In short, she felt she had some ground to recover, and having her husband wait on her like a maid did not seem like recovery. If only her hands would not shake, she would be in better frame.
“Caroline,” he raised the towel to her hair again, also drying her neck. “Are you angry with me?”
“No, not at all. If I said something while I was sick—I take it back. I was so nauseated! Please don’t take anything I said to heart.”
“Of course not—I seem to recall some choice oaths leaving my mouth during those dreadful two day as well. I hope you won’t holdthatagainstme.”
“I don’t even remember.”
“Good. But that isn’t what I mean. Ever since we left Falmouth, you’ve been increasingly—distant. I thought perhaps I’d done something to offend you. Or perhaps I failed to do something you wanted.”
“What? But I’ve been taking such care to be—” She broke off, unwilling to reveal too much. But she had taken such care to be even-tempered and uncomplaining! She found herself frustrated and defensive. “I have barely complained to you about the cockroaches or the smell, the goat’s milk, or—oranything. What fault have you to find with me?”
He put down the comb and turned her to face him. He looked quite perplexed. “I’mnotfinding fault with you, and no—you haven’t complained. But after we were married you were so open; I felt we were friends as much as husband and wife. But now—less so. You still smile and you still talk—some—but I feel I’ve been set behind a wall.”
Caroline shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I hardy know myself. You have also not spoken of Charles or Jane or any of our mutual friends in weeks. Is it—” he hesitated,“is it so unpleasant to think of Darcy and our friends there? Do you regret your decision?”
“Of course not.” Caroline didn’t talk about Darcy and Elizabeth or Charles and Jane because she was still unhappy with her conduct then, not because she still suffered an unrequitedtendrefor Mr. Darcy. But she was not one to ruminate on the past; she preferred to stay in the present. “I don’t know what you’re accusing me of. I love you very much.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything. I want you to talk to me.”
Traitorous tears rose up in her throat—no doubt another symptom of her seasick days and her current weakness. She did know what he meant, but what else could she do? Behind the wall of silence was her uncertainty and selfishness. Her fear and cynicism.
Richard sighed. “You can tell me anything, you know. I don’t mind if you complain about the vermin—nasty little blighters—or if you have second thoughts about this journey.”
Caroline nodded.
“I’ll leave you to rest. I love you, my dear.” He kissed her head and left her in the cabin.
Anne wasup on deck that afternoon, along with most of the others. Only Caroline and Lady Marston remained below.
The freshness was delightful after days of breathing the fetid air of their own sickrooms.
She walked to and from the foremast, while the maids were in the stern “watching for more o’ them flying fish.” Mr. Belvedere was minding his own business with a sketchbook while sprawled on a large coil of rope, although his position did allow him to watch Sophia. Sir Mark and Sophia were in the bow and nodded to Anne when she passed them.
Finding herself breathless after a few turns, Anne sat on the small, inverted dinghy that was stored on deck. The mast and rigging partially blocked her view, but she could hear Sir Mark and Sophia.
“Only a week till Lisbon, barring more bad weather,” he said.
“Yes. I heard. I’m glad.” Sophia sighed.
“Areyou? Leaving things to the last minute, aren’t you, missy?”
“Maybe. It’s complicated.”
Under normal circumstances, Anne would never continue eavesdropping when she realized someone did not see her—but these were hardly normal circumstances. What did Sir Mark mean aboutthe last minute? Didtheyhave something to do with Lady Marston’s missing amethysts?
Anne was really perturbed at the ongoing conflict. She wished greatly that the passengers could stop looking at one another with suspicion—but here she was, listening in on a semi-private conversation.
Sitting below their line of sight as she was, with a web of rope and rigging between them, Sir Mark and Sophia would only see her if they turned around and stooped a little.
“I’ll do what I must,” Sophia said. “Only it would beeasier?—”
“Is something wrong?” Mr. Belvedere broke into Anne’s listening.
She jolted, her guilt at eavesdropping making her jumpy and self-conscious.
