The Seafaring Lady’s Guide to Love by Fenna Edgewood

Chapter 6

The little minx wasnot only a minx, she was a Peeping Tom.

Once again, he was uncertain whether he should feel more humiliated or infuriated.

He decided fury was more compelling.

Yet it was not easy to feel merely fury towards Miss Gardner.

Not when she had been standing so silently in the hall outside his room watching him rubbing his own cock.

How long had she been there?

She had a beautiful name, and he thought he had rolled it around once or twice in his mouth as he had laid there, imagining rolling her once or twice around in his bed. But he was almost certain he had done so silently.

He hardened again just at the thought of her naked breasts tumbling, hair falling over bare shoulders, soft flesh bobbing as she sat astride his...

He had reached the stairs.

Pushing such thoughts from his mind as hard as he could, he quickly mounted them, taking long-legged leaps, two steps at a time as if he were a boy rather than a nearly thirty-five-year-old man.

Was it the sea air?

Or the sea woman?

It was a lovely, calm night and he breathed deep. The air was warm and humid—not the cold damp of English air. Already it had taken on a different feeling, the closer they came to the tropics.

It had been a long time since he had traveled to Tortola. Not since before he was wed.

The last time he was there, he had been more boy than man.

Back then, he had still believed himself to be a fortunate son.

He had a good father, a comfortable home. A thriving family shipping business to inherit. A friend he loved like a brother and trusted with his life.

How could he have known so much would change so quickly?

That his father would pass unexpectedly.

That he would soon after learn he had a sister. Kept hidden from him for so many years, but soon so very beloved. The kindest and most faithful woman he had ever met.

That the cherished childhood companion would become a most loathed enemy.

That happiness would be so false and so fleeting. So easily destroyed.

He clenched his fists and walked to the rail.

A cloud had passed over the moon but it was still bright enough to see. The stars were more luminous at night over the ocean. They shimmered over the surface of the water, their reflections like millions of diamonds.

“There was a dolphin,” a young voice said from behind him, in a conversational tone.

He turned around.

A child was sitting on a barrel, their legs crossed cozily beneath them.

It was a boy child, of course. A very young cabin boy, with a bright red cap pulled down low over their brow—the same one he had seen climbing the gangplank that day.

The boy smiled. There was something cheeky and charming about the expression. His face was tanned deep brown and covered in freckles.

Philip could not help smiling back.

“Oh, yes?”

“Yes. Only a few moments ago. If you stay, perhaps it will come back.”

“Are there often dolphins this late at night?”

The boy nodded. “They sleep and then they play. That’s what the older sailors told me. Dolphins only sleep for a few hours at a time you know. And then they wake up and fish and frolic.” The boy gazed out over the sea. “I should like to be a dolphin, I think.”

“Swimming and playing and eating all day. It does seem a decent sort of life,” Philip agreed.

“If only we could choose our fates so easily,” the boy said, with a long sigh.

Philip gave him a sardonic look. “You would not appear to be doing too badly for yourself. Traveling the world. Watching dolphins at midnight. What are you? Eight? Ten?”

“It’s past three,” the boy corrected. “And I am twelve.”

“Twelve!” Philip eyed the child. They seemed small for their age. But then, they were sitting down. Perhaps they were taller than they looked. “Hmm. Tell Cook to feed you more.”

The boy laughed. “If I tell him that, he might hit me over the head with a frying pan. He chased us out of the kitchen yesterday when we snuck some biscuits. Watson and I,” he explained. “Watson is one of the other ship’s boys.”

Philip knew who Watson was. But he had never seen this particular cabin boy since that first day they boarded. Perhaps the child preferred the night watches.

The boy’s eyes widened. “But perhaps I should not have told you that. I should not wish you to think we were stealing...”

Philip laughed. “Were they fresh biscuits?”

“Straight from the oven.”

“There is nothing like snatching fresh warm biscuits from a pan. I hope you took some butter with you as you ran.”

“We did not. But they were good all the same.” The boy looked cheerful again now that he understood Philip was a sympathetic soul.

All of a sudden, he pointed. “There!”

Philip turned to the rail.

“I don’t see anything.” He could hear the disappointment in his voice. It had been a long time since had seen a dolphin. They were supposed to bring good luck when they swam with a ship.

“It’ll be back,” the boy said with reassuringly. “Perhaps it’ll have its family with it.”

He was correct. Only a few seconds later, a streak of silver shot through the air. The creature must have leapt ten, no fifteen feet.

Just as it sank below the surface, another followed it—this one a little larger, leaping even higher. Graceful and sleek, it spun in midair for a moment, the moonlight reflecting off its gleaming grey skin.

“There are more. Look.” The boy had jumped off the barrel and was standing beside him, pointing eagerly out over the water.

Philip saw a cluster of fins. Perhaps ten or more.

“They travel together, in groups. It must be lovely to swim like that. Anytime you want. Day or night.” The boy rested his chin on his arms as he looked at the animals.

“With their friends and family always beside them. They do seem exceptionally happy creatures, don’t they?” Philip said quietly. “It comes so easily for them.”

“I think that one is the same one I saw last night. Perhaps they’re following the ship.”

“They like you, young fellow,” Philip said, tousling the boy’s head.

The boy clutched at his cap, pulling it over his ears again.

“I was not going to take your hat, boy.” Philip smiled down at him.

“Oh, of course not.” The smile returned was rather shaky.

“What is your name?” Philip asked, suddenly curious. “Are they treating you well? You came on in London, didn’t you? Is this your first sailing?”

He did not mean to barrage the boy with questions, but he was such a delicate-looking child. Philip decided he would keep an eye out for him from now on. Perhaps he would speak to Cook himself.

“Grayson, sir. It is. Yes, they are. Very well. I have no complaints. Well, I must be off.” The boy spoke in a rush and was already backing away.

“All right, Grayson. If ever you need assistance, I am the owner of this vessel. Come to me or to Captain Merriweather if ever you need anything.”

The boy nodded, then scurried off.

Philip shook his head. Oh, to be young again and have no one to worry about but oneself. And the dolphins.

He winced as he reconsidered. Cherry would likely say he was more like the boy. After all, had he not been thinking primarily of himself all this time?

He had not always been like that. He had not always been so hard, so brittle and sharp-edged.

He had been considered a charming man once. Women had enjoyed his company and conversation. He and Martin had been considered dashing young rakes.

Then they had met Sarah.

Rosalind was having a scandalous dream.

She was in bed, quite naked. A man’s mouth was roaming all over her, free as could be. Lips caressing her mouth, her neck, then covering her breasts.

Her arms were wrapped around him, her hands tangled in his thick dark hair.

She gave a little moan and rolled over.

A little too far over.

She landed on the floor with a thud.

She sat up, disoriented. She was not hurt—the berth was only a few feet off the ground and she had been so relaxed when she fell that she did not even feel bruised.

Very relaxed.

A head peeked over the bunk to gaze down at her.

A slobbering, panting head.

“Perita,” Rosalind groaned. She sniffed herself. She was clothed, thank God, but most definitely smelled as if she had been sleeping next to a dog.

She would wash out the night rail and hang it to dry, then bathe herself and put on one of her fresh dresses. She did not have a large wardrobe with her and laundering clothing was challenging at sea, but she had put it off long enough.

She stepped out of the little cabin. Cherry was nowhere to be seen.

When her friend returned, she would see Rosalind’s dresses hanging all over the furniture. Perhaps Cherry would like some help with her own clothes, Rosalind thought, as she considered her friend’s awkward bulk. It could not be easy bending over a basin to scrub.

Cherry could easily have brought along a lady’s maid. She would have had help all through the voyage, if she had. But was not that kind of woman. Perhaps that was why she and Rosalind got along so well.

An hour later, Rosalind stepped onto the main deck. It was mid-morning. She had slept later than usual.

She smoothed down her skirt and looked around for Cherry. Perita had followed her up and stood beside her patiently.

Across the deck, a flash of red caught her eye and she saw a small cabin boy scrambling below deck on the starboard side near the forecastle. Probably running away from some chore he wished to avoid.

“Rosalind!” Cherry’s voice rang out from behind.

She turned around and saw her friend sitting out of the way near the great cabin—the captain’s cabin—where the higher walls had created a shady spot. There was a second chair next to her.

Pippa rested on Cherry’s lap, taking her morning bath.

Perita took one look and began to frolic excitedly, jumping and barking in jubilation over the reunion.

The next thing Rosalind knew, the dog had raced right up to Pippa and was trying to aid her in her ministrations with a long, wet doggy tongue.

Cherry and Rosalind watched in fascination as the cat lifted her head, considered Perita coldly for a moment...and then allowed her to proceed.

“Pippa, I do believe you return Perita’s affections,” Cherry said with amusement.

She looked up at Rosalind, shading her eyes with a hand. “That is a very pretty dress! I have not seen you wear it before. It is most flattering to your...figure.” Cherry winked.

Rosalind looked down at herself. The gown was a light muslin, white in color with small pink and red strawberries topped by tiny green leaves embroidered all over the skirt. The bodice was shirred with pale pink pleats tucked between the white. But what Cherry was probably referring to was the low scooped neckline.

Rosalind had not realized exactly how low the dress was until now. Perhaps she was a little larger in the chest area than she had been when the dress was first made. She felt quite on display and blushed.

“Do you think it is immodest?” she asked, worriedly. “It is perhaps more of an evening dress, but all of my others are hanging to dry.”

“Not at all,” Cherry assured her, cheerfully. “In fact, I am sure it will bring a smile to every crewman’s face and Captain Merriweather will thank you for boosting morale.”

Seeing Rosalind’s expression, she added hastily, “I am teasing! It is perfectly acceptable. If you feel uncomfortable, I have a shawl you may put around you. But really, you are quite safe. The crew are good men and almost all of them have wives and sweethearts of their own. Not to mention that they know Philip and the captain would not tolerate any discourtesy or leering...”

“What is this you are saying about leering?” Cherry’s brother had approached quietly.

Cherry looked up at him with a smile, squinting a little from the glare of the sun. “Oh, I was just reassuring Miss Gardner that the sailors would not dare to treat her with anything but the utmost respect and courtesy despite how delectable she may appear in this dress,” She spoke lightly, yet her eyes sparkled as she looked up at her brother.

She was baiting him, Rosalind realized in panic.

Philip’s gaze shifted from his sister to her and she felt the sudden urge to flee.

Instead, she hurriedly took a seat.

She tried not to meet his eyes, and kept hers fixed on her skirts, but then realized that by seating herself she had improved his viewpoint of her assets even more greatly than if she had stayed standing.

She blushed more deeply.

Furthermore, could he tell just by looking at her what she had seen last night?

Impossible. He would simply think she was coloring with maidenly modesty.

Which was just as bad!

She did not wish to have him think her a simpering miss who was preening for his attentions. She would almost rather be considered a hoyden and a harpy as far as Mr. Calvert was concerned.

“Well, Philip?” Cherry prompted, refusing to let the matter go. “Do you not agree...”

“Yes,” Philip said, shortly. “It is a complimentary gown. And indeed, you are most correct. I should flatten any man who dared to leer—as you so put it—at Miss Gardner. Or at you, for that matter.”

And then he turned and walked away, as silently as he had appeared.

Cherry waited a moment until he was out of earshot, and then burst out laughing.

Rosalind stared. “I do not see what is so funny. You put your brother in a most awkward position.”

“Oh? Did I?” Cherry chortled. “You do not see?” She wiped a tear of laughter from her eye. “Oh, Rosalind. This is too good. Too, too good. You do not know how much I needed this. Or how long I have been waiting for it. When Charles finds out...” She sobered. “Well, he will be exceedingly amused and pleased as well.”

Rosalind was baffled. “Amused by what? Pleased by what? I do not understand...”

Cherry gave her an assessing look. She patted Rosalind’s knee. It was a condescending gesture, but coming from Cherry it was not offensive. “Perhaps you do not now, but you will soon. I am sure you will soon.” She sputtered again and put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Philip!”

Rosalind reached over to stroke Pippa’s sleek fur. Perita had fallen asleep a few feet away, having found the perfect sun puddle.

She did not understand.

Perhaps she did not wish to understand.

Part of her suspected that Cherry was a very astute woman. Too astute for her own good.

Damn and blast!

Cherry was too perceptive by far.

Putting him on the spot like that! Asking him about Miss Gardner’s gown!

As if every man in the vicinity could not see the comely swelling tops of Miss Gardner’s breasts in that... that garment!

He looked around him, glaring fiercely at any man he suspected of looking in Miss Gardner’s general direction.

Perhaps, on second thought, he would not beat the entire crew.

He would simply demand that Captain Merriweather ban Miss Gardner from ever wearing that particular gown above deck again.

Or below deck.

He imagined brushing up against her below deck in such attire and swallowed hard.

It was not only the dress. His cock had stiffened almost immediately as he looked at her and thought of how she had been observing him the night before.

She had not looked at him with shock or horror this morning. She had not looked at him at all.

That was the only answer he needed.

She was not for him. She despised him. She could not even meet his eyes.

Of course, she did not know that he knew she had been standing there.

It was ridiculous. The way he was obsessing about this woman. She was driving him mad and had no idea.

When she had come across him last night, she had probably been terrified.

Terrified by the sight of a man’s cock?

He nearly laughed aloud. These gently bred young ladies were so sheltered. She probably had no conception of what she had even witnessed.

Or had been so horrified she had been frozen to the spot.

He gave a sigh. It was far too awkward a thing to consider apologizing for.

Besides, he thought frowning, he was owed an apology as well.

He suspected it would be a long time coming.

“Ah, Philip!” Captain Merriweather had just come above deck and now approached him. “There is something I wished to speak with you about. Would you join me a moment?”

Philip followed as he led the way into the grand cabin.

Thankfully the women had left their chairs. From the corner of his eye, he could see the two ladies strolling towards the bow.

He straightened his head and, ducking slightly, stepped into the cool, shaded cabin.

He paused a moment to allow his eyes to become accustomed to the dim light. Each time he stepped into the Witch’s grand cabin he was struck by the beauty of its interior.

It was larger than any other cabin on the ship, of course, as was customary for the captain’s quarters.

Wide, ornate windows filled the back wall along the stern, below which were long benches cushioned in dark blue velvet.

A large desk carved in mahogany took up the center of the room towards the back, and was covered with books and navigational maps and charts. Captain Merriweather was a skilled navigator, which was not always the case with ships’ captains.

On pirate vessels, for instance, the captains were often untrained and so instead relied upon a sailing master to fulfill the role. Often these were crewmen who had been taken from other ships and conscripted into the positions unwillingly.

“Jealous, Philip?” The captain was watching him survey the cabin with a smile. “It is not too late to switch as I suggested earlier, you know. I would be happy to...”

“Absolutely not!” Philip was shocked. “You are the captain of this vessel now. It is your cabin by right.”

“More of an office, really,” the captain said, looking around at the clutter and scratching his chin.

Philip looked at the berth in amusement. It was littered with papers and charts.

“Perhaps we should have someone in to tidy up for you?” he suggested.

The captain shook his head. “It is more organized than it appears. I have a system.” He eyed Philip thoughtfully. “You know, if anyone should have this cabin, it is Mrs. Lambe. In her condition, the fresh air above might be better suited to her health. We are fortunate to have a crew that values cleanliness both of person and quarters, but nevertheless, it can become rather dank below.”

“She would not dream of it,” Philip said, chuckling. “Well, perhaps she dreams of it. But she would never allow it. She respects you too much to steal your cabin. Now, if I was the captain, I am sure she would not hesitate.”

“She is a very stalwart woman...”

“That is one word for it,” Philip grumbled, thinking of how Cherry had refused to be left behind despite her condition.

“...as is Miss Gardner. Not a single complaint from either of them about the conditions of sea life. Nor about the food, though it is plain and repetitive fare. Rather they seem to be greatly enjoying themselves most of the time.”

“Yes, they make this quite a pleasure cruise,” Philip muttered.

“What was that, Philip?” The captain was smiling again. “Miss Gardner seems to be a particularly charming young lady; would you not agree?”

His smile had become most devilish-looking, Philip decided.

“Not you, too,” he snapped. “Was this what you called me in for? To discuss Miss Gardner?”

The captain’s face fell. “Not at all. In fact, some of the men have conveyed a concern to me which I believe we must discuss. If not with the crew, then at least between ourselves.”

“Yes?” A complaint about the pay perhaps.

The captain rubbed a hand along his jaw. “There is a ship which the men have heard discussed. It is said to frequent the waters we will be passing through over the next few days. The vessel I speak of has caused some trepidation among the men. Not only those of our crew,” the captain added hastily, lest Philip should think less of his men. “But amongst a number of ships which sail between these ports.”

“A pirate vessel? We are in rather deep waters for pirates to be lying in wait, are we not?” Philip said, skeptically.

The captain sighed. “I would agree with you, generally. However, the ship I speak of—the Fair Britannia—seems to have made something of a name for itself in deepwater sailing. Among other less savory things.”

“What sort of things?” Philip asked, rather sharply. “We have cargo but no wealthy passengers to speak of. Not exactly plum pickings.”

Besides himself, he supposed. He might fetch a nice ransom.

As would his sister. Who carried his unborn niece or nephew.

Not to mention an innocent young girl who was essentially under his protection. And Captain Merriweather’s, of course.

The captain looked him in the eye. “The stories are disturbing, Philip. But let us simply say that these men do not seem to be content with mere pillaging. Recently there have been stories that speak of acts of grotesque violence. And the cargo they have sought as of late is even said to be human.”

“Rape, then? Torture? Enslavement? The absolute bottom of the barrel of humanity. Ironic name for a ship, isn’t it? The Fair Britannia indeed,” Philip said, curling his lip in repugnance.

“It seems the Britannia was originally a respectable vessel. A privateering ship. But things went bad aboard it—very lately, and very thoroughly.”

Philip tried to recall if he had heard the name before.

There had been so many privateering ships during the wars. The Witch among them. It seemed another lifetime ago.

“I cannot recall hearing of it,” he said. “I take it they did not wish to relinquish the lives of privateers?”

“It would seem that way. They have also become a more diverse crew. What began as an English vessel with an English crew has apparently now become a mix of sailors who hail from many places. I believe the current captain is a Frenchman.”

“A Frenchman!” It had been years since the war, but the idea of a French captain of an English ship still did not sit right. “Very well. I suppose there is something you are about to propose?”

“On the very unlikely chance we encounter this ship,” he amended.

Even when piracy had been more rampant, such vessels preferred to stay closer to ports and did not venture out into the middle of oceans on the off-chance they would encounter prey.

Captain Merriweather nodded. “Please know that I believe our odds of encountering this vessel exceedingly slim. The ocean is vast, after all. We rarely see another ship in such deep waters at this point in the sailing. However...”

“The crew is ill at ease, nonetheless? Yes, I understand. Well,” Philip said, running a hand over his face. “Do whatever you need to do, John. I will support it, no matter what your proposal.”

The captain hesitated. “It will take us a little out of our way for several days if we go the route that Duffels has proposed. But he suggests it would allow us to give wide berth to the territory which is supposed the domain of this dark vessel. Do you truly not mind a delay?”

Philip shook his head.

Cherry would, of course, disagree. She wished to arrive as soon as possible.

But if there was even the slightest chance that they might encounter the Britannia he would rather detour for weeks if it meant keeping her safe. What would Charles say if he allowed something to happen to his wife, after all?

As for his own affair—he had already waited two years. What difference would a few days make?

“Not at all. If this will put the crew’s mind at rest, see to it.”

“Thank you, Philip.” Captain Merriweather appeared relieved. “Truth be told, it was Duffels who stirred some of the men up a bit by telling some of the deplorable tales he had heard. He did not mean to—he is an experienced first mate, but you know how he is when he’s been drinking and is in a storytelling mood. I truly do believe he is a little frightened himself, though he would not admit it. I shall tell him we have decided to err on the side of caution and accept this rerouting. I’m sure it will put his mind at rest—and the minds of those who listened to his stories.”

“Duffels,” Philip muttered. “Will the man not settle back down on land soon?”

“He may be an ancient mariner but to me that makes him all the more valuable, Philip,” said Captain Merriweather. “There is a wealth of knowledge in that grey-haired head of his, mixed in with all of the superstitious nonsense. And you know, he could sail this vessel as well as I could if it were necessary. That alone is enough, in my view. Besides, the men admire him, one and all. He has a way of winning hearts, in spite of his eccentricities.”

“If by his eccentricities you mean his guzzling of more than his share of rum rations,” Philip began, in annoyance. But the captain had already begun to open the door.

“Speaking of rum,” Captain Merriweather called back over his shoulder. “Would you like to join Duffels and myself for a drink later this evening? We shall be playing cards with some of the crew.”

“Cribbage?”

“But of course. Five card,” the captain said, with a wide grin.

“It always was your favorite,” Philip complained. “Because you are too deucedly good at it.”

“Don’t complain because I beat you, Philip,” Merriweather said with a smirk. “That’s unsportsmanlike. If you prefer, we can play whist. Would that appease you?” His tone gentled. “But truly, join us. It has been a long time since we drank together. Not since...”

“Since before Sarah died. Yes, I know. You visited us a few months before she passed.” Philip looked pointedly away.

“Yes. Well, I am sorry to have mentioned it,” the captain said quietly. “But it has been good to see you. We have known each other a long time. If there is anything you would wish to speak about before we arrive in Tortola, I hope you will not hesitate to approach me. If I may be of any assistance...”

“Assistance?” Philip gave a tired laugh. “There is no assistance you can render in the matter. Particularly not if it concerns the well-being of Cherry’s husband.”

“Is that what you believe?” Captain Merriweather closed the door again. “That your sister’s concerns converge with your own?”

“I have not shared my suspicions with Cherry, but yes, I believe it is possible.”

“You really think that Martin would do something to prevent Charles’ return?”

Philip looked at his friend coldly. “I did not think Martin would do many things, John. But he did. Perhaps he harbors some misplaced desire for revenge—though God knows what I have ever done to him. Perhaps he has extended his hatred to Cherry’s family. I would probably do the same for him. If I knew of anyone he had left to care about.”

“You don’t truly mean that,” the captain said quietly.

“Don’t I?” Philip shook his head. “I have imagined doing a great many terrible things to the man these past two years, John.”

Captain Merriweather appraised him in silence. Then he nodded. “Very well. In that case, when we arrive, should you require a second, you may count upon me.”

“A second second?” Philip said drily, recalling the past. “No. Thank you, but no. It is a noble offer. But I shall not endanger any others’ lives but my own this time.”

John colored. “I understand. Well, I hope to see you this evening.” He nodded again and went out the door.

When it had closed completely, Philip sank onto a window seat and put his head in his hands.

Two years.

Seven-hundred and thirty days.

At first there had been sorrow, disbelief. Then guilt. Followed by vitriolic rage. It was the rage which he had cultivated this past year. The desire to have someone else pay for what had occurred was strong.

Perhaps soon someone finally would.

But God only knew he did not wish anyone else to pay as high a price as he had. Certainly not his sister or her beloved husband.