Authors: Brenda Novak
“You are a vision, my lady.” He gave her a roué’s smile, as if he was aware of the immediate change in her body. Then, with a bow, he pressed his lips to the back of her hand. “I could go days without a meal if only I were allowed to feast upon your beauty.”
“
Merci,
Lieutenant.” Supremely self-conscious, she noted the close regard of Cunnington, who still looked on. “You are most kind, considering that I have put you and the rest of the crew in a most difficult position.”
“Lieutenant Treynor is not a man to hold a grudge.” Cunnington’s tone was smooth, but edged with a subtle hint of malice.
His smile never wavering, Treynor’s eyes flicked to the first lieutenant. “Not if I can get even instead.” He looked back at Jeannette. “My charge for being duped is no less than a dance or two this evening.”
A fifer had entered the room. Seating himself in the corner, he began to play.
Jeannette enjoyed music and felt a momentary thrill at the prospect of being swept across the floor in Treynor’s arms. She acquiesced with a slight nod. Certainly she couldn’t be tempted beyond the bounds of propriety inside a room full of people.
“
Avec plaisir,
Lieutenant,” she said and turned her attention to the officer awaiting an introduction behind him.
The captain introduced the third and fourth lieutenants and the warrant officers, beginning with the master, John Borrows, whom Jeannette had seen upon occasion.
She greeted Mr. Borrows, then Bosun Hawker, who winked before bowing over her hand. “Not many ’ighborn ladies would brave goin’ ter sea on a frigate,” he said. “Ye ’ave pluck, I’ll give ye that.”
At the moment, Jeannette felt anything but courageous. Her knees knocked at the thought of facing St. Ives again, but she prayed she wouldn’t have to. “I must thank you for all your kindness to me. And please, give my regards to Mrs. Hawker.”
“Indeed I will. An’ I still think ye’d make a right smart bosun.”
“Perhaps you will lend me your pipe sometime.”
He chuckled and turned away, allowing Cruikshank to finish the introductions. After Jeannette exchanged a few words with the carpenter, surgeon, and purser, the captain escorted her to the seat on his right.
The others gathered around the long table, which was now laden with food. Lieutenant Cunnington sat directly across from Jeannette, Lieutenant Treynor next to him, and the others in order of descending rank until the purser, Roddie Gillman, took his place on her other side.
The captain sampled the wine, then nodded, ordering the servants to fill the goblets.
Remembering her earlier experience with the rum, Jeannette was careful to drink sparingly. The light, fruity flavor of the wine was certainly not the same quality that had once stocked her parents’ cellars, but at least it didn’t taste slimy and brackish, like the ship’s water.
“My lady, I was hoping you might regale us with the happier occurrences at home these days,” Cruikshank said. “We get little news, as I am sure you can imagine. When we are in port, we hear mostly of the war.”
The servants removed the covers from the hot dishes in the center of the table, and the aroma of lamb, veal, and various meat pies wafted to Jeannette’s nostrils in a small puff of steam.
While one of the captain’s lads ladled food onto her plate, she said, “I am afraid I can tell you little. I was in Liskeard for the past several weeks, and nothing amusing happened there.”
“Which leads me to the subject that has been uppermost in my mind. Perhaps we should address it now and be done with it.”
The hubbub died down when he clinked his crystal glass with his knife and raised his voice so that those at the opposite end of the table could better hear him. “I have been hard-pressed, gentlemen, trying to decide whether or not we should immediately return the baroness to Plymouth. I am mindful of our duty, and the coming grain convoy from America, but a frigate is an unsafe place for a woman. Not only that but the baron is, no doubt, eager to see his wife return home.”
Jeannette’s heart sank. She’d been expecting such a conversation but certainly wasn’t looking forward to it.
The captain’s gaze circled the table. “I would hear your opinions on the matter, if you please.”
Cunnington spoke first. “As a friend of the baron’s, I feel it my duty to try and persuade you to return her immediately, sir. Lady St. Ives made our decision for us when she stole aboard this ship, especially when we consider that the baron tried to reclaim her before we left port.”
Cruikshank grunted. “Yes, I have thought of that. It certainly does not reflect well on us that she escaped notice for so long. The baron has friends in high places who will no doubt wonder what kind of ship we are running here.”
“Indeed,” Cunnington agreed. “The only way to avoid further embarrassment is by returning her posthaste.”
Jeannette tried to swallow the food in her mouth, but her throat seemed to have closed off.
Several of the others nodded their approval.
“Shall we return on the morrow then?” the captain asked.
Jeannette’s gaze lifted to find Cunnington smiling at her as if he knew she’d rather be dragged behind horses than return to Plymouth. And his smile widened when Treynor spoke.
“At the risk of being the only dissenting voice, I feel it is imperative that we keep our position along the coast until after the grain convoy tries to break through to France. Our squadron is counting on us to help hold a line that is already too thin.”
“Hear, hear,” someone muttered, but Treynor continued with scarcely a pause.
“Although I share everyone’s concern for the baroness—” he nodded his head politely in her direction “—I should hate to sacrifice the integrity of the blockade. We are, after all, at war.”
Jeannette lowered her lashes, refusing to study the lieutenant as she longed to do. Was he trying to help her yet again? Or did he care only for the blockade, as he made it sound?
Regardless, his words garnered immediate support from the master, the purser, and Toddy Pratt. For that, Jeannette was grateful.
“How noble of you, Lieutenant, to be so mindful of your duty,” Cunnington said. “Somehow I thought you might disagree. You have made a habit of looking out for the lady’s interests since you brought her aboard.”
“Meaning what, Lieutenant Cunnington?” the captain asked.
“Meaning that the two of them are playing us for fools, sir. Can you not see it? They are lovers.”
Forks stilled around the table. Even the captain looked as though he had to force down his last bite with a swallow of wine. “Excuse me,” he sputtered after a hacking cough, but his attention never left Cunnington. “On what grounds do you make such an accusation?”
The first lieutenant shrugged and picked up his glass. “I have observed both of them quite closely, sir. I would wager Lieutenant Treynor knew Jean Vicard’s true identity from the start.”
The captain’s bloodshot eyes widened and shifted, first toward Jeannette and then his second lieutenant.
Cunnington continued, “You all saw him step in and allow himself to be tied to the grate. He wanted to save her from more than a whipping. Her honor and her modesty were both at grave risk—”
Treynor interrupted him, but calmly. “You are forgetting one thing, Mr. Cunnington. As you are so fond of pointing out, I am a mere bastard. How could I convince a baron’s wife to run away with me when I can offer her nothing more than boy’s rags, a small cabin, and my nominal navy pay? What is more,
why
would I do it? Not only would it ruin her life and my career, but the legal implications are enormous. A marriage contract is no small thing.”
The others at the table were listening with rapt attention. Jeannette could feel their attention rest on her as if they were weighing the two arguments and did her best not to show her fear.
“Regardless,” Cunnington responded. “You are infatuated with her. I have seen how your gaze trails after her, how you protect her at any cost—”
“That is all very romantic, Mr. Cunnington, but I am afraid you overrate my powers of seduction.” Treynor smiled indulgently, as though Cunnington’s words entertained him rather than upset him. “If the two of us are lovers, why would Lady St. Ives suddenly give herself up to the captain?”
“That is the question, is it not?” Cunnington raised his glass in silent acknowledgment of the shocked faces around the table. “Perhaps you knew discovery was not far away. I would have figured it out eventually. The fact remains that the lady spent three nights in your cabin, and I am sure the baron will not be pleased to learn that.”
“The lieutenant had no idea the boy he sheltered was a woman, let alone the baron's wife,” Jeannette argued.
“Forgive me if I find that difficult to believe, my lady.” Cunnington saluted her with his glass.
She attempted to stare him down. “The truth is not judged by its plausibility, sir. The truth is simply the truth.”
“Then, pray, tell us the truth for once,” he scoffed.
“Cunnington, that is enough,” the captain said. “We will get to the bottom of this when we have a bit of privacy, I assure you. But I will not have my supper ruined.”
Her appetite lost, Jeannette pushed her plate away. If Cunnington discredited her by spreading his lies to his parents and their friends, she would never get her annulment.
Strictly speaking, perhaps she didn’t deserve one. She hadn’t physically succumbed to Treynor, but she had him to thank for that fact more than herself.
“I apologize, Lady St. Ives.” A wry smile twisted Treynor’s lips. “Lieutenant Cunnington is suspicious by nature. He seems to consider you compromised merely by my reputation as a rake.”
“Which reputation is not completely undeserved,” Toddy Pratt volunteered.
Pratt’s jest seemed to ease the tension, and the conversation moved on to the possibility of a storm, but Jeannette could feel the men watching her when they thought she wasn’t looking. Even the captain became morose, saying nothing while drinking plenty.
As the servants cleared away the dishes, the fife player struck up another tune. The light, airy notes contrasted sharply with Jeannette’s mood. She wanted to excuse herself, to escape the vile Cunnington as soon as possible, yet she awaited the captain’s word. She had no idea where she was to spend the night, or what his final decision regarding their return to Plymouth would be.
The purser intruded upon her thoughts as he pushed away from the table. “I think a game of whist is in order. Can I entice anyone to join me?”
Toddy Pratt, Cunnington, and Bosun Hawker accepted his invitation and the four moved to a small table along the canvas wall that separated the wardroom from the cabins beyond it. Those who remained enjoyed the last of their wine. Once Captain Cruikshank emptied his glass, he slid his chair back and stood, then bowed to Jeannette.
“Will you do me the honor of a dance, my lady? It is not often we have the pleasure of feminine companionship.”
Jeannette accepted the captain’s hand. She wanted to glance Treynor’s way, but settled for singling out the deep timbre of his voice as he spoke with the ship’s master across the table, discussing matters of navigation.
As Jeannette wondered what type of dance the captain might choose, he slid his arm around her back and gripped her right hand high. So it was to be a waltz, she realized, surprised that the unpolished captain would know how to execute a dance that most of the English considered quite scandalous. Not only that, but there was only the fife to provide music. The player began with a run of notes that gave Jeannette a burst of energy—but slowed to a stately pace when the captain began to tire and glared his way.
Fast or slow, the steps she followed were far from a waltz, or any other dance Jeannette knew. They were more of a modified version of several that left her constantly wondering what the next move might be.