Passionate

by Anthea Lawson

  “Ciao, bellas.”

  Chapter 12

  While trying to change and freshen up for dinner, Lily was forced to admit their cabin was a bit cramped—at least for two women wrestling with crinolines and skirts while the floor gently rolled beneath them.

  “We should take it in turns, next time,” she said.

  “I agree.” Isabelle looked at herself in the mirror and gave her blond curls one last fluff. “But at least we are ready—and don’t we look fine? Here, Lily, let me fasten your pearls before we go.”

  The dining saloon was brightly lit and full of the sound of voices. They stood in the doorway a moment, until Lily spied the table in the corner where the family sat. James was there too, of course. There could be no avoiding him. Not unless she intended to lock herself in her cabin for the remainder of the voyage—something he was probably hoping she would do. Well, she would not give him the satisfaction. She set her shoulders, determined to appear cool and unconcerned.

  “My dears,” Uncle Edward said, rising. “All settled in?”

  “Yes, father.” Isabelle sank into the chair he held for her.

  “Though our stateroom is rather small.”

  James drew out a chair for Lily. She slid into her seat, avoiding his gaze. It was wicked, but just before he scooted her chair in she sat her full weight down and lifted her feet off the floor. It was an old trick she usually reserved for Richard, but in this case she would make an exception. Let him exercise his muscles instead of his mouth for a change.

  Uncle Edward unfolded his napkin. “The cabins are luxurious compared to twenty years ago when I first traveled the Mediterranean. We went by sail then, completely at the mercy of the winds. The trip could take months, and you were stuffed into a closet tween decks with a grubby porthole if you were lucky. Now it’s pure luxury—skylights, carved wood. Real beds.”

  “And there is all that open sky and wind out on deck,” Richard added, his eyes alight.

  “My grandfather’s letters tell of taking passage on an Arab dhow. They slept—” James halted mid-sentence, his jaw tightening as an elegantly dressed black-haired gentleman approached the table.

  Lily wondered what it was about the man that would cause James to forget his story—and his manners. The stranger seemed perfectly inoffensive and was actually quite handsome, except, perhaps, for the faint suggestion of a sneer when his eyes found James. But that curl of the lip, if there had indeed been one, was quickly replaced by a bright smile as he drew up in front of their table.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me—coz?” the man said, when the silence became awkward.

  James leaned back, his eyes narrowed. The entire family waited. Finally, as if some internal debate had been settled, he pushed back his chair and stood.

  “Allow me to present my cousin, Lord Reginald Huntington,” he said in a flat voice.

  Lord Reginald inclined his head, teeth gleaming as James performed the introductions—Sir Edward, Lady Mary, Mrs. Hodges—who glowered, but when did she not?

  “Richard Strathmore,” James said. Lord Reginald leaned forward to shake Richard’s hand. “And his cousin, Miss Lily Strathmore.”

  “Charmed, I’m sure.” Lord Reginald bowed briefly over her hand then turned to Isabelle. “And who is this beauty?”

  James gave his cousin a hard look. “Miss Isabelle Strathmore. She has not yet had her season.”

  “Pleased to meet all of you. What a surprise to find my cousin aboard, and I might add, in such delightful company.”

  Aunt Mary said, “This is most extraordinary. Won’t you join us for dinner, Lord Huntington? You are a member of James’s family, after all.”

  James smiled tightly.

  Lily wondered if the rest of their party sensed the tension between the two men. Beside her, James held himself with a rigid formality. She felt a perverse satisfaction at his discomfort. Perhaps she would cultivate Lord Reginald’s acquaintance on the voyage if James continued to behave like a petty tyrant. Although likely one Huntington was trouble enough.

  Their guest seated himself with a languid grace between Isabelle and Mrs. Hodges. “I say, the ship seems adequate, don’t you think—in a cramped sort of way. It will do until I reach Tunis. Such an exotic destination.”

  “What a coincidence,” James said, folding his arms across his chest. “That is our destination as well.”

  “A remarkable coincidence, indeed, and what fine luck to find you all aboard. The journey will be far more agreeable for it, I am sure.” Lord Reginald gazed at Isabelle as he spoke. She blushed and smiled.

  “I expect we will not see much of you, Reggie.” James turned to the others. “My cousin prefers to keep to himself.”

  “But perhaps I will have to make an exception—you can’t keep this charming company all to yourself. Two weeks is such a long time to languish alone in my cabin.”

  “I’m sure you’ll manage.”

  “What I’ll miss most is my daily drives—and my new team. I’ve a lovely pair of matched bays I just bought at Tattersall’s. And not to brag, but I am considered a fairly notable whip.”

  This information was guaranteed to catch both Richard and Isabelle’s interest. They began to ply Lord Reginald with questions about his horses and the goings-on in London, and he answered them readily.

  Lily shot James a sidelong glance only to find him studying her, his expression serious. How could he not have known that his cousin had booked passage to Tunisia on the same ship? It seemed very odd, particularly seeing the way James had reacted when his cousin had sauntered up.

  He bent toward her and spoke quietly. “I am sorry for ruffling your feelings this afternoon. Despite the way it appeared, I am glad you are coming along.”

  “Whether you are glad or not makes no difference to me, Mr. Huntington. I’m here to assist my uncle and your approval is no concern of mine.” Her words were steady, but the linen napkin in her lap was wound tightly around her fingers.

  “I think my approval does matter.”

  Her breath caught. “I refuse to let you order me about like some kind of underling. You may be in charge of the expedition, but you are not in charge of me.”

  The amber lights in his eyes glinted, and he seemed about to say more, but checked himself. Lord Reginald was watching them from across the table. “We can finish this conversation later.”

  “Well, I am finished with it now.” She turned away and looked across the room. There was the baronessa, dressed in a bright turquoise gown, at the captain’s table. At least she seemed to be enjoying herself—she caught Lily’s eye and smiled. Lily tried to return the smile. Why was she so affected by the man seated beside her? Even now a part of her wanted to believe his words—but how could she when his actions earlier so clearly spoke otherwise.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served,” the steward announced from the head of the room. White-coated waiters began to circulate, carrying silver trays piled high with oysters, poached fish, and pastries baked in the shape of seashells. Soon the table was covered with delicacies. Lily welcomed the distraction.

  Across the table, Lord Reginald was sampling the fish. “Miss Isabelle, the halibut is divine—you must try some.” He beckoned to the server. “And the sauce is just there. Madam, if you would be so kind?” He turned to Mrs. Hodges who passed the dish, frowning.

  “Lord Reginald, I’ve met another couple also bound for Tunis,” Uncle Edward said, indicating a thin man and serious-looking woman at the next table. “Doctor Fenton and his wife.”

  Aunt Mary nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Alice Fenton. We met in the ladies cabin. She told me they are traveling for the London Methodist Missionary Society. They hope to start a clinic in Tunis. Do you know them?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know anyone traveling for the London Methodist Missionary Society,” Lord Reginald said.

  “Lily and I spent the afternoon with Baronessa Bellini,” Isabelle said. “There she is, at the captain’s table. She is very c
harming.”

  “Baronessa Bellini?” Lord Reginald raised one thin eyebrow. “Now that is a name I have heard. I’m not surprised that she is leaving England after all the goings-on in London.”

  “Do tell.” Isabelle leaned forward.

  “Well,” he said, giving the others a quick glance before continuing, “It seems Lord Severn—the Duke of Hamblin’s brother—met her while traveling abroad and became completely smitten. He invited her to visit—and stay with his mother and sisters, naturally. Apparently he even broached the subject of marriage.”

  “Marriage to the baronessa? What happened?”

  “A scandal, of course. Lord Severn is quite a catch, I’m told, and the English mamas with ambitions for their daughters were outraged by the imported competition.” Lord Reginald leaned back, clearly aware he had captured everyone’s attention. “The ladies of the ton went out of their way to make her feel unwelcome. Of course, that didn’t stop them from rushing to copy her style of dress.”

  “She does have a splendid sense of fashion,” Isabelle said.

  “The poor dear.” Aunt Mary said. “We must make sure she realizes the English are not all like those ladies she encountered.”

  Lily was not sure who she felt more sympathy for, the baronessa, or the daughters those London mamas would now offer up like bon-bons to the poor heart-broken Lord Severn. Thank heavens she would not be one of them.

  “The baronessa is wise to leave London,” Lord Reginald said looking at James. “She is not one of us. One should always know one’s place.”

  “But that’s hardly romantic,” Isabelle said. “I had thought better of you, Lord Reginald. Some people believe that true love admits no obstacle.”

  James set his glass down. “My cousin has never been known for his romantic sensibilities.”

  Lord Reginald shot James a dark look, then returned his attention to Isabelle. “It wounds me to disappoint you—I only meant to say that sometimes a love that is impossible is the truest love. The baronessa, by recognizing her place and retiring the field, has given Lord Severn the greatest gift that love can offer.”

  “Oh yes, I do take your meaning,” Isabelle said.

  “Then allow me to make amends by offering you some of this heavenly lobster salad.”

  She laughed. “You may, sir.”

  Reginald turned to Mrs. Hodges, “If you would be so kind? It seems the lobster salad has fetched up on your shoals.”

  Mrs. Hodges passed the platter, her scowl deepening as Lord Reginald spooned a portion onto Isabelle’s plate.

  “Tell me, Miss Isabelle, have you read Thackeray’s accounts of his journey around the Mediterranean?”

  “Oh, yes, I adore Thackeray! I intend to keep a journal of my own while we travel.”

  Lily watched her cousin bask in the attentions of the darkly handsome Lord Reginald. He seemed perfectly agreeable, and yet…perhaps it was only the way James reacted to him, but seeing how he drew Isabelle’s giggles and blushes made her wonder if he were the right sort of company for her cousin to be keeping. Aunt Mary, too, seemed aware of how raptly her daughter hung on his words. She sent Lily a look that implied they would discuss Lord Reginald Huntington later.

  “I can hardly wait to be in London,” Isabelle said. “Nothing of any interest ever happens in the country. We miss all the truly entertaining events.”

  “Then perhaps you did not hear that the Duke of Hereford’s son was shot in a duel—reputedly in a place unmentionable in mixed company. It has been the buzz of London for weeks.”

  “Really? Who shot him?” Richard asked.

  Lord Reginald arched his eyebrows. “I haven’t the faintest idea. Perhaps my cousin would know. He was in town at the time.”

  The expression on James’s face did not change, but Lily noticed that his hands had curled into fists.

  Richard turned to James. “Who was it?”

  “I don’t pay much attention to the London gossips, but I believe it was a gentleman who took insult when young Hereford slandered the reputation of the man’s sister. Not wise to provoke someone like that. Don’t you agree, Reggie?”

  Lord Reginald shrugged. “I would go as far as to say that it was unwise in Hereford’s case. Miss Isabelle, would you care to sample the relish?”

  “Yes please.” Isabelle beamed at him.

  “Mrs. Hodges…”

  The matron’s stout hand closed on the cut crystal bowl brimming with plum relish. She lifted it from the table and turned towards Lord Reginald. For just an instant the dish balanced on her fingers, then it toppled, nicking the edge of the table and spilling a cascade of burgundy into Lord Reginald’s lap.

  “Blast you, you clumsy woman!” He jumped to his feet, knocking over the chair. Conversation at the tables around them stilled as he brushed frantically at his trousers with his handkerchief.

  “Slipped right out of my fingers,” Mrs. Hodges said. “Dreadful mess.”

  “You are extremely correct, madam. A most dreadful, clumsy, stupid mess.” He turned to the others. “You will excuse me. Goodnight.”

  “Perhaps we shall see you later, Lord Huntington,” Lady Mary said.

  And perhaps not, Lily thought, observing the thin smile that brushed James’s lips as his cousin stalked from the room.

  When the commotion died down, Uncle Edward turned to James. “You are not pleased to see your cousin aboard?”

  “No. His presence is…unexpected. We are not close.”

  “I see how it stands between the two of you. And it was quite rude for him to bring up that shooting…er, well…at least you won’t be holding the fact that Mrs. Hodges bathed the chap in plum relish against us.”

  “It wasn’t right, him paying such attentions to Miss Isabelle,” Mrs. Hodges said. “The way he kept feeding her—and her not even out yet. We’re well rid of the scoundrel.”

  Isabelle thrust her chin out. “Lord Reginald was behaving with the utmost of good manners. You are all mistaken if you think him less than a gentleman. Besides, we can hardly avoid him—we are on a ship, after all.”

  “We will be polite to him, of course,” Aunt Mary said. “But Isabelle, I am not certain he is the best company for you.”

  “My cousin, though superficially charming, is one better left alone,” James agreed.

  Isabelle dropped her gaze to her plate and pushed a forkful of fish about. “I understand.”

  Understand? Lily found it doubtful. It was quite unlike her cousin to give in so easily. She hoped Isabelle would show some good sense concerning Lord Reginald. Why was he traveling to Tunisia anyway?

  After dinner the passengers went on deck to take the air. The faintest blue glow lingered in the west, the brightest stars newly visible, and on the dark coast a few scattered lights burned. Sails had been run up to catch the favorable breeze—they bellied in the light wind.

  Lily walked apart and leaned against the railing, watching the last light leave the sky. She felt strangely suspended between worlds, struggling to find her equilibrium. James was no help—he was a large part of the problem. And her family—how could she confide in them? It was all so complicated. She longed for the time when her greatest trouble had been correctly rendering the sepals of Rosa floribunda.

  As if her thoughts had summoned him, James appeared beside her. “I would like a private word with you, Lily.”

  He was standing uncomfortably close. The light from the ship’s lamps brought out the planes of his face. She knew those features so well, after painting them, after…The heat rose in her cheeks and she hoped the light was too dim for him to make out her blush.

  “If it concerns our time at Brookdale, I assure you I regret those indiscretions as much as you do. But like it or not, we are on board this ship together. We will simply have to put them behind us.”

  He was silent a moment, looking out over the dark ocean. “I see. Thank you for making it clear where you stand.” He turned to her. “But that is not the reason I wish to speak to yo
u.”

  Not what he wished to discuss? Lily frowned. Why didn’t the man speak plainly?

  James glanced about and lowered his voice. “It’s Reggie. He is not—how shall I say it—the most honorable of fellows. To put it bluntly, my cousin has a certain reputation with young women. You must—”

  “—not speak to him? Avoid him altogether? Confine myself to my cabin?” She turned to face him squarely. “Why? Does he insinuate himself into their family, kiss them on terraces and in conservatories, and then order them back home to London when they become inconvenient?”

  She whirled to leave, but he was surprisingly quick. He grasped the railing, his arm barring her way. His body blocked the wind, and he was so close she could feel the heat of him.

  “You misunderstand me. It’s Isabelle that I’m concerned about. She is young and not prepared to deal with the likes of my cousin. You are older, and if any woman can put Reggie in his place, it would be you.”

  Older? He considered her older? Lily drew herself up, the top of her head at a level with his chin. Why was this man so blasted tall? “Thank you for the warning, Mr. Huntington. As her older cousin I will be on my guard. Now, if you will excuse me, I have had a dreadful day.”

  She pushed past, and he did not try to stop her.

  A storm had come upon them late the first night, with winds that sang through the rigging and great foam-flecked waves that surged along the side of the ship and sent up jets of spray at the bow. Even now, three days later, the wind still blew in gusts, but the sun was warm on Lily’s face and the waves had subsided. She sat near the aft railing, her sketchbook propped on her lap, making quick studies of the seagulls that followed the ship. They seemed so sure of themselves, soaring effortlessly, their calls harsh and exciting. Behind them the distant coast of Portugal was a dark line where the sea met the sky.

  One old veteran of a bird landed on deck to beg for a handout. “You must be the one Richard was talking about at luncheon. Did you approve of the sardine he stole for you?”