Trilogy No. 109: Sail Away

by Lee Rowan

  It would also be a wrench to lose the chance to see Zoe every day. It had been bad enough to see an end to their sojourns in the Portugese countryside, but even aboard ship they were able to enjoy one another's company when Kit felt well enough. Back in England—where did Zoe's father plan to settle? London, one would hope, but as far as Zoe knew her father had not made up his mind. Kit had no idea how long it would take to make the arrangements for their wedding; even a week was longer than he wanted to wait. The proprieties they would have to observe, the announcements in the newspaper, the chaperonage, introducing her to the entire family ... He would be lucky if the crowd of aunts, uncles, and cousins of all degree did not send her running for the hills. It might be months before he would have the chance to be alone with her.

  And it was so wonderful to be alone with her. The memory of Zoe lying naked on their picnic blanket, screened from the surrounding countryside by a convenient clump of shrubbery, was enough to distract his mind from the bustle on deck. Once Zoe was assured of his honorable intentions, she had been even more passionate and abandoned than she had in that cramped little room in France. She had learned well and truly what happened between a man and a woman, and was an enthusiastic and diligent student.

  She had taught Kit something as well, something very important—that while sex with an agreeable partner was a fine and pleasant pastime, that same act within the bond of love was something altogether different, two souls joining in one flesh. In all but the formalities, they were already man and wife.

  And what a wife! Zoe was not just a beautiful, sensual girl, though she was all that. In the larger world she was well-spoken, gentle, patient, and intelligent, not too proud or dainty to work hard if that was required. She would be a wife he could be proud of. And in private, they could laugh over the silliest things. If this was what his parents had had together, Kit now understood why his mother had never remarried. He could not imagine feeling this way about anyone but Zoe Colbert.

  No, that wasn't right. She would be Zoe St. John. Lady St. John, Baroness Guilford. And when they went about together, he would be in the company of the most beautiful woman in the world.

  "Do you know if Miss Colbert will be on deck soon?” he asked the doctor.

  "Before supper, I expect. I believe she's helping her father practice his English."

  Dr. Colbert, Zoe had said, was concerned about making a new life in England. Kit suspected that Dr. Colbert was also trying to keep his daughter from becoming too attached to his former houseguest. Since Kit had not yet formally asked for her hand, he could hardly tell her father that there was no need to worry on that account. He really must get that matter settled, and the sooner the better.

  But what if Dr. Colbert said no? France and England might be at war now, but that would not last forever. What if he were determined to go home one day, and take Zoe with him?

  "I think I'll look in on my cousin,” Kit said. “Surely he must be awake by now.” He could talk to David about this situation, and with any luck get some help screwing his courage to the sticking-point. David had always been the closest of his cousins, in terms of personality as well as age and appearance; he didn't patronize the way Phil sometimes did.

  Lt. Marshall's cabin was near the middle of the ship, just opposite Kit's own cabin. He knocked lightly on the thin wooden door, and a voice bade him enter. When he did, he was so startled by how poorly his cousin looked that for a moment he could not find anything to say.

  "Well, you look like hell on a half-shell,” David said with a weak but cheerful grin. “So do I, I'm sure. Have a seat!” He waved a casual hand at the sea-chest with “W. Marshall” carved into its surface. “What do you think of Calypso?"

  "I've never seen a finer vessel,” Kit said honestly. “Of course, I'd say that if she were a rowboat, so long as she was bound for England. How do you feel?"

  "Better than I look, I'm sure.” David, normally robust and bursting with energy, looked worn. His face bore the perpetual tan of a mariner, but his eyes were sunken and he was thinner than Kit had ever seen him. “It's only that my guts won't handle real food, and I can't seem to stand without wobbling."

  "The doctor agrees with your surgeon that you're out of danger, though."

  "Oh, I know. But I'm infernally tired of being tired. I'd be happier if I could get something more interesting to eat than broth, barley-water, and porridge, but Atkins seems to know his business and your physician seconded his decrees. What disaster overtook you?"

  "A Frenchman with a pistol,” Kit said. “If you think this is bad, you should have seen me a few weeks ago, head shaved like a convict and stitches everywhere. God, I hate politics."

  "Join the Navy,” David suggested. “Apart from the inconvenience of having perfect strangers trying to blow you to Kingdom Come—and the noise—it's refreshingly simple."

  Kit smiled. “No, thank you. Besides, I've got myself into a situation where I would have to wonder, if I shot at a Frenchman, whether I might be aiming to kill a distant relative."

  "What? Oh, lord—you haven't lost your head over some mademoiselle—"

  "I have, actually. Almost literally. But before you blame the bump on the head, I was smitten well before I was shot.” As briefly as he could, he explained the situation, ending with, “I know it all sounds like a silly melodrama, and I can't imagine what my mother will say, but I've never been so certain of anything in my life."

  "Well, as the senior representative of our well-regarded family—"

  "One year, you doddering greybeard!"

  David smiled. “So much for the weight of my authority. If that's how you truly feel, Kit, stand by your guns. If she really is the love of your life, just imagine how you'd have felt if you'd married the wrong girl and then met her! Your Zoe sounds like she's got backbone and brains, and if she'd take a risk like that, she must care for you."

  "I believe she does. I don't quite understand why, but she says she does and I believe her."

  David shrugged. “You're not a bad catch, as things go. A respectable fortune, a title, a face that's not too grotesque—though considering how much alike we look, I'm hardly objective—unless her father's a fool, he's bound to consent so long as you don't pun at him. Your mother's going to have something to say about it, naturally."

  "Then it's just as well Mama isn't marrying her!” Kit retorted. He hadn't realized how he must have seemed to be clinging to his mother's apron-strings until his cousins began pointing them out, but enough was enough. “I love my mother, David, but I do insist on choosing my own wife."

  "That's the spirit! If she kicks up a fuss, you can always remind her that she was the one who sent you to Paris in the first place."

  "I'm sure she's thought of that herself any number of times. I do hope the doctor got word back to her that I'm alive and well."

  "She has the letter you sent from Portugal. She wrote to me to let me know that her previous report of your demise was inaccurate. It looks like second-sight on her part—the letter arrived two days ago on a ship out of Plymouth. God knows what she thought I could do about the situation, though you're right. She said she felt terribly guilty about having sent you into such danger. I believe she'll be so happy to see you, she'd forgive you a harem."

  Kit grinned, thinking how close he'd come to that. “My mother had no idea what would happen. Neither did I.” That made him think of something else, though. “David—your friend Lt. Marshall seems to be feeling badly as well, and I can't puzzle out what he meant."

  "How's that?"

  "He claimed he was responsible for your taking ill, and I can't for the life of me understand—"

  "Oh, for the love of God!” David leaned back against the pillows. “He's just being an idiot. It was a silly accident, anyone might've done it. You've seen how a sail is rigged over the deck in a rainstorm, to keep water out of the open hatch?” At Kit's nod, he went on, “Well, William saw that there was water pooling in the center of the sail, so he took a spar an
d poked up from beneath to spill the water out. I happened to be in just the right spot on deck that most of it landed on me. I fell ill the next day."

  "But the doctor said you'd had fever on the ship for some time?"

  "We did. And I had been sickening all the day before, but Will didn't know that. What he did had nothing to do with my being ill—I can't believe he's still flogging himself over that. I'd never have known if he hadn't confessed and begged my pardon."

  "He sounds very conscientious,” Kit said.

  "If he weren't such a fine officer he'd make a superb penitent monk. Did he tell you he spent all his off-duty time looking after me while I had the fever? No, of course not. He is the dearest friend I have ever had, but at times he can be exasperating."

  "I think he was startled by seeing me at the Captain's table. I look like I've been dragged through a keyhole backwards myself, so it must have been a bit of a shock."

  "It's a pity he did get a look at you.” The speculation in David's eye boded ill for Mr. Marshall. “Can you just imagine the look on his face if he were to come in here and find both hammocks up, with a different version in each?"

  Kit was about to remark that Mr. Marshall might also find his friend exasperating at times, but at that point the object of their conversation appeared with a cup of broth for the invalid.

  "Mr. Marshall!” Kit said, vacating his seat on the sea-chest. “My cousin was just telling me how devoted you have been to his recovery, and here you are to prove his point."

  "I was coming off-duty in any event,” Marshall said. He turned a reproving look on David, as though praising him in absentia was a mean trick. “It was no trouble. With him on the sick-list, we're stretched thin on the watches."

  "Of course,” Kit said with a smile. “Sir, I cannot tell you how pleased I am to know my kinsman has such a friend. David, I'd best return to my own quarters before I fall asleep. It's a fine cabin, but there's not room enough for three. Might I bring Miss Colbert around to meet you later?"

  "Certainly! I must behold this paragon of womanhood. Tell me, Will, is it true that she is wafted about the deck by a flock of cherubs?"

  Marshall assessed Kit's expression and frowned at his convalescing shipmate. “You are feeling better, aren't you? Yes, she's a lovely girl. I have not seen any cherubs as yet, but I would not rule out the possibility. I wish all the French were as agreeable as Miss Colbert and her father."

  "Impossible,” Kit said. “Until later, then.” He took his leave and returned to his cabin with a lighter heart. It meant more than he'd expected to have David's support. Perhaps it was their closeness in age, or that quirk of resemblance, but he had always found David a bit more sympathetic and helpful than his other male cousins. It was a shame that he would likely be at sea and unable to attend the wedding.

  Kit settled into his hammock, his decision made. After supper, he would go hat in hand to Dr. Colbert and beg for his daughter's hand.

  But man proposes—or plans to propose—and God disposes. The storm that had appeared in the afternoon's distance made good on its threat while Kit slept. He was wakened by the hammock's wild swinging, and even before a sailor came by to offer the Captain's suggestion that His Lordship stay where he was till the storm had passed, Kit had decided that he was not inclined to dine. The gyrations of the room and the hammock suggested that the poor Calypso had been seized by some monster of the deep that was trying to shake her to pieces. By the time the turmoil stopped, it was nearly midnight, and Kit simply rearranged his blankets and dropped off to sleep.

  Stability returned to the ship the following morning, and Kit managed to shave himself without losing any blood. He was just tying his cravat when the cabin door resounded to a tremendous knocking. “Come in!"

  The doctor entered, his face set in stern lines. “My lord,” he said formally, “I must speak with you."

  Which he seemed to be doing. “Certainly,” Kit said. “Speak away."

  "Mademoiselle Colbert told me she felt seasick this morning. I have just examined her."

  Well, wasn't that what a doctor was supposed to do? And what did it have to do with him? “Yes?"

  The doctor scowled ferociously. “My lord, she is carrying a child. I believe it must be yours."

  Splendid! A baby, just as she'd wanted. “I expect it is,” Kit acknowledged happily. He wondered why Zoe had not told him herself.

  "How could you, sir!” The doctor was a small man, but, bristling with indignation, he seemed much larger. “To abuse their hospitality—"

  Kit raised his hands. “Doctor! Peace, I pray you. Sir, did Mademoiselle Colbert explain that she has done me the honour of agreeing to become my wife?"

  "Oh.” He frowned. “I had not asked."

  "Did you—ah—inform her of her condition?"

  "I wished to determine your intentions first, sir. If they were not honourable—"

  "What were you going to do, call me out and undo all your good work? Doctor, I had planned to ask her father's blessing as soon as we returned to England. I beg you, give the young lady your news and see if she is not as pleased as I. And—” He caught himself; he almost suggested the doctor ask Zoe to tell him how they'd met, but that would have to remain a private jest between them, the sort of thing a man and his wife might smile about, down through the years. What a marvelous prospect! “I promise you, I will present my suit to her father before the day is out."

  "I believe he is in the captain's cabin."

  Kit could recognize a hint when it hit him between the eyes. “Excellent. I'll go at once."

  Considerably mollified, the doctor congratulated him on his good taste in women, reprimanded him for his lack of restraint, and departed. Kit thanked his stars the boat was steady, took a few moments to collect himself, and went to fulfill his duty before things got any more complicated.

  As Kit had half-expected, Zoe had already spoken to her father about the matter, so if his pronunciation was a bit awry, his intention came through clearly enough. Dr. Colbert seemed relieved that Kit had finally gotten around to making it official, and warmly accepted him as a prospective son-in-law. He had just extracted a flask of brandy from his luggage when Zoe appeared with Dr. Pierce in tow. David, looking a bit unsteady but never one to miss a celebration, followed close behind. He was followed, in turn, by Mr. Marshall. A good thing Zoe's father had been in the Captain's cabin—there was no other room on the ship sufficient to contain the crowd.

  Zoe embraced her father, kissed the others all round, then explained to Kit that his next task would be to ask Captain Smith to marry them aboard the Calypso before the ship reached England.

  "What a brilliant inspiration, my love!” he said as the other gentlemen were offering one another appropriate felicitations. His mother would be more than a bit annoyed at missing the bustle of a Society wedding, but arriving with a fait accompli had much to be said for it. Not only would a legal marriage stop the gossips wondering how premature their child really was, it would absolutely spike his mother's guns. “I shall beard the lion in his den—no, wait, this is his den, is it not?"

  She blushed, and leaned close to whisper, “It was not my idea."

  "Who—?"

  Having congratulated Dr. Colbert, David stepped up to shake Kit's hand. “Your lady dropped by yesterday evening while you were in the arms of Morpheus,” he said. “She had a few questions about the family, and it occurred to me ... if you were to arrive with a fiancée, there might be some awkwardness.” He shrugged. “But if you returned home with a wife..."

  And a baby on the way ... Kit thought. This would be twice that Zoe had saved his skin. “I have always said you were the most intelligent man in the family,” he said.

  "You may be right,” David agreed. “But this is sheer selfish indulgence. Do you realize that since I entered His Majesty's service, I have missed every wedding and christening in the family? When I saw that you've found the most beautiful bride we've yet seen, I determined not to miss this event."<
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  Kit laughed. “Come now ... I know you were present when Aunt Ermintrude landed that clergyman. What was his name—Satterfield?"

  "Osbert Satterleigh. Yes, and both of them teetotalers and opposed to any frivolous display of music or dancing. I've been to wakes that were more festive than that reception. Kit and I had to sneak out,” he confided to Zoe. “It didn't matter—our elders were mostly asleep by then."

  Will Marshall appeared at Kit's elbow. “You must be cautious about believing Mr. Archer's stories, Mademoiselle,” he said. “He has a tendency to embroider.

  "I love embroidery,” she said with a smile. “And to find such a charming gentleman who will be my cousin, that is splendid."

  "The good fortune is mine, mademoiselle,” David said, but Kit noticed his tone was less energetic than before. “I fear I must return to my rest now, if I'm to be in any shape to attend the event.” Marshall unobtrusively moved close enough to lend David an arm.

  "You'll be my best man, of course,” Kit said as they left, and David responded, “Absolutely!” Both doctors glanced at the affianced couple and followed the young officers out, leaving the pair alone.

  But the reminder of his advantages gave Kit a twinge of conscience. “Zoe, I'm afraid we don't have a maid of honor for you—or even a wedding dress. Are you sure you would not like to wait? When my mother learns of the baby—"

  "I have my maman's wedding veil,” she answered. “I have my papa, and I have you. And...” she bit her lip, but her eyes sparkled. “I had a dress made in Lisbon, Christophe. It is like the one I had to leave in Paris, the one I wore the night we met."

  "Our first wedding night.” He squeezed her tightly, until he remembered her condition and loosened his embrace. “I don't deserve you, my love. Once we are home, I will ask my mother to arrange some celebration—perhaps we can renew our vows, or throw some sort of belated engagement ball. My mother will know what to do."

  "Your mother will be very surprised,” Zoe reminded him.