Bundled beneath a blanket, Louisa claimed a cane-backed lounge chair on the promenade deck. The ship seemed to pitch and roll more than usual, with rough seas sending a spray of saltwater over the railings. The day was brisk but not unpleasant thanks to a clear blue sky overhead.
She clutched a book in her lap, thankful that she’d remembered to snatch it up on her way out of the stateroom, otherwise, she’d have nothing to do but sit and think. Too much introspection was dangerous when one’s marriage teetered precariously between failure and success.
The problem was that LouisalikedLord Granborough. He could be pleasant and charming, and she enjoyed their teasing banter. She liked dancing with him, dining together, and generally being seen on his arm. He elevated her, and some selfish, flawed part of her delighted in being his marchioness.
Louisa enjoyed His Lordship’s kisses—rare though they were—and his touches. She didn’t mind going to bed with him, yet she longed for more affection, a deeper connection. Something significant lurked beneath the surface of their relationship, and Louisa feared that she and Lord Granborough would never know each other well enough to take the plunge.
Her husband seemed content to bob along, doling out crumbs of truth as it suited him, tossing crusts of intimacy at her as if she were a duck on a pond and he had better things to do with his time.
They were honeymooning on a steamship in the middle of the North Atlantic. What else was there to do but get to know each other?
She flipped the page of her novel, struggling to follow the story. Normally, the steady tramp of footsteps and chipper chatter of her fellow passengers didn’t bother her, but between the shouts of crewmen and the creaking of deck boards, Louisa couldn’t escape the sound of a crying baby.
She looked up, puzzled to find a mother pacing the deck with her fussy infant. The woman looked exhausted and overwhelmed, and maybe even frightened.
The mother paused by Louisa’s chair, bouncing the little one. “Sorry,” said the flustered woman, “I thought the cool air would soothe her.”
Louisa put away her book, as there was no use trying to read. She knew absolutely nothing about children, but sensed this mother wished to chat. “Do babies like the cold?”
The woman smiled, emphasizing the lines around her weary eyes. “This one does. She’s usually never happier than when she’s swaddled in her pram on a crisp day.” She lowered the blanket to show off the little girl’s scrunched, screaming face.
“What is her name?”
“Emily,” said the mother.
“Well, that’s a lovely name! Hello, Emily, I’m Louisa.” She smiled up at the mother. “And you are?”
“Mrs. Waldo,” the woman answered. “Gladys.” Some of the desperation faded from her face. Maybe the other passengers had little patience to entertain a worried mother and her fussy daughter. “We’re traveling to join my husband in Liverpool. ”
“It must be difficult moving halfway around the world with a baby,” said Louisa. “You are brave to do so.”
Mrs. Waldo stepped toward her, bouncing Emily against her breast. “The others have complained about her crying,” she said, sadly. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve taken her to the ship’s surgeon, and he says there is nothing wrong with her, that she’s just a poor sailor.”
Was this woman confiding in her? They were of an age, but Louisa couldn’t help. She was in no position to give advice.
Thankfully, something seemed to catch Mrs. Waldo’s attention. The two women turned to find a tall, honey-haired gentleman striding the promenade deck. His Lordship wore a heavy greatcoat trimmed with astrakhan fur and a derby hat. He carried a cup and saucer in his gloved hands as steadily as if he were crossing a drawing room rather than navigating a swaying ship.
For all his inner faults, Lord Granborough was a fine-looking man. Even Gladys Waldo’s mouth went slack at the sight of this dignified nobleman.
He’d spotted Louisa and cut a path in her direction.
“That’s my husband,” she explained. “We’re on our honeymoon.”
Gladys gaped down at her.“You’rethe honeymooners, Lord and Lady—”
Louisa nodded. “Granborough, yes.”
The woman’s demeanor changed. She bobbed, bowed, and began to back away. She looked as if she feared being keel-hauled for speaking to such an elevated personage. “My goodness! I am sorry. I had no idea!”
“No, no, please don’t go!” She did everything but grab at Mrs. Waldo.
By then, His Lordship reached them. He approached the two ladies, touching his hat. “Good afternoon,” he said. In his free hand, he balanced the cup and saucer, looking every inch the English aristocrat.
Louisa made the introductions between her husband and the stunned Gladys Waldo. Baby Emily bawled the entire time. While the mother and child had her sympathy, this ruckus was starting to grate.
Lord Granborough’s nerves, however, remained unruffled. He turned the full force of his charm on Mrs. Waldo, complimenting the baby and praising the mother’s good sense to carry the child above deck for sunshine and fresh air. The British, it seemed, swore the outdoors cured everything.
He extended his gloved hand toward the pair, saying, “You look as though you need a moment to yourself. Her Ladyship and I shall be glad to dote upon your daughter, should you wish to rest your arms.”
