Not very practical, Marsali thought. A lantern might not be as bright, but at least one did not have to hold it the entire time it was lit.
The captain had picked up another item with a small keyboard similar to that of a pianoforte. The object was awkward and bulky, with folds or wrinkles of some type of material making up much of it. Taking each side in one hand, he pushed the folds together, and a screeching sound came out. When he pulled it apart, a similar yet different sound was made.
Marsali watched and listened, fascinated, as the captain repeated the process, pressing on various keys so that it began to sound almost musical.
“It’s an instrument?” She stepped closer, wishing he would allow her a turn.
“It is called an accordion,” Captain Gower said, “though I am no musician and cannot do it justice.”
After a few more pulls and pushes, he set the accordion back on the table and was about to move on to showing her the next object when the sound of someone clearing his throat stopped them both.
Marsali turned around and was startled to discover Mr. Thatcher sitting in a window seat on the other side of the room. Tucked into the alcove as he was, she had not noticed him upon entering.
“Good evening, Miss Abbott.” He rose from the seat and stepped forward, quickly closing the space between them so they stood very near to one another. Marsali glanced over her shoulder at Captain Gower, but he was not looking at them as if anything was amiss. Instead, he nodded his head as if he had been expecting this very scenario and was now encouraging Mr. Thatcher in something.
An apology? She very much doubted that, as Captain Gower was present and, no doubt, upset with her… though he had not seemed so in the past few minutes since her arrival.
Mr. Thatcher cleared his throat again. “You’ve been troubled.” He directed the question at her.
Kind of you to notice, as my trouble is of your doing. “I have been.” She did not deny it, having spent the last hour reevaluating her actions and feeling guilty that she had disregarded one of the few rules the captain had given them. She realized Mr. Thatcher had said nothing about her being in trouble.
“The captain has… I have… we have come up with a possible solution.” Mr. Thatcher did not sound like his usual, confident self.
Perhaps his conscience had awakened, and he felt guilty for telling on her.
“A solution?” Instead of a consequence or punishment? Perplexed, she glanced from one man to the other.
“To the situation regarding your term of indenture,” Mr. Thatcher clarified. “A way to provide for your safety.”
“That is what this meeting is for?” Perhaps Captain Gower was not upset with her after all. She let out a slight breath of relief.
“In a manner of speaking,” Captain Gower said. “But there is more to it as well.” He strode closer, standing before them.
Feeling suddenly wary and vulnerable, though she had no reason for distrusting either man, Marsali stepped backward, away from both.
“Mr. Thatcher assured me he had the matter well at hand, and I believed him— until I witnessed his somewhat clumsy attempts at dinner this evening.” Captain Gower’s mouth twisted in a grimace as a look of chagrin appeared on Mr. Thatcher’s face.
He is in trouble instead of me? Marsali felt as perplexed as Lydia must have during the enigmatic conversation they had engaged in throughout dinner. “What has he done?” she asked Captain Gower. To Mr. Thatcher, she asked, “What have you done?”
“Teased you to the point that you became upset.”
“Oh.” Is that all? And what has that to do with my indenture? She could not imagine, neither could she consider that at the moment, in light of the changed circumstances. If Mr. Thatcher truly had not told the captain about her climb to the lifeboat, then she saw nothing to be upset about. Nothing to be hurt by. It seemed she had read both him and the situation incorrectly. “I am no longer bothered. But I thank you for your concern.” She smiled brightly at both men and turned to go, eager to leave before the boat incident could be revisited.
Mr. Thatcher’s hand on her arm stopped her. “Does the thought of going to work for Mr. Thomas not trouble you?” he asked.
“It does.” Not nearly as much as your touch. Marsali’s heart raced, and she worked to hide her reaction— one that seemed to grow stronger the more they were together. If she was being truthful, she had wanted an afternoon to herself to daydream and reflect on the time she had spent with Mr. Thatcher as much or more than she had wanted the time alone to read. She faced him once more, and he dropped his hand. Though the breathlessness caused by his touch had not been unpleasant, she felt grateful for its removal, so she that she might think clearly— a task made more difficult by his proximity. She forced her thoughts from his concerned gaze to the question he had posed.
She was worried about Mr. Thomas— a little more each day as America’s shores grew near, but as they had previously discussed, there was no help for her situation. “I have already told you my feelings about my circumstances,” Marsali said. “I refuse to let future troubles disturb present joys. I shall do my best to overcome whatever difficulties lie ahead when I encounter them. In the meantime, I don’t wish them to hinder an otherwise pleasant existence.”
“What if you did not have to face Mr. Thomas alone?” Mr. Thatcher asked. “What if I was to come with you, and to work for him as well, to shorten your term?”
“You would do that?” Marsali felt a catch in her heart.
“If you will allow me to.” He took both of her hands in his, surprising her and bringing instant heat to her face, even as she also felt comforted.
“I will both go with you and stay with you throughout your term— and beyond,” Mr. Thatcher promised.
She could not have heard him correctly, but the way he exhaled after speaking the rushed words, and the genuinely hopeful expression he wore, told her she had.
“That is the most noble, gallant, gentlemanly offer I have ever received.” Her smile wobbled. Oh, how she wished to take it, to have him work where she was, to be able to see him beyond the remaining days of their journey. It was about so much more to her than simply having his protection. It would mean friendship and possibly…
She shook her head and fought back the emotion that had risen in her throat. “I cannot allow you to make such a sacrifice. You are going to have your own farm, remember?” She squeezed his hands excitedly as she forced her enthusiasm for his plans— plans that did not include her. “With a horse and a plow and a home you build yourself.” She could picture it just as he had described. And inside that house he’d built, there would be another person— people— his wife and their children. Marsali suddenly wanted nothing more than to flee this room to the privacy of her cabin where she might cry.
“My plans for those things have not changed,” Mr. Thatcher said, holding tightly to her hands when she tried to pull away. “Only the timing is perhaps a bit different. And, as Captain Gower so kindly pointed out to me following dinner— I am but a foolish young man with much time on my hands.”
Marsali glanced at the captain, who still stood beside them, watching their exchange. If she could not have her wish for the privacy of her cabin, she wished that Captain Gower, at least, might give them a moment alone. But she did not suppose that likely, considering they were in his quarters.
“I may have been a bit harsh,” Captain Gower conceded. “But you are young, and so obviously inexperienced at courting. I hated to see Miss Abbott ill used for your attempts.”
Courting? Could it be that Mr. Thatcher’s offer was about more than keeping her safe?
“I have hope that I would be better,” Mr. Thatcher said, a slight note of defense in his tone as he looked at Captain Gower, “had we the time and resources available to us that were allowed my sisters and their beaus. Young though I am, I find myself with very little of either at present.” He returned his attention to Marsali, and his voice grew tender. “Four weeks is not ample
time in which to become acquainted with and court someone. Three days is nearly impossible.”
Marsali’s hands began to sweat where he held them, and the fluttery feeling she’d had when being near him at the washtub returned. What are you trying to say to me? If you are teasing again…
“Nearly impossible,” he said. “But not entirely.” His mouth quirked, and the light of challenged flickered in the deep blue of his eyes.
“In his defense,” the captain continued, “I must tell you what your young Mr. Thatcher has been up to this past week.”
My Mr. Thatcher? She felt suddenly shy and completely uncertain— about everything. Why should Captain Gower and Mr. Thatcher be so concerned over her future? It wasn’t as if either of them had any obligation toward her. Yet they appeared to be taking the situation far more seriously than she had. Or than I have allowed myself to.
It had taken effort, but she had managed to put Charlotte’s letter and the news it contained firmly from her mind the past couple of weeks. Caring for Lady Cosgrove and Lydia had proved most helpful in that endeavor, particularly when Lydia was so very ill at first, and concern for her had outweighed all else in Marsali’s mind. By the time Lydia was on her way to being well again, it had been easier for Marsali to continue avoiding thoughts of her future. Especially when a certain gentleman kept intruding on them day and night.
The captain left their sides and began pacing in a circle around them. Marsali followed his movement, though she noticed Mr. Thatcher did not. Instead, he released her hands and shoved his own in his pockets in a poorly disguised attempt at acting as if he did not care what was about to be said of him— though she suspected, from his covert glances, that he was eager to gauge her reaction to the captain’s words.
“Mr. Thatcher has considered and attempted every means at his disposal to find a way to see to your safety. He petitioned Lady Cosgrove and the entire crew for monies on your behalf,” Captain Gower explained. “But before doing that, he first pledged his entire savings to your cause, hoping to come up with enough to pay your passage and thus free you from your contract with Mr. Thomas.”
“You did?” Tears of astonishment sprang to her eyes, and this time she could not hold them back.
“I was not successful,” Mr. Thatcher said.
She knew that— had known that it had to be if he was offering to accompany her instead. But somehow it didn’t matter. Her heart soared because he had cared enough for her to offer all he had— both his time and his means. That his savings were meager meant all the more.
“Lady Cosgrove spent the last of her income on this passage and is heretofore dependent upon her daughter’s intended for their support.” Captain Gower stopped before them, turned on his heel, and began walking in the opposite direction. “And many of the crew are little more than paupers themselves. Though it is my hope the success of this ship will change that.”
“But, collectively, we were not able to come up with enough to pay your passage,” Mr. Thatcher added.
“I myself am heavily in debt from building this ship,” Captain Gower said almost apologetically.
“I am touched by your efforts, Mr. Thatcher. And by yours, Captain, in helping him.” Marsali brushed aside her disappointment. Indeed it was difficult to feel any, so full was her heart from learning of all they had done, or attempted to do, on her behalf.
“I am sorry we have fallen short,” Mr. Thatcher said.
“You’ve not fallen short in anything,” Marsali assured him as she looked up through lashes wet with tears. “No one has ever shown me such kindness; no one has ever cared so much for me as you have on this journey. I shall remember it always.” Heedless of the captain’s presence behind her or of how appropriate or inappropriate her actions were, Marsali stepped forward, taking Mr. Thatcher’s hand in hers and bringing it to her lips in a gesture of profound gratitude.
Let each of them think her a forward woman if they would; she did not care and wanted only for him to realize how much the extent of his concern meant. Her tears fell freely. She’d succeeded in keeping them at bay these three and half weeks but shed them now— not from fear or regret that his attempts had not worked but because he did care for her. Because he had touched her soul so deeply.
Behind her she heard the click of the door and realized the captain had at last left them alone.
Mr. Thatcher pulled her closer, and his arms came around her with a strength and certainty that seemed natural and felt so right. She laid her head against his shirt and took comfort in the quick, steady beating of his heart. He was her knight in shining armor, and though she knew she could not allow him to go to battle for her, for this moment alone it felt good to imagine he might. And that he could really stay with her. That they would continue on as they had been. That he could court me.
His arms tightened around her as if he was feeling the same as she and wanted to hold on to this moment as long as he could. His chin came down to rest upon her head, and Marsali sighed with a contentment she had never known, feeling safe and secure and cared for.
“Do not cry.” Mr. Thatcher’s hand found her cheek and brushed her tears away. “There is yet hope, if you will but allow me to accompany you.”
He misunderstood her tears. Marsali wasn’t quite certain that she understood them. She felt happy and yet terribly, terribly sad— a sense of loss— though they had not yet parted. He pulled back, holding her at arm’s length.
“Allow me to accompany you, Marsali.”
He hadn’t asked permission to use her Christian name, but it fell from his lips as if it as meant to be spoken by him and they had long been on such intimate terms.
“What if Virginia is not the place for you? What if you are unable to find work?” She could not let him do this, no matter how much she wished it.
“I am always able to find work— have been since I was a boy.” A corner of his mouth quirked in a smile. “I can always do laundry.”
She laughed and shook her head. “No, you cannot, Mr. Thatcher. You must find employment where you can learn about farming and where you can save enough for your own property.”
He shrugged. “If you insist. Captain Gower tells me Virginia is quite a fertile land, and I am optimistic about the possibilities for work there.”
“Maybe you can find employment nearby,” Marsali said, allowing a faint hope to begin to grow. “And we could see each other sometime.”
“Nearby is not good enough, neither is sometime sufficient— not when I find that I have grown accustomed to our interactions each day. Last week, during my failed attempts to avoid you and thus cure my yearning to be with you, I learned that being apart is most unsatisfactory.” Mr. Thatcher pulled her over to the window seat, where they sat facing one another and staring out at the dark sea.
“While I was waiting for you this evening, I sat at this window, looking out at the ocean and imagining that I was elsewhere, that I had a large window like this in my home in America.”
“Your home will have to be grand to have a window as large as this,” Marsali observed.
“Perhaps,” he said vaguely. “My window overlooked a garden where there were children playing. As I was watching them, I noticed something about each.” His gaze left the window and drifted toward her. “I had a yard full of brown haired, brown-eyed children who all looked very much like you.”
Marsali gave a short laugh. “Even the boys? How terrible for them.”
“Even the boys, and not so terrible at all.” Mr. Thatcher scooted closer, no longer focused on the sea but looking intently at her.
With intent, Marsali thought, her heart pounding. But what was his intention? She felt hers well enough. They were sitting close, but she wished for more and longed for him to take her in his arms again. That was all she wished for, and to stay there forever.
“Marry me, Marsali.”
His lips moved, and it was his voice she heard, but the words had to be in her imagination. It was impossible that she co
uld be hearing them from him. Four weeks wasn’t time enough to come to know someone so well, to become betrothed. He had said so himself.
“I promise to keep you safe throughout your term of indenture— and beyond.” He offered her a tentative smile, the first glimpse of vulnerability she had ever seen in him. “Captain Gower can marry us here, aboard his ship, before we reach America, and he has agreed to help with the transition to Mr. Thomas’s residence. I will offer to work for Mr. Thomas as well— hopefully to shorten the length of your service, but if not, to at least see you safely through it.”
A fresh set of tears leaked from her eyes as Marsali brought her hand to her head, certain she’d heard him incorrectly, that there was some terrible mistake. Am I dreaming? She pressed her hands to her still-damp cheeks and felt that the tears there were very real and she was quite awake.
“You have... just asked me to marry you?” She cringed as she spoke the words, knowing they could not be true.
“I have.” His smile widened to the more familiar, confident one. “You cannot be more astonished than I was when I first considered the possibility.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain.” She offered a tremulous laugh. “But you don’t wish to be married— especially not to me, not when you’ve your dreams and plans.”
“Which include you now.” He reached for her hand once more, and she allowed him to take it, savoring every second of this closeness and his touch as his fingers brushed over hers.
“Marsali?”
She loved hearing him speak her name. “Yes.” Christopher. She was not brave enough to speak it or to quite believe this was truly happening.
He leaned forward, then stopped, his brow furrowing. “Was that yes a question, or a yes as in—”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I will marry you.”
“You will? You are certain?” He studied her quizzically, as if not quite believing her answer. She felt suddenly alarmed and pulled away.
“Were you not in earnest when you asked?”
“No one has ever been more earnest than I.” He placed his hands upon her shoulders and looked at her directly. “It is only that Captain Gower believed you would take a great deal of convincing to accept my offer.”
Marrying Christopher (A Hearthfire Romance Book 3) Page 21
