Page 27 of A Captain For Clarissa
Morning arrived with the golden hues of dawn creeping through the curtains. Clarissa dressed quickly, eager to return to the Santa Dorotéia. The bustling port of Gibraltar was already alive with activity as the group prepared to leave the hotel.
“Good morning, milady,” Jean greeted her with a curt nod, the toddler twins clinging to her skirts like cherubic barnacles.
“Good morning, Jean,” Clarissa responded brightly, bending down to scoop one of the children into her arms. “And how are my favourite little sailors today? Ready to go back aboard the ship?”
“Full of energy, as always,” Jean replied, her no-nonsense demeanour softened by her affectionate smile.
As the ship set sail for Lisbon, Clarissa found herself delighting in the simple tasks of caring for the twins. Their laughter was infectious, their boundless curiosity a constant source of amusement. Whether chasing after a mischievous child or soothing a scraped knee, she embraced each moment with enthusiasm.
“Hold still, Edward,” Clarissa instructed gently, dabbing a damp cloth on the boy’s cheek where he had smeared jam. “You mustn’t run amok during breakfast, or you’ll end up looking like a ragamuffin. And we cannot have that, now can we?” The child squirmed and giggled, before planting a slightly sticky kiss on her cheek and running away to join his sister at play with their toys.
Jean watched the interaction, laughing quietly. “You have a way with them, milady,” she observed.
“Thank you, Jean,” Clarissa replied, feeling a swell of pride at the compliment. “They are delightful company.”
The day passed in a blur of activity, the ship cutting through the azure waters with grace as she passed out of the Straits of Gibraltar and into the wide Atlantic Ocean.
The Santa Dorotéia rocked gently on the moonlit waters, its timbers creaking softly in the night. Clarissa, her skirts rustling faintly with each step, moved deftly about the dimly lit cabin. A small lantern cast a warm glow, illuminating her serene face as she coaxed the twins to settle down.
From his vantage point by the doorway, Rafael watched in silent admiration. The flickering light caught the golden hues in her sun-bleached hair, making it appear as if spun from threads of sunlight. Her hands, gentle yet firm, cradled the children with an ease that seemed innate.
“Shhh, darlings,” she crooned, gathering the squirming toddlers into her arms. She began to sway, a rhythmic motion meant to soothe. Her voice, tender and melodious, wove through the air like a delicate thread.
“While the moon her watch is keeping
All through the night
While the weary world is sleeping
All through the night
O’er thy spirit gently stealing
Visions of delight revealing
Breathes a pure and holy feeling
All through the night,“ she sang, her tones soft and lilting. The lullaby, an old folk tune translated from its original Welsh, floated around them, its gentle cadence filling the room. The twins’ cries began to subside, replaced by intermittent whimpers that grew fainter with each passing moment.
“Clarissa, may I assist?” Rafael asked, stepping into the cabin. His voice was low, careful not to startle the already restless toddlers.
“Thank you, Captain,” she replied, her eyes meeting his with a grateful smile. “They are both teething, poor mites. I sent Jean to sleep in my cabin; she is exhausted from several sleepless nights. A distracting tale might do wonders.”
“Very well,” he said, settling himself beside her and reaching out to stroke Eleanor’s red cheek; the child quieted a little and eyed him curiously. “Did I ever tell you of the time we outwitted a corsair near Madeira?”
“Do tell,” Clarissa urged, her attention divided between Rafael and the twins.
“Well, it began as all good tales do—with a storm,” Rafael began, his tone conspiratorially low. He launched into the story, weaving a narrative rich with daring manoeuvres and close calls. As he spoke, Clarissa’s laughter rang softly in the enclosed space, mingling with the slowly quieting whimpers of the children.
“Your adventures are always so thrilling,” she remarked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Thrilling perhaps, but often fraught with peril,” Rafael responded, his gaze lingering on her face. “Unlike your current endeavour, which seems equally challenging.”
“Children are far more unpredictable than any storm or corsair,” she said with a chuckle. “But infinitely more rewarding.”
Rafael nodded thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving her. “I can see that.”
At last, the twins’ eyelids began to droop, lulled by the combined effect of Clarissa’s gentle rocking and Rafael’s engrossing tale. Soon, they were nestled peacefully in their beds, their tiny chests rising and falling with each breath.
