Page 23 of A Lady's Wager
King studied him but did not push the matter. “Pass the word for Mr. Hunter. Let’s get this frigate under way.”
The words shouldn’t have disturbed him, not after three weeks without her. He glanced over his shoulder at the London banks. She should be there, somewhere in the heart of the city, dining and dancing and living a wonderful life. He whispered farewell in his mind, perhaps forever, then rushed from the quarterdeck to seek out the boatswain. Perhaps setting sailwould bury this ache. As Corah said, he had to believe. He was already going mad.
Two weeks later
“ARE YOU READY FOR CHURCH?”
Corah looked up from her dressing table. The mirror held Aunt Mary’s reflection, peeking through the doorway.
“Why did you not light any candles, love?” Her aunt moved into the dark room, footsteps barely louder than the rain pelting the windowpanes.
She had, but the candle went out and she hadn’t bothered to send for a new one. “We were leaving soon,” Corah said, rising from the chair. She stretched. How long had she sat there? Jemima had finished her hair more than an hour ago.
Aunt Mary held her at arm’s length and examined her appearance. “A picture of spring. Just perfect for Easter services.” She lifted Corah’s chin. “The only thing missing is your smile.”
Corah sighed. “I’m too tired to smile, Aunt.”
“I know, dear girl.” Aunt Mary hugged her. “When loved ones leave, they take a piece of your heart with them. You’re never the same after that.” Her aunt knew better than she. Her husband had died years ago.
Corah returned the hug. “I cannot push him from my mind, no matter how hard I try.”
“Have you written to him?”
She pushed back, frowning. “Aunt!”
Aunt Mary fussed with the pendant tied around Corah’s neck with ribbon. “Perhaps a month of separation has made him realize how much he misses you.”
A clock chimed down the corridor. They’d be late for church if they didn’t hurry. Grandfather must be pacing the front hall. Corah shook her head and made for the door. “He was right. We might not ever see each other again. The best we can do is forget anything happened.” She’d repeated his words over and over, trying to find some comfort in their logic. For some reason, she struggled to believe them.
“Your grandfather and I simply want to see you happy, dearest. Whatever that means.”
Corah hurried through the doorway. If only she knew what that meant for her. Happiness seemed a faraway memory. Nearly a month in Town hadn’t taught her to dissolve this storm that had taken up residence in her heart. New gowns, fresh acquaintances, parties and dances galore—nothing had made her forget long enough. She’d die on the shelf, pining for a man who’d long since forgotten her. If he wasn’t swallowed by the sea beforehand.
Two weeks later
Derrick scaled the ladder and hopped onto the upper deck of HMSSwallow. He located Captain King on the quarterdeck and set course for his commanding officer. The captain listened to the ship’s carpenter with a sullen expression.
“What is our diagnosis?” Derrick asked.
“That gale nearly finished what the French frigate could not.” Captain King swore. “Thank you, Mr. Merrell.” The carpenter nodded, bringing his hand to the brim of his hat in salute.
“How long will repairs take?” Derrick scanned the rigging, much of it drooping to the deck. It wasn’t difficult to tell they’d be sitting in the Deptford dockyard for quite some time.
“Three weeks at least,” King grumbled. “The foremast held up well enough, but we’ll be replacing much of the main and mizzen. Then there’s the pumps and starboard hull. What a disaster.”
Derrick winced. An embarrassment for a captain’s first mission. “There was nothing we could do about the storm. And the Frenchmen suffered more than we did in the altercation.” Then slipped away like a nose-sniting, yellow-bellied coward. Captain King had done as well as any more-experienced captain, given the circumstances. They hadn’t lost a single man in battle, only a few wounded. Still, it was difficult to limp back to Deptford after the storm with their heads held high.
“We’ll be in for a thrilling few weeks.” Captain King wandered to the helm, taking it in hand as though ready to steer the frigate out to sea, hang the repairs.
“Nothing boosts crew morale like sitting in a rolling tub of bilge water going nowhere with a hundred of your closest friends,” Derrick said, joining him.
“Or closest enemies,” King said wryly. “Dare I grant shore leave with every captain from here to Chatham scrambling for a crew?”
“We’re patrolling the Channel. Surely, given the choice, many would prefer to stay closer to home.” Whatever home they had.
I don’t want a home in Bristol. I want a home with you.
Derrick blinked rapidly. How did she manage to invade every thought? Her voice was both a balm and a torment.
