Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
T he days passed with a strange sense of suspension for Grace, each one merging with the next as the ship cut steadily through the waves under fair winds. The crew seemed to have swallowed their spleen, and had settled into their work with solemnity. It appeared they had decided to tolerate her presence—or, at the very least, ignore it. She dared not venture near them, preferring instead to keep to the cabin that Lord Carew had graciously surrendered for her use, even though it seemed as though he himself avoided her. She could hardly blame him. How he must be ready to be rid of her!
Within the close quarters, she busied herself as best she could, though the hours stretched long and tedious. She had retrieved Persuasion, and Grace now found herself grateful that Miss Austen had spared her readers the details of life at sea. The reality was less romantic than her imagination had envisioned when first hearing of Captain Wentworth’s occupation.
The book offered some solace from her restless thoughts, though she read only in fits and starts. Her mind often wandered, straying to the events that had brought her aboard and to the uncertain future awaiting her. She tried to concentrate on Anne Elliot’s struggles, drawing some comfort from the heroine’s quiet strength, but it was difficult to immerse herself fully when the sound of creaking timbers and the rocking motion of the sea reminded her constantly of her surroundings.
At least she was not entirely alone. Paddy had less time since he was helping with the injured Barry’s chores. Barry was convalescing in her cabin, and Grace made it her duty to check often how he did. Though her knowledge of medicine was limited to household remedies, she brought him simple comforts—playing cards or reading him snippets of books to distract him. Barry had taken a liking to Theodore, and he delighted in coaxing the kitten into chasing the feather on a string Paddy had fashioned.
If Barry had not been there to keep her company, she might very well have gone mad thinking of how she had made of mess of everything, even if unwittingly. It had been three long days since the storm and all that had happened with it. Three long days in which her imagination had gone quite wild. It had begun its love affair with Carew again. However, this time it was out of respect for his depth of character—his calm strength and command—his duty to his family. Her sense of unworthiness grew. What had she ever done to earn such an epithet? The most worthy thing she had ever done was knit mittens for the poor.
As if she’d conjured him merely by thought, Lord Carew knocked at the door. She opened it to see his imposing frame filling the narrow doorway. He regarded her with a measured expression that Grace had come to recognize as his version of concern.
“Good afternoon,” he said with a slight bow. “I have just come from seeing Barry.”
“He is doing well,” she remarked as she set her book aside, grateful to have sight of him again, even though her nerves tingled at his presence.
“I’m allowing him to perform some light duties again. He tells me he is about to climb the walls. Have you ever heard of such a notion? I suppose when you are used to climbing rigging, why not walls?”
Grace laughed. “I am afraid that is true, but also a good sign that he is healing.”
“I must thank you for caring for him. It eased my mind to know he was being looked after while I dealt with other things.”
Grace would not ask what those other things were.
“Barry’s plight made me think that perhaps you, too, might be desiring a change of scene. Would you like to venture on deck?”
Grace hesitated, a dozen objections rising to her lips. The prospect of facing the crew, even with Lord Carew at her side, was daunting. “Are you certain it is safe?” she asked, her voice betraying her uncertainty.
His brow arched slightly, a trace of amusement softening his chiselled features. “Safe enough, provided you give the men a wide berth. They have their work, and you need not concern yourself with their opinions. Come, you will find the sky far more pleasing than these walls.”
Carew offered his arm as though they were promenading through a London park rather than the deck of a ship and as though someone had not tried to kill her a few days before. She stood and smoothed down her dress, not bothering to fetch her bonnet or gloves.
The change of scenery was startling after days below. The deck stretched wide before her, a sharp contrast to the last time she’d been above which had been at night. The vastness of the sea spread out in every direction, its blue expanse dazzling under the sunlight. The breeze was brisk but not unpleasant, carrying with it the tang of salt and the freshness of open air. Grace inhaled deeply, feeling a tension she had not realized she carried begin to dissipate.
Carew led her to a quiet corner of the deck, away from the more active areas where the crew was notably absent. He gestured towards the railing, and she stepped cautiously forward, peering over the edge. The sight of the bow cutting through the waves, cresting and falling endlessly, was mesmerizing.
“You see,” he said, his tone almost conversational, “there is little to fear here now. The sea can be a harsh mistress, but on a day like this, the punishments are worth the rewards.”
Grace turned to him, surprised by the poetic quality of his words. There was a depth to his voice, an undercurrent of reverence for the ocean that she had not expected. “It is beautiful,” she admitted, though she could not entirely banish her unease. “But it was less the sea than the people I was afraid of. I do not suppose I will receive credit for the favourable weather.”
Carew regarded her with an amused expression. “I would not count on it. Shall we remind them of your powers?” He raised a brow as a challenge. “They may yet regard you as a talisman.”
“Of course.” Her tone indicated she would do nothing of the sort.
He chuckled. “You presume to apply logic to the situation, of which very little is to be had with superstitions.”
“I am pleased enough to be ignored.”
“A lady such as yourself is unlikely to pass unnoticed for long, even amongst the most superstitious of sailors.”
Grace tilted her head, her own amusement flickering in her expression. “You mistake me for my sisters. I am noticed by association.”
“Nay, lass. I am not mistaken.”
He looked at her meaningfully, but she dared not hope nor argue, for it was pointless. She knew the truth. While she was no antidote, her sisters were all stunning—not just for their beauty, but for their inner light that shone like the stars she and Lord Carew had witnessed the other night. He was simply being kind.
“You have borne your situation with more composure than most would muster.”
His words warmed her, though she was uncertain whether to believe them. “I fear I have done little to earn such praise, my lord. I have merely endured what I cannot change.”
“Sometimes,” he said quietly, “endurance is the greatest test of all.”
They stood in silence for a time, the wind whipping at her hair and face, and the sound of the waves filling the space between them. Grace found herself oddly at peace, the vastness of the sea lending perspective to her worries. Whatever lay ahead, she would face it with as much resolve as she could summon. For now, she allowed herself to enjoy the rare moment of tranquillity, standing beside a man who seemed to understand her plight better than she could have imagined.
Their gazes met, and for a moment, the playful words fell away, replaced by a quiet understanding that neither could quite articulate. A gust of wind caught her by surprise, and Grace looked away to grasp the railing, her heart inexplicably lighter, even as her thoughts grew more tangled than ever. Maybe he did see a little light within her that others had missed, and a twinkle of hope began to flicker in her breast.
Ronan stared thoughtfully at Grace as she spoke, her words tumbling out in a way that suggested she was entirely unaware of the effect she had on those around her. Did she not know that her beauty would halt legions of soldiers on the march to war? She would always draw eyes, even as she aged, he suspected. He’d noticed her beauty from the start. It had been her timidity that had made him dismiss her.
He had known many women who were conscious of their charms, who wielded their beauty like a weapon. But Grace was different. There was a naturalness to her, a lack of artifice that made her all the more captivating, now that she’d opened up. Even he had been slow to see it at first. She seemed wholly unaware of the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed, or how the faint flush that coloured her cheeks in moments of emotion only heightened her appeal. She carried herself with a modesty that was neither feigned nor excessive, and yet there was an underlying confidence to her that fascinated him. It was a paradox—a delicate balance of meekness and strength that he could not quite unravel.
And therein lay the mystery. Was it her very blindness to her own beauty that made her so intriguing? Or was her modesty born of something else entirely—perhaps a life spent overlooked by those closest to her, or undervalued in the shadow of more lively siblings? The thought unsettled him, for he could not bear the idea of such a light going unrecognized, of Grace doubting her worth simply because she had not been taught to see it herself.
A curious resolve began to take root in Ronan’s mind. He wanted her to see herself as he saw her: not merely as a young lady with pleasing features, but as a woman of quiet brilliance and enduring charm. He wanted her to understand the power she held, not to wield it over others, but to carry it with pride.
It was an unfamiliar desire, one that unsettled him even as it took root. For what business had he, a man bound by duty and circumstance, to concern himself with a young maiden? And yet, he could not seem to help himself. Grace had a way of drawing him in, her unassuming presence casting a subtle spell on him. If he could accomplish nothing else during this unexpected voyage, he would at least endeavour to plant a seed of self-awareness in her heart—a recognition of her own worth that no storm or scandal could ever erase.
It was nothing he had undertaken before, and yet he found himself wholly committed to it. She had become his responsibility, for better or worse. To protect her from ruin if necessary. If Grace could see herself as he did, then she would have the strength to face anything. And Ronan wanted that strength for her more than he cared to admit. ’Twas something small he could do for her even if he was bound to fail her in every other way. If only they could weather this trial with her reputation intact, she could still find herself a worthy husband. That thought pained him even though he knew it was for the best. If he was being honest with himself, it was not pain in the same way it was with Maeve.
“How many more days, do you think?” Grace asked, interrupting his dangerous ponderings.
Ronan glanced at the sails, the taut lines, and the steady motion of the ship before answering. “If the winds continue at this pace, I expect we’ll arrive by morning.” He was both relieved and dreading it at the same time.
“So soon? I confess, I shall be glad to set foot on land again.” Her face lit with relief, which ironically made him wish she’d enjoyed the journey more—that his crew hadn’t begun to strip away her innocence and show her the cruel world.
A gust of wind carried her scent to him—something floral but piquant, and unexpectedly intoxicating. Ronan found himself momentarily unmoored, the scent conjuring more thoughts he had no business entertaining. He turned his gaze back to the sea, seeking refuge in its vastness.
The impending arrival of what awaited him in Ireland weighed heavily on him. Every mile they crossed brought them closer to the confrontation he dreaded yet knew was inevitable. Flynn. Even the thought of the man’s name set his jaw on edge. And Maeve—his sister, bright and trusting—caught in a web of deception he could not yet untangle.
“Do you wish to talk about it?” Grace’s voice penetrated through his dark thoughts.
“Nay, lass. Talking will not make the problem go away. I’m anxious to have it over and done.”
She nodded her understanding and he watched as her face became distracted, then transform.
Ronan followed her gaze as she leaned forward with unabashed enthusiasm. Then he saw the cause: a pod of humpback whales, their sleek, dark bodies cutting through the waves with graceful precision. One leaped skyward, its massive form momentarily airborne before crashing back into the sea in a cascade of foam. Another followed, its tail slapping the water with a sound and splash that echoed across the ship. The pod seemed to revel in their performance, as though they were aware of their audience.
But it was not the whales that held Ronan’s attention. No, it was Grace. Her entire being seemed alight with wonder, her face glowing with an innocence and unfiltered joy that left him entirely disarmed. She turned to him suddenly, her eyes wide and sparkling.
“Have you ever seen anything so magnificent?” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with awe. “Look at them! They seem so free, so alive. I did not think anything could equal seeing the stars.”
“I have seen whales before, yes,” he admitted, his tone far softer than he intended, “but I cannot say I have ever looked at them in quite the way you do.”
Her brow furrowed slightly, though the corners of her mouth remained lifted in a smile. “And how is that, my lord?”
He hesitated, his words catching somewhere between his mind and his tongue. How could he explain that her reaction, so unguarded and genuine, had struck him more deeply than the sight of the whales themselves?
“You see them as though they are a gift,” he said at last, his voice quieter still. “As though they exist purely to delight.”
“And do they not?” she asked, her head tilting with a mix of curiosity and challenge. “Surely such a spectacle must be meant to remind us of the beauty in the world, of the joy that can still be found, even in unexpected places. That there is a whole world beneath the surface of the seeming infinity of the ocean.”
Her words hung in the air between them, simple yet profound, and Ronan found himself momentarily lost for a reply. She turned back to the whales, her fingers gripping the railing as though anchoring herself to the moment, her laughter spilling out once more as another whale breached the surface then sprayed a fountain from its spout.
Ronan watched her, his chest tightening with something he could not quite name. There was a purity to her joy, a refusal to be diminished by their circumstances, that both moved and unsettled him. He had spent so much of his life guarding himself, locking his heart away behind walls of duty and a roguish exterior. Yet here she was, this woman who had been thrust into his world without warning, peeling back those walls with nothing more than her laughter, her wonder, her presence.
The thought shook him, and he turned his gaze back to the sea, his expression momentarily grim. He could not allow himself to feel this way, not now. His path was already set, his responsibilities too great to indulge in something so…fleeting. And yet, when he glanced back at her, all his resolve seemed to falter. What would she think if she knew?
For a moment, the air between them seemed to shift, the space narrowing despite the openness of the deck. Grace looked away, back towards nature’s display, her lashes lowering as though to shield herself from whatever she might see in his eyes. Ronan felt the urge to step closer, to bridge the gap entirely, but he held himself back. What was he doing? This was neither the time nor the place for such thoughts, and yet they persisted, unwelcome and undeniable.
Grace turned to him again, her cheeks flushed, her breath quickened with excitement. “You should smile, my lord,” she said, her voice teasing but not unkind.
Ronan blinked, taken aback by her boldness, but before he could reply, she turned back to the whales, her attention entirely on their joyous display. He allowed himself the smallest smile then, a quiet indulgence he could not quite suppress. To be as pure as her. If only he didn’t feel the weight of the world on his shoulders, he could indulge in it.
And as he stood there, watching her light up at the sight of the whales leaping once more into the morning sun, he felt an unfamiliar warmth stir within him. It was a dangerous feeling, he knew—this enchantment she seemed to weave so effortlessly—but in that moment, he did not have the strength to resist it.
It was being on the ship that made life shrink to a microcosm that made you forget what else awaited you in the vast world. Like Donnagh Flynn.
Morning could not come soon enough. And yet, as he stood there beside her, the prospect of parting from Grace filled him with a strange and unfamiliar ache. It was a feeling he could not name, and he was not entirely certain he wanted to.