“An admirable pursuit, and worthy of a toast!” one of the Miss Feathermounts proclaimed.
“Aye! To reviving what was once great!” Dr. MacGregor took up his glass.
The others did the same, and Onora was glad to find hers full yet again.
As the eveningdrew to a close, Onora grew unsteady and was grateful to accept Seton’s help in descending the stairs to the lower deck.
She chided herself. She was unused to drinking and wasn’t entirely sure she liked the effects. The lightheadedness was pleasant, but everything felt strange. Unrealalmost. Even her body didn’t feel her own, half-numbed and yet more sensitive in other ways. It was rather disturbing.
One by one the various cabin doors closed as the guests put themselves to bed. Having kissed her aunt goodnight, Onora stayed in the passageway, watching as she walked the length of the sleeping quarters to where her cabin was placed at the opposite end.
“An enjoyable evening, my dear?” Seton had remained with her.
“Absolutely.” Onora winced. Even her voice sounded strange to her, as if she was lisping. More softly, she added, “The Misses Feathermount are an interesting pair, aren’t they? I keep wondering how you met.”
Seton looked faintly surprised, then entertained—at her boldness in asking, she supposed. It wasn’t the politest thing to do, quizzing him on his choice of guests and where they came from.
“They are unusual. You’re perfectly right. As a matter of fact, I met them at a gathering inBloomsbury, at the residence of a mutual acquaintance. The Griffiths were there, too, though that might come as a surprise to you, since the event was a séance.”
“A séance?” She knew how popular they were, with a certain set—people searching for something beyond the ordinary, or so touched by grief that they’d do anything to contact a loved one who’d passed over.
Her father had insisted such things were most often a ruse to part people from their money, but she could understand the desire to try. Though he never mentioned his wife who’d died, Onora assumed Seton had been intent on speaking to her, which was touching.
“They aren’t at all what they seem; but then, perhaps that’s true of all of us.” Seton regarded her earnestly.
“I’m glad you aren’t the sort to dismiss a woman because she’s old or without obvious attractions, that you can value someone for their mind or their talents, regardless of their sex.” Was this the brandy too, making her speak in such a forward manner?
“Indeed.” Seton rested one hand uponthe wall, leaning over her. Beneath his soap-shaven smell, she detected another scent—something overtly masculine, which was unfamiliar to her but not unpleasant.
They were alone, in a manner of speaking, only separated from the others by the wood paneling of the passageway. They might hear if she raised her voice, but they could not see, and Onora had the strongest feeling Seton was about to kiss her.
It would be the first time, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to. Whenever she’d imagined his kiss, that demonstration of affection had happened under the stars, accompanied by some declaration of devotion. Certainly not like this, in a furtive sort of way.
“I should retire.” Opening her door, Onora passed into her cabin, where the low flame of a lamp lit in readiness for her return cast a dull glow.
She turned back to bid Seton goodnight. However, his foot moved over the threshold and his fingerstook hold of her chin, tipping back her head. She could look nowhere but into his eyes.
“My intentions toward you, Miss Montague, are firmly set. The sooner you are my wife, the happier we both shall be.”
Her limbs were already weak from the brandy, but a great languor overtook her. If he kissed her now, it would not be so bad. The longer she looked into his eyes, the more she desired it. Her tongue darted, wetting her lips, and she parted them. He would kiss her gently, she hoped, and then, perhaps, not so gently. Both seemed appealing.
His grasp upon her chin was firm, drawing her up to him, and she wanted whatever he was going to do next. If he put his arm about her waist she would not protest. There was no one to see; even if there were, she no longer cared.
Yet, as she let her lids drop, waiting for his mouth to find hers, he let go so unexpectedly that she was left swaying. She clutched at the doorframe, feeling she might fall.
“Goodnight, my dear.” His expression was now passive.
“G-Goodnight.” She stumbled over the word, uncertain of what had passed between them.
On silent feet, Seton moved away. She remained as she was until she heard a lock turn some way along the corridor.
Entering her own cabin, the air was so close she could hardly breathe. Going to the shutters, she opened them wide, wanting the night breeze to flow into the room. She yanked off her long gloves, throwing them upon the bed, needing the coolness to pass over her arms.
What just happened?
She could barely remember; she’d desired something, very badly, and then suddenly, she hadn’t.
Pouring a glass of water from the jug on the washstand, she drank it down until it was gone. Then she sat upon the bed.
