Page 8 of The Lord's Compass
“I am not worried abouthim,” she countered. “I am worried that he will stall this treasure hunt before we can finish it.”
“I do not think you give him enough credit,” Cassandra said. “Lord Ferrington enjoys his fun, true, but he does look after an entire earldom.”
“Everyone knows his mother does everything,” Faith countered. “She has since his father passed.”
“Well, he was rather young at the time,” Hope said, and Faith had to bite her tongue. Hope had been the eternal optimist ever since they were children – although Faith wondered how much of it was to balance her own realism.
“He’s not a young man anymore. He has to learn to settle down,” she said, looking over at him, catching him staring at her once more.
“All will be fine,” Madeline said, patting her hand. “Nothing to worry about. Now, Hope, I hear that you and Lord Whitehall are finally getting away together.”
Hope launched into details of their travel plans – plans that would take Hope further from her – but Faith couldn’t leave her concerns behind.
As Hope spoke, however, an idea began to form in Faith’s mind. It was ludicrous, she knew. But it just might work.
CHAPTER3
The smile on Eric’s face grew wider the longer he stood at the bow of the ship and stared out over the water. He was aboard a packet ship, one on which, hopefully, he would not capture too much attention. He was to be a merchant returning to Spain, visiting San Sebastian to pick up some textiles. There were only six other cabins on board, and, upon boarding, most of the other passengers seemed uninterested in him.
The crew was also minimal, and Eric had paid dearly for his small, private cabin. No one else could discover that he was, in fact, an English earl. The captain was aware but he had agreed – for another fee – to keep his secret.
They had set sail earlier that day, and Eric was already enjoying the freedom the ocean provided, the spray of the saltwater, and the freshness of life that awaited him.
So different from the stale, stodgy air at home that smelled of responsibility and staidness.
He enjoyed his life. He was able to do as he pleased, to come and go according to his whims. He had funds enough to spend without worry. He didn’t have to toil his days away, giving all of himself to simply afford the necessities of life. But sometimes – just sometimes – he wondered what it would have been like to be born into a different life. One with more choice. A second son, perhaps.
But there was no use in wondering, for it didn’t make much difference, now did it?
After his conversation with Faith at Castleton, he had hoped to find her again, to have a chance to explain himself and what had happened. But she had obviously made certain she would not be caught alone with him again. Every time he saw her, she was with her sister or one of her friends. She had left Castleton shortly after the wedding and he finally resigned himself to the fact that she was never going to forgive him and, most likely, he would never have a chance to speak to her again.
It made him angrier than anything ever had in some time.
“How long until we arrive?” he called up to the captain, who was standing at the helm, his hands on the wheel.
“Depends.”
“On?”
“The wind, mostly. That will affect our speed. And it will take some extra time keeping our distance from the coast of France.”
“So…”
“A week or two.”
“Thank you,” Eric said.
“You in a hurry?” the captain asked, the pipe between his teeth bobbing up and down as he spoke, encouraging Eric to fish through his own pocket for his cheroot.
“No, actually,” Eric said. “I have all the time in the world.”
He wandered down the few stairs and back to the bow, gazing out over the sea. It was calm here. Soothing. He loved his clubs and enjoyed all that London and the cities had to offer him, but they also made him appreciate these moments of peace between. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone.
Eric couldn’t have said how long he stood there, watching the coast as they travelled alongside it, but when darkness fell, his stomach began to rumble and he realized that he hadn’t eaten in hours and dinner was likely being served. He swayed with the gentle rocking motions of the ship downward, arriving in time for a quick meal, as most of the other passengers had already finished, before he pushed open the door of the small, sparse cabin. He was emptying his pockets when he stopped, suddenly aware that something was amiss. He wasn’t alone.
He turned around slowly, wondering if one of the crew had decided to rob him. Would they throw him overboard? He had brought his pistols with him, but he hadn’t worn them. Foolish. From now on he would—but if they killed him now, there wouldn’tbea future.
He no longer had any time to wonder what could happen, however, as his slow turn around finally stopped and his gaze was arrested on the bed before him – and the woman sitting upon it.
