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“I am not religious, but I take your meaning.” He presented his strong profile. “It is rather humbling, is it not? The immensity of the ocean and sky?”

“Mr. Compton, a moment if you please.” Captain Breckett bid his second in command attend him on the quarterdeck.

Trinity passed the telescope back. “Thank you again. It is truly quite a spectacular invention.”

“My pleasure, Miss Ablethorne. I hope we may study the stars together again many times on the voyage.”

Did he indeed?

Did Trinity want to?

She was not certain, but she would like to avail herself of his telescope in the future.

“And perhaps I may take you for a stroll or tea when we reach Casablanca. I know of a local coffee shop serving delicious coffee, tea, and pastries.”

That would depend entirely on Mrs. Peagilly.

Trinity angled her head in response.

He flashed her a rather disarming smile before striding away. She was not altogether positive the queer fluttering in her stomach was a good thing.

The persistent wind had loosened several strands of hair, and they whipped about her face. She shoved them behind her ears and dragged her hood atop her head again. Her skirts and cloak billowed around her ankles, the fabric snapping as it strained in one direction and then another.

“A conquest already, my dear young lady?”

With the crew calling orders back and forth, a couple of the men even singing a jaunty ditty, and the creaks and groans of the vessel underway, Trinity had not heard Mrs. Peagilly’s light tread as she approached.

“Hardly.” Good heavens, what a notion. “Mr. Compton was simply being helpful.”

Wasn’t he?

Trinity stepped sideways over a coiled length of rope so Mrs. Peagilly could join her at the ship’s rail.

“How was your tea?” she asked, presenting her back to the wind.

“Honestly, I am not overly fond of ginger. It is rather vile stuff. Regardless, it is an effective tonic.” Wrinkling her nose, Mrs. Peagilly patted her middle. “A cup thrice a day, and my stomach remains as tranquil as if we sailed across a sea of glass. I do have the beginnings of a headache.” She put trembling fingers to her forehead. “I hope it does not turn into a—”

The sound of retching brought her up short.

As one, they turned in the direction of the distraught passenger—the ship owner hanging over the rail, sagging like a wilted daisy.

“Poor fellow. If he is this wretched now in this calm water, wait until we make the open sea.” Mrs. Peagilly cocked an eyebrow under her violet bonnet. “And should we encounter a storm…”

Clucking, she shook her head.

“Indeed,” Trinity murmured, moved to compassion for the man who had drawn mocking attention from the unsympathetic crew.

Were they aware he was the ship’s owner?

If so, they ought to show more respect.

On the other hand, considering the secrecy surrounding his arrival, they might not know. Still, taking delight in another’s misfortune revealed a lack of character.

A half smug, half disgusted expression creased Mr. Compton’s features before he returned his attention to Captain Breckett and the first officer, Mr. Alderton, once more.

Was Mr. Compton still miffed that the captain had delayed weighing anchor on the owner’s behalf?

It was not as if they’d missed the tide.