“This is ours.” He withdrew a key and unlocked the third door on the left. “And actually there are only six, as the first mate and surgeon are housed here as well. The captain’s cabin is one of the doors off the passageway.”
“So—six guest cabins?”
“Yes, and they are all booked, so we shall have some companions. We’ll want company before the trip is through, I’m sure.”
Caroline looked at the drab doors doubtfully. “Delightful, I’m sure.”
The door to their cabin stuck a little, but Richard gave it a sharp push. Caroline edged past him to enter the small space.
A large, white bed was built into the wall, with two broad drawers beneath. A chamber pot rested beside a bucket of water, and a small shelf near the head of the bed held a lit oil lamp. There was no porthole or window, and the room was dim when Richard shut the door. A very small settee rested against the bulkhead. The whole room was perhaps eight feet by eight, and nearly all taken with the bed; a mere cell!
Caroline shivered despite herself. “Richard, darling, I fear—Nearly two months?—”
She looked over to him, loath to admit weakness, but also terrified of living in such tiny accommodations for something like forty or fifty days—perhaps more with bad weather. If he’d looked anything other than completely sympathetic and kind, she would have begged off the trip then and there, despite the shame of it. How had she imagined herself equal to this—this deprivation? But he did look both understanding and kind, and such was the perversity of her nature that she could not admit weakness before such a conciliating husband.
“Never mind. I am sure I’ll grow—accustomed. It is only rather small.”
“It certainly is. You have been game as a pullet, but if you wish to hang back—please say so. I’ll miss you dreadfully, of course, but I would be back by October, Lord willing…”
“No, nonsense. Anne and Captain Wentworth will keep me company. And Anne says Captain Wentworth’s sister hascrossed the Atlantic four times! Surely I can go a lesser distance.”
He still looked dubious. “Generally it comes in pairs; you’ll have to manage the voyage home as well.”
“I shall be very cross with you if you imply I cannot do what Mrs. Croft has managed four times. It is fine—snug, but at least it is very clean and fairly well-appointed.” She spread her hand over the bed which was already fitted out with their own linens. “With my own blankets and bedsheets, I shall do.”
“Most packet ships only have single rooms. I thought we were lucky to find a ship with doubles, but perhaps you’d be more comfortable with your own space.” He shuffled a half step to shut the door of the cabin. It was like being in a well-appointed box. He took her hands. “There is no shame in changing your mind, Caroline. I’m an officer, and I’m used to bivouacking in tight quarters—but none so tight as this. Please tell me.”
“Do stop, please. I am not getting off this ship. I said I wished to come, and I do. I shall take turns on the upper deck, I shall journal, and I shall—er—have all the time in the world for drawing. I brought a chess set and cards, as well.”
His thumbs stroked her wrists. “Very well, I’ll say no more. To think of Caroline Bingley willingly taking on such an adventure!”
He might more truly have said, “To think of Caroline Bingley clinging stubbornly to a disastrous plan,” she feared. But shewasstubborn, and she would not admit defeat.
Richard leaned down to kiss her hands. “I love you very much, Mrs. Fitzwilliam.”
“Of course you do, and I find you significantly more than tolerable.”
He kissed one corner of her mouth and then the other. “You must be besotted to think me an inch above commonplace.”
Caroline smiled and Richard was not above taking advantage of such a moment, but in reaching to push back her hat, he knocked his elbow on the white bedframe. Caroline staggered a half-step with the rocking of the ship and bumped into the wall. Richard rubbed his elbow. “Navigating this might take some practice.”
“I daresay we shall have it.”
He eyed her lips. “I think it might be worth the effort.”
She laughed but also shook her head. “Let me unpack my last bandbox and make sure my maid has already stowed my things correctly. The sealed trunks are below, I assume?”
He took the dismissal well. “Yes, they are. The ones we bound up for Istanbul will be hard to reach, but if you find you need something desperately, I can tip the cargo master to fetch it.”
“I’ll arrange my things. Go up on deck and destroy your complexion some more.” She shooed him out the door, which took more maneuvering. When he was out, Caroline pressed fingers to her eyes. She felt a strong inclination to cry, but she was made of sterner stuff than that. Deftly untying the green ribbons under her chin, she hung her hat on one of the hooks that lined the wall. Then she climbed the two steps to the bed and flopped onto it. She was Caroline Bingley—er, Fitzwilliam. She might make others cry, but she would not. She was not a weak-willed miss to crumple at the first difficulty. She was a married lady, married to a British officer, an officer whom she loved. She would be worthy of him even when he could not see her.
She pressed the pillow to her face and breathed in her familiar lavender scent. The pillow smelled faintly of her London townhouse and of the scent she sometimes used. It was a little piece of home. While the packet ships would deliver passengers and mail to the Americas, West Indies, and even further, passengers were responsible for their own bedding. They werealso responsible, on the return trip, for their own food. She assumed Richard and his supervisors would handle that.
Perhaps her resolve would have faltered, but she heard a lady’s voice outside her door, with accents both cultured and elegant. “Excuse me, sir, which cabin is No. 2? I see no numbers.”
“This one, ma’am—miss.”
“It’s Mrs. Scott, thank you, sir. And what time is dinner?”
