Love Me, Marietta

by Jennifer Wilde

  It was seven o’clock. Jeremy and I dined at eight. As the plush dining room could only seat twenty people at a time, each passenger had been assigned a different hour for dining, six, seven and, by far the most desirable, eight. The captain dined then, as did the most fashionable passengers. I wondered how Janine had managed to get on the eight o’clock list. All those diamonds, perhaps. More likely a quick and satisfying tumble with the right ship’s officer. Jeremy, of course, had bribed our way onto the list, putting the proper amount of money into the proper palm. Charming he might be. Fashionable he wasn’t, nor was I, for that matter.

  Although the gown I was wearing was perfectly suitable. I decided to change for dinner, particularly if I was going to have another encounter with the formidable Madame Etienne. Examining the gowns that hung in the wardrobe trunk standing open in the corner, I selected a deep red satin with narrow black stripes and laid it out on the bed along with the matching petticoat with its layers of floating red tulle underskirts. That should do it, I thought, removing the clothes I was wearing and hanging them back up, I would wear the long black velvet gloves as well, and perhaps a narrow black velvet ribbon at my throat. No, that would be too much, too obvious. The gloves would be enough.

  Twenty minutes later, wearing only the red tulle petticoat, I was still at the dressing table, putting the finishing touches on my makeup, lips a bit redder than usual, cheeks subtly rouged, eyelids brushed with a suggestion of pale brown shadow. I had brushed my hair, arranged it on top of my head, and then decided to let it fall in natural waves. As I opened a bottle of perfume, Jeremy stepped into the cabin. He looked slightly rumpled, his frock coat wrinkled, his neckcloth loose.

  “You might have knocked!” I snapped.

  “Why the hell should I?” he snapped back. “This happens to be my cabin, too. You needn’t go all modest on me. I’ve seen you in your petticoat before, you know.”

  “Go to hell!”

  “Aren’t we in a dandy mood.”

  “Aren’t we just.”

  “You know, lass, you’re turning into an awful shrew.”

  “And you, mister, are turning into a surly brute.”

  “Who’s to blame for that?”

  “Certainly not I,” I said airily.

  “Expecting me to sleep on that bloody chaise longue that’s a good two feet too short. Acting like a terrified virgin.”

  “I’ve never acted like a terrified virgin. I refused to let you share the bed, yes, but—”

  “Forget it!” he snarled, removing his coat.

  “If you’re going to undress, I’d prefer you do so behind the screen.”

  “You’ve seen me without my breeches before, too,” he retorted, peeling off his shirt.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed pulled off his boots and then stood up and proceeded to remove his breeches. I dabbed perfume behind my ears and between my breasts, carefully ignoring him. He pulled on a robe, tied the sash, and then, just to aggravate me, lighted a perfectly foul-smelling cigar. I was not going to give him the satisfaction of complaining about it. I got up and slipped the gown over my head, pulling it down, putting my arms into the short puffed sleeves, adjusting the bodice.

  “Planning a seduction?” he inquired.

  “Hardly.”

  “All that perfume. All that makeup. A red dress. Have your eye on one of the officers?”

  “I’m going to ignore that remark, Mr. Bond. Damn. I can’t get it fastened properly—”

  He stalked over, shoved my hands away and fastened up the tiny, invisible hooks in back with a nimble skill that proved he had had a considerable amount of practice. The job done, he marched over to his trunk and took out a new set of clothes, black broadcloth breeches and coat, fine white lawn shirt, a splendid sapphire-blue neckcloth. Cigar clenched in the corner of his mouth, he took off his robe and began to dress.

  “I ran into the delectable Madame Etienne on deck.” I remarked.

  “Yeah?”

  “She seemed lonely.”

  “Pity,” he said, pulling on his breeches.

  “I naturally assumed you’d be with her.”

  “You assumed wrong.”

  I took out the long black velvet gloves and began to put them on! Jeremy snapped his fingers, took out the deep pearl-gray brocade waistcoat he had forgotten and put it on over his shirt, smoothing it down with his palms. Picking up the neckcloth, he stepped over to the mirror and began to fasten it around his neck, carefully arranging the folds. He was a terrible dandy, I thought, but when he put his boots back on and slipped on the frock coat. I had to admit he looked dashing indeed. I couldn’t blame Janine for snapping him up like a plate full of bonbons.

  Jeremy crushed his cigar out in a small porcelain tray, tugged at the lapels of his coat and patted the sapphire neckcloth.

  “How do I look?” he asked.

  “You might just brush your hair.”

  “Guess I’d better at that. I know you’re much too proud to ask, but just in case you’re interested, I spent the day playing cards down in the hold with some of the more affluent male passengers. Won a bundle of money.”

  “How nice,” I retorted. “You probably cheated.”

  “Didn’t have to. The chaps on this boat don’t know the first thing about cards. There,” he said, putting down the brush. “Ready to go? I didn’t eat any lunch, and I’m famished.”

  We left the cabin, and, clasping my elbow firmly, he led me down the passageway, walking with that brisk, bouncy stride. I almost had to trot to keep up. People nodded politely as we entered the dining salon and moved toward our table. Janine Etienne was sharing her table with the shy, handsome blond. He no longer had his book, I noticed, and he seemed a bit nervous and apprehensive about dining amid all these fashionable people at this unaccustomed hour. I pegged him at once as a six o’clock diner. Perhaps, though, he was merely apprehensive about being with the seductive Janine who devoured him with her eyes and clearly planned to have him for dessert. As we took our seats, I couldn’t help but smile.

  The great ship rocked a little, tilting slowly from side to side, though not enough to be disturbing or to prevent the waiters from serving the excellent meal with superb courtesy. Jeremy was silent, sullen now, toying with his food and making no effort to be sociable. Mouth tight, lips turned down at the corners, blue eyes lost in thought, hair neatly brushed for once, he was severely handsome, stern and formidable. Jeremy loved to squabble as much as I did—yes, I had to admit that our spats were curiously invigorating—but when he was in a mood like this, I knew better than to agitate him.

  “Someone spotted a school of whales this afternoon,” I remarked, spooning more cheese sauce over my asparagus.

  “Yeah?”

  “They were a long way off, I understand. Mrs. Tyler said they looked like gleaming black rocks floating in the water.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “I’d have loved to have seen them. I’ve never seen a whale.”

  “You haven’t missed anything.”

  “This sole’s delicious. It amazes me that one can dine in such luxury on board a ship.”

  Jeremy merely snorted, more sullen than ever. I was beginning to grow irritated.

  “The weather’s been marvelous,” I observed. “We had that storm last week, it’s true, but it wasn’t a bad one, a bit of wind, some rain. The ship hardly tossed at all. The water’s been smooth as glass today, and—”

  “Is it absolutely necessary for you to keep on babbling like an empty-headed fool?”

  That stung. I could feel spots of color burning on my cheeks.

  “I was merely trying to be pleasant,” I informed him. “That’s a hell of a lot more than one could say for you.”

  “I don’t happen to be in a pleasant mood.”

  “That’s quite apparent. Perhaps it’s the company. Perhaps you’d rather be chatting with Janine Etienne.”

  “Perhaps I would.”

  I started to get up. He reached acr
oss the table and seized my wrist in a tight clamp and told me in no uncertain terms to finish my meal. His voice was threatening. His eyes were full of smoldering blue fires. People were beginning to stare. I settled back down into my chair and, when he released it, rubbed my wrist.

  “You hurt my wrist,” I said.

  “You’re lucky I didn’t break it.”

  “You bastard!”

  He looked surprised. “You’re really mad, aren’t you?”

  “You’re bloody right I am!”

  “Lower your voice. You’re making a spectacle of yourself. People will think Mr and Mrs. Jeremy Bond are having a marital spat.”

  “I don’t give a damn what they think. I’ve had just about enough of this, Jeremy. I never wanted you to come on this trip in the first place. I tried to stop you. This charade is beginning to wear thin. And as for what people think—what the hell do you think they think when you spend every single night in the cabin of that simpering whore over there?”

  “Touchy about Janine, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t give a damn what you do!”

  “Janine Etienne is an interesting woman. I’ve played cards with her a few times. I’ve had Champagne with her. I’m a man. I have an ego. The woman I love treats me like a leper, and it’s pleasant to spend time with a woman who finds me appealing.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself! Anything in a pair of breeches is appealing to a woman like that.”

  “Be that as it may—”

  “I’ve no intention of sitting here and discussing your sexual adventures. You can hump her twenty-four hours a day for all I care. I imagine she’d adore it.”

  “Probably would,” he admitted.

  I stabbed the sole with my fork and viciously decapitated the asparagus. Then I put knife and fork down and tried to control my anger and hold back the tears that threatened to splatter at any second. Damn him for making me feel this way. I took several deep breaths and, after a while, managed to lift my glass and take a sip of wine. After having toyed with his food earlier on, Jeremy now began to eat with apparent relish. The sonofabitch was pleased with himself for having upset me. He loved getting me riled, took a savage glee in seeing my cheeks burn, seeing my eyes flash. I fought back the anger and made a valiant effort to salvage my dignity.

  Jeremy finished his sole. The waiter removed our plates and asked if we would care for dessert. Jeremy nodded. I maintained a stony silence. Janine Etienne left the dining salon with a flash of diamonds, a swirl of green velvet, the handsome blond trotting behind her like an obedient, lovesick schoolboy. Jeremy paid no attention to them. Our dessert came. He ate his slowly. I didn’t touch mine.

  “You more or less threw me out of our cabin,” he said in a calm, reasonable voice. “I couldn’t sleep on that bloody chaise longue. I had to find a place to spend my nights. An officer, Lieutenant Girdot, chap I played cards with, kindly volunteered to let me share his quarters—he has an extra bunk. I’ve been spending my nights there.”

  “Do you really expect me to believe that?” I asked dryly.

  “Believe what you will, Marietta, but I assure you that the only woman on board this ship I care to sleep with is sitting across the table from me right now.”

  I met this comment with a brooding silence. My anger had vanished, and I no longer felt I might cry. The melancholy I had felt earlier on enveloped me again, deeper, more disturbing than ever. I felt utterly lost, utterly alone, and life itself seemed a hopeless, meaningless ritual. Not even the thought of Derek could lift the black depression that settled over me.

  “Finished?” Jeremy inquired.

  I nodded, and we left the dining salon. When he started to lead me back to the cabin, I shook my head and told him I wanted to stroll on deck for a while. He said he would keep me company, and I was too weary to object, All the fight had gone out of me. Jeremy said it would be cool and went to fetch a wrap for me. I moved up to the deck, folding my arms about my waist as the chill night air struck me. The night was deep blue and black and silver, only a few stars twinkling against the black, black sky, the moon obscured by clouds. I stepped over to the railing as the huge sails caught the wind overhead, belling out and snapping crisply. The water was much choppier than it had been earlier, and the ship moved ponderously, creaking and groaning as if protesting the strain. An occasional sailor scurried past, but there were no other passengers on deck.

  “Rough night for a stroll,” Jeremy said, coming up behind me.

  “I don’t mind. It suits my mood.”

  “That bad?” he inquired.

  I nodded, and he placed a cloak over my shoulders. The heavy folds fell to my feet, covering me completely. Jeremy moved around in front of me and fastened the strings at my throat.

  “Couldn’t decide which one you’d want.” he said, “so I just brought one of my own. It ought to keep you warm.”

  It was of heavy black broadcloth, lined with white satin, warm indeed and smelling of him. I adjusted the sweeping folds and began to stroll slowly down the deck. Jeremy sauntered along beside me, matching his stride to mine, hands thrust into the pockets of his breeches. The sails snapped. Wood groaned. A sailor called out to one of his mates. Waves sloshed against the hull with a monotonous, slapping sound.

  “Low?” he asked.

  “I have been ever since we left,” I said quietly.

  “I guess I’m responsible for that.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not your fault. It’s a lot of things. I should be happy, I know, but—” I let the sentence trail into silence, unable to explain what I was feeling.

  “I understand. Marietta.”

  “Do you?”

  “I know you, lass. I know you better than you know yourself. I understand, all right. I’m hoping you’ll come to understand, too, before it’s too late.”

  “You’re speaking in riddles.”

  “Not at all,” he replied. “It merely seems that way because you refuse to see what’s in your own heart.”

  “You—you’ve said that before, several times. One day, you said, I would see what was in my own heart. I know what’s in my heart, Jeremy. I know who I am, where I belong.”

  “Ah, lass, if only that were true.”

  He spoke softly, tenderly, and I looked up at him as we continued to walk slowly around the deck. His handsome face was sad, his eyes dark, reflective. He claimed to know me, but he didn’t, not really, and I realized that I didn’t really know him either. He was complex, a creature of many moods, constantly shifting. The charming, bantering, bickering Jeremy was merely a facade, and beneath that flippant surface were depths I had never fully appreciated. Once or twice I had sensed them, but I had never made an effort to genuinely know the man who dwelled there.

  Clouds rolled slowly across the sky, spilling silver over their edges as they moved past the moon, and the moon appeared at last, round and full, pale silver-gold. The deck was washed with misty light. A million flecks of silver danced on the water like glittering spangles. Jeremy sighed, hunching his shoulders, thrusting his hands deeper into his pockets. He hadn’t brought a cloak for himself, and it was growing cooler. He shouldn’t be out here after such a serious illness, I thought, but I knew if I said anything to that effect it would irritate him.

  We moved on in silence, each lost in our own thoughts, and after a while I stopped. We had completely traversed the deck, reaching the spot where I had been standing when he brought the cloak. The ship rocked, plowing on through the waves, the deck tilting slightly as we stood there without speaking. Jeremy stood at the railing, gazing out at the water, a stranger to me, it seemed, a man I didn’t know at all. I wrapped the heavy cloak closer about me, the satin lining smooth and warm, caressing my skin.

  “We’ll be in France soon,” I said.

  “Yes, the days are passing quickly.”

  “Then England.”

  Jeremy turned to look at me. His face, sculpted in moonlight, was without expression now. He seemed remote, untouch
able.

  “That’s right,” he said. His voice was hard. “Soon we’ll be in England, and you’ll join your lover and live happily ever after.”

  “Jeremy, I—” I hesitated. “Why did you come? Why?”

  “You know the answer to that, Marietta.”

  “You knew I—”

  “Yes,” he snapped, “I knew.”

  “Then—”

  “I hoped there might still be a chance,” he told me. “I hoped you might still come to your senses. I was wrong, I was a fool to hope. I shouldn’t have come.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish—”

  “It’s not your fault, Marietta,” he said tersely. “Each of us creates our own hell. We’ve no one to blame but ourselves.”

  He wanted to say more, I could see that, but he cut himself short. I wanted to say more, too, wanted to say kind, wise words that would make it easier for us both, but the words wouldn’t come. We stood there, silent, looking at each other in the moonlight as waves slapped against the hull and sails snapped in the wind, separated by silence and deep emotions tightly contained. After a moment Jeremy scowled and looked away. “Good night, Marietta,” he said, and then, abruptly, he went below, leaving me alone with the loss, leaving me alone with my own pivate hell.

  Thirty-Five

  Carts and lorries and carriages of every description rumbled down the street at frightening speeds, horses neighing, wheels clattering over the cobbles, people darting through the traffic at the risk of life and limb. An urchin with flaxen hair and dirty face skipped nimbly in front of a carriage, dodged a cart and leaped in front of a lorry laden with great wooden casks of beer. The driver jerked violently on the reins. The horses reared. A cask of beer rolled off the lorry and crashed on the cobbles, wood splintering, beer gushing in foamy waves. Cheeks red with anger, the driver shouted fearsome curses and grabbed his whip. The urchin laughed, extended a stiff middle finger and danced merrily onto the pavement, swallowed up by the congestion of pedestrians. The traffic grew even more tangled and lethal as vehicles swerved to avoid the slats of wood.