Chapter Eight
Stormy Seas
Marlow sat next to Rosalind at the captain’s dining table every night now, though Lady Woodworth disapproved. It was considered more polite to vary whom one sat beside, but the Providence’s captain and first mate seemed charmed by the blooming romance and indulged their desire to be near one another.
But none of their dinner companions had any idea they spent many more hours together behind closed doors. The freckled young deckhand who visited their rooms to scrub the floors every few days did not notice the broken lock or did not consider it worth repairing. So the two of them lived in many ways like a couple already set up at home, reading together, conversing on various subjects, taking the air when the weather permitted, and—rarely—playing at cards, although Rosalind still complained of never winning. There was no more cheating, regardless.
No spanking either, though he looked forward to future disciplinary interludes. He could not spank her again until they married, for it fired his blood too dangerously and he feared losing control. He had not “lain down” with his future wife since the afternoon they’d argued and ended up in a horizontal embrace. No, he must remain vertical with her even though the stormy Mediterranean seas made it difficult sometimes.
His original thought had been to wait on marriage until they returned to England. That was no longer plausible if he meant to retain his sanity. He hoped they could find a proper, pretty chapel in India where they might be married by a parson before they returned home. If they were married, they could spend the entire journey back to England in a shared berth, in a shared bed where they could pass their days and nights in wonderfully lurid activities. He would teach her everything, every way they might please one another. With any luck, she’d be carrying his child by the time they made port in London so there would be no talk of marital dissolution or annulment.
Not that there would have been. No, their families would continue into the ton’s new season in hopes of putting the worst of the scandal behind them. Perhaps he and Rosalind would just stay in the country while he gave her babies and she gave him her smiles and sweetness, her beauty and loving regard.
He caught himself staring at her again, mooning over her, really. It was Lady Woodworth’s quiet hmmph that alerted him to his breach of manners. He offered to refill the older woman’s wineglass and she grudgingly accepted, then drew Rosalind into a discussion about the latest fashions “back home,” and how they differed so unfortunately from what was considered stylish dress in India.
After dinner, the ladies excused themselves first, by tradition. Once they left, the captain invited him to take port. They did not always perform this ritual since the port was rationed, and they were apparently behind schedule due to the weather. But when the invitation was extended, Marlow took it. Post-dinner port made him happy and homesick at once. Happy to participate in this sort of manly bonding that was particularly English, but also homesick, because he had used to linger over port with his three best friends. Sturdy Townsend, dashing Wescott, and dark-haired Augustine, faithful fellow who was part whimsy and part grump. What were they up to now?
They were all angry with him, surely. Rosalind was Townsend’s sister; they’d all been protective toward her their entire lives. What a scoundrel they must think him. He sipped the ship’s fine port and tried to push such worries from his mind. There was nothing to be done until they returned and sorted everything out. He might write a letter to his friends, to explain and smooth things over. Sometimes he started writing this letter in his head but then would grow distracted by Rosalind’s company, her warmth and laughter.
“How amiable our Widow Lintel proves to be,” the captain commented, giving a subtle tilt of his glass. “It seems your courtship progresses apace.”
The grizzled, seafaring man was curious as any gossip about their relationship. “I admire her greatly,” Marlow said.
“She doesn’t miss her husband then?” he asked. “Is she going to India to see her family or his?”
“Her family, I believe.” He hoped that was the story. She’d purposely not revealed much of her situation, lest she be caught in a lie. “And I don’t know about her previous husband. I think he was…older.”
“Ah, yes. Funny business sometimes, how these young ladies get married off to gentlemen three times their age, then find themselves widowed barely a week from their wedding nights.” He gave a ribald laugh. It was a not-so-subtle joke about old men overexerting themselves in the bedroom with their pretty young wives. Marlow forced a smile, feeling unreasonable jealousy toward Rosalind’s completely fictional late husband.
Goodness, he had it bad.
“It is a funny business, yes,” said Marlow. “I suppose it’s a mercy she doesn’t miss him much. She’s young to be widowed.”
“Yes. A shame. You know, I think she likes you very much. I shouldn’t balk at marrying the two of you shipside, does she wish it. Just because she’s wearing black doesn’t mean I wouldn’t speak a wedding if the two of you were in agreement.”
How he’d love to take the man up on his now twice-proffered proposal, but it was useless to be married shipside when they couldn’t use Rosalind’s real name. It would not be a legal, true union. He took another sip of port and cleared his throat. “Thank you, sir, but I should like to meet with her parents first when we arrive in India. I would like to ask for her hand properly when her period of mourning is over.”
“Very honorable of you, sir. Though I can’t believe they’d refuse any offer of marriage, considering you’re a titled gentleman. I’m sure they’d be pleased for you to have her hand.”
He could see the man practically itched to take out his captain’s book and recite the rite of marriage for them. Ah, well, it came from a place of fatherly kindness. He wanted to secure a future for her and a traveling, unencumbered viscount was a catch by anyone’s measure.
“I will wait,” Marlow said, trying his best to appear respectable and patient. “She is worth waiting for, and doing things properly once she’s among her family again.”
“Yes. Of course. You’ve no competition on board to worry about, have you? The lady only has eyes for you.”
“I’m honored by her attention. She’s the pinnacle of perfection in my opinion.” He raised his now mostly empty glass in a toast. “To the fairer sex. We’re all improved by their gentility.”
“Indeed. Well said.”
They clinked glasses and drank. Just as the captain reached for the bottle to pour again, one of the second mates interrupted them with a concern about a storm brewing to starboard, which he professed was “very unconducive.”
“You’ll have to excuse me,” he said to Marlow. “The weather’s been following us like a cantankerous aunt. I can’t seem to get away from it.”
In truth, dinner had been a bit of a pitching and rolling affair. The captain’s light tone belied the concern in his expression.
“If it’s to be a bad storm, you ought to batten down in your berth,” the older man suggested. “I shall have one of the boys tell the others.”
“I’ll alert Mrs. Lintel before I settle in,” he offered. “She is right next door to me.”