“I’ve had no complaints so far, though my charges think—”
“Griffith, stay out of the waves!” called Mr. Byrnes, though the child paid his command only the barest of minds. Yes, he stepped further from the undulating water’s edge but remained close enough to be in danger of soaking himself.
Judith blinked, casting her attention away from the man on the blanket beside her. Good gracious! She’d hardly spared a thought for the children whilst she sat here gabbing on with their father as though she had nothing better to do with her time than laze about.
Why could she not hold onto her good sense? Every time she spent more than five minutes in his company, she forgot all her hard-won rules and guidelines and treated the fellow as though he were a chum and not the man who could ruin her professional reputation. Where would her future be then?
There was only one solution.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but I ought to attend to the children.” Judith rose to her feet, brushing off the stray grit that clung to her skirts.
Mr. Byrnes straightened, his gaze dimming as he studied her. “They are enjoying themselves. Can we not do the same?”
And for all her determination, Judith faltered. There was something in the fellow’s tone that begged her to sit once more.
“Please, Miss Delmonte.” Though he did not employ as much overdone Italian inflection as before, Mr. Byrnes used her true surname and not the one her extended family had thrust upon her. “The children are playing, and you needn’t scurry off after them.”
Judith did not meet his gaze, choosing to focus on all the little grains of sand that found their way into the folds of her skirts. “I ought to—”
“If you wish to speak no more, then do as you please, but do not put me at arm’s length once more because you think you must. I was enjoying our conversation.”
So was she. That was the entire problem. Judith enjoyed it far more than was seemly for a lady in her position. A woman, really. For Judith couldn’t lay claim to being a true lady. She had the polish and skills of one but without the dowry or inheritance to ease her way into gentility. She was the orphaned child of a poor artist and his disinherited wife. Raised among the gentry, yet she could not lay claim to that stratum. And though she was genteelly employed, she was forced to earn her bread.
Judith ought not to forget that.
Yet, the friendship Mr. Byrnes offered was all too enticing. Proper conversation. How long had it been since anyone had sought her out for such a thing? Mrs. Barton was friendly enough, and like many of the housekeepers, she didn’t view Judith as too high or below her, but neither could she lay claim to any true friendship with her. And Mr. Byrnes’s conversation was so very engaging. And diverting. And entirely delightful. Mr. Byrnes was so very interesting. Was it so very bad for her to enjoy spending an hour or two in his company?
Her traitorous knees bent, lowering her to the blanket once more, and though several objections came to mind, they fled at the sight of his pleased smile. Mr. Byrnes was such an amiable man, and weak thing that she was, Judith wasn’t ready to surrender their fledgling friendship. Perhaps she would regret it one day, but for once, Judith wanted to enjoy the moment.
Chapter 12
When he was a young midshipman, Silas had believed there was no greater exhaustion to be found than spending a day scrubbing decks, climbing the rigging, and hauling crates to and fro. The captain and lieutenants rarely participated in such back-breaking labor, and Silas had envied every last one of them.
But as he rose in the ranks, a different sort of fatigue settled over him. Not born of acute physical efforts, but that of mental exertions. Though the leaders did not busy themselves with manual tasks, they had a myriad of things that exhausted the mind and pushed them to the breaking point. Silas had received a glimpse of it during his time as Lieutenant Byrnes, but he was coming to understand it all the more now. Yes, his feet, legs, and back ached from walking about the warehouse, but his mind felt like a brick after hours of solving problems.
TheMercuryhad still not arrived. Captain Elkins was a seasoned captain and a fine sailor, so there was no need to be concerned. Silas knew well how fickle weather could be, and as Hatch had assured him repeatedly, a tardy return was no great concern. Or rather, Hatch had said so once and glared whenever Silas needed reminding. And the lad was right. There was no reason to fret over the unknown.
Yet, Silas could not be at ease. Of course, it did not help that their clients harried him at every turn. If it wasn’t the lateness of the shipment, it was some other matter. While dealing with such megrims was his forte, he wasn’t immune to the distress that accompanied them. And today had been nothing short of a maelstrom of complaints and frustrations.
Beginning early in the day, Silas had dreamt of the coming evening when he would be able to take himself off to bed after a good meal. The food was precisely as he’d anticipated, and the nursemaid was putting the children to bed this very moment. There was no reason for him to linger downstairs.
With plodding footsteps, he climbed the stairs and made his way to his bedchamber, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat as he went. As much as he enjoyed his wardrobe of late, Silas was equally pleased to rid himself of the restrictive attire. He stripped off his jacket, waistcoat, and cravat before collapsing onto the mattress, his eyes fixed on the canopy above him.
As neither he nor Deborah had come into the marriage with property and his uncle hadn’t bothered with securing a house of his own, the first order of business after receiving his inheritance had been to purchase Stowell Cottage. However, the previous owner’s crumbling finances meant the house had been neglected and required significant renovations. In her two years as mistress, Deborah had done much to improve Stowell Cottage, but illness had cut her time short, leaving her vision mostly incomplete. Their bedchamber was the starkest example of that oversight.
The only thing she’d attended to in their quarters was the bed, which had been replaced with a hulking thing that stretched to the ceiling like a great pedestal upon which to lay his head. It looked out of place in a room that had no other ornamentation, though he thought the dark wood of the bare walls far more pleasing than the busy floral patterns Deborah had used throughout much of the house. And the deep green of the bedclothes and curtains were rather striking against the rich brown.
The mattress was the most comfortable one he’d ever felt, though after his day, even a bed of stone would be heaven-sent. Silas laid there, allowing the comfort to ease away the aches and pains, but now, he was stuck in this position. To go to bed properly, he would be forced to lift himself from the bed and change into his nightclothes, but he lacked the strength to do so.
Silas willed his body to move, but it gave him no heed. It was several minutes before the chill in the air made remaining in his position less comfortable than moving, so he rose and went through his nightly routine, eschewing all he could in order to return to his bed as quickly as possible. Sliding into the covers, Silas sighed and laid down on the pillows, welcoming slumber’s embrace.
And then, nothing.
His eyes were closed, but the exhaustion that had driven him to bed so early flew away, leaving him lying there, unable to rise and unable to sleep. Reaching for the book at his nightstand, Silas attempted to lull his mind with a story, but he was too worn to find any comfort there. He was trapped between sleep and wakefulness, unable to exert the effort to engage himself in a story or drift off into oblivion.
Turning onto his side, Silas stared at the space beside him. When word of Deborah’s passing had reached him, Silas hadn’t expected to miss her—though he would never admit that aloud. He didn’t revel in her death, but their temperaments were too dissimilar for marital bliss. Yet laying abed, he felt the loss keenly.
There was little upon which they’d agreed, but there were moments in which their hearts aligned in something akin to harmony, and those were most often found while they were sitting in bed, speaking of their days. It wasn’t a true dialogue, as neither had any advice or observations to offer the other concerning their day-to-day business, yet there was a familiarity and comfort in that habit. At sea, he hadn’t noted the absence since Deborah did not belong in that world, but sitting in their bed, Silas found his thoughts cast back to her memory.
