Chapter 2
Captain Frederick Wentworth handed Anne aboard ship with a rueful smile. “I confess I am out of reason cross that your first voyage should not be on my own ship. Is that not petty? You would think I had outgrown such flights of boyish pride.”
“I would have enjoyed that greatly. And I daresay a captain never outgrows the wish to be captain. Will it chafe you terribly to act as passenger?”
He eyed the packet ship dubiously. The Lady Mary had a good reputation among the ships that sailed set routes out of Cornwall—he would not let Anne sail on any ship that did not!—but it was hardly a ship of the line.
It was tiny, for one thing. A small dinghy—the requisite rowboat for a sailing ship—barely fit on the port bow.
The rest of the deck was a riot of packages, barrels, crates, and animals.
Most of it would be packed below before they sailed.
The master must be busy packing it in like a fitted puzzle even now.
But even when the decks were semi-cleared, they would be far from the trim cleanliness of the Laconia, which had been Frederick’s favorite ship.
There was a military rigor adhered to by most captains of the British Royal Navy, which was lacking here.
He’d known it would be so, and he’d mentally resigned himself. “It will chafe, of course, but I shall bear it with a good will. It cannot be worse than the dreadful winter crossing I had in the year ‘09. That poor vessel nearly—”
He braced Anne against his side as a large pig barreled by, nearly bowling her over. She righted herself, only to stumble again as the deck tilted under them.
“Pardon! I cannot seem to keep my feet.”
Frederick wasn’t sorry to hold her close.
He had his sea legs back in a trice, but she tottered unsteadily as the ship shifted ever so slightly.
“Not to worry, you will grow accustomed to the movement of the deck. But I apologize! I am reminiscing when we ought to get below. It is just this way—do hold that handrail and watch your step as you descend, for the ladder is slick. As it always will be.”
He was glad to see the dining room was of a decent size with good ventilation.
He had feared the extra passenger accommodation had been taken from here, but the shipwrights had somehow squirreled two more doubles in without making a closet of the central space.
The upper hatch would have to be battened down in rough weather, of course, but at least on fine days, fresh air and light would be available.
He could hardly believe that he was here with Anne, his wife.
Six months ago he had returned home thinking to find some unexacting young woman to take to wife—and then he had been catapulted into Anne’s grievous affairs in Bath.
He was devoutly thankful, for he feared that nothing less than dire peril would have shaken him out of his idiotic and stubborn prejudice against seeking her out again.
It would have served him right if she had sent him on his way with a flea in his ear and a resentful adieu.
But Anne, as intelligent and kind as he remembered, had somehow harbored no bitterness.
When he thought of how much resentment he had held against her, he could only thank Providence for a wife so far above himself.
“This is us—No. 4,” he said.
Anne entered their tiny cabin in something like a dream state. The ship moved uncertainly under her feet, but Anne felt sure she would grow accustomed. Every day that she spent with Frederick was something of a miracle.
“It is dreadfully small,” he said, looking around the cabin. “I hate to ask you to bear this.”
“Nonsense, you haven’t asked me to bear anything.” She removed her hat. “There is a bed, and a settee, and those drawers for storage—we shall be fine. Besides, if you knew how often I imagined sailing with you… It is quite the realization of a dream.”
She sidestepped to put her hat on the small built-in cabinet and to tidy her hair.
Frederick shifted to stand just behind her, and she thought he merely moved with the slight roll of the ship, until his arms came around her from behind, and he dropped his lips to her ear.
“You cannot just say beautiful things like that and expect me to walk away.”
His lips were suddenly warm against her neck and Anne inhaled sharply against the delicious feeling. She wasn’t quite accustomed to this yet, but she turned around. “If you’re going to kiss me at such a moment, you may at least do it properly—”
He covered her mouth with his, silencing her (very) mild scold. They pressed into the tiny gap between the cabinet and the end of the bed, and he showed her how very glad he was that she had come.
“My dear,” Anne managed eventually. “We really must—the other passengers—”
“Would that I were captain again and could consign them to the devil.”
She smacked his shoulder.
“I know.” He grinned unrepentantly. “Shall we go meet our fellow inmates? I almost hope they are uniformly awful, and I shall have reason enough to keep you in here.”
Anne blushed, adding to the color that must already be in her cheeks from his kisses. “We already know that Caroline and Colonel Fitzwilliam are not awful.”
“Hm. But you haven’t met Lady Marston. Gimlet-eyed and bracket-faced.”
“Shh, she might hear you!”
“The walls are not that thin.” He grinned again. “Thank heaven.”
“Frederick!”
“What?” he said innocently. “We want a sturdy ship.” There was so much boyish joy to him that sometimes she felt like no years had passed at all since their fateful broken engagement.
There had been years, however, and she shuddered to think of the close calls—the small things that might have prevented her from ever having this moment.
“Now, what was that for?” he asked quizzically. “We can’t have you shuddering at this stage of the thing. Did I offend you—”
“No, no. But how easily I could have missed all this! If you hadn’t seen me in Bath, or if I had married Mr. Elliot sooner, or if I had accepted Mr. Musgrove…”
“What’s this? Musgrove? Isn’t he the one who’s taken in your sister Mary—the family in Uppercross, near Kellynch?”
“That is his mother, Mrs. Musgrove, who took in Mary. They have always been friends of the family, and she has several daughters to keep Mary company.”
“I didn’t know Musgrove had dangled after you, however.”
“He didn’t dangle.” Anne shook her head. “And I didn’t mean to taunt you; he is now happily married to a lady from Meryton—Charlotte Lucas. I only meant to marvel at how dangerously close I came to losing you again.”
“Nonsense. I mean, yes, if you married one of those cads—”
“Mr. Musgrove is not a cad!”
“—I should’ve left you alone, of course. But if you had not, we still should have found our way toward one another. I cannot imagine being in your vicinity and not finding you again.”
“Now who is saying beautiful things?” Anne wiped her eyes resolutely. “We must go before I become a watering pot.”
When they went back up on the upper deck, Colonel Fitzwilliam was there to greet them. “Hallo, Captain! Mrs. Wentworth!” he called. “Glad to see you’ve made it!”
“Thank you, but where is Caroline?” Anne asked. “I hope she isn’t feeling poorly.”
“Well, she is a little, but I hope it’ll pass soon. She’s determined to accompany me, come hell or high water—oh, excuse the expression!—merely she is very determined, and I’m a little afraid she’ll regret it.”
“Oh, I hope not. Shall I go down to her? Would she want company?”
“If you don’t mind, please do.”
When Anne knocked at the door, Caroline called for her to enter. “I am so glad you are come,” Caroline said. “The thought of your company has been supporting me.”
“Poor dear, are you very unwell?”
“My stomach has been uncertain, but not fully riotous.” Caroline realized the basin was still on the bed, and she set it back under the edge. “I did not need the bowl after all.”
“That is a good sign.”
“I hope so. Although we are still at the docks, not even out of Falmouth, and I have already shown weakness. I hope the high seas will not quite undo me.”
“It’s not weakness to be ill! But would you like to come up?” Anne asked. “I believe they will cast anchor soon.”
Together they wended their way up the ladder and across the deck around coiled ropes, crates, and pigs. “Ugh, the smell,” Caroline said.
“We’ll be glad enough of pork in a few weeks.”
“Of course.” Caroline rebuked herself for her failure to achieve the uncomplaining elegance she now sought. “I was only startled.”
They approached the gentlemen, and they also were discussing the smell of the animals, which made Caroline feel marginally better.
“We will no doubt take on more livestock in Lisbon,” Wentworth said, “but the captain is going to skip most of his normal stops. He will swing wide to the west to lessen our risk of crossing any of Napoleon’s ships. After Lisbon, it’s directly through the Strait of Gibraltar and on toward Italy.”
Caroline shivered. She could bandy about exotic names like Gibraltar and Casa Blanca easily in drawing rooms, but the process of actually going there felt far more perilous.
Numerous sailors seemed to be engaged with hauling sails up the masts, but the passengers found a place along the stern that was not busy.
The sails were connected to circular wooden rings that encompassed the masts.
By hauling ropes, the men could pull the sails upward and the rings slid up the mast.
They all fell silent as two sailors turned the great wheel to haul anchor. Others pulled the ropes to haul the sails up; the triangular sails caught, and the booms shifted.
The wharf slid away behind them. The front, or bow, of the ship faced down the river Fal toward the Bay of Biscay, and the stern faced back toward Falmouth. “It’s done,” Caroline said. “We’re on our way.”