Chapter 8 #2
“After a year as midshipman, my captain realized I was older and more educated than most of the other gentlemen around me, and unofficially promoted me to acting lieutenant. It was far more interesting, anyway—I quickly took over the ship signaling as foremost midshipman.” He flashed a smile as he became more confident, steady on the history of his own life.
“And as soon as six years came, I took my exam and mailed it to the Admiralty. I was doing the duties of a second lieutenant already, anyway: if the captain and first lieutenant were indisposed, I was in charge. I also had responsibility for the discipline and welfare of the petty officers, and sometimes I oversaw taking in stores. So my captain promoted me to first lieutenant as soon as my exam results came back.”
“What about the other first lieutenant? Wasn’t he put out?”
Mark shook his head. “He got to captain a small cutter, so he was happy. It was a promotion for the both of us.”
“Did you…like it?” Ellen asked, as if not sure she wanted to know the answer.
Mark hesitated, thinking. “Parts of it, yes. While I got used to the small quarters, I hated the iron and steam. Never got used to it. The order and logic was comforting, as was a clear path to success: take an exam, do your duty, become a commissioned officer. But…it was never my passion. I never fell in love with the sea or the sails like some men do. I think I always knew I didn’t want to spend my whole life doing it.
I was also proud to become not only a first lieutenant, but a lieutenant good enough to command my own tiny ship.
” What he’d loved the most, he realized, was telling Greek myths to the ship’s boys.
Not the cockpit ones, but the orphans who’d enlisted at twelve years old.
Mark had been surprised to discover they knew a few stories—apparently the lower orders could understand the Classics, if they just had a chance to learn, despite what Duncap had said.
Vulcan, the blacksmith god, was their favorite: a true working man’s symbol.
Dock workers specifically loved Herakles.
Ellen gave a tiny smile as she finished her plate.
“It was good for me, I think,” Mark continued.
“I think we’d both agree I was arrogant and entitled back then.
The Navy knocked some sense into me.” He gave her a self-deprecating smirk.
“But am I sorry to leave it? No, I don’t think so.
I learned, made some friends. Now I’m content to be here.
” His hand reached out of its own accord and rested across the table, near her.
Not enough to be demanding, close enough she could see it for the invitation it was.
She glanced at it, clearly uncertain whether she should cover his hand in hers or ignore it. Her cheeks tinged pink, and she poured herself another cup of tea.
“I joined on a whim,” Mark said softly. “I myself had three days of warning. And I honestly thought it wouldn’t matter to you. I convinced myself you liked being a married lady in Society more than being married to me.”
Ellen gulped her tea.
“Not that it makes it any better,” he added, withdrawing his hand. “But I want you to know I didn’t try to come up with ways to hurt you. I thought this would be a solution to please us both.” He waited for Ellen to ask the obvious question. Why? Why were you unhappy with me?
But she didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer up the answer.
“Regardless,” he said. “You shouldn’t have found out by seeing my valet put my bags at the front door.”
She poured more cream in her tea, turning it nearly a frothy white. More than he’d ever seen her drink.
“And when you demanded to know what was happening, I should’ve given you a better explanation than that I’d joined the Navy for four years and would see you after.
” His voice softened. “You’re incredible.
You always were. And I look at you now, and I wish I could strangle past me.
How could I have passed up eight years in your company? With your wit and beauty, and—”
Her hand shook as she poured the cream, and the cup overflowed. Milk poured over the edge, the saucer catching the puddle.
Mark reached over and put his hand over hers, taking the empty cream container from her. His body leapt at the feel of her fingers under his, but he forced himself to carefully set the container down and attend the spill.
“Blast,” she said shakily. “How clumsy of me.”
“Ellen.” Had he pushed too far? He reached for her hand.
“No, no.” She picked the serviette from her lap and dabbed at the wet spots on the tablecloth, skillfully avoiding him. “Silly me.” Her face flushed red and she refused to look at him.
Mark frowned as she gave up and threw the linen on the table, nearly spilling the teacup full of cream. “May I be of assistance in any way?”
“No need,” Ellen said breezily and flashed a smile at him. But her face still flamed bright red, so he wasn’t fooled. “I’m late. Thank you for sharing your story with me. I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast again.”
“I—” Mark said, but she darted from the chair and toward the door so quickly he barely had time to stand for her departure.
The door swung shut behind her, and her footsteps clicked down the hall toward the front door.
Did I push for too much? Mark eyed the ruined tea. Did I hurt her? But no, she hadn’t appeared angry. Maybe embarrassed instead? Even a lanced boil needed time to heal. Sighing, Mark rubbed his eyes and walked to his study. Perhaps one of the ancient Greeks could tell him how to win his wife.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
The next morning, before breakfast, Ellen paused outside the door to the dining room. Her skin prickled, her nerves tingled, and her breath came in short, shallow gasps. As if she were going into battle. As if she were going in to make love.
She hadn’t seen him since his apology yesterday.
If one could call it that. The first half, yes.
The second half felt more like a seduction.
She’d lost all control of herself, listening to his gentle, sweet words, and spilled the cream all over her saucer like a small child.
Had he meant to seduce her? Probably not.
This was Mark, after all. He could be calculating, yes, but not manipulative.
The first time he’d asked to take her on a walk through Hyde Park her mother had told her to say no, because he might be a baron’s son, but he was a younger son.
He’d sensed her disappointment at having to refuse him, so the next time he asked it was at a musicale, in front of both their mothers.
Ellen couldn’t have said no then, not unless she wanted to offend a baroness, and so she’d smiled and agreed, much to her mother’s grudging acceptance.
Ellen eyed the door that led to where her husband sat, waiting for her. Like a patient spider waiting for the fly. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.
Mark slouched in his chair, so dejected she almost asked him if someone had died. But when he heard her tread across the polished oak floor, he jerked upright faster than she could blink.
“Good morning,” he greeted like he always did. “Will you join me?” This time his face took such a painfully hopeful expression her heart clenched. He wasn’t the spider. He never would be. No, he was a bird trying to migrate home. Wondering if she’d open her heart to him.
He glanced at the chair beside him, then out the window, as if trying to hide his thoughts.
Ellen hesitated. His apology yesterday and the way he listened to her discuss her work every morning meant so much.
He’d not once complained about her long hours.
He, a lord’s son, had moved boxes for Mrs. Daugherty and then walked her home from the dispensary to keep her safe.
How he, even now, pretended to be interested in a cardinal hopping from branch to branch of the tree outside the dining room window, so she wouldn’t feel pressured to sit next to him.
She sat. In the seat nearest him. Next to him. And smiled up at him. “Good morning.”
The brilliance of his smile made her flush. All I did was sit in a chair. But he was smiling at her as if she’d announced he’d meet the Queen. Or cured cholera. Or—or—her mind stuttered to a halt as his smile only grew, and he caressed her with his eyes.
“Tea?” she inquired, casting around for anything to break the tension between them. Tension different than yesterday’s.
“Yes, please.” He leaned over the table to pass her his cup, which was already half empty. “May I prepare a plate for you?”
“Thank you,” she murmured, focusing on the silver teapot rather than his shining eyes. Her body flushed all over, and it wasn’t from the heat of the handle through the teacloth.
When Mark sat back down, they ate together—companionably, for the first time.
Mark cleared his throat. “Any new cases today? Or new discharges from your care?”
Ellen laughed self-consciously as she put marmalade on her biscuit. “You make me sound like a true doctor.”
He propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin against one hand as he smiled at her. “So?”
Ellen swallowed. “Well, there is one pregnant mother I’ve heard that’s in the hospital with a high chance of delivering early. So I may end up seeing her sometime this week, if they both survive delivery.”
“And how are the Patel twins?”
She grinned, her heart light. “Doing well. Growing so well, I’m so proud of them.”
Mark smiled at her, and the sincerity of his delight sent an excruciating pang through her body, one of relief and surprise and pure, unadulterated happiness. He cared. He truly cared, and now she wasn’t shouldering the burden alone anymore.
Mark’s smile faded, and he studied her closely. Ellen didn’t like that look. He usually delivered bad news after a look like that. “Ellen.”
“Yes?” She fought to keep her voice calm. What was he going to say now? How was he going to ruin it this time?
He cleared his throat. “Ellen, I should apologize.”