And if he were, then what the hell did that mean?
Unwilling to give the question the attention it probably deserved, he forced himself to think back on what Cassandra had said and his reaction. When she’d told him she’d stopped speaking her vow to Timothy after their kiss, he’d mocked her for it, but maybe he’d been unjust. Perhaps she was finally able to move on, start fresh, and live. His lungs felt too tight as he breathed in the air. What if this, whatever had happened between them these last few days, was her trying? Did he really want to punish her then? Or would he rather offer support and encouragement?
“Care for a swig?”
He hadn’t heard Monty approach and although he’d prefer his own company for the foreseeable future, he wouldn’t say no to the brandy. So he took the bottle and set it to his lips, enjoying the bite and the burn as the liquid slid down his throat.
“Thank you.”
Monty took a sip himself, then returned the bottle to Devlin. “Is there a problem I ought to know about?”
Devlin’s mood darkened. “No.”
“So then, the crew has simply chosen to abandon their duties in this particular area because of…nothing?”
“If they chose to leave me in peace then that’s their business,” Devlin replied. The sullenness he felt belonged better to a five-year-old. His irritation grew.
“Well, it certainly doesn’t have anything to do with your sunny disposition,” Monty remarked. When Devlin didn’t comment, he sighed, shifted his weight and said, “Just tell me it’s nothing to do with the ship.”
Devlin looked him straight in the eye, because Monty deserved no less. “It isn’t. I assure you.”
Monty nodded. “Good. That’s good.” He nodded some more. His lips twisted slightly in that way they so often did when he was pondering something. Finally, he said, “Look, every man on earth who’s ever been married has had the occasional spat with his wife. It’ll blow over. And if you want it to blow over sooner, just take the blame for whatever it is, tell her you’re sorry, divert her with a few kisses, and all will be well. But don’t let it distract you from your work or allow it to get in the way of the crew’s work. Ensuring the ship runs smoothly so we reach our destinations on schedule, that’s all that matters. The rest…is just a part of life.”
Devlin waited for him to walk away before gulping down two more mouthfuls of brandy. Blast it all but the man was right. He had one primary goal as captain and that was to get from Point A to Point B safely. He could not allow emotion to drag him down, and he could not allow himself to treat his men poorly because he was angry and hurt.
With this in mind, he strode toward the helm. “The wind is picking up, Mr. Quinn. I suggest you lower the helm and keep your luff.”
Monty grinned. “Aye, aye, Captain!”
“Give her sheet,” he shouted, jolting the crew into motion. A flurry of activity followed as he continued issuing orders. “Away aloft. Drop the top sail. A-weather!” The bow sliced through the water, and Devlin allowed himself a satisfied smile. This, at least, was something he understood. Climbing up onto the quarterdeck, he planted his feet wide apart, assuming his position of command at Monty’s right shoulder. Work would preoccupy his mind and help clear his head. Most importantly, it would give him a reason to avoid Cass until he was ready to face her again.
When Cassandra wokethe next morning, she was alone. She’d been alone almost every morning since leaving England, but the solitude filling her cabin on this particular day was far more acute. After finally choosing to embrace a night of passion with her husband, a decision she’d not made lightly, she’d said the wrong thing, or the right thing just with the wrong words, and driven him away. He hadn’t returned. If he had, he would have remembered to take his tricorn with him.
Unhappy with herself and with him and the awful feeling of being weighed down by the lead in her veins, she pulled on her robe and went to check on Penelope without so much as bothering to comb her hair. Barefoot, because she hadn’t the energy to shove her feet into her shoes, she walked to the next cabin and quietly knocked.
“Yes?”
She opened the door just as Trevor ran past, his eyes going wide at the sight of her. “Um. Good morning, Mrs. Crawford.”
She smiled tightly and nodded, then went to check on her daughter. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than you, I should think.” Penelope sat, fully dressed with her back propped against a pillow and watched Cassandra approach. A notebook rested in her lap. “Do you suppose you’ve caught what I had?”
“No. I’m just tired.” She spotted a discarded tray on Penelope’s desk. It contained an empty plate and a cup. “I see you already ate.”
“Dev brought me one of Mr. Talbot’s excellent omelets.”
“I see,” Cassandra murmured. She wanted to ask Penelope how Devlin had seemed, if he’d been in a good mood or not, but she didn’t know how.
But then Penelope said, “He asked if I’d like to learn how to plot a course, which I think might be fun.” She shrugged. “You should join us.”
“I, um…” Cassandra deliberately smiled. “I’m still rather tired. But we probably should try to resume your lessons at some point later today.”
Penelope groaned. “Must we?”
“Basic mathematics is imperative to all facets of life. Even to plotting courses, I’ll wager.” She yawned. “Do you think you’ll be all right if I go back to bed?”
“Of course.” Penelope waved her journal. “I’ve two days’ worth of journal writing to catch up on before Dev returns.”
