Cross the Ocean (17 page)
“If each of you would check the date of my marriage and the date of my daughter’s birth, you would notice exactly nine months between the two events.”
McDonald pursed his lips and stared at his drink. Tony fidgeted and frowned.
“If there is any chance a son or daughter of mine was conceived I must ensure their well-being,” Blake added.
Tony’s head nodded with a snap. “Yes, considering their mother will be alone and defenseless.
Unmarried and at the mercy of gossip and censure. Yes, quite the gentlemanly thing to do.”
McDonald raised red bushy brows. “Tis exactly this conversation I pray would never include Melinda or Claire’s name,” the Scotsman said weakly.
The thought of Melinda in this same situation made Blake’s stomach roll. “I did offer to marry Miss Finch,” Blake said.
“Maybe the answer will be different if there is a babe,” McDonald offered.
“I have no intentions of humiliating myself further by offering again,” Blake said.
Tony sat forward in his chair. “Loving a woman is no humiliation, Blake.” He waited for a reply. When none came he sat back. “Perhaps I’ve been mistaken. If you truly loved her you would ask with your dying breath and still pray for her response.”
“Love, love, you prattle on about. Love is messy and makes men act the fool. Like you, too, McDonald.” Blake said as he stood. “Whimpering and cowering to some skirt’s request. Makes men forget what their duty is.”
“Bugger England, then, I say,” Tony said.
“You are a perfect example. You would not besmirch our homeland otherwise,” Blake said.
“Ah, but what is country and duty without love? They are meaningless without it,” McDonald said.
“And even from the brawny Scotsman. You’ve both been addled,” Blake said.
“You mistake my meaning, Blake,” Tony said. “Your duty as you call it has been to marry, keep a mistress and worry prodigiously over the knot in your tie. You will die knowing nothing else.”
Blake blustered now, angry at his friend’s words. “This is twice now you have seen fit to reduce my existence to naught but a pile of nonsense.”
“Yes and what of it, Blake?” Tony shouted. “You still refuse to find anything more worthwhile than your bloody title. Take a chance, Blake. Take a chance that there is more for you. A woman you love and who loves you and might, just might, mean more to you than your horses and what the town gossips say.
London and its worries will be but a speck in history when you rot in your grave.”
Blake’s mouth twitched as he watched Tony storm from the room shaking windows as he slammed the door. McDonald followed. Blake was shaken to the core. Anthony had known him his entire life. They had stood at each other’s wedding. Tony was godfather to his heir. The thought that the man closest to him his whole life thought so little of him left him rattled. When had things changed? Blake harrumphed.
When Tony had grown up and left me behind unable to fathom life’s purpose? Most likely the day he met Elizabeth. And what of the chances Tony spoke of? The chance to find something that meant more. What if he gambled his heart on a woman and found she did not return his regard? What then?
His one night with Gertrude, even drunk, had frightened him sorely. Even now it was hard to admit to himself it had not been the vessel that haunted him and left him aching. Not the body that had received his. It had been the woman. Pure and simple. The whole woman, body, soul, heart and mind. But Gertrude had made clear she was not interested. Not in him. What if he laid his feelings, whatever they may be, out for her perusal? She would reject him as she had done time and again. But what of that chance Tony spoke of? What of the chance, however slim, that she would not rebuff him? What would lay ahead of him then?
An hour later, Blake rode to Tony’s home. He found his friend near his stables, mucking out stalls, of all things. “The smell from you will keep Elizabeth away for days.”
Tony turned around with a start. He leaned on the handle of the pitchfork he held. “When I get angry and say stupid things, the best remedy for me is work. An unpleasant chore preferably.”
“I will remember that in the future,” Blake replied as he ambled into the barn.
Tony ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Blake. I spoke out of turn. As Elizabeth pointed out I am hardly the one to point fingers.”
Blake shrugged and looked away. “I know not who I am, Tony. Other than my father’s son. I’ve managed to bungle my last twenty years. I haven’t a clue how to avoid past mistakes.”
Tony sat down on baled hay. “Not true. You’ve been a good father to your children. I am fairly petrified I’ll not do as well.”
“I’ve been a fair father to the children, Tony.” Blake heaved a sigh. “But for the wrong reasons. And as they grow older I hope they know how to be something other than my child.”
“I would hate for us to part on bad terms. Especially with William’s welfare on your mind. Do you accept my apology, Sanders?” Anthony asked.
“I do.” Blake wandered the stable. Touching the soft nose of a mare and the cool leather of saddles. His back was to Tony when he asked, “The chance you spoke of. Is there any hope of a chance for me with Miss Finch?” Blake turned then to face his friend. “And is she the chance I should take?”
“Don’t saddle me with that puzzle, Sanders.” Tony picked up his discarded pitchfork and began to turn straw. “You’ll figure it out on your own, I dare say.”
“Keep your eye on things for me while I’m gone.”
“I’ll have your back, Sanders. Safe passage to you.”
Six weeks on a ship with William Sanders had proved trying. The young man had charmed the toughest sailor and succeeded in scaring Gert half to death. Climbing masts in bare feet and charging about the ship as if he was on a grand adventure. Of course the small amount of things he had packed, were ruined the first week. A cabin boy near his age gave him ragged shirts and tight pants. He wore them with pride.
His skin had gone from sun red to golden brown. He answered only to Will.
The captain of the ship had been quite unhappy to discover the stowaway. William, Will now, had handed over a diamond stickpin and the man’s mouth dropped. Typical male, Gert thought, one change of underclothes in his leather bag and a piece of jewelry that Gert was sure would pay his passage three times. She complained to him handing a piece of his inheritance away on a whim.
“Got it for my last birthday, Miss Finch. I didn’t mean to bring it. Must have been stuck in my bag.” Will grinned. “But I am most happy it was there.”
“Is there another cabin William can stay in, Captain?” Gert asked.
“We’re all full, Miss Finch. He either stays here or with the crew. There’s a spare cot in the hold,” the man said.
William’s eyes widened. “With the crew. Yes, sir.” But he sobered quickly enough. “I don’t like the idea of Miss Finch being alone though.”
The captain turned a stern face. “Are you implying, boy, an unescorted woman is unsafe on my ship?”
Gert knew Will was unaccustomed to but few telling him what to do or questioning his words. He surprised her with his response.
“No, I’m not, sir. But I’ll bloody the nose of any man who bothers her. Just want to be clear on that point,” Will said, stretching to his near six foot.
The captain’s look was astonishment. He chuckled and slapped Will on the back. “Come on then, son, I’ll show you where to bed. Now some of the crew are rough men, boy. Best not expect any special treatment. And I would respond with a yes sir or no sir regardless of who asks. You may be a duke’s son in England but if you’re staying with them the only rank that counts are years on the sea.”
William was smiling broadly as he hurried to gather his things.
Three weeks into their crossing they had run into a terrible storm. Gert had looked everywhere for William, swaying and bumping into walls as the ship pitched. She ran into a soaked, worried looking sailor and asked if he’d seen Will. “Yes,” the man had replied. “He’s on deck doing what he’s told.”
Gert could have fainted. William Sanders, the son of a duke, would have no idea what to do. He could be swept overboard. Gert paced her room and fell asleep before dawn as the sea smoothed. She came awake to a knock.
Gert pulled the door open. Will stood there. Bedraggled, tired and soaked. Grinning as if he’d just won a horse race. She wrapped her arms around him. “William, I was so worried. I didn’t know what to think.” He untangled himself from her embrace and Gert noticed the cabin boy, Bart, standing behind Will.
“I’m fine, Miss Finch. I’m sorry I worried you but the captain put Bart and I to a task.” William puffed up mightily. “Every able hand was needed last night.”
Gert heard the pride in his voice. Her lip trembled as it had been doing more often than not of late and tears filled her eyes. “If anything would have happened to you, Will, I could have never faced your father,” she said.
“I’m fine. The captain told us to go below deck and sleep. Bart and I are tired to the bone. I’ll check on you later,” Will said.
Gert plopped down wearily and pulled the chamber pot out from under her bunk. With little fanfare she threw up as she had been doing every morning for the last week. She was hardly sea sick, she knew. She had sailed the whole way to England without even a flinch of nausea. And she felt fine otherwise. Gert prayed every night for her monthly to come. It did not. Plenty of time, she consoled herself. Just a touch of illness she’d picked up. That would explain it all. But what would explain the tightening of the skin across her belly? Or her enlarged and tender breasts? She was pregnant.
Gert was sure Will knew something was amiss. He had found her on deck, at the rail, tears falling hard and fast. Will had touched her arm and looked worried. The same worried expression she’d seen on his father. That had made her cry harder still.
“What is it, Miss Finch? Pray tell me,” William had asked.
Before Gert could fathom her words and how silly they sounded she blurted out the cause of her tears.
“That bird just swooped down from nowhere and plucked a fish from the ocean. Just killed it.”
Will was confused. “‘Twas just a fish, Miss Finch. The birds have to eat as well.”
Gert blubbered and ran to her cabin.
She had become a crying, emotional wreck. One day determined to never allow Blake near her child.
By evening, she was sure she would hurl herself in the ocean if she never saw him again. Gert tried to focus on the ranch. It would be her solace, her retreat and by the end of her trip she knew she must let Will escort her home. She was so exhausted that evening she had fallen asleep at the captain’s table shortly after soup was served. Some days she barely got out of bed. And she must get William’s oath to not reveal his connection to Blake. Uncle Fred would question Will when he found out her condition and surely Will would repeat the tales of her and Blake’s kisses. Uncle Fred would board the next ship, shotgun in hand and shoot Blake through the heart. Gert burst into tears as the scenario played out in her head.
Gert asked William to come to her cabin one day out of the New York harbor. She paced the room, trying to come up with a way to explain it all to a fourteen year-old boy. Will watched her. “Ah, William, ah, I’ve decided you should go with me to my uncle’s ranch.”
Will jumped from his seat and whirled around. “How grand. A ranch.”
“Now William….”
“Will, please.”
“Will then. There is a reason I need escorted. Otherwise I’d put you on the next boat back to England,”
Gert said.
“What reason, Miss Finch?”
Gert held her hands at her stomach and willed herself not to itch the tightened skin. “I’ve been feeling poorly.”
Will’s face sobered and he ran to the door. “I’ll get the ship’s doctor, right away.”
“Sit down,” Gert screamed. Her moods swung from tears, to near hysteria to unholy, unaccountable wrath. “I’m sorry, Will. I didn’t mean to shout.”
Will sat. “Do you know what’s the matter?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “You remember Lady Burroughs?”
“Uncle Anthony’s wife? Of course. What about her?”
“She’s been feeling poorly too.”
Will smiled and blushed. “That’s because she’s going to have a baby, Miss Finch.”
“Uh huh.”
Will’s head tilted and then his eyes widened. “Are you saying you’re feeling poorly like Aunt Elizabeth?”
“Uh huh.”
“But you’re not married, Miss Finch,” William whispered.
Gert closed her eyes. To hear it said so baldly undid her. “I know that.”
Will sat at the small table in the cabin, drumming his fingers. He was nearly bursting with questions, Gert knew. She watched him, so like his father trying to work through to answers. She knew he had figured it all out when he faced her.
“Father,” Will breathed.
Gert swallowed. “It is of great importance you do not reveal to my Uncle Fred whom you suspect.”
Will’s face was a hard mask. “Would he wish to kill the son of a bitch, too?”
“William, your language.” Gert calmed herself and sat down. “Your father asked me to marry him. I said no.”
“Why?”
“Your father doesn’t love me. We’re not suited,” Gert replied.
“Suited enough, I’d say,” William said.
“Be very careful, William. There are reasons and circumstances you don’t understand. I’ll not have you judge me or him.”
“I’ll not judge you. But my father, well,” William trailed away.
“In any case, I will need your help. I’m not feeling well enough to make the journey alone. You will promise me not to tell anyone of this.” William looked at her. “Promise me, William.”
“I promise, Miss Finch. And I’ll see you safely home,” William turned his head. “But I’ll never say I won’t bloody Father’s nose when I see him.”
William trailed close to Gert from that moment on.
* * * *