a glorious day!”
It certainly started out that way. Once Elizabeth, Michael, and Geoffrey were safe aboard, the gangplank was drawn in and the ropes untied; a trio of swarthy sailors swarmed up the rigging, then the sails were unfurled and the yacht leapt before the wind.
With “oohs” and “aahs” and shining eyes, all the guests clung to the bow rails and watched the waves rush to meet them. Fine spray kicked up as the yacht gained speed, sending the ladies back from the rails to the chairs grouped behind the forecastle. Leaving Elizabeth to her own devices—she had strict instructions on what line to take—Caro linked her arm in Geoffrey’s and set out to stroll, determined to stay clear of Michael and Ferdinand both.
It was easy to pass among the ladies, to share the enjoyment as the yacht sped smoothly down the western shore of the estuary. Other than when they crossed the wake thrown up by a larger commercial ship, the journey was relatively calm.
While passing the spot along the port bow where Michael, Elizabeth, and the Driscoll girls stood chatting, Caro listened in.
Elizabeth, eyes shining, was holding forth. “The suppers are really nothing at all to comment on, but the dancing, especially close by the rotunda, is quite thrilling—one can never be sure
Vauxhall. Caro smiled. The pleasure gardens did not rate highly among the political and diplomatic set. As she and Geoffrey moved on, she saw Elizabeth lean against a rope to steady herself; when she tried to straighten, the ruffle at her shoulder caught on the rough hemp. One of the Driscoll girls came to her rescue.
Elizabeth had already tried to open her parasol. Michael had had to grab it, wrestle it closed, then explain to her why she couldn’t use it.
Caro risked a quick peek at his face; he was looking a trifle harassed, even a touch grim. Subduing her smile, she glided on.
As Ferdinand had to play the host, it would be some time before he would be free to chase her. She was aware of his intent, but confident of her ability to tend him off. As Camden Sutcliffe’s much younger wife, she’d been the target of far more experienced seducers—rakes, roues, and licentious noblemen—for more than a decade; Ferdinand stood no chance with her. Indeed, no man stood any chance with her; she had absolutely no interest in what they were so eager to offer. In fact, they wouldn’t be so eager to offer if they knew…
Beside her, Geoffrey cleared his throat. “You know, m’dear, I’ve been meaning to ask.” From beneath his heavy brows, he studied her face. “Are you happy, Caro?”
She blinked.
“I mean,” Geoffrey rushed on, “you’re not that old and you haven’t opened up the London house and, well…” He shrugged. “I just wondered.”
So did she. Smiling lightly, she patted his arm. “I haven’t opened the house because I’m not sure what I want to do with it—whether I really want to live there at all.” That much she could explain. Indeed, voicing her feelings solidified the strange equivocation she felt about the house in Half Moon Street. She and Camden had used it as their London residence; located in the best part of town, it was neither too big nor too small, had a pleasant rear garden, and was filled with exquisite antiques, yet… “I’m honestly not sure.”
She liked the house, but now when she went there… something simply wasn’t right.
“I, ah, wondered whether you were thinking of marrying again.”
She met Geoffrey’s gaze. “No, I’m not. I have no intention of remarrying.”
He colored slightly, patted her hand as he looked forward. “It’s just that—well, if you do, I hope you’ll stay closer this time.” His voice turned gruff. “You’ve family here…”
His words trailed away; his gaze remained fixed ahead. Caro followed it, to Ferdinand, standing beside the wheel giving his captain orders.
Geoffrey snorted. “I just don’t want you marrying some foreign bounder.”
She laughed, hugged his arm reassuringly. “Truly, you can set your mind at rest. Ferdinand is playing some game, but it’s not one in which I have any interest.” She met Geoffrey’s gaze. “I won’t be throwing my cap into his ring.”
He read her eyes, then humphed. “Good!”
Half an hour later, she thanked the gods that Geoffrey had spoken of his concerns sooner rather than later, and so given her the opportunity to allay them before Ferdinand made his move. As soon as he’d finished with his captain, he fixed his sights on her. With considerable flair, he displaced Geoffrey at her side, then cut her out from the crowd congregated behind the forecastle. She permitted him to take her strolling about the deck—for the simple reason that it was an open deck; there was a limit to what he might even think to accomplish within plain sight of all the others.
Including his aunt, who, somewhat to Caro’s surprise, seemed to be keeping a sharp eye on her nephew, although whether that eye was severely disapproving or simply severe, she couldn’t say.
“Perhaps, my dear Caro, as you are so enjoying the trip, you could return tomorrow and we could go out again. A private cruise just for two.”
She assumed a considering expression, sensed him holding his breath, then resolutely shook her head. “The church fete is quite soon. If I don’t make an effort, Muriel Hedderwick will be unbearable.”
Ferdinand frowned. “Who is this Muriel Hedderwick?”
Caro smiled. “She’s actually my niece-by-marriage, but that doesn’t adequately describe our relationship.”
Ferdinand continued to frown, then ventured, “Niece-by-marriage—this means she is Sutcliffe’s—your late husband’s—niece?”
She nodded. “That’s right. She married a gentleman named Hedderwick and lives…” She continued, putting Muriel and her history to good use, totally distracting Ferdinand, who wanted to know only so he could counter Muriel’s supposed influence and inveigle Caro away on his yacht.
Poor Ferdinand was destined for disappointment, on that and all other scores. By the time he realized he’d been diverted, they were nearing the bow once more.
Looking ahead to where Michael and the girls had been standing, Caro saw the group clustering by the rail. She could see Michael’s back, and the Driscoll girls’ gowns, and Edward, all pressing close.
Edward glanced around and saw her. He beckoned urgently.
Both she and Ferdinand hurried across.
“There, there.” One of the Driscoll girls murmured. “Here, take my handkerchief.”
“You poor thing—how dreadful.” Seeing Caro approaching, the other sister stepped back.
Edward looked grim as he quickly stepped in, taking the arm of the wilting figure slumped over the rail.
“
Edward cast a speaking glance at Caro; she stared back at him. They hadn’t thought…
She blinked. Turned to Ferdinand. “Do you have a cabin—some place she can lie down?”
“Of course.” Ferdinand squeezed her shoulder. “I will have it prepared.”
“Wait!” Michael turned his head and spoke to Ferdinand. “Tell your captain to turn around. We’re now in the Solent—he needs to get back into calmer waters, and closer to shore.”
Caro realized the ride had become considerably more choppy; used to tipping decks—this was mild compared to the Atlantic—she hadn’t truly noticed when they’d emerged from the relatively protected reaches of Southampton Water and heeled southwest into the Solent.
Glancing at the limp figure Michael was holding upright, Ferdinand nodded curtly and left. On the way to the wheel, he called orders to one of his crew; the sailor scurried to open the doors to the companionway leading to the lower deck. Looking Caro’s way, he beckoned, called “Come, come” in Portuguese, then disappeared down the steep stairs.
Caro exchanged glances with Michael and Edward, then moved to the rail, taking Edward’s place; stroking Elizabeth’s back, she tried to look into her face. “Don’t worry, darling. We’ll get you downstairs. Once you’re lying down, you won’t feel so poorly.”
Elizabeth gulped in air, tried to speak, then weakly shook her head and moaned again.
She slumped even lower. Michael tightened his hold. “She’s close to fainting. Here—stand back.”
