared the dog to a child.

“You make strange bedfellows, Pippa. What would your fellow felines have to say about this, I wonder?” She wagged a finger. “You may have one more hour and then I demand my bunk back.”

She groaned again. Perhaps she would just lay down on the floor and hope Cherry did not trip over her when she returned.

She settled for the chair instead. At least these had cushions, unlike the one in Philip’s cabin.

So, Philip had lost his wife—and in childbirth, too.

It must have been devastating. She could not imagine anticipating a child’s arrival with excitement, only to lose that hope as well as the mother’s life.

Just because many women perished in such a way did not make it any less tragic nor any less painful for those left to grieve.

She felt rather more sympathetic towards him now that Cherry had given her this new insight.

He was a widower, reluctant to get over his loss. She admired that. Her mother had been a widow for over a decade. She had never remarried.

Perhaps Philip was the same. Were there some men who remained faithful to their wife’s memory the rest of their lives?

Perhaps Philip was one of them.

But a small part of her said she hoped he was not.

She did not fall asleep on the floor. Merely in the chair again.

But when she woke next, she was in her berth and had a vague memory of Cherry shaking her awake and helping her to it.

The ship was quiet and still. A glance through the tiny cabin porthole told her it was night.

She pulled her watch chain from underneath the unfolded dress that lay on top of her chest and checked the time.

Two o’clock.

There was still a great deal of night ahead.

She did not think she would be able to sleep any longer.

She pulled on a light wrapper, intending to go above for some air.

There would only be a cabin boy and perhaps a few crew members on watch above at this time, and while she was a single woman traveling alone and had heard blood-curdling stories of sailors who preyed on women, she truly had no fear of that on this ship.

This was Cherry and Philip’s ship.

Furthermore, she had seen how Captain Merriweather ran things. The men might be rougher than those she was used to, but they were never failingly courteous and tried to be kind.

But as she walked the corridor, she found her feet taking her in a different direction. Straight to the men’s passenger cabins.

She told herself she simply wished to check the state of her patient. She would glance in quietly, make sure he was resting comfortably, and go.

But if he was not?

He would be.

But if he was not, she would return to her cabin for more valerian.

She was not at all prepared for what she saw when she looked in.

Stepping up to the crack in the door, intending only to steal a quick glance before knocking and pulling it open more fully, she saw with a start that Philip Calvert was not resting.

But neither was he restless.

He was staring up at the ceiling quietly. The blankets lay in disarray around him and from the waist up he was quite naked.

Perhaps from a little below the waist as well, for she could see the jut of his hips

He had his right hand on his belly and his other folded behind his head.

She stared at his bare form in fascination.

She had already known he was a brawny man. Without clothes, she could now see just how well-sculpted he was.

His chest was a beautiful sight to behold.

A dark gleaming bronze, every muscle defined, as if chiseled from marble, and covered in fine black curling hairs. They narrowed in the middle and formed a slender trail that disappeared tantalizingly beneath the blanket that rested over his waist.

As she watched, his hand began to creep downwards and before she could even think to step back, he had pushed the blanket off altogether.

She let out a little gasp, then clapped both hands over her mouth, and stood motionless, waiting for him to notice her.

But he did not.

Mr. Calvert was quite occupied by his own affairs.

Rosalind had never seen a fully naked man before. But of course, her two married sisters had told her stories.

From those she could easily glean that Philip was very much aroused.

His member protruded up and over the blankets, long and hard. As his hand met his own flesh, he let out a groan and she saw his hand squeeze around it.

Apparently, that masculine appendage was not as delicate as one might think, for he quickly began to thrust roughly into his hand.

Her mouth was dry with nervousness, yet she was unable to look away.

She shifted a little where she stood, aware of a growing dampness between her own thighs as she stood watching, mesmerized by the motion of that strong hand pumping up and down.

One might even say he was working his mast, she thought, and stifled the start of a panicked giggle.

But it was no laughing matter.

If he knew she was standing here, watching him in this completely improper way, breeching his privacy so scandalously, he would be absolutely furious.

What would he do to her? Would he scold her? Yell? Threaten to throw her overboard?

Or perhaps he would do something even more exciting.

Perhaps he would leap up from that bed and grab her hard, see her state of undress and finally take that good, long look he had clearly been desperate for since that first day on the deck.

He would gaze down her night rail at the fine curves of her full breasts, all the way down to her soft curving waist, past the swells of her hips and lower. He would see how stiff her nipples were, hard against the white muslin, and then he would...

Rosalind let out a little moan and realized her own hand had been stealing downwards. She quickly pulled it back, determined to remain in control of herself... and to be prepared to run off as quick as a cat.

She licked her lips. They felt dry and parched, and certainly she felt a thirst. But she knew it was not for water.

No, it was a thirst stirred by the stolen pleasure of watching a man gratify himself.

Now Philip's hand was riding his stiffened cock harder and faster. She watched as his hips lifted a little and his hand came out from behind his head to grip the blanket tightly.

His mouth opened and she found herself leaning forward slightly desperate to hear whatever he would tell himself as he gave himself up to his own satisfaction.

When she heard the word he whispered, she felt an icy chill run down her body.

Despite her earlier fantasy, she was not prepared. She fumbled for the wall, reorienting herself, but in that instant, as she prepared to dart away, she heard him let out a savage growl and like Lot’s wife, turned back to look once more.

His fingers slid over the thick rod of his sex, the gesture becoming rougher, more desperate and needy—over and over, again and again, until finally his body contracted and she saw his seed spill over the top of his fist.

He lay still for a moment, with his eyes closed.

One might have thought a man would be relaxed in such a moment of utter release.

But Philip Calvert did not look relaxed.

His entire body seemed tense, as if only the most meagre edge of his appetite had been satisfied and there was much left to crave.

Finally, he opened his eyes and began to sit up.

She stepped back.

One step. He had not noticed.

Another step.

The board beneath her creaked ever so slightly.

She froze.

He had not noticed. She let out a breath.

He was fumbling for something on the floor. Clothes, most likely.

It was the perfect chance. She took another step back, then another, feeling her way between the walls with her hands until she was in the main corridor.

And then she flew!

Not above deck after all, but back to her room, back to her berth, where she lay in the dark, eyes open, heart pounding, and mind racing.

The word on his lips had been unmistakeable the second time for it had been her very own name.