“Did they win?” asked Mr. Belvedere.
“Yes, they did.”
“That’s sad,” said Sophia, leaning on her elbows. “But they are very beautiful.”
That evening,Caroline noticed a particularly thoughtful look on Richard’s face as they got ready for dinner. “What is it?” she asked. “Your face is being expressive again.”
“I daresay it is. I am wondering if I ought to say something to Mrs. Scott. Mr. Belvedere has begun to breach the line with her.”
Caroline felt a little defensive on Sophia’s behalf. “It is hardly her fault if he flirts with her. She does not exactly encourage him.”
“No, that is true. It’s his interest in her that concerns me.”
“I don’t think he means any harm. He is barely more than a schoolboy. Don’t they tend to developtendresfor older women?”
“Calf-love, you mean?”
“It is hardlyreallove.”
“If it was just a case of calf-love, I’d leave it be—but I don’t have that impression either. If he was a little older, I’d suspect him of giving her a slip on the shoulder.”
“Oh, surely not. She may not be well-born, but she is genteel enough, and employed as a companion, after all.”
“That’s true, and I don’t think he’s bold enough to offer acarte blancheto a respectable woman while on a ship like this—but I should hate her to get hurt.”
Caroline kissed his cheek. “You are so kind. I don’t know how you survived the army.”
“I can be harsh enough with my fellow men, I promise you.”
“Well, then save your words of warning for Mr. Belvedere. I think it would only make Sophia uncomfortable when there is little she can do to check him.”
“A well-deserved set down would probably do the trick.”
“But if she is Sir Mark’s side slip—his daughter, I mean—she may not feel she has the upper hand togivea proper set down.”
“Hm, true. I may be kind, but you are insightful, Mrs. Fitzwilliam.”
“Why, thank you, but I suspect you are offering me Spanish coin.”
“Never.” He looked down at her and cupped her cheek. “You are a little red—I’m afraid you got too much sun today.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I wore my hat.”
“I know. I think the light was bouncing off the water.”
“Ugh, I shall have both wrinkles and freckles by the time we reach Lisbon.” She caught herself on the complaint. “Not that I begrudge the trip or—the damage to my complexion.”
He grinned. “You don’t have to be so stoic all the time, my dear. I didn’t fall in love with a paragon of patience and humility, I fell in love with you. Besides, I didn’t mean that your complexion was ruined. You look more beautiful than ever this evening.”
Caroline smiled and took his kiss, but it did not quite reach her heart. His words were meant to be reassuring, no doubt, but instead they stung. She knew she wasn’t a paragon of perfection of any sort, but it hurt to be reminded how clearly he saw that.
11
Sophia enjoyed that final game immensely, and it completely eclipsed the anxieties swirling in her mind. She could not escape them forever, but she could put her fears aside while she played. Mr. Belvedere—although he claimed to have been a careless student at Cambridge—was an excellent strategist and apparently had a good head for numbers. She suspected he was a better player than her, but Caroline was also superior to Anne, and so their two teams were a fine match of skill.
Along with the luck of the deal, of course.
“You would be an excellent clerk or bookkeeper,” Sophia commented to Mr. Belvedere. “You seem to keep all the combinations in your head at once.”
