Jervis chuckled. “I’m thinking you’d better find it soon, my lord, or you’ll have your own French rebellion on hand.”
The ship began to come around and the first mate strode up to them, doffing his woolen cap. “Pardon my lord, but the captain has asked me to let you know your cabin is ready and to inquire whether there will be anything further you or her ladyship might need.”
Rafe turned to translate to Alix. Though her eyes had been fixed on the flickering lights of Calais for much of Rafe and Jervis’s conversation, she hadn’t missed a word. Nor had she missed the mate’s deferential manner toward Rafe and his reference toward them both as lord and lady. It was with an effort that she kept her face blank as she assured Rafe that she was quite comfortable for the moment.
Answers to odd questions she’d been too preoccupied to ask before tumbled like dominoes in her mind: how a simple merchant could afford a single room in the crowded inns of Paris, or a post chaise; how he had been able reserve passage on a packet and seem so certain that the captain would wait for them. Various comments Rafe had made came flooding back to her. His assurance that he was well-known to the ambassador in London, his reference to “people in our position.” Her stomach lurched as she recalled his explanation of why it was imperative that they marry to avoid scandal.“Your mother isn’t the only one acquainted with Lady Melbourne. She and my stepmother share a passion for roses and gossip.”Merchants’ stepmothers didn’t associate with duchesses.
Alix felt an almost hysterical urge to laugh. Here she’d spent the day wondering what her life might be like married to a simple English cloth merchant when she was married to an English lord. But the laughter stuck in her throat. She didn’t have to imagine what her life would be like, she knew exactly what it would be. Indeed, Rafe had told her already; he’d set her up with a suitable allowance and she could choose whether she would like to live in the country or in town.
Just like her parents, they would lead discretely separate lives.
Her hand closed on her corseted chest as she thought of the titles sewn into her stays. If what Victor had said was true, that the National Assembly was planning to confiscate the land of those émigrés who refused to return to France by year’s end, then she and her mother would be nearly penniless. She felt light-headed. She supposed she should be pleased with the way things had turned out; she’d stumbled into the perfect marriage of convenience. Wouldn’t her father have been delighted? She could almost hear his laughter in the flapping of the shrouds.
A reason for their lovemaking she hadn’t considered before now occurred to her. Rafe had wanted to avoid a scandal.“I’ve worked hard to ensure Elizabeth a bright future on the marriage mart,”he’d said. Then he’d given her his word as an English gentleman that she could have an annulment. Well, she thought, her stomach twisting, he’d found a neat way of keeping his word and getting what he wanted. He must have known that it would be difficult for an English lord to gain an annulment, and that even if the courts had granted it, the scandal would have been worse than any Lady Melbourne could have created on her behalf. So to make certain the marriage would stick, he’d consummated it. Alix thought about how wild he’d seemed when he’d returned to the inn last night. God, he must havebeen desperate to have the thing done before they reached England.
And she’d been desperate for him.
Alix bit her lower lip; she’d been a fool. Even if his motives hadn’t been as devious as she was thinking, he’d lied to her and misled her. She wasn’t sure what, if anything, she could trust about him anymore. She thought of the silver hairbrush with the M engraved on the back and fought back another wave of hysterical laughter. Good Lord, she didn’t even know if Rafe Harcrest was truly his name.
Rafe touched Alix’s shoulder and smiled down at her. “Look at those shrouds fill with wind, watch how she swans about, Alix. We’re on our way home.” Alix stumbled to the side of the ship, cast a final look at the lights of Calais and vomited.
Fifteen
Alix closed her eyes tightly, listening to the hiss and splatter of the sea against the planked walls of the cabin, trying to ignore the pitch and roll of the ship. Rafe and Jervis were arguing over the best remedies for seasickness, Rafe insisting on champagne and sea biscuits, Jervis on a cold mug of seawater. She waved them both weakly away, fervently believing that an empty stomach would be the best cure of all.
The ship was noisy and Alix found herself straining to identify every squeak and thump, every shouted command, in an effort to reassure herself that theXanthuswas not in imminent danger of sinking. Curled up in a tight ball on the bunk, her back against the planks and her hands braced against the frame, she eyed the cabin. It was a cramped space off the officers’ mess and smelled heavily of tar and broiled fish. A single lantern hung from the beamed ceiling, its light swaying over the two narrow bunks that hung from the far wall. Her stomach began to rise. It seemedeven the rhythm of the waves matched the shifting pattern of questions in her mind—stay or go, stay or go?He’d said they would do this together, with their eyes wide open, but he hadn’t been open about anything. She’d been a fool, Alix thought, as she closed her eyes, leaned over the side of the bunk and heaved.
But her stomach it seemed was as empty as her mind was of answers. Finally, worn out by illness and worry, she drifted off to sleep.
Toward morning she was awakened by the clatter of the officers taking their breakfast in the mess. She smelled coffee and onions, and her stomach rolled. Deciding not to attempt sitting up just yet, she lay back and listened to the voices conversing in English. Such a foreign sound, she thought, before recalling that she was the foreigner now.
Rafe entered the cabin, a steaming mug in one hand and a biscuit in the other. Leaning against the door, he surveyed her carefully. “You’re looking better.”
“Liar,” she said flatly, “even without a mirror, I know I must look a wreck.”
He grinned. “Well then, a bit less green around the edges. I’ve brought you some tea. Drink it down like a good girl, and then I’ll take you up on deck. The fresh air will do you good, and there’s something I want you to see.”
Alix sipped the tea and tentatively nibbled on the biscuit, avoiding Rafe’s watchful eye. She was angry and confused, yet his concern made her feel vulnerable. She didn’t need Rafe Harcrest to take care of her, she reminded herself. She put the mug and half-finished biscuit on the railed desk. Lifting her chin resolutely, she said, “Lead on.”
Bracing her feet carefully against the sway of the ship, Alix followed Rafe through the narrow companionway and up onto the deck. He was right, she thought, as he led her back to where they had stood the previous night. Though the air was cold and damp with the promise of rain, it feltgood. She could almost feel her color returning. The ship was fully rigged with three levels of sails and they bellied out, filled with wind. Two sailors, their pants rolled up about their knees and their bare feet swinging, sat high among the spars.
Rafe followed her glance upward and smiled. “They’ve just finished adjusting the sails. The winds and the current have been with us, we’re making good progress.
“Look,” he said, gesturing toward the horizon, “you can see the coast of England.”
Alix looked to where Rafe was pointing and saw in the distance a jagged line of white cliffs barely visible through the early morning fog. As the ship cut through the waves, Rafe stood by her side pointing out Shakespeare’s Cliffs and other harbingers of Dover. He turned toward her and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, grazing her cheek with his finger. “If you’d like, next summer I’ll bring you back down the coast, show you some of the little villages. Sea bathing’s becoming quite the thing.”
Alix nodded, but made no answer, knowing there would be no such trip.
Within two hours they reached Dover. Alix slipped on her cloak and tied the ribbons of her bonnet, feeling somewhat dazed that her journey from Valcour was nearly at an end. She stood on the deck watching as the crew clambered about the masts like a ragged pack of monkeys, lowering the sails, and binding them loosely to the spars. There was a great clanking of chains and a splash as theXanthus’s massive anchor was lowered. The crew began preparing the longboats that would take them to shore.
“Should I prepare a chair to lower her ladyship, or will she descend by the ladder?” the captain asked Rafe.
“Her ladyship will take the chair,” he answered firmly. Then, turning to Alix, he translated. “The captain wishes you to take chair down to the longboat.”
Alix concealed her annoyance. Her husband, it appeared, couldn’t be trusted to tell even the simplest truths.
The chair swayed precipitously as they lowered her down to the longboat and Alix clutched the arms, her knuckles showing white, as she inwardly cursed Rafe’s high-handedness.
