There it was, even if he had to rot in hell for feeling this way about someone who’d earned a halo the moment he’d drawn his last breath. Timothy’s character no longer mattered. In Cassandra’s mind, he was incomparable, irreplaceable, a martyr of sorts – impossible for anyone else to live up to. And what surprised Devlin the most was not so much the awareness that this was a fact he would have to accept, but rather the pain it caused him to do so.
Feedinghundreds of men was not on Cassandra’s list of qualifications. That said, she wasn’t about to back down from a challenge or refuse to help in a crisis, no matter how boorish her husband was choosing to be. She did, after all, know how to handle a stove and how to prepare a basic meal. Having spent the past week watching Talbot work, she also had a sense of the routine required for swift satisfaction among the crew. So she rolled up her sleeves and went to work, ignoring the stares and the bated breaths of expectation simmering in the air.
“Porridge,” she declared once she’d taken a moment to ponder her options. There was an audible groan from some of the men who’d heard her. But rather than shy away from their criticism, she glared in the general direction from which the sound had come. “Would you rather wait an hour or two in order to eat?”
When nobody answered, she picked out the largest pot she could find and proceeded to add both water and oats. Once the mixture was simmering over the fire, she added some salt, then located some sugar and cinnamon for the final touch.
“This aint ’alf bad,” one of the sailors murmured half an hour later. “Better than I expected.”
Cassandra accepted the compliment with a smile and without ruining the moment by asking if he’d been one of the ones to complain earlier.
“Well done,” Monty told her when he came down to collect his ration. “Working under pressure on only a few hours’ sleep can be a challenge. Particularly when you’re being asked to do something you’re not familiar with.”
Andwhen your husband is choosing to be difficult, she mused. She still couldn’t quite believe the brashness with which he’d forced her out of bed or the harshness with which he’d proceeded to give her orders or… She swallowed, recalling her state of undress when he’d pulled back the covers.
It shouldn’t have mattered, she supposed, yet it did. Perhaps because of the kiss they’d shared and the aching awareness that had rushed to the front of her mind as soon as she’d opened her eyes and spotted Devlin. Because that was when it had hit her and she’d remembered – the vow she ought to have made, unspoken for the first time in over a decade, because he’d made her forget. And this, coupled with the vulnerability she’d felt as her body was bared to his gaze, the guilt expanding around her with each breath she took, and the pure annoyance any sane person would feel upon being woken after only four hours of sleep, had made her churlish.
Not that she cared. For the first time ever, Cassandra decided she had a right to be out of sorts, irritated even, if she desired. Her world as she knew it had, after all, been set at an angle. So much so that she’d sail right over the side if the world were as flat as some people once thought it to be.
“Mrs. Crawford?”
Cassandra snapped to attention and stared back at Monty. “I do beg your pardon,” she muttered and quickly served him a bowl of hot porridge.
He nodded his thanks. “Not to trouble you, but Devlin said I should ask you to plan the next meal once we’ve all finished this one. It will help get us back on schedule.”
Too stunned to speak, Cassandra stared after him as he walked away. She ought to have known, but she’d been too busy to wonder about the upcoming meals and how they’d get prepared. If Mr. Talbot was as sick as she suspected he must be for her to end up in charge of the galley, she’d probably have to cook every meal until he was able to get back on his feet.
Exhausted, she sagged against the work table and scrubbed one hand across her brow. It was going to be a very long journey indeed. Though not nearly as difficult as she’d imagined when Penelope woke with a fever the following morning.
“I’ll fetch Bronswick,” Devlin told Cassandra while she placed another cool compress on Penelope’s brow. She didn’t turn to look at him, she merely nodded in acknowledgement. “And then I’ll stay with her.” He paused before carefully adding, “While you prepare luncheon.”
Cassandra glanced over her shoulder then, but he’d already disappeared from the doorway. Lord help her, she couldn’t recall ever being this tired. Or worried, for that matter. Having slept in three hour increments since the previous day, she’d made sure food was ready for the crew every four hours, even if it was just soup and some biscuits to tide them over until the next meal. And now Penelope, who hadn’t been sick since she’d caught a cold three years earlier, was burning up.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Trevor asked when he popped his head in one minute later. Concern flickered in the young man’s eyes as he looked across at Penelope.
Cassandra shook her head. “No. Thank you.”
Trevor hesitated briefly, made an awkward nodding motion, and left.
“Mama?” Penelope’s voice was weak and strained.
“Yes, my darling.” Cassandra caught her daughter’s hand and squeezed it.
“Can you please stay with me today?”
A lump formed in Cassandra’s throat, and for a brief second she struggled to keep her composure. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Heaven above, how she hated this, hated herself for bringing her daughter along on this foolish voyage, for leaving the comfort of their home to travel the world with a husband she hadn’t wanted in the first place, and for letting desire destroy her principles.
Her voice trembled when she spoke again. “If you’ll recall, the cook is also sick, so I have to step in and help as best as I can. But Devlin…” She had to stop for a moment to gather her wits. Just mentioning his name caused a fresh rush of guilt to clutch at her heart. “He’ll watch over you. And Mr. Bronswick will also do his best to make you feel better.”
“Promise?”
Cassandra caught her trembling lower lip between her teeth. “Of course.” Bowing her head, she dropped a kiss on Penelope’s cheek. Behind her, a man cleared his throat, and Cassandra realized Devlin had returned with the physician. “I will see you later. All right?”
Penelope merely nodded.
Cassandra stood and turned to Devlin. “Promise me you’ll fetch me if she worsens,” she whispered.
“Of course,” Devlin murmured, his dark eyes piercing hers with a fierce intensity that set her mind slightly more at ease.
