Epilogue
“And stay away!” called Captain Rodriguez with a grin. “Go on with ye!”
Phylis could not help but laugh as she carelessly walked the gangplank back onto the Dreamer with her husband following behind her, his arms outstretched on either side of him.
“He likes you,” she said cheerfully as she stepped over the balustrade and onto her ship.
Behind her, Michael snorted. “He likes how badly I play chess.”
“That too,” she quipped, offering out a hand, which her husband gratefully took. “But really, it was your own fault to start betting on the outcome. You must have known he would empty you out.”
Michael stepped onto the Dreamer, took in a long, deep breath, and paused. “Home.”
Phylis’s pulse skipped a beat as she took in the genuine joy in her husband’s face.
She had never thought she would find someone who could share her life like this.
Who would run away to sea with her. Who would understand the simple pleasures of a good meal eaten on deck as the stars slowly came out.
Who would listen to her, and trust her, and love her powerfully in their cabin but allow her to be the powerful one on deck.
There was no man like Michael Chance.
“You know, I like Antwerp,” said Michael with a whistle as they leaned against the balustrade and looked out at the town’s docks. “I liked Amsterdam, too, but I think Antwerp is my favorite so far.”
“More than Valencia?”
“Oh, much more than Valencia,” said her husband, pulling a face. “Do you remember that coffee they tried to sell us?”
Sell you, Phylis noted with a smirk. Not us. You.
Because Michael completely understood that this was her ship, and she was the one who made the decisions. Oh, there was something so stimulating about being married to a man who truly understood her, respected her, and adored her precisely because she was herself.
It was something she could never have imagined.
Now she didn’t have to imagine it. Now she got to see it every day.
“And I’m still not sure how we managed to escape that barfight,” Michael continued with a snort as Drummond roared an order from the top of the mast. “When that man pulled out a knife—”
“Oh, it wasn’t the first time someone has tried to get clever with me,” Phylis said dismissively. “And it won’t be the last.”
Michael looked at her with unashamed adoration. “I am so fortunate to even know you, let alone be your husband.”
Her husband.
Phylis had wished for a small wedding. Her mother-in-law had wanted a large, Society extravaganza.
Phylis had wanted a simple veil. Her mother-in-law had wanted a fifty-foot train.
Phylis had suggested getting married the following week, since Michael had assured her a special license was possible.
Her mother-in-law had said it would take at least three months to prepare.
“Well, you are about to become the Viscountess Pernrith,” the woman had said with a quiver in her smile. “It’s a wonderful title; I highly recommend it.”
And Phylis had laughed, and Michael had pointed out that someone had to pay for this wedding, and a man called Samuel who was apparently one of the many Chance cousins had waved a hand, and her mother-in-law had squealed in delight as she’d brought out a list.
“And we’ll have roses, festoons of them, and a fifty-person choir—”
Phylis had not wanted roses, even festoons of them. She had not wanted a fifty-person choir. She had certainly not wanted any fuss whatsoever.
They had learned to compromise.
That was, Phylis thought with a wry smile as a rope was thrown down to the deck and her cabin boy Jack grabbed it, hastily tying it to the mast with a complicated knot, they had not exactly compromised.
Eloping and getting married in Edinburgh, a quick stop on their way to another destination, hadn’t exactly been a compromise.
But they’d had roses.
“Letter for you, Captain!” roared down Drummond from his relatively precarious position up in the rigging. “Jack!”
Phylis smiled at the cabin boy, who rushed forward, dug out a slightly dirty letter from a place she was not going to think about, shoved it in her hand, and scampered off, cheeks ablaze.
“He’s still a little nervous around his captain, then?” Michael asked with a chuckle, his arm coming around her waist as they leaned against the balustrade.
“A little, but that will fade,” Phylis said with a shrug, loving the sensation of being nestled up against her husband.
“Into respect, I hope.”
Phylis’s gaze took in the whole crew—at least, all her crew who were currently on deck. “Oh, the respect is already there.”
It had always been there. Now there was another in their number, and he was the most respectful of all.
Except when she wanted less respect and more ordering about in their bed, of course.
“Interesting letter?” asked Michael quietly. “Oh, Zeus’s thunderbolt.”
Phylis started, turning to look up into his face with a laugh. “Dear God, I never thought I’d hear such salty words from your mouth!”
“It’s the company I keep.” Her husband winked. “And it was warranted, too—that’s from my sister, that is.”
“Which one?” Phylis asked curiously, turning the letter over and ripping it open.
“Gwen, I think, though her handwriting is similar to Teddy’s,” Michael said quietly. “Let me know what she says.”
His gaze left her face and instead of falling on the now-open letter, drifted to the shore, and the last of the barrels her crew was bringing on.
Such potent affection, the likes of which she had never known, roared through Phylis like a winter storm.
Was there ever such a man as this?
His respect for her, it was beyond anything she could have ever dreamed of. It was a letter from his sister to his wife. Any man would have been bound to be curious. It was human nature.
And yet despite the fact that he could have easily read it, he respected her too much to read it over her shoulder.
Warmth flowed through Phylis as she tried to understand how on earth she had managed to find the one man on all the seven seas who would regard her with such a high opinion. But it was impossible. Somehow, it was as though they were made for each other.
At the very least, he was made for her.
Turning her attention to the letter in her hand, the smile slowly faded as she read the scrawl of handwriting from her sister-in-law.
Dear Phylis,
Well, you’ve done it now!
No one is truly upset, don’t worry, and honestly, I think Papa rather expected something like this to happen. Mama is devastated she won’t be able to use the roses, so we’ve been living in a sort of flower shop the last few days. Poor Mrs. Kinley hasn’t stopped sneezing.
I wondered, could I come with you next time?
I don’t fit in here. I’m not dazzling like Irene or clever like Jessy, and Teddy never says anything and I’m—dash it all. I’m lonely.
No one seems interested in the same things I am, and I can’t help but feel…
It doesn’t matter. Enjoy your adventures, wherever they take you, but write soon and tell us about the wedding. Mama might even forgive you, if you promise there were roses.
When are you next in London?
Your affectionate new sister,
Gwendoline Chance
Phylis bit her lip.
Now there was a woman who was ready for an adventure. The trouble was, Phylis wasn’t sure what sort of adventure would satisfy a woman like Gwen Chance. She was so—
“Is she all right?” Michael asked, his curiosity evidently getting the better of him.
Phylis hesitated. Well, she wasn’t going to lie. Perhaps it was easier if she just gave him the letter.
She handed it over and watched her husband’s expression change as he read it, shifting from vague curiosity to delight to concern.
“She’s not happy.”
“No,” agreed Phylis wryly.
“I know what that’s like. I never spotted it, though,” Michael said, a sort of regret shimmering in his eyes for a moment. “Perhaps I should have stayed. Perhaps—”
“You needed to leave, Michael Chance, and you would never have been happy until you did,” Phylis said sharply, batting him on the arm and arching a brow.
“Someday, you may go back and perform your duties as viscount—though your father seems more than willing to continue to take on the task until then.”
“Truth be told, we have far fewer tenants and properties to worry about than the other Chances. I can’t imagine I’ll ever be needed. Not really. Not for anything more than my signature on a page.”
“I know. But maybe someday, we could change our minds. I might like a quiet retirement.”
“You? Retire?” He scoffed.
She shook her head, not letting him distract her from her point. “You might have got it all tangled up with this immigrating nonsense of yours—”
“It was not nonsense!”
“—but you understood, deep within your soul, that you belonged somewhere else,” Phylis continued, kissing him swiftly on the lips as his hand curled tightly around her waist. “You belonged with me.”
“That I did,” Michael said quietly, his gaze full of adoration. “And I’ll never leave you, Phylis Seaton.”
The second kiss was far more powerful than the first; longer, deeper, with ripples of need aching through her even as Phylis—most regretfully—pulled away.
“You don’t mind, do you?”
Michael leaned closer, lust sparking in his eyes. “Not at all—”
“I meant me keeping my name!” Phylis laughed, allowing him to kiss her but then splaying her hands against his chest. “Not in front of the crew!”
Heat burned her cheeks as Drummond dropped down from the last few feet of the mast and very carefully whistled and looked in the opposite direction as he walked past them.
Honestly!
“Oh, they don’t mind…” her husband whispered.
“But I do,” said Phylis sternly, trying to keep her thrill from her voice. “Seriously, though. You don’t mind that I’m staying Captain Seaton?”
It had been the one thing she had required, and naturally, Michael had immediately given her what she wanted—but a small part of her wondered whether he regretted agreeing so swiftly.