Chapter 26 Kitty
There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart.
JANE AUSTEN, EMMA
ONE WEEK LATER
SOMEWHERE IN THE ATLANTIC OCEAN
The ship groaned and creaked beneath me, its timbers straining against the relentless onslaught of the ocean, while the wind howled through the rigging, carrying the cries of sailors and the sharp snap of sails straining against their lines.
I clung to the railing with a white-knuckled grip, my stomach churning as violently as the waves that crashed against the hull.
The salty spray soaked my face and hair, but I barely noticed, too consumed by nausea and the hollow ache of homesickness.
A few days into our journey, and I wanted nothing more than to turn back and find the safety of my green England with its loamy soil that refused to budge, unlike the violent sheet of gray now constantly shifting beneath my feet.
The memory of my wedding played like a fragmented dream.
My voice rasping as I repeated the vows.
Sebastian placing the ring on my finger during the hurried ceremony—so brief but for the bolt of electricity that shivered all the way to my slippered feet.
Freddy’s tight embrace, her tears mingling with mine as we said one last goodbye.
Edward, swallowing hard as he pulled me close.
Only Grandfather I avoided at the church and townhome, giving him neither a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, nor embrace, nor farewell. I would never forgive him.
The wedding and following preparations to leave London had all felt surreal, like stepping onto an opera stage where I was unsure of my lines, and every note was off pitch.
Now I was here, aboard this hulking wooden contraption bound for Calcutta.
The waves rose and fell, each one threatening to pull me under, and I clung tighter to the rail, my knuckles aching as my feet threatened to slide across the slick deck.
Unfortunately, the captain insisted we descend to the cramped quarters of the Seraphim, an East Indiaman merchant vessel.
The only illumination came from a swaying oil lantern, and the sound of wood creaking filled the air.
I hated closed quarters more than I had expected, longing instead to see the vast horizon and smell the fresh air. If only the ship would stop heaving, and my stomach as well.
“Kitty!” Sebastian’s voice cut through the screeching wind whipping at the sailors and snapping the sails above me.
He reached my side, his hair plastered to his forehead by the rain.
“You can’t stay out here in the rain. You’ll make yourself miserable if you insist on being above deck.
The captain says the storm will only increase in the hours to come.
We must return to our cabin for safety.”
I shook my head weakly, unable to summon the strength for a proper argument.
“I’m fine,” I croaked, though the words felt like a lie even as I spoke them.
My knees buckled, and before I could stop him, Sebastian wrapped an arm about my waist. Returning to a claustrophobic cabin felt more torturous than the waves.
“Fine, are you? You appear green at the gills with all this churning.” His tone was laced with concern, but his hold was firm. I had not heard a frustrated word from him yet . . . until now.
A monstrous foaming wave drew shouts from the sailors as they screamed for their mates to hold on while brackish water sprayed against us. I didn’t have the energy to protest as Sebastian dragged me belowdecks, his boots thudding hollow on the narrow stairs.
The air inside our cabin was heavy with the scents of brine and damp wood, and two lanterns cast feeble shadows on the hewn walls.
The space was small—far too intimate, really—with barely enough room for the two of us to maneuver without brushing or bumping against each other.
A narrow bunk lay tucked against one wall, the only supposed comfort in an otherwise utilitarian room containing our trunks, along with a single stool.
But I experienced no comfort in that bed, pressed against Sebastian’s warm form at night, hearing the soft rise and fall of his chest as he slept. How he slept, I didn’t know.
I’d had no mother to prepare me for the intimacies of marriage.
Aunt had retreated, never having married herself.
Yet even in my innocence, I had certain expectations.
Sebastian left me mostly alone, beyond the occasional fleeting touch.
One night, he’d thrown an arm around my waist as he mumbled something in his sleep, tugging me flush against him.
More disturbing, I heard him utter another name one night. One that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. A woman’s name. French. Celeste. In other words, star.
I’d frozen at that name. Was she the famed opera singer? Did my husband long for her?
As the ship climbed the waves, my stomach clenched tighter. Sebastian set me down on the edge of the bunk, his hands lingering for a moment on my shoulders as if to steady me.
“Sit,” he commanded gruffly, then knelt before me.
I averted my head, pressing a hand to my mouth as the Seraphim pitched and plunged, each swell of the waves sending my stomach lurching like a toy boat caught in a storm.
“I think I shall be sick,” I moaned, feeling utterly helpless. My stays pinched in all the wrong spots and I could hardly breathe in the stuffy space.
He found a washbasin at just the right moment when I heaved whatever was left within my stomach. Tears flooded my eyes when he removed the ceramic basin.
“You needn’t stay, Sebastian.”
He placed the basin on the floor and brushed aside the strands of hair sticking to the sides of my face with infinite care. “I’m not leaving you, Kitty. In sickness and in health, aye? Lie down and perhaps you can rest.”
The cabin swam before my eyes, and then he pressed a tin cup of tepid water to my lips before I could protest.
“Drink,” he said. “I’ll see if the cook has something for you to eat.”
I sipped what I could, but my stomach immediately protested.
“No food.” I pressed a hand against my mouth. “Only sleep.” My fingers fumbled for the buttons at the back of my gown.
“Let me,” he said after a weighted pause. I had taken care of my own dressing needs aboard the ship, but now . . . I felt too dizzy and weak to do much of anything.
His eyes searched mine as he helped me slide out of the damp morning gown, then lifted it over my tumbling hair.
“I can manage the rest,” I said, though my chattering teeth betrayed my dismay. Each morning and night, Sebastian left our cabin while I attempted to dress myself and arrange my hair into something fashionable. A horrible state of affairs without a maid.
“Kitty,” he said, his voice low, “you’re too ill to argue. We are married, after all, and unless you wish for me to find someone else to assist—”
“No,” I croaked. “I suppose I won’t sleep with the stays. I fear I’ve never been in this situation before.”
His fingers grazed my shoulder—but instead of comforting me, I felt a flutter of uncertainty.
And as I lay there, wondering what our marriage would truly become, I found myself terrified—terrified that I might never truly understand what it meant to be a wife.
Would we ever have children, or would I remain as isolated as I had been at Seven Oakes with him consumed with his work?
“Turn around,” he commanded, but not before I saw his throat bob.
I held my breath as his fingers worked at the stays, the pressure easing with each pull.
My heart thudded painfully, a mix of embarrassment and something else I couldn’t quite name.
No man had ever touched me like this before, and the intimacy of it made my cheeks burn.
I kept my gaze fixed on the wall, willing my pulse to slow, but it only raced faster when he gently slid the stays away, leaving me clad in nothing more than a shift.
I was fully covered with the linen undergarment . . . yet I felt anything but.
“There,” he breathed, his tone more relieved than triumphant. “Now lie down.”
I obeyed and sank into the bunk as a wave of exhaustion overtook me. The nausea still gripped me, but the room seemed steadier with Sebastian so close. He tucked a blanket around my shoulders, his touch careful, almost reverent.
“Do you regret it?” The question escaped before I could stop it, my voice barely above a whisper.
He frowned. “Regret what?”
“Marrying me,” I said, my throat tightening. The vulnerability of the moment left me raw, stripped of all pretense.
Sebastian’s lips curved into a wry grin, and he shook his head. “No, Kitty. I don’t regret it.”
“Even with a bride who looks a fright?”
“Maybe more a mermaid, drenched by the ocean,” he countered before averting his gaze from my face. “An exquisite mermaid, truth be told.”
Despite myself, a small smile tugged at my lips. He reached for my hand, his thumb brushing against my knuckles in a way that sent a frisson of heat through me before he tucked a stray strand behind my ear. “You’ll get your sea legs.”
Would I ever feel myself again?
“Tell me a story then. I know hardly anything about your family. Or you, for that matter.”
His lips parted, and his hand stilled, entangled in my hair. “My family? I fear there isn’t much of interest to say.”
“I have nowhere to go, Sebastian.” I tried to smile but failed when the ship dived and I nearly rolled off the bunk.
When it righted and I had my hand pressed against my mouth, he hunkered down on the floor beside me.
“Very well. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I am the middle son, as you well know. I was born on an indigo plantation. After my mother died of cholera when I was ten, I moved to Calcutta, where you shall meet the rest of the family.”