The Seafaring Lady’s Guide to Love by Fenna Edgewood

Chapter 8

Rosalind lay in herberth shaking, an arm flung over her eyes, her blankets pulled up over her chest like armor.

But there was not enough darkness in the world to shield her from the images she saw when she closed her eyes.

Or the words she heard repeating.

Something beautiful had been spoiled.

She bit her lip to keep from making a sound as the tears spilled down her cheeks.

He believed she was wanton. His for the taking.

A girl to have for a night.

Perhaps he thought she had already given her virtue to others countless times. For why else would he have called her such names? Made her feel as if her desire had been a wonderment to him?

Where had she gone wrong?

The obvious answer was in not fleeing from him in the hall as soon as he appeared.

Or perhaps her error was in responding with any enthusiasm at all to his kiss, his touch.

Perhaps he preferred a woman to simply be. An object from which to receive sensations.

But then, why had he touched her in a way that could only have provided one of them pleasure? And such an intense kind of pleasure it had been!

She supposed it did not matter.

What mattered was that she was trapped on this ship with a man who might very well now think that she was his for the taking.

Perhaps he had lost all respect for her that very first day, when she had so audaciously and stupidly called herself his wife.

He had had a wife once. What had she been like? Rosalind suspected she would not like the answer. She imagined a woman so beautiful and composed that no other could ever live up to her memory in his mind.

But as for Rosalind—he did not want her as a wife.

He simply desired her body in passing, in the heat of the moment, in a haze of intoxication.

Would he even desire her again in the sober light of day?

She had to admit that part of her longed to find out. Specifically, the region which lay between her legs, which he had touched so expertly with his hands, his mouth. What would it be like to feel him fully there? Within her?

She would never know.

To learn such a thing would be sheer ruin.

As if she might not easily be considered ruined already.

Thankfully, Cherry had been asleep when she returned. She could not imagine creeping back in and having to somehow explain where she had been, what she had let Cherry’s brother do.

She would talk to Philip tomorrow. With her head held high and her voice cold. She would demand that he stay away from her for the remainder of the voyage.

And then she would pray that he would do what she asked.

For if he ever came to her again, she was not sure she would be able to say no.

When Cherry swept into his suite unannounced just as he was finishing shaving and plopped herself down into a chair without another word, he began to have a very bad feeling.

But he ignored her.

After wiping his face and putting his kit away, he turned and raised his brows.

“Would you like to speak now or after I have put on a shirt?” He asked sardonically, gesturing to his bare chest.

“I truly could not care either way, Philip. Whatever would make you the most comfortable, I suppose,” she responded, saccharinely.

The tone told him he was on very, very thin ice indeed.

He wondered if she ever spoke to Charles in that manner. Or did she reserve it merely for scolding wayward brothers.

Not for the first time, he wondered what it would have been like to grow up alongside his precocious female twin.

It might have changed everything.

Would he have even married Sarah? Or would Cherry have used her incredibly astute powers of observance and warned him away, preventing him from making the greatest mistake of his young life?

At least he had his sister now. His life had changed for the better when she had arrived—unannounced, just as this morning, of course—and declared herself to be his long-lost twin.

Albeit, not “long-lost” on her part. She had known of his existence for as long as she could remember. Their mother had raised her with the knowledge that her father had taken her brother away from them both when he was no more than two-years-old.

He had almost no recollection of his mother. Almost all he knew came from his sister, second-hand.

Cherry had told him of how she could remember their mother constantly crying throughout her childhood. It had been for him. The son who had been taken, ruthlessly and brutally, without a second thought.

While the daughter was left behind.

All because of the differing colors of their skin.

And so, Cherry had grown up as the Black daughter of a white mother who had been abandoned by her husband when she had dared to bear him such dissimilar children.

The awful irony was that it was Philip’s father’s blood which was in most likelihood mixed, as Cherry had discovered when she arrived in London and set out to research their genealogy as far back as she could.

Yet it was she and their mother who had paid the highest price.

All because of a prideful, bigoted man who could not find it within himself to love his own flesh and blood.

Or himself. For Philip suspected that his reserved and cold-hearted father had simply refused to accept the truth of the matter. To do so would have been to accept what he was himself.

It was sheer idiocy, as far as Philip was concerned. There were many Blacks in Britain. Many were successful men and women in various trades and occupations—up to the highest levels of society.

When one had the wealth, entrance into almost any social milieu was possible—as Cherry Calvert had quickly learned, when squired about by her young, newly married brother.

In the end, she had not chosen a man from the highest ranks—though there were some who would eagerly have chosen her. And not only for her dowry—which Philip ensured was extremely generous as befitted the woman who should have, by all rights in his view, been co-heir to their father’s fortune—but for her beauty and her charm.

Oh, some of those dandies surely wished to provoke their staid and conventional parents by courting her. But some had been clearly smitten.

One poor fellow had wept, Philip recalled, when Cherry had broken the news to him that she could not accept his proposal for she had just accepted the hand of the dashing naval officer Charles Lambe.

Of course, upon hearing of their engagement, there was absolutely no way Philip was about to lose his sister so soon after she had been restored to him. Fortunately, Charles was an affectionate, generous-hearted man who quite understood his bride’s reluctance to leave her twin. He had relinquished his position and taken up a new one in the Calvert family shipping business.

A position which Philip could only hope and pray had not resulted in his brother-in-law’s untimely demise in Tortola.

“Why don’t you sit down, Philip?” Cherry suggested. “You look tired.”

“Tired?”

“Yes. Exhausted. From all accounts, you had a very late night.”

Oh, dear Lord. Had Miss Gardner returned to her room and shared details of what had passed between them with his sister?

Of course, she may have had no choice in the matter. Cherry was an expert at extracting information. She would have made a wonderful torturer during the Inquisition.

“From all accounts?” He asked casually. “From whose account? Has John been telling tales again?”

She shook her head with a faint smile. “No, it was not Captain Merriweather.”

“Duffels?” he guessed. “He drank me under the table last night, I must admit.”

“Yes, I can smell the whisky coming off you from here.” She gave a disgusted sniff. “I believe you are in need of a long bath, Philip.”

Good Lord, he hoped the whisky was all she could smell.

“No,” she was saying, “it was not Duffels. Nor Captain Merriweather.”

She leaned forward in her chair and steepled her hands.

“Are you trying to look ominous or is it accidental?” he inquired.

“Purely accidental, of course. Why, really, Philip—you speak as if you feel somehow threatened by my presence.” She smiled sweetly. “Can your dear, loving sister not simply come to chat?”

“In the early hours of the morning? Unannounced? While looking like the cat who ate the canary?” He sighed. “What is it, Cherry? What have I done now?”

She leaned back again and crossed her arms—which was rather difficult for her at the present time. She had to settle for resting them upon her bulge, which did not quite give the same effect.

“What are your intentions towards Miss Gardner, Philip?”

He gave a choked cough. “My intentions? Why on earth would I have any intentions...”

“Oh, stop it, Philip!” she exclaimed with a frown, shifting restlessly in her seat. “She is a young, innocent girl traveling all alone. On our vessel. Can she not be safe from roving hands? Surely, I did not expect them to be yours! But apparently, I have held you to too high a standard. Not all men are as worthy as Charles.”

Philip made a strong effort not to roll his eyes and failed. “Clearly I have done something to scandalize you. Please get to the point and tell me what it is.”

He had no idea what Miss Gardner had told her. If anything.

For all he knew, Cherry knew absolutely nothing and was merely fishing for a reaction. Which he was extremely close to granting her.

“Very well. I saw you, Philip.” She put a finger to her chin. “No, pardon me, allow me to amend my choice of words. ‘Heard’ would be a better verb. I heard you—and Miss Gardner. Here. In this cabin. Last night.”

She smiled again and this time he had the decency to cringe. “Do you have any idea exactly what I might have heard, Philip?”

“Miss Gardner and I... conversing?” he guessed, struggling for composure.

If he had been wearing a cravat, he would be loosening it by now. Perhaps even strangling someone with it. “Yes, I believe she was here, now that you mention it. Very briefly.”

Cherry was glaring. “Conversing? Is that truly how you would describe it? I must say, I do not recall ever hearing anyone make such sounds while they were conversing. At least, not in polite society.”

“Yes, well, you know I am not very polite, Cherry,” he said, giving her a sweet smile of his own. “Isn’t that what you always tell me? That I’m boorish? Beastly?”

“Ah, so this is my doing!” she shot back. “Very well. Let me see if I understand. You were endeavouring to follow my advice by being more gentlemanly towards Miss Gardner—my dear, young, unmarried—” She stressed the word. “—friend, who I have taken under my wing, by conversing with her alone in your cabin. At night. After you had drunk God knows how many drams of whisky.”

She leaned forward again. “You were not, under any circumstances, ruining Miss Gardner? Seducing her? Stealing her virtue?”

He opened his mouth and closed it again. Then opened it. “Not exactly. No. I would not put it that way, now that you mention it.”

She scoffed.

“Ruined is such a harsh word,” he said, weakly, leaning back in his chair. “What exactly did you say you heard?”

“Enough to know that you were doing more than kissing the girl, Philip!” she cried, with exasperation. “I could at least understand that much! A little kiss. A brief kiss. Anyone with eyes could have seen you were attracted to the girl. I would have understood if you had approached her with honorable intentions. More than understood. I would have been ecstatic! But this? Your behaviour has been absolutely despicable. Dishonorable. Disgraceful. Disgusting. Did I say that already?”

“You said despicable. I think disgusting is close to the same thing,” he noted.

She glowered. “And now, you have the gall to sit there in that chair—”

“Well, you made me take a seat...”

She ignored him. “—and play this game of words with me? As if this were a joking matter?”

She threw up her hands. “I truly do not understand you, Philip. One would think that after all you have been through, that your own circumstances would have taught you to...” She paused.

“Yes?” he prompted, narrowing his eyes.

“To understand how precarious a woman’s position is! How irreparable her reputation and how fragile a thing her virtue. Not to mention how much pain conduct such as yours can result in. How can you really see your conduct as any different from that of...”

“Yes?” he interrupted, coldly. “Whose name is on your mind?”

“You know very well who I am comparing you to,” she said, equally icy.

“I will not dignify your comparison with an answer or an argument,” he retorted.

“Ha! Because you can’t,” she muttered.

“But, even so,” he continued. “What makes you think my intentions towards Miss Gardner are dishonorable?”

“Oh, you plan to court her, do you? On the ship? And offer marriage?”

“Marriage...” He turned the word over on his lips, then put his head in his hands and groaned.

“Are you groaning because your conscience is finally beginning to pang you or because your head aches from all of the liquor you drank last night?” Cherry inquired.

“A bit of both,” he admitted. “Marriage, Cherry?”

“Marriage, Philip. If I heard what I heard, what guarantee is there that someone else did not? There are only two women on this vessel, and one is your sister. That rather narrows it down, would you not agree?”

Seeing him opening his mouth, she quickly added, “And don’t you even think of mentioning the cat and the dog!”

He closed it again.

“You know, I pity, Miss Gardner,” she said, shaking her head.

“Oh?”

“Yes, for she will have to put up with you as her husband. On the positive side, I suppose I shall benefit the most from all of this. For I will gain a lovely new sister.”

Philip ran a hand over his face.

“I cannot marry anyone, Cherry. Regardless of how improper my behavior towards Miss Gardner was—and I accept your assessment—it would not be in her best interests. She deserves much better.”

“I completely agree. Perhaps you should have considered that last night.”

He looked at her soberly. “She is a clever and beautiful, innocent young girl. She deserves a man who is... less damaged. I would make her a terrible husband, Cherry. I am an unworthy man. Have I not proven that beyond any doubt?”

If he had expected her to soften, he was disappointed.

She grimaced. “Please, no more self-pity. I cannot bear it. This is about Miss Gardner. Her reputation. Her future. Not you!”

“For God’s sake, Cherry! You would wish to saddle your friend with a man who murdered his last wife?”

Rosalind lowered a trembling hand and took a step back.

She had been about to knock just as Philip Calvert’s voice carried clearly through the wood.

Cherry. He must be talking to Cherry. Did she know? She must, if she was urging her brother towards marriage then who else could they be speaking of him not marrying?

If she had arrived a few minutes earlier, there would have been no need of Cherry’s humiliating intervention.

No need for Philip to so forcefully refuse.

No reason for her to have overheard his horrific confession.

She had planned to rap on Philip’s door, remain in the hall when he opened it, and politely explain to him that what had passed between them last night was never to be thought of or spoken of again, and that once they reached land, she wished never to see his face again in her life.

Or something along those lines.

She had not sorted out the exact wording.

But now it appeared that she was on board a ship with a man who not only seduced her but also claimed to have murdered his own wife.

And all she could think about was what a lie it would have been if she had told him she wished never to see his face again.

There must be something terribly, terribly wrong with her.

If what she had just heard was not enough to knock some sense into her head and keep her away from this man, what would be?

Her two older sisters had both gotten themselves into dreadful messes with men. But it had all worked itself out in the end.

Of course, neither of them had fallen in love with murderers who had accused them of being minxes after seducing them in the dark hall of a ship in the middle of the ocean.

Fallen in love with?

Could she really have had such a foolish thought? It was a travesty that she would even consider such a thing.

She must be bewitched.

This was what she got for selecting a vessel with such a name. Witch of the Waves indeed!

Damn and blast the man. What else could he possibly say to show just how unsuitable and, yes, even cruel he was?

She had never considered herself a fool before now. But she knew she was behaving utterly foolishly by allowing this ill-advised attraction to continue. Worse, to grow.

Philip Calvert was a brutal and dangerous man.

No wonder Cherry had kept her in the dark as to his history. She had even suggested her brother to be deserving of pity!

Did she truly think murdering his wife was of no account?

Rosalind shook her head. No. Cherry was a good and kind woman. She would be loyal to her brother, of course. Just as Rosalind would be to her sisters—no matter what they stood accused of.

And as she had already been forced to admit—Cherry’s brother had some fine points.

But that did not make what he had done any less wrong.

She tried to imagine how he had committed the crime.

Had it been one of passion? Committed in a jealous rage?

How had his wife looked as the life drained out of her? As he stood over her, did he feel remorse? Had he loved the woman?

She shuddered.

The hands of a murderer had been all over her. She had been scorched with lust and desperate for his touch.

Even now the idea of seeing his face again was enough to send waves of hot and cold rushing through her body.

She shivered. She flushed. She trembled.

It was like a plague.

Infected she might be, but she was still Rosalind.

She was a Gardner, for goodness sakes. The Gardner women were strong and bold.

Had she not already proven this by saving a man from a stormy sea, boarding a ship alone, and crossing an ocean? Not to mention the bold assistance she had given in her sisters’ misadventures!

If she was capable of such feats, surely, she could conquer these disruptive feelings for such an eminently unsuitable man.

After all, she would only have to endure the symptoms of this illness a little while longer.

Soon she would step off the ship and never see him again.

She tried to ignore the fact that she felt more pain than pleasure at that prospect.