“Thank you,” she managed to say. “You are very kind, but I would give one thousand pounds for something to drink. Some of that water, perhaps?”
“I am not sure I can recommend the water on board this ship,” Rebecca said, rising to her feet, “but I will see what I can do.”
“If you think the water might kill me,” Chelsea replied, “then fill a jug to the brim and hurry back.”
Rebecca gave her a funny look, then left the cabin. A few minutes later she returned and helped Chelsea sit up, then tipped a glass of something cool and tart over her lips.
“It’s lemonade,” Rebecca said, “straight from the captain’s private reserves. Not too much, Chelsea. You must keep it down.”
She swallowed a few sips, then lay back on the pillow.
“I suppose he’s pleased that I am feeling so poorly,” Chelsea mumbled as she laid her forearm across her eyes.
“Do you mean Blake?” Rebecca held the remaining lemonade on her lap.
“Yes. He is quite angry with me, as I’m sure you must know, and I can hardly blame him. I can’t imagine what you and your husband must think of me.”
Rebecca said nothing for a moment, then looked down at the glass of lemonade. “It is not my place to comment.”
“But surely you want to say something to me,” Chelsea replied. “I can sense it. Please feel free to be honest, even if you want to call me a wicked, scheming hellion who deserves the worst. It would only be the truth.”
Rebecca reached for the towel and wiped Chelsea’s face. “So, it is true, then. I wasn’t sure. I thought perhaps there had been some mistake or miscommunication.”
Chelsea shook her head. “No, there was not. I did exactly what he said I did. I cannot deny it. I wanted to give my brother and his wife a child. They can’t have one of their own, you see, and since I had no future to speak of, I thought it would be a very simple thing to do, and a very generous gift on my part.” She sighed heavily. “I realize now that I was living a very sheltered life on that island, and was perhaps disconnected from the real world and the realities of the human heart, for I thought my own heart and conscience would stay out of it.”
“But they did not?” Rebecca asked matter-of-factly.
“No, they did not. And I feel terrible about it now, Lady Hawthorne. I hope you can believe that. If I could take it all back, I would, if not for the fact that I would never have known the most wonderful two weeks of my life, nor would I be traveling with you to Pembroke. I would have had to say goodbye to your brother-in-law and marry my horrid cousin. The truth is…I am glad that I am still with you, because I care for Blake very much.”
Rebecca looked at her with confusion. “Have you told him this?”
“No. I thought I would try to say these things when we set sail, but unfortunately I cannot move.”
Rebecca slowly stood up and went to the washbasin. She rinsed out the towel and hung it on a hook, then returned to the bunk. “Blake has been through a terrible ordeal, Chelsea. Clearly, he feels very alone and angry, and all I want is for him to be happy again. For that reason, when we reach port in Southampton, I would encourage you to tell him what you have just told me, even if it takes time to make him listen. I believe it would help him to know that whatever happened between you was not completely without feeling.”
Chelsea nodded weakly. “You are a kind woman.”
Rebecca paused and took a deep breath. “As I said, all I want is for Blake to be happy again.”
“Whether you believe it or not,” Chelsea replied, “I want the same thing.”
Chelsea stared dizzily at Rebecca’s red hair and striking green eyes, then placed her hand over her roiling stomach and said a silent prayer that she would survive the rest of this journey. Because if she was going to make amends, she would not only require calmer waters, but a much calmer stomach as well.
Chapter 18
By the time the ship docked on the mainland, Chelsea had recovered enough to rise from her bunk, change her clothes, and wash up. She even ate some porridge and managed to keep it down long enough to consider it digested.
The world was much calmer at port, she discovered when she stepped up onto the deck of the ship and at last breathed in some much-needed fresh air. She felt more awake and alive now, and stood still, taking in the atmosphere of the London dockyards—the sailors loading wooden crates onto wagons, the thick scent of coal smoke in the foggy air, mixed with the stench of dead fish. Voices swelled as streams of people rushed along the docks to wherever they were going, stepping around heavy coils of rope and large crates of cargo. In such a hurry they all were.
Chelsea closed her eyes and recalled the life she had once known in London. She remembered the sound of her heels clicking along Regent Street, the colors of the fabrics in the shops, the hats, umbrellas and parasols, and the sensation of bumping elbows with someone at the flower market. She had forgotten all of that during the past seven years. She heard only the sounds of the sea and knew intimately the many shades of the sky. She would have never given London life another thought if she hadn’t found Blake in the cave that day and boarded a ship to follow him back to the world that had once been her home. Now, here she was again, returned to this bustling life.
A bell rang in the distance, and she adjusted her footing as the ship bobbed and tapped gently against the dock. She took one step forward, then another, tipped her head back and looked up.
The sky appeared ready to dump buckets of rain at any moment. Swirling gray clouds hovered low overhead, casting a heavy shadow over the ships tied up at the dock. She smelled rain. It reminded her of the stories she’d read in the papers about England enduring the wettest spring in over a century, and she hoped the foul weather would at least hold off until they reached Pembroke. The last thing they needed was to have their carriage swept away in a mud slide. She did not think she could bear any more wild careening movements on this journey.
As Chelsea made her way down the gangplank behind Rebecca and Devon, she searched the busy dock for any signs of Blake, who might have disembarked first. She had not seen him since they’d boarded the ship in Jersey.
He was not among the crowd, however. It was as if he had deserted her and wanted nothing more to do with his family either.
Much later, when a porter hoisted their bags onto the roof of the coach, Blake finally appeared on the ship’s deck and disembarked. He spoke to Devon briefly, then without a word assisted Chelsea and Rebecca into the coach. He waited for Devon to have everything arranged before he climbed inside and joined them, mere seconds before the coach rolled off.
They traveled mostly in silence, though Devon and Rebecca did spend some time revealing details about the palace and Blake’s mother, the duchess, and his sister, Charlotte. Devon told Blake stories of their childhood—how they used to play in the subterranean passages of the great house and frighten their younger sister with spiders and ghost stories. Blake remembered none of it.
Late in the afternoon, they stopped at a coaching inn to change horses and get something to eat. Blake went straight to the barkeep and ordered a mug of ale, while the ladies found a table and ordered wine.
“I think I will go and see if Devon needs me,” Rebecca said, rising from her chair. “I will tell Blake to come over here and sit with you.”
“He won’t want to,” Chelsea replied. “He has not spoken a word to me since we left Jersey.”
“You just need some time alone with him.” Rebecca spotted her husband walking into the taproom. “Devon and I might be an hour or so, as we will be taking our dinner privately upstairs.”
Chelsea watched the marquess pass Blake at the bar and say something in his ear, then he joined his wife. They headed upstairs together.
Blake turned and met Chelsea’s gaze. She raised an expectant eyebrow at him, and he picked up his ale and strode across the room to her t
able.
“My brother informs me that it is not acceptable for me to allow you to eat alone,” he said, “when there are so many disreputable characters lurking about.” He glanced about at the other patrons.
Chelsea picked up her wine. “As you can see, we are surrounded by cheerful travelers not unlike us, so you may relax. I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”
“Mm. You’re probably right, because by the look of things, you are the most disreputable character in the room.”
She kept her eyes leveled on his. “I will not deny it. I am a wicked person. In that case, maybe you are the one who needs protection. I cannot blame you if you are afraid to sit with me. I would be, too, in your position.”
He regarded her coolly, then pulled a chair out and sat down. Lounging back, he stretched his long legs out into the aisle between the tables and fixed his attention on the front windows.
Chelsea sipped her wine. “You are going to have to talk to me at some point.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“And why is that?”
“At the very least, you will need to know whether or not I am carrying your child. Unless you intend to have a messenger go from my room to yours with the necessary correspondence on the day that I receive my courses. If I receive them.”
Still, he did not turn in his chair to face her. “That’s not a bad idea, actually. My brother tells me I am rich. I could hire someone for that purpose alone. He could sit outside your door day and night, waiting for news.” Blake glanced over his shoulder at her. “Or how about this idea? He could do double duty and stand guard while you are locked up in your chamber. We shall call you ‘the Pembroke prisoner.’”
“Now you’re being ridiculous.”
Chelsea expected him to say something, but he merely turned his eyes back to the front windows.
The server came and took their orders for supper. After she left, Chelsea tapped her fingers on the table. This was not going well. She was finding it extremely difficult to apologize and grovel when Blake was treating her with such frosty disdain.
She took a deep breath and let it out in resignation. “Blake,” she said, “we cannot continue like this. We must talk about what happened. I didn’t get a chance to explain myself the other night. What you saw between my mother and me...it was not what you thought it was.”
“You were using me for stud, Chelsea. I don’t need to know anything else.”
She wet her lips and steeled her resolve. “But there is so much more to it than that. It was never that simple. Or perhaps it was at first, but... When you heard me tell my mother that I did not want to go to your bed that night, it was not because I didn’t want to.”
He took a drink. “Try to make sense when you talk.”
“I am trying, but it’s difficult.”
He glanced over his shoulder again, and she became distracted by how handsome he was. That perfect, chiseled jaw, the soft lips, and those dark, arresting eyes made it almost impossible to think. She took a deep breath and felt completely defeated.
“I didn’t want to go to your bed that night,” she said, digging deep for resolve, “because I was confused and frightened. When I started out on this twisted path to conceive a child, I didn’t realize...”
Uncertain how to put it, she paused.
“You didn’t realize what?” he asked. His cool tone did nothing to relieve her anxieties.
“I didn’t realize how much I would come to care for you. We enjoyed each other’s company. You know we did. And that night I was...” She swallowed. “I was afraid I was falling in love with you, and I didn’t know what to do.”
For a moment he stared at her, but she could read nothing from his expression. There was no change. He appeared completely indifferent to her discomfort.
He looked out the window again and took another drink.
“Will you not say something to me?” she asked. “Please, just say anything. I am telling you the truth. That night, my mother was making everything sound so crude and sordid, asking me distasteful questions I did not wish to answer, and I was angry with her. That’s why I resisted going to your room, because she was telling me I had no choice.”
“And we both know how much you despise being told what to do.”
“You feel the same. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
He glared at her. “I never deceived you.”
“You called me by another woman’s name.”
His expression darkened. “We’re back to that, are we? I told you I had no control over that. You knew I remembered nothing from my life, and still I do not. You also knew what you were getting yourself into, obviously, because you never intended for it be anything more than just sex for one purpose.”
Chelsea slumped back in her chair. “Indeed, that is what I intended at first, but please understand what I am trying to say. It became more than that because I developed feelings for you.” She glanced around the room and lowered her voice. “I loved everything we did together, not just in bed, but the walking and talking and writing and sketching. If you had any idea how guilty I felt about what I was doing—”
“Yet you continued doing it.”
Chelsea sat forward again. “I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t resist seeing you. And I wanted to tell you the truth, but I was afraid you would be angry, and I didn’t want to disappoint my brother and sister-in-law, or spoil the time we had left together, because I didn’t know how long it would last. I was living in constant fear that one morning you would wake up and remember where you came from, and you would simply disappear. I didn’t want that to happen. I wanted you to stay. It was all so much like a dream that I couldn’t believe it was real. I still cannot believe it.”
He offered no reply. All he did was stare straight ahead, but at least he appeared to be listening.
“I would have told you the truth eventually,” she explained, “but I didn’t get the chance. You discovered it yourself in the most dreadful way, and now all I can do is beg for your forgiveness. I hate what I did. I was so stupid and—”
“Yes,” he said, turning in his chair to face her, and slamming his glass down on the table. “You were stupid.”
Chelsea was shaken by his sound reprimand. It was agonizing to see him look at her with such disenchantment.
She lowered her gaze. “All I can do now,” she said, “is tell you how sorry I am. If I could take it all back, I would. Except that if I did, I would never have known what it felt like to be in love. And that part, at least, was heaven.”
She could not bring herself to look up at Blake, though she could feel his eyes on her face, staring at her with fiery intensity. It was as if the space between them was exploding with the heat of his heartache.
After a few excruciating seconds, he relaxed and sat back in his chair, picked up his ale, and swiveled around to face the windows again. She had to fight hard for the courage to look up.
The server brought their dinners, set both plates down on the table and quickly left. For a brief time, Blake did not acknowledge the supper. Neither did Chelsea. Then at last he stood.
“I think I will take mine at the bar,” he said. He picked up the plate and walked off, leaving Chelsea to sit alone and stare down at her unappetizing food while she struggled very hard not to cry.
Chapter 19
By the time the coach rolled up the long, winding hill to Pembroke Palace, Blake was ready to throw open the door and leap out of the moving vehicle.
Chelsea had not spoken one word to him since they left the coaching inn. She sat across from him in moody silence, clearly angry with him for not accepting her apology. Or was she legitimately hurt and heartbroken? He did not want to consider that—he did not want to feel sorry for her—so he steered away from the notion. Perhaps she was merely insulted over the fact tha
t he had not remained at her table to eat his dinner. Or maybe it was all an act.
The workings of her mind were a mystery to him, and he was not inclined to analyze any of it. He did not want to try and guess at what she was feeling, because he had no idea if what she had said at the inn was true. She had done nothing but lie to him from the beginning, and he simply did not trust her. He trusted no one.
Nor did he want to feel compassion for her. He did not want to care if she was afraid or lonely for her home and family. He was not going to let it bother him, because if she felt that way, it was her own fault.
Bloody hell. How did she think he had felt, waking up on a strange, remote island, half dead, his body unexplainably impaled? He certainly felt lost and forsaken then, and what had she done? She had used him for her own corrupt ambitions, and if he had not discovered the ruse for himself the very night his brother came to collect him, he might never have known. Years could have passed without him ever knowing he had a child—conceivably a boy, the future Earl Neufeld!
It sickened Blake to think of it, made him seethe with anger and disbelief.
What if one day in the future, not knowing the young man’s true identity, his own daughter or niece met the young man and fell in love with him? Or wanted to marry him? His family might very well have permitted it.
Blake slammed his fist down on the windowsill, attracting the others’ attention. They stared at him with questioning eyes, but he ignored them and looked out the mud-splattered window as the coach rumbled heavily up the crest of a hill and moved through the entrance archway to Pembroke Palace.
He sat forward to inspect the massive house in the mist—the place where he had been born and raised. Sadly, nothing was familiar. He had not recognized the grounds or the lake during the approach, nor was there anything familiar about the house itself, which stretched across the rain-drenched land like a great royal city. It boasted ornamental statues, a massive, grand portico, and a wealthy abundance of columns and finials with flags flying triumphantly in the wind.
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