Page 32 of Unforeseen Affairs
Colin wished he could smell the salt, feel the spray.
The seconds dragged on, until finally his head felt steady and the room stationary. Oddly enough, Miss Sedley had not said anything.
He opened his eyes and braced himself for the inevitable question, but it did not come.
“At any rate,” Miss Sedley continued, unbothered, “I have no doubt Mr. Bass would relish the opportunity to amaze you once more. And if you were to pass me off as an acquaintance or some poor relation, he would not think twice about any connection I might have with Mrs. Stone.”
Having only just narrowly beaten back a severe episode, Colin felt weary and unguarded.
“If you think so,” he sighed. “I confess I don’t put as much faith in my pull as you do.”
“Trust me, Sir Colin.”
He looked into her eyes, those large, gleaming pools of black. He realized he meant the compliment he’d very nearly uttered. Her eyesweremysterious and alluring. Otherworldly, even. Eyes capable of ensorcelling men into forgoing their return home, into forgetting their duty and honor. Tempting them to remain with her upon a secluded island and think of nothing but their own indulgence.
But Sir Colin Gearing was not one of those men.
Colin’s path was laid before him, brightly lit and well-trodden. He would put these vertiginous spells behind him, and return to the sea in charge of his own ship. No one would be able to insinuate that he was anything other than who he was meant to be. A Gearing. A true leader. And then he’d marry Alice Pearce, and sire his own sons who would take to the seas in their turn.
But only if he could manage to restore Alice’s brother’s reputation. For his mother and father would never allow such a union as things currently stood, with Beaky named as a scoundrel of the first order.
“Very well.” He nodded. “I am, as I said, at your service.”
Miss Sedley, he thought, very nearly smiled.
Chapter Nine
Colinhadmanagedtoavert a debilitating dizzy spell, but the shadow of one remained with him throughout the evening. His head felt full, with a pressure pushing from the inside out that, while relatively painless, made him feel disconnected from his body. It was discombobulating enough that he found himself wishing instead for the sharp, simple cut of a blade or the pounding ache of a blunt force blow. Pain like that was straightforward, and easily explained to others. This kind, on the other hand, was nigh inconceivable to anyone who had not suffered from it themselves; his father extended him no sympathy, and Colin could sense frustration from his mother as well. She fretted over him, but he could tell that the entire thing made her leery and confused. Attempting to make someone understand and empathize with this strange, unsettling feeling that repeatedly materialized in him, as if from thin air? It made him want to dig a hole in the ground and hide until he somehow, finally, felt himself again.
It was terribly lonely.
So, one step at a time, he trudged to St. James’s and through the welcoming doors of the Army and Navy Club, colloquially known as the Rag. Gaming always put Colin in a good mind, and he hoped to find some decent stakes within.
Instead, though, he found Beaky, halfway soused, tucked in a corner upon the landing. He was slouched against a wall underneath the bust of some long-gone officer, his bearing sloppy as he watched people ascend and descend the main stairs. His eyes looked tired.
It was enough to make Colin feel ashamed of his own self-pity.
“What’s all this?” he said, forcing a jovial tone as he approached his downtrodden friend. “Any reason you’re hanging about the stairs?”
“Commodore Gearing,” Beaky announced, “is dining at the moment. I’ve decided it better to loiter here for the better part of an hour like some penniless cadger rather than endure his judgmental glare.”
“I see.” Colin glanced away from him, toward the opposite wall with its massive oil painting of Wellington astride his horse.
It did somewhat lessen the benefits of membership at the Rag, when one could not escape the stifling presence of one’s own father. Given the way military service tended to run in families, though, Colin knew he was far from the first person to think so.
“Anyway, what does it matter what he thinks?” his friend continued. “Everyone’s going to find out anyway, and when they do, I’ll never find a ship again, never get a promotion. And all for the curse of being named Abdon. What a bunch of rot.” He spat the last words as if they’d a foul taste.
“On that matter, I might have some news.”
“Oh?” Beaky straightened up. “Well, let’s hear it, then.”
Colin looked at Beaky’s loosely tied neckcloth and limp collar. The lapels of his jacket were soiled with some kind of powdery substance. He looked careless, like some louse or rake. Itdidn’t suit an officer representing the Royal Navy. Colin was about to offer his handkerchief, perhaps with a word or two of encouragement, but Beaky was in a foul mood, and Colin had no desire to be called a spaniel again.
So he squared his shoulders and smoothed out his own front instead.
“I’ve enlisted an ally in an attempt to ferret out Mr. Bass and expose him as a fraud.”
“Why, that’s topping!” Beaky brightened instantly and dragged himself to his feet. “Who, then?”
