‘Not there! Have a care, woman! How am I supposed to have any sort of rational, let alone important conversation with you sat on my bed looking like temptation incarnate?’
She smiled as if he had just given her the most beautiful compliment and took herself to thechaisenear the window instead. ‘Is this better?’
‘Only slightly, but it will have to do.’
Max propped a hip on his mattress and racked his brains as to where he should start. ‘Because I kept catching him staring, I told Percy about my burns this morning and he said the strangest thing...’ It was probably the wrong place entirely, but as his insightful comment had come directly after Effie’s outburst about Max regretting their first kiss, it joined with it to plague him and make him question everything he thought he believed. ‘It was quite philosophical, actually—he said he didn’t doubt an experience like that put everything else into perspective... And it set me to wondering, because I used to be level-headed. I used to be pragmatic and philosophical and optimistic, but I have no clue exactly where my perspective on things went because I am no longer sure I have any.’
‘Hardly a surprise. There is nothing like a traumatic event to shift perspective on its axis. It is hard to be any of those things when fate deals you a blow. After Rupert died, I was so lost and distraught, I didn’t know which way was up or what I was going to do. I’d put all my eggs in one basket, mapped out my life and had no contingency plan. It took a while to find my feet again and to find a new path. That was the power of one single traumatic event. You were dealt a succession of blows, Max—the burns, the loss of your ship, your crew, your career, your father and your fiancée. And perhaps even your dreams. All in quick succession. Each one of those has the power to tear the ground from under the feet. Combined, I should imagine they are devastating and each would need adequate time to heal.’
He hadn’t thought of it like that. There had been a series of separate catastrophes, some inextricably linked to be sure, but all bundled together into one indigestible mass. Yet in the last few weeks, it had felt as if a fog was lifting and he no longer saw the mass as much as sensed there were separate components to his grief. And she was right about that, too. It was grief which had overwhelmed him. For so many things he hadn’t known where to start mourning them all. ‘I’ve started to contemplate the future again.’ The truth tumbled out. Truth he had not realised until he vocalised it.
‘That’s good. Does it involve the sea?’
How did she know him so well? ‘I think so... Not the navy any longer. I was done with that before the fire.’ Another truth he had not seen coming. ‘Ships, I think... Cargo, perhaps. Or passengers. Maybe both. It’s hazy. Not properly formed. Starting small...’ Some of the tangled thoughts began to unravel and he felt strangely lighter.
‘From little acorns...’ She smiled wistfully. ‘That’s wonderful, Max.’
‘It’s terrifying. I am not sure I am ready to go back out into the world.’
‘You are more ready than you were when I first met you almost two months ago.’
‘True...’
‘And I dare say Eleanor would corroborate that by confirming you are much more ready than you were a year ago.’
That was also true. A year ago he had been in a very dark place. He wasn’t in that infinite pit any longer. More a hole a little deeper than one of Effie’s trenches—but he could see some light now. Quite a bit of it. One of the brightest shining beacons was sat right in front of him. How could he sail the seas and leave her behind? Yet another tangled thought to swirl among the mess. ‘It’s probably all too soon.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I still can’t see the wood for the trees. Still can’t make much sense of it all.’
‘Scientifically speaking, the best way to work through a difficult problem is to break it into chunks and go through it systematically. Start at the beginning and work from there.’ She settled back, her cheek propped against her hand. ‘Perhaps it is time to re-evaluate some of those things and look at them with fresh eyes? The fire happened, what, a year and a half ago? Do you have misgivings about what you did?’
‘No. I wish it hadn’t happened, but it did and I had to do what needed to be done to save the ship and the crew. We were all in the thick of it.’
‘And after that?’
‘Six months of blurriness. Pain, laudanum and stupor.’
‘Then do you recall where you were a year ago?’
‘Eleanor’s house. Feeling very alone and very sorry for myself.’
‘Why?’
He slanted her a disbelieving look. ‘All of the above.’
‘That’s not true, is it? Your sister told me once the worst was past and the threat of death was gone, you were full of fight and optimistic about your recovery. What changed?’
‘I saw myself.’ A lie. That had come after and he suspected Effie had worked that out already. ‘Miranda...’
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
No. But how could he ever move forward if he didn’t? ‘Nelson was an ugly bugger. A great man, but nowhere near as pretty as his portraits would have you believe. He’d lost most of his teeth to scurvy, so his face had caved in. He was blinded when a shell exploded and, aside from ruining the look of that eye, it also ripped his entire eyebrow off and took a chunk out of his forehead. His arm was missing and he had more nicks and scars on his face than a face should carry, but both his wife and Emma Hamilton still loved him to distraction. He wore those scars like medals—proud badges of honour—and nothing kept him down. That inspired me. I assumed my face would heal, my stunning fiancée would still marry me even with a few battle scars and I’d be back sailing the high seas in no time. But Miranda recoiled in horror the first time she saw me.’ He’d tried to hold her hand. Had needed to know everything was going to be all right. ‘I assumed it was because it was all such a mess...the wounds were still open, some were festering, it must have been disgusting.’
‘You hadn’t seen it, then?’
‘No... Unbeknown to me, Eleanor had forbidden anyone from giving me a mirror in case I was so horrified by what I saw, I wouldn’t be able to cope.’ He felt his throat constrict at the memories he had tried so hard, but never entirely been able, to bury. ‘As time went on, they healed and the threat of infection was over, but Miranda still recoiled. I could see I disgusted her, but...’ He felt the bile rise at the memory. She had made him feel hideous.
