Page 24 of Lady Tempts a Rogue

I have much to tell you but am too distraught at present. Forgive me for the briefness of my note. I shall write again when I am able. I must pen a note to Vicar Howard and share the unfortunate news, though it will be a week before I can post the letter and at least another week before it reaches England.

I wish you were here. I would not feel so very alone and uncertain.

~Miss Trinity Ablethorne, in a short missive to her friend, Mrs. Faith Kellinggrave

Never posted

Near ten of the clock that evening

Daunting Duchess’s poop deck

Trinity did not join Devin for a walk, nor did she appear in the saloon for dinner. Mrs. Peagilly had not improved but worsened to such an extent that an hour ago, Captain Breckett had sent the ship’s surgeon, Will Morris, to tend the ill woman.

Hopefully, whatever ailed her would pass soon, and she and Trinity could enjoy the rest of the short voyage in anticipation of their time in Morocco and beyond. Devin did not know what brought Mrs. Peagilly to the Mediterranean, and Trinity had not mentioned it either.

Perchance she did not know.

After all, a mere companion mightn’t have her employer’s confidence, particularly a new employer. Although, Mrs. Peagilly did not seem the sort to stand on formality and pretentiousness.

Devin planned on meeting with Father’s leather suppliers at the tannery in Fez. The leather, amongst the softest and most pliable available anywhere, could be dyed into rich, vibrant shades, ideal for book bindings as well as ladies’ gloves and slippers.

Resting his elbows on the rail, Devin breathed in the tangy, salty air and contemplated the wake the ship carved through the ocean as the winds carried her ever closer to Spain and into the Straights of Gibraltar.

He’d always been content in England, never having a great desire to see the world, but this venture, though only beginning, gave him a greater appreciation for travel—less the gut-wrenching sickness that had plagued him, of course. Perhaps he had inherited more of his father’s wanderlust spirit than he realized or acknowledged.

Mother would have a conniption fit when she learned he intended frequent and possibly lengthy travels from here on out. In truth, he had no immediate plans to return to England.

Mayhap not for a year or two.

After finishing his business in Fez, he wanted to tour Greece before journeying onward to India. He raised his face to the heavens, welcoming the breeze and ocean spray.

There was something glorious, almost spiritual, about being on the vessel in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. They were mere playthings, reliant upon the fickle winds’ whims to convey them to another continent. To a degree, he had begun to understand his father’s love of traveling—something Father had relinquished toward the end of his life because Mother had demanded it.

Though not quite back to normal, Devin’s stomach had calmed sufficiently to permit him to eat modest amounts of bland food and move about the ship at will. More than once, his wandering feet had led him to the rectangular opening leading to below deck. He’d turned around and strode to another portion of the ship each time.

What did he intend?

To stand sentry outside Mrs. Peagilly and Trinity’s cabin?

There was nothing he could do for Mrs. Peagilly or Trinity. He had no inclination to sip brandy in the saloon, particularly since the first officer had returned to duty some five and forty minutes ago, and Mr. Compton had gone below for dinner.

The man pointedly rebuffed Devin when they encountered each other on deck this afternoon. It was not as if this were London, where one could go years without seeing someone. Unless Devin confined himself to his cabin, he and Compton would come across each other.

The man behaved like a sullen child.

Thumb-sucking Georgie possessed more maturity and civility than the second officer, whose boots appeared no worse for the wear from the unfortunate incident a few nights ago.

Half-turning, Devin perused the sailors on deck.

Had one of those poor sots been assigned to clean Compton’s boots?

He would wager his precious chess set that the officer had not dirtied his hands with the task himself.

While gruff and a man of few words, Captain Breckett was fair and well-respected. The first officer, Mr. Alderton, could only sing the ship’s praises, her exceptional speed, majesty, and so on, and he was beloved by the crew. However, the same could not be said of Compton, full of self-importance and condescending to all but the captain and first officer.

In the few hours he’d been topside, Devin had observed more than one sailor sending a glare, scowl, or vulgar gesture toward the second mate’s back. A few had directed sizzling oaths at the man under their breath.

No, the crew did not adore Mr. Thaddeus Compton.