Chapter 14
Fourteen
There was a knock on the door, a pause, and then the sound of heavy boots clomping across the planked floor. “When I said you might sleep in, I never thought you’d be keeping London society hours. Lord a’mercy, it’s nearly afternoon,” Jervis’s voice scolded.
There was a thump, a slosh, and a rattle, followed by a long silence and a low whistle as Jones apparently absorbed what had taken place within the curtained alcove.
“I’ll just be leaving some water for washing and some coffee....
But,” he added, raising his voice, “if anyone here wants to be reaching Calais, they best get moving.”
As soon as the door closed behind him, Rafe rose and threw open the window shutters, flooding the room with sunlight. “Up you go! We’ve got a ship to catch and a snappy little carriage just waiting to go. Shall I pour you some coffee while you dress?”
He was disgustingly cheerful.
Alix had never been a morning person. She winced at the soreness between her legs and groaned an affirmative.
Then, struck by a concern that had been rattling about her head she called out to him, “Can you send someone up to help me with my stays? After our last encounter with the National Guard, I’ve been thinking it might be best if I wore them, rather than leaving them lying about in your trunk. ”
“Slip on your chemise sleepyhead, and I’ll lace you up.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Don’t worry, I’ve had some practice with these things.”
“I’ll just bet,” she muttered under her breath.
“What’s that? Oh—you’d be delighted to have my help. Well then, let’s get a move on.”
He was outrageously blithe. And actually, Alix thought, as she slipped his nightshirt off and scrambled into her chemise, she would not be delighted to have his help. It was one thing to be swept up in the passion of the night, but in the bright light of day, she felt strangely self-conscious.
“I’d really prefer to have a maid sent up,” she said as she handed his nightshirt out through the bed drapes.
“Coward,” he chuckled. “This from a maid who paraded about Paris in Jervis’s britches... Unless,” he added with a devilish grin, “you’ve decided you don’t trust yourself in a state of near undress alone in a room with me?”
“Fine,” she replied through gritted teeth.
She climbed out of the alcove, thinking it was clear he felt no discomfort around her.
Had she likened him to a unicorn last night?
Well, this morning, clad only in buff-colored britches, he seemed more like a preening peacock.
Turning her back to him she said, “You may lace me up.”
Rafe handed her the stays. Holding them over her breasts, she inhaled deeply as she felt him begin to pull the satin ribbons tightly together.
“I think you’ve put on a bit of weight my dear,” he said as he tugged on the laces. She gasped sharply and he added, “Not that I mind. I like a woman with a well-rounded figure.”
She spun around and he eyed the fullness of her breasts pressed up high by the tight corset admiringly. Ignoring him as best she could, she said coolly, “My dress, if you please.”
He handed it to her and she slipped it over her head, turning again so he could lace up the back. He held out her stockings and garters, frowning with mock seriousness. “Do you think you’ll need any help with these?”
Snatching them from his hand, she snapped, “Didn’t you say something about coffee?”
“Your wish is my command sweetheart,” he replied with a bow.
Rafe’s cheerful mood continued on the ride to Calais.
Alix closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, but her mind was far from restful.
He seemed to take the fact that they’d made love as his due, but it was turning her world upside down.
Of course, she thought to herself, he probably made love to women all the time.
Why, for all she knew, he had scores of women strewn between Paris and London.
What could she have been thinking, she asked herself repeatedly.
And each time the answer came back the same.
She hadn’t been thinking, she’d simply let herself feel; but what now?
We’ll go into this with our eyes open, he’d said last night.
What had he meant by that? Had he been trying to tell her it was a moment of passion or something more?
Alix fluttered her eyes open and peeked at him. Rafe kissed the top of her head, smiling. “Go back to sleep sweetheart, we’ve another hour to go.”
They’d consummated the marriage. Did that mean he would expect her to stay with him when they arrived in England?
She hadn’t thought about staying with Rafe.
She hadn’t allowed herself to think about it, and now, truth be told, she didn’t know.
She did know that she’d felt drawn to him since the first moment they’d met and that last night lying in his arms had felt wonderful and right.
Alix tossed and turned in the coach seat, and when Rafe put out a hand to calm her, she allowed herself to imagine life with him, the wife of a simple, but clearly comfortable cloth merchant.
It would be different from marriage among the nobility, she thought, simpler.
It wouldn’t be a contract between families for the purpose of begetting suitable heirs, it would be a friendship, a partnership.
She smiled as she thought of their night together.
It would be a marriage without separate beds or separate homes, a union based on understanding and trust.
They reached Calais toward late afternoon, and when Rafe discovered Alix had never been to a seaport, much less traveled onboard ship, he insisted that she walk with him about the town.
He bought her licorice water and tucking her hand under his arm, strolled with along the streets leading down to the waterfront.
There was a cool breeze and a tang of salt in the air and Alix found herself relaxing in spite of her concerns about the days ahead.
She was savoring the last sweet taste of her drink when Rafe suddenly stopped in front of a small jewelry shop.
“Let’s step in here for a moment,” he said.
Feeling as awkward as if he’d led her into a corset shop, Alix wandered a bit away from him admiring the shop’s wares while he conversed in low tones with the jeweler.
The jeweler brought out a tray of thin gold chains and Rafe selected and paid for one.
As soon as they stepped outside the shop, he pressed a soft leather sack she knew contained the chain into her hand. “I wouldn’t want you to lose your wedding band since it’s much too large for your hand, so I thought you might keep it on this.”
Alix thanked him, threading the gold chain through the massive signet ring.
She lifted her hair so he could fasten it round her neck.
As the ring settled smooth and cool between her breasts, she found herself wishing he had said something more.
Was he simply trying to prevent her from losing a valuable family heirloom or trying to tell her something else?
Alexandre Charlotte, you’re behaving like a feather-headed woman, she heard her father’s voice say in her head.
You’ve given him your body and now you’re offering him your heart, she scolded herself as they turned on to a much broader street filled with the traffic of wagons and carriages.
She needed to take things slowly and carefully, to stop trying to read something into his every word and gesture.
Surely then, she told herself, if she kept her eyes open, she would understand what she needed to do.
As they reached the docks, the sights, sounds, and smells of Calais overwhelmed her internal debate.
Piled high all around were containers of every size and kind imaginable, barrels, crates, urns, canvas-wrapped bundles, and trunks.
Standing about them, lifting, loading, and arguing were an amazing assortment of people: burly fishwives with baskets on their head; ragged sailors with woolen caps; officers in glittering uniforms; a group of dusky-skinned men in crisp white turbans.
Countless aromas competed for attention: salt water and rotting fish; fresh cut timber and tar; spices, and sun-dried horse droppings.
And just beyond the wharves, a sea of masts and square-rigged sails, flapping and swaying in the wind.
Rafe, his eyes as sparkling as the sun on the waves, raised his voice above the din to point out the different types of ships lying at anchor.
His enthusiasm was infectious, and Alix found herself captivated by his descriptions of barques, brigs and snows, topsails and mainsails, mizzenmasts and jibs.
She turned to him smiling. “Rafe Harcrest, it’s wonderful, but I’m sure I’ll never be able to keep them all straight. Just tell me which one is the Xanthus.”
He pointed. “It’s that three-masted barque there with the British flag, the one with all its sails furled except the triangular after sail.
” Alix squinted. “It’s right between the four-masted barque flying the white flag with the red cross of Malta, and the ship that’s having its masts repaired.
See that boat loaded with the long timbers tied up next to it? ”
Alix cupped her hands over her eyes and looked again where he was pointing. “I see it. It looks so much smaller than the other ships,” she said, a note of doubt creeping into her voice.
“Smaller, but just as safe and faster. Williams is a fine captain, been sailing since he was a cabin boy. Nowadays he mostly delivers cargo and mail between England and France. He doesn’t usually take passengers, but we’ve known each other for a long time.
He usually finds a space for me. But I warn you, it won’t be luxurious. ”
Alix eyed the ship skeptically. “Just so long as it gets us to England without swimming.”