Authors: Elizabeth Essex
She tried to sit quietly, the way Grace had told her.
Let them look and soon they’ll find there is nothing to see.
But Sally couldn’t keep still. She was just no good at waiting. “Please don’t stare.” She tried to joke. “It’s a bad habit in a clergyman.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare,” he went on in his quiet, determined way. “But after what Matthew and Owen said, I had expected much worse. Though I shouldn’t have thought you, of all people, would really mind. You never gave a fig for looks or vanity. I thought you would take it as a badge of honor.”
Sally found herself smiling at her brother, for once in perfect accord. “I rather think I do. I was all for Grace—have you met Grace yet? Be careful, she’s a force of nature—covering the bloody thing up with powder, but now that it’s hidden, I feel a bit—” She shook her head. “You will shake your head and chastise me for my language, but I feel a bit naked without it.” She reached up and brushed away some of the powder with her fingertips.
“Yes, I can see it better now. Do you know, it rather suits you. Makes you look rakish.”
“Thank you.” Sally knew she needed to be conciliatory as well. “Just as your black suits you.”
He looked down at his coat, and then back at her. “I’m sorry I’m not the man you, or any of my brothers, wanted me to be, Sally, but I’m not in the least bit sorry, or ashamed, of the man I am.”
“Oh, Richard. You shouldn’t be. And I am sorry I ever tried to make you feel that way. I am sorry I tried to make you be for the sea. If there is anything that I’ve learned from my experience, it is that the life of the sea is not for everyone.”
“But it was for you.”
Sally scrunched up her nose, trying not to smile. “I fear you’re right.”
“You always did like it.”
“No, I didn’t like it. I loved it, Richard. I absolutely loved it.”
“And you missed it, the sea?” He was genuinely trying to understand.
Devil take her. She did miss it. “Like a dead friend.”
Her sincerity, or perhaps her choice of words, set him back on his heels for a long moment. But then he nodded. “And you’re finding it hard to live without it. Without doing the thing you feel you were born to do.”
“Yes.” She could only agree. “I’m finding it very hard.”
For the first time in a long time, Richard’s smile was genuine and unguarded. “Then perhaps we’re not so different after all.”
“No.” Sally took his hand in hers. “Not so very different after all.”
But tonight she was going to be different. She was going to be her new self. This person who had conquered trigonometric navigation, found a xebec using oranges, poisoned Mr. Gamage, and faced down the guns of Trafalgar was going to do something she never thought possible—conquer a drawing room.
But while the evening was only a ball and not a battle the likes of Trafalgar, she still needed a strategy. She needed to find a safe anchorage, and gather her strength before she ran out her guns.
She would start with the solidly reassuring presence of her brothers. Matthew and Dominic stood to one side of the room, talking and laughing together as they greeted guests with nods and smiles. She squared her shoulders and walked quietly—but she hoped confidently—into the drawing room that had been emptied for the dancing, making her way directly for the safe mooring between the bulwark of her brothers.
“Oh, Sal, there you are,” Dominic greeted her. “Good. Owen’s wife was just about to send me in search. Lord, look at you.” Dom ran his gaze down the length of the shimmering gown, from neck to hem, before he lifted his mischievous eyes to hers. “You almost look civilized.”
The old ease with her brothers was still there, as strong as ever. And with sibling ease came sibling contempt, leaving Sally free to give as good as she got. “As do you, Dom, as do you. Almost.”
He swept her a teasing bow. “I thank you. However, you may not like me so well when I tell you Grace has instructed me that I’m to partner you for the first dance.”
“Don’t be absurd, Dom. I’m not dancing.”
“Sal,” he began with his version of a stern-cabin voice, “Grace says—”
“No.” In this matter, if nothing else, Sally was determined to have her own way. It had done no good to tell Grace she had never learned how to dance properly in the first place. “I’m too fond of leading, if you must know. So I will only dance with you once you’re too drunk to object.”
“There’s our girl.” Matthew nodded in satisfaction at her humor. “It really ain’t that bad, Sal. In this light, you don’t even see your scar.”
Sally was glad her brothers could be counted on not to treat her like a china teacup. “Thank you. One of the benefits, Grace tells me, of candlelight. But do you know what? I’ve decided I don’t mind if people see it. I never did care what people would think, so it’s really far too late for me to come all missish now.”
“Thank God,” Dom said with hearty relief. “I thought that Grace was going to totally make you over into … well, you know. One of them. One of
those
girls.”
“And here I thought I was doing such a good job of it. Now I definitely won’t dance with either one of you. And just to even the score, I am going to make you dance with one of
those
girls. Georgiana Howe will be perfect for the job. I fancy she’s been sadly infatuated with you for years, the poor dear. She’s there—the beautiful little blonde. Smile, you lucky jackass, she’s looking.”
Georgiana Howe had always been the kind of girl Sally had known but dismissed—just as she had originally tried to dismiss Grace. Georgiana was kind, considerate of others, and unfailingly polite. And by the delicate, flushed look of her face as she glanced surreptitiously in the direction of Sally’s brother, she was still hopelessly in love with Dominic. But it was time for Sally to make new friends and look beyond the surface appearance of things. She only hoped Georgiana was prepared to do the same.
Sally smiled at Georgiana, and waved. Which set Dom off nicely.
He hauled her arm down like a loose jib. “Don’t wave, for God’s sake, Sal. One doesn’t wave in a bloody ballroom.” But the bite faded out of his words as he looked, and then
really
looked, at the girl.
“How would you know? And it’s too late. She’s already coming over.” Despite her lighthearted tone, Sally braced herself for the encounter, even as she adjured herself that she looked fine. It was one thing to say she didn’t care, and another thing to keep her silly nerves from making a soup of her insides. But even a lovely girl like Georgiana might prove unequal to the task of gazing dispassionately at Sally, who was finding she had more of vanity than she had ever thought.
Let them look and soon they will find there is nothing to see.
But Georgiana didn’t look unequal. She looked as sweet, and beautiful, and breathless as a butterfly as she neared their group.
“Georgiana, how nice to see you.” Sally was thankful her voice was cheerfully steady. And Matthew, God bless him for being the least obtuse of her brothers, gave her hand a quick, reassuring squeeze.
“Sally.” Georgiana leaned in as if she might kiss Sally on the cheek like an intimate. There was an awful, almost imperceptible moment of hesitation, and Sally froze, but Georgiana merely tilted her head the other way so her sisterly kiss landed on Sally’s unblemished cheek. “What a pleasure. I may still call you Sally, may I not? Or have we all grown so old and formal over the years?” Her smile was genuine, but determined—the kind of smile that was called putting one’s best face forward.
Georgiana appeared as nervous and ill at ease as she, but if the girl kept her gaze riveted on Sally’s face, Sally reckoned it was only to keep from peeping up at Dominic. Though what the poor girl saw in her brother, Sally would never understand. There was no accounting for taste, but such generous graciousness ought to be rewarded.
“Heavens, no.” Sally laughed. “I’ve never answered to Sarah, so it’s no use trying to start now, especially among old friends.”
“Yes. And good friends, I hope.” Georgiana’s laugh was a breathless flutter as her gaze swung inevitably toward Dominic, as if she were a flower following his sun.
“Yes, thank you,” Sally returned automatically, but realized as she said it that she meant it. How silly she had been not to realize that she had had friends for the making here in Falmouth all along.
But while Sally was busy with her wistful pondering, their little group had lapsed into an awkward silence. But there was her salvation. Grace was approaching with Owen on her arm.
“Georgiana, may I have the pleasure of introducing you to my brother Captain Owen Kent and his wife, Lady Grace Kent, whose recent marriage we celebrate this evening. Miss Georgiana Howe.”
Georgiana and Grace were both everything polite, and elegant, and gracious. Grace began by exclaiming sweetly on the beauty of Georgiana’s gown. “What a beautifully delicate shade of pink. It is quite perfect on you.”
Grace turned to Sally, and with a smile and a single raised eyebrow, prompted her to join the conversation.
“Oh, yes. I agree,” Sally chimed in. “You look very lovely tonight, Georgiana. Doesn’t she, Dominic? May I also introduce my brother Dominic, Commander Kent? I realize you may know him of old, but I think it has been quite some time. Dominic, I’m sure you remember my friend Georgiana, Miss Howe?”
Georgiana turned and curtsied, and made a shy present of her smile to Dominic. A smile that held the soft luminescence of dawn, of hope and promise. And trust. Georgiana gave Dominic a smile of such infinite trust, it was as if she simply
offered
him her heart, because she trusted he would keep it safe forever.
Not even hardheaded, and even harder-hearted, Dominic could withstand such an appeal. “Miss Howe.” Dominic bowed very correctly, but the stunned expression never left his face, as if his internal barometer were already swinging to the high that was Georgiana.
Completely done in. In the space of five seconds, Sally reckoned, Georgiana’s sweet smile had shot him through, as cleanly as an arrow from Cupid’s own bow.
“Georgiana, Dominic is lately back from the East Indies and in dire need of civilized company. Won’t you take pity on him and introduce him around?”
Dominic came out of his momentary trance with alacrity. “If it would not trouble you to do so, Miss Howe, I would be most appreciative.”
Devil take the poor man—he was definitely smitten.
As was the lady. “Not at all, Commander Kent. I should be most happy.”
Dom bent Georgiana an arm, and they were gone. A brief pang of what must be loneliness dashed across Sally’s heart at the sight, but she swatted it hastily away. Life, and
her
life, as imperfect as it was, must go on.
“Neatly done, Sal. Cut out at his mooring.” Matthew chuckled. “Should I ask whom you have in mind for me?”
“No one would have you. And I reckon you’re not fit to be housebroken yet.”
“Ha! Nor are you, dear sister, nor are you. We shall have to stick together, we two inveterate tars.”
Another pang. But a good pang. A companionable pang. Or perhaps it was only the stiff whalebone support of her stays, pushing against her chest, making her feel as squashed up as a tinned sardine. But the stays could not be helped—without them, Grace had insisted, the dress wouldn’t hang right. What she needed was air—clean air, not the stifling mixture of heat and clashing perfumes.
Perhaps now that she had made an appearance, and seen to it that Georgiana might have her chance to enchant Dominic, she could retreat to the safer harbor of the garden for a proper lungful of cold night air.
“By God, this
is
going to be a good evening.” Matthew’s abrupt exclamation called her back to the present. “There’s Colyear.”
The floor seemed to move under her feet, shifting violently, as if she were suddenly on a rolling, pitching deck, and not a solid, immovable drawing room floor. As if her moment of final reckoning had come, and she was, at long last, going down with her own ship.
Chapter Twenty-six
Sally followed Matthew’s smile of happy anticipation across the room, and there he was. Col. Not more than twenty feet away. Here, entering her home. Walking into her drawing room. Looking for all the world like a prince.
Oh, devil take him. He was magnificent. Magnificent. There was no other word that would do him justice. This evening, there was nothing, absolutely nothing, casual or disheveled about him. Not a seam or pin was worn or out of place. His long, dark hair had been cropped to buckish town standards, but he had lost none of the ruddy tan that marked him as a seagoing man. The lovely, dark caramel of his skin was enhanced by the contrast of the blindingly white starched shirt, collar, and cravat, over which he wore a coat so black it absorbed the light, while his pale, golden waistcoat shimmered in the candlelight. The effect was severely, heartbreakingly elegant.
Without his rugged, well-worn uniform—his armor against the world, as he had called it—he should have looked effete. A macaroni, a man to be dismissed. But he didn’t. He appeared grave, and stoic, and handsome, and very, very much in control.
Unlike her. The time she had spent recovering, both in body and in spirit, fell away, until she felt as exposed and alone as she had that morning in Gibraltar, staring at the mirror, feeling her heart rend irreversibly, watching all her hopes and dreams bleed away. Learning to be afraid.
And Col did not smile. He did nothing to reassure her.
His chalcedony green gaze was the same—grave and direct, almost severe—and leveled entirely at her, as if he had only been waiting for her to see him. He came across the threshold toward her without excusing himself to her father, who broke off his conversation to watch Col’s measured, determined progress across the widening width of the room.
She could not do it. She could not stand and be raked broadside by his gaze. She tried to duck behind Matthew, to turn away and hide, but in another instant her brother’s hand was at her elbow in a grip that would have done a gunner proud.
“Matthew, please!” she whispered.