While she often lay in bed in the early hours, luxuriating in the slothfulness of it all, this morning it was intolerable. She couldn’t lie in bed and contemplate her life again.
She dressed quietly and let herself out of the cabin, shutting the door carefully, and slipping up to the deck. The sun had not yet risen, but a dim glow illuminated the east as the ship sailed south toward Portugal.
The deck was never empty. The sailors were red-eyed and bleary after their night watch, but they were accustomed to the ladies by now. The few she passed, as they monitored the sheets, gave her careful nods. The recent string of bad luck had themall feeling superstitious and aggrieved. There were five sailors on deck, and several more in the bow, but they did not bother her.
She settled in her favorite spot toward the stern of the boat, leaning against the gunwale on the starboard side. The sky was still black in the west, and two bright stars were still visible. Or perhaps they were planets. Here, she was generally not in the way of the ropes, booms, or tie-downs. She patted the goat as it bumped against her. The silly thing seemed to like to have its head scratched.
There was barely any wind, and the sails were all but slack, but the waves were higher than usual. The ocean was a dark seething mystery, and the occasional spray of a high wave cast a cool, refreshing mist over her. She shivered in the pre-dawn air. She’d thought perhaps her years with Jem would’ve cured her of a love for adventure, but perhaps they had not entirely.
“Isn’t it too cold for you just now?” asked Mr. Belvedere, coming up behind her. He settled next to her. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“I’m an early riser.” Sophia’s left hand was on the gunwale, the railing of the bulwark, and she was very aware that Mr. Belvedere had placed his hand next to hers. She wasn’t wearing gloves—such niceties had fallen by the wayside—and somehow having their bare hands within inches seemed to approach impropriety.
But it was no matter. He was playful—but she didn’t think he would pass the line. His boredom and his nature led him to amuse himself where he could, and she was the only single lady aboard ship. “What about you, sir? It is very early.”
“And I amnotan early riser, but coming under suspicion really undercuts a relaxing lie-in.”
“Poor boy.”
He laughed at her set-down, although the sound was a little harsh, a little less like the hapless, ebullient schoolboy. In the pre-dawn light, his eyes were more cynical than she had yetseen. It gave his whole face a different cast. Older and sharper, more mature, less thoughtless. He was quite a tall man, when one came to look at him and got past the idea of him as a blundering youth—being both large and broad-shouldered.
She stepped to the side. “Mr. Belvedere?—”
He laughed again, but now it was lighter and more rueful, his forehead smooth. “Forgive me! But when you saypoor boyin that tone of voice—! You must know it is the chiefest dislike of a young man to be treated like a child, especially by a beautiful woman.”
“Is it?” she eyed him warily. His flirting she would ignore, but… “I think perhaps you take pains to appearmorechild-like than you are, rather than less.”
“How should I do that? I wouldn’t know where to begin!” He laughed again. “I suppose I need that town-bronze people speak of, or the experience that my father hopes I’ll get abroad.”
Perhaps she was not the only one with more adventurous experience than she was willing to divulge. Still—whatcouldhe have done? He was hardly a highwayman or a common fence. His manner of speaking was well-bred and educated, and from his quips and comments, he did seem to have a classical education. He certainly knew as much as your average young man who spent a wild year or two at university. She hardly knew what she expected of him, but the momentary change was odd.
But then perhaps she was too quick to suspect others of wrong-doing. She had escaped—miraculously unharmed—from a life on the edges of the law, but that didn’t mean everyone was hiding something.
“I hope you don’t mean to cry off from our wager,” Mr. Belvedere said. “Lord knows I could use the distraction, and I love a competition.”
“That I believe. I won’t cry off.”
“Then I must only convince Mrs. Fitzwilliam and Mrs. Wentworth to follow through.”
“And their husbands. I hadn’t thought before, but they might object.”
“Pshaw,” he waved his hand. “Those men are so happy to be tenants-for-life they will do anything for their wives. Never saw two men happier to be leg-shackled than they.”
Sophia smiled in spite of herself. His description was on point. “Then I’ll look forward to our game.”
“I shall also, but it won’t happen right away, of course, for the search is still to be made. Here now, goat—let go.” He tugged the edge of his coat from its mouth. “If you seek to find anything on me, you’re behind the times, my fine fellow.”
Sophia groaned. She didn’t relish the tedium of another long and fruitless search.
“They will tear my cabin apart,” Mr. Belvedere said dryly, “even though they checked last night. And my person again, most likely. I felt like I was young lad back at Eton, stripping after field games.”
Sophia didn’t blush at the thought of him stripping—she had been married for seven years, after all—but she did note that he had again referred to himself as boy, connecting himself with a boys’ school. It seemed ridiculous to suspect him of artifice or affectation—but if he was playing a part, he was doing so very well.
10
The morning progressed much as Caroline expected, with a long, tedious, and ultimately unsuccessful search. This time she descended to the hold with the gentlemen, the captain, and the first mate, too curious to deny herself. There were several men asleep in hammocks—but they roused when the captain thumped a fist on the roof. “Up and away, lads. We must search for Lady Marston’s amethysts.”
The men had already heard about this, and they cleared out, though not without some grumbling about the interruption to their six hours of rest.
