Marrying Christopher (12 page)

“I meant to do that,” he said. “Trying to make you feel more confident.” Christopher released her other hand and began clapping and high-stepping in a circle around her.

She held her skirts at the sides and began a jig of her own, pointing her toes in front of her as she skipped about.

“Not bad,” he said. “Are you sure you’re not Irish instead of French?”

She shook her head. “But I’ve Scottish blood, too,” she boasted. “And my grandmother was a fine dancer.”

“That explains it.” Christopher looped his hand through the crook of her arm, and, facing each other, they began to circle about. Her smile was infectious, and he felt his own grin broaden.

Grace told me dancing was enjoyable, but I never believed her.

They passed beneath another lantern, and he saw that Miss Abbott’s face was flushed. Her eyes were bright and merry, and when they locked on his for the merest of seconds, something in her look set his heart racing.

“Ooh, what are you doing? May I join you?” Miss Cosgrove’s shrill, overexcited voice put an abrupt end to the moment and whatever it was he’d been feeling.

“How fun! Are they having a party on the other ship? I simply adore parties— and balls. And dancing. What a lovely idea. And in the moonlight too. I shall have to write to all of my friends and tell them I attended a midnight dance on deck only my second night aboard ship.”

“It’s not midnight,” Christopher cut in before she could say more. She stood before them, hands clasped in front of her and still overdressed in the ridiculous ensemble she’d appeared in at dinner. How many cabins did she and her mother have, anyway?
Where do they store all those clothes?

“Of course you may join us,” Miss Abbott said, freeing her arm from his and stepping aside. “Mr. Thatcher is a most excellent dancer.” She cast a sly look his direction, almost giving him the impression she knew of his discomfort.

“Oh, that is good to know,” Miss Cosgrove gushed. “You can practice with me so I may be ready for the soirees I shall be attending once we reach New York. Mr. Vancer is to host a ball to welcome me. And Mother says his family always holds another at the year’s end— a masquerade ball. Can you imagine?” She whirled about. “Everyone comes wearing a mask, so you cannot tell who anyone is. It sounds delightful.”

Christopher thought it sounded like she ought to need a drink after such a long speech. He was beginning to feel he needed one just from listening to her.

“Go on and dance,” Miss Abbott said. “The musicians are just starting another piece.” She stepped backward, leaning against the rail, and Christopher could have sworn he saw a bit of mischief in her brown eyes.

Reluctantly he turned from her and faced Miss Cosgrove. “If the lady would care to.”

She giggled— a most annoying sound.
Whereas Miss Abbott’s laughter is… refreshing.

Miss Cosgrove walked toward him, her hips swaying dramatically as they were wont to do whenever she moved. He wondered who had taught her such an outlandish swagger and how long it had taken her to master. He was quite certain he couldn’t walk thusly, no matter how he practiced.

He held his hands out, intending to promenade about with her as he had Miss Abbott, but Miss Cosgrove moved too close for that and placed her hand at his shoulder.

Panic flared inside him as his nose wrinkled and his eyes began to water from the strong scent of her perfume. “This is not a waltz. It’s a reel.” He most certainly did know the difference and was not about to pretend otherwise with Miss Cosgrove as his partner.

“I know that, silly.” She swatted the air with her free hand, then placed it upon his other shoulder. “Hands upon shoulders thus, now we slide to the side.”

Now we end this.
“Mr. Murphy over there will have my head or report me to the captain if I dance so closely with you ladies.” Christopher jerked his head toward Murphy and found the man had fallen asleep, his back propped against the rope.

“He won’t care. He won’t even notice.” Miss Cosgrove giggled again.

“Might not your fiancé have something to say about us standing so close if he was about?” Christopher suggested.

Miss Cosgrove opened her mouth, presumably to argue, but was interrupted before she could say another word.

“Perhaps if I show you.” Miss Abbott stepped forward.

Coming to my rescue?

Her smile seemed a bit smug as she linked her arm through his and steered him away from a crestfallen Miss Cosgrove.

“You owe me,” he muttered when they’d begun to sashay down the deck.

“I?” She feigned a look of innocence. “What have I done but rescue you from an awkward situation?”

“Which you landed me in first.” But he could not truly be angry with her, not when conversing with her and feeling the slightest touch of her arm against his set him to feeling so strangely pleasant.

“Please do try to be kind,” Miss Abbott whispered. “She has had a difficult time of it and is attempting to make the best of her situation.”

“Difficult?” Christopher asked, certain they could not be discussing the same woman. “Miss Cosgrove is to be married to one of the wealthiest men in New York.”

“Who is quite a bit older than she is, and whom she does not know. Not to mention she’s just left her home and her friends and everything familiar behind forever.”

Miss Abbott’s insight left him speechless. Where he’d seen only a spoiled, petulant young woman, Miss Abbott had seen suffering. As they made their way back toward Miss Cosgrove, the pout upon her face almost made him feel guilty.
Almost.

Miss Abbott stepped aside once more, this time shrinking into the shadows, away from the lantern light. Christopher bowed to Miss Cosgrove. “Milady, shall we try once more? This Irish dancing ’tis a wee bit different, but nothin’ the likes of which ye cannot handle.” His false brogue elicited a smile, and she linked her arm through his as her knee raised in a hop.

They galloped about the deck, nearly kicking poor Murphy on one turnabout, until Miss Cosgrove’s initial disappointment seemed to have fled.

“This is ever so enjoyable. I’ve never danced as the Irish before. Mama says they’re a filthy people and she wouldn’t ever sail on a boat they’re on, but I feel their music is lovely. And their singing, too. I should like to have pipes at my wedding, I think. I wonder what Mr. Vancer would think of that. Maybe he could hire one of the men from that ship? Maybe I could ask him when we arrive— but no.” Her pout returned. “We’re going to get there
weeks
before that other ship does.” She sighed heavily, then brightened at once. “But no matter. Surely there are droves of Irish folk in New York. See how many are on that ship alone. I’m sure I can find at least one to play his pipes for us.”

“I am certain you can,” Miss Abbott said, joining them again and rubbing her eyes tiredly. “But now we had best get to bed. We have worn poor Murphy out, and he’s a long day ahead of him tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Miss Cosgrove agreed, turning away from Christopher as if he was not there at all. “And we mustn’t be late for breakfast. Captain Gower is already cross about our delay.”

Miss Abbott neither agreed with nor denied this statement but carefully steered Miss Cosgrove toward the common room. Christopher lagged behind, wanting to enjoy the cool breeze he’d come outside for in the first place.

When they’d gone several paces, Miss Abbott stopped, then turned back suddenly. “Just a moment. I forgot something.” She ran back and knelt beside Mr. Murphy. “Thank you, sir. You may ‘wake up’ now. I’m taking Miss Cosgrove inside.”

To Christopher’s astonishment, one of Murphy’s eyes cracked open, and half of his mouth curved upward. “Thank ye, miss. Couldn’t take no more of that one tonight.”

“I know,” Miss Abbott whispered, then stood.

“How come you let him pretend to sleep, while I had to dance with her?” Christopher muttered under his breath as she passed.

Miss Abbott shrugged. “Because you’re a gentleman— whether you like it or not.”

Surprisingly, Captain Gower’s mood had improved by breakfast the next morning. Christopher had been awake when the Liverpool Port Authority had come aboard early and given the captain clearance to depart at ten o’clock. Only, the larger ship, the one docked beside theirs, was scheduled to be tugged out before the
Amanda May
.

“Doesn’t matter,” Captain Gower said confidently as he spooned oatmeal into his bowl. “The whole lot of ships here could leave before us and we’d overtake them within a few hours.”

“Exactly how fast can your ship travel, Captain?” Miss Abbott asked.

“We’ve tested her at six knots per hour when the sea is calm. Of course, she’ll be a bit slower with the wind against us and much faster with the wind in our favor.”

“I should like her to go
very
fast,” Miss Cosgrove said. “I do hope the elements will be with us on our journey.”

“We shall need more than the elements on our side,” Lady Cosgrove said sourly, sounding as much the opposite of her daughter as one could. Looking at her furrowed brow, pinched nose, and pursed lips was almost painful, and Christopher noted that her skin held a greenish tint this morning. She wasn’t eating much either, aside from the small corner of toast she’d nibbled at.

“Sea legs— that’s what you need,” Captain Gower said. “Some of you will get them faster than others. We’ve buckets for those who feel they will be ill. I suggest all of you take one to your cabins today. Stay abed if you’re not feeling well. A day or two out, and most will be right as rain.”

Most
was not likely to include Lady Cosgrove, Christopher guessed.

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be needing to stay in my cabin,” Miss Cosgrove said. “And a bucket won’t be necess—”

“But it’s good to have you all together at breakfast today,” the captain said, effectively cutting off Miss Cosgrove before she could get going on another of her breathless monologues. “Lady Cosgrove and Miss Abbott, I do not believe you have been properly introduced to one another yet, so allow me. Lady Cornelia Cosgrove, this is Miss Marsali Abbott. Miss Abbott, Lady Cosgrove.”

Miss Abbott turned to Lady Cosgrove with a warm smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I have enjoyed your daughter’s company immensely already.”

Christopher thought the word
immensely
might be overdoing it a bit.
If Miss Cosgrove merits such praise, how would Miss Abbott describe her interactions with me thus far?

“Marsali… such an uncommon name. It wouldn’t happen to be
Scottish
, would it?”

Christopher saw at once through Lady Cosgrove’s seemingly innocuous question. It appeared that Miss Abbott— Marsali, a name as pretty as she was— did as well. Though he had known her less than two days, he recognized the fighting look that now flashed in her eyes. It was the same she’d given him last night when he’d challenged her to see who could dance the best. But this morning, behind her intense gaze, Christopher thought he glimpsed vulnerability as well.

“I am named after my grandmother, Marsali MacDonald,
of Scotland
.”

“Ah, I see.” From Lady Cosgrove’s tone Christopher saw that she did not care for this information. He wondered if her distaste for Scots was such that she would no longer allow her daughter to associate with Marsali on this voyage.

Perhaps
I
should claim to be from Scotland as well.

“And how is it you came to be in England?” Lady Cosgrove continued.

“My grandmother and her family left Scotland in 1745, after the failed attempt to restore the Stuarts and Bonnie Prince Charles to the throne. They fled to France, where my grandmother later married. My mother was born in France, as was I. But my father was English, and some years ago we moved to Manchester.”

“And now you are traveling to America. It would seem that your family moves quite frequently. Looking for a place in which they fit in and are welcome?” Lady Cosgrove suggested as she looked down her nose at Miss Abbott.

Christopher set his glass down rather forcefully on the table and shot a look at the captain to see how he was taking to one passenger verbally abusing another. But Captain Gower seemed oblivious and was busily consulting his pocket watch and a chart he had laid out before him.

“Yes,” Miss Abbott said. “You could say that we have been searching for our place. And England was most certainly not it. France was lovely. I should not have minded if we had continued on there. And I have always wanted to see my grandmother’s homeland. Her stories and descriptions of the Scottish highlands were enough that I think it must be the loveliest bit of ground on earth. But it is America that my sister calls home now, and so it shall be for me as well.”

“Well said.” Christopher raised his glass in a toast, catching Miss Abbott’s eye across the table.

“Oh yes,” Miss Cosgrove chimed in as she raised her glass as well. “I do so love to travel. We’ve been to ever so many places, and it’s always a glorious time meeting new people and having new adventures. America promises to be the grandest of all. Where does your sister live, Miss Abbott? My Mr. Vancer lives in New York, in one of the largest mansions ever built there. He designed it himself, and it has twenty-seven bedchambers, which, I am told, is quite a large number for America. It also has a grand garden. But, of course, Mr. Vancer still travels to England and Europe every couple of years as well, so I shall be able to return to visit.”