Dangerous Waters (29 page)

“You don't want to keep it?”

Phoebe shook her head. “It wouldn't be appropriate. Nor do I wish to.” She took a breath. He would be leaving tomorrow or the next day. She could tell him now. “You see, the reason I insisted on going to Grove Hill was to tell Rupert Quintrell that I did not wish to marry him.”

Shock drained the colour from Jowan's face as he stared at her. “
What?
”

“I thought it was the honourable thing to do. In the event, circumstances made it impossible. I never even saw him. And now – well, it's no longer relevant.”

Jowan's voice was hoarse. “W – why didn't – ?”

“I tell you? I did try.” Phoebe saw him wince and knew he was remembering his accusations,
his refusal to let her explain
. A flush darkened his skin and he turned away.

Phoebe forced a polite smile. “It was very good of you to come, Dr Crossley. As you see I'm fully recovered. Please excuse me, but I must return to my letters if I'm to have them ready before the packet sails.”

He looked up quickly. “You can finish them once you are on board. I think I told you, did I not, that one of the non-medical duties required of the ship's doctor is to sort the mail, so –”

“Yes, but I won't be on board. I'm not returning to Cornwall.”

“Not – ?” What do you mean? You cannot stay here.“

“Indeed I can.” Phoebe said calmly while a pulse fluttered in her throat. “Dr Crossley, you have done all that was required of you, and more. Now we must go our separate ways. You need not be anxious on my account. Though my life here will not be as planned it will be no less fulfilling.”

He raked his hair, turning one way then the other. She knew he would have begun pacing had there been space to do so. He resembled an animal in a cage that was too small. “Where will you live?” he challenged. “
How
will you live?”

“Mrs Stirling has kindly agreed to let me stay here for the time being. As for how –”

“Phoebe, this is no place for – “

“This house, or this town?” She was finding the conversation increasingly difficult. “I was brought up in a port so I'm aware of the dangers. But I shall have Quamin's protection when I am about the streets.”

“Surely your uncle would not – “

“My uncle has his own life,” Phoebe interrupted. “It was to pursue it that he agreed to my betrothal. He would not wish me back. Nor would his new wife. I'm sure I shall do very well here. It may take a little getting used to but cousin Amelia always said I was woefully unsuited to polite society. Still, perhaps the refugees will forgive me that in exchange for my skills and practical help.” She swallowed. “I will always be grateful to you for – for giving me the opportunity to work with you on the ship, and for your acceptance of my remedies.”

He gestured helplessly. “How could I do otherwise when so often they proved more effective than anything I could offer.”

“You are very kind.” The strain of talking to him, maintaining her poise, pretending she was fine, was becoming intolerable. She had to make him go, now, quickly. “We will not meet again, so please accept my very best wishes for your future happiness.” Not daring to offer her hand for fear he would see how it shook,
not daring to touch him
, she made a formal curtsey.

His features taut, he stared at her for a long moment. Then with an abrupt bow he turned and left.

As the door closed on him, Phoebe sank onto her bed, hugging herself, rocking in silent agony.

Jowan stood in the hall. He should leave.
We have nothing more to say to each other.
Why hadn't she told him she wasn't going to marry Quintrell?
Because it wasn't his business
. And when she attempted to explain why she had accepted the arrangement in the first place, instead of listening to her, allowing her time to explain in her own way, fear for her safety,
fear of losing her
had made him lash out.

He had listened to Rupert Quintrell's poison, yet he had refused to listen to her.

He had tried to apologise, but she did not want to hear. Why should she? He had not listened. He should go. Yet he couldn't make his feet move. Perhaps – perhaps if he went back in and declared himself, told her how deeply he loved and admired her.

Such behaviour would be adding insult to injury. Why should she believe him?

During the past year she had been moved around like a pawn on a chess-game: powerless: an inconvenience to her uncle and his plans for remarriage, a disappointment and irritant to her cousin, finally disposed of to the depraved Rupert Quintrell.

Now, for the first time since her aunt's death, she was free to decide her own future. And if that future did not include him, could he blame her? What reason had she to trust men?
But he would show her not all men were the same.

No, if he loved her he must give her what she wanted most – freedom. It would cost him far more than he could ever have imagined. But her happiness must take priority over his own.

The rest of the day and night passed in a blur. There was a physical ache in his chest and his head pounded from the tension knotting his shoulders.

After a night during which her sleep had been punctuated with restless dreams both frightening and wrenchingly poignant, Phoebe had woken with a gasp, her heart beating wildly, her face wet with tears. Unwilling to risk sleep again she got up and went to stand at the window of her little tower, watching dawn break and the sun come up.

Dressing in her spotted muslin she went down to see the vicomtesse and her baby son before the family left the house to board the packet. The vicomte took her letters and promised to hand them to the master.

Unable to face food Phoebe swallowed a cup of chocolate simply to stop Ellin scolding then returned to her room for her hat. She would watch the packet leave. Seeing it go would draw a line under the past weeks and put an end to all foolish hope. With Quamin beside her she set off for the waterfront.

But as they reached the quay she saw that
Providence
had already cast off her mooring ropes. With the wind filling her foresail the ship was moving away from the wooden jetty. The deck and rigging swarmed with men as the main was hauled up and the topsails loosed. Phoebe glimpsed the vicomte at the rail and guessed his wife and baby were below with Mary who would be bustling around getting them settled into their cabins.

Straining her eyes as she searched, Phoebe recalled her first day aboard the packet and Jowan's offer to escort her up on deck. Terrified of the sea, wondering if she would survive the voyage to reach Jamaica, she had stood frozen at the bottom of the companionway. When he urged her forward she had turned on him in panic-stricken fury. Then their eyes had met. The contact had lasted only moments, but its effect had changed her forever.

Scanning the activity, every nerve and muscle taut as she sought his familiar figure, she wondered whether it might not have been better had their paths never crossed. Denial came instantly, and was absolute.
No
. She could never wish that.

She could not claim to be losing him: he had never been hers. And though she would miss him more than words could express, knowing him, loving him, had given her so much. Because of him and his friendship she had grown and learned. Not just about medicine and healing, but about herself: about life, about what it meant to love.

But even though she could see the ship leaving and
knew
it was impossible, she still could not entirely banish the foolish ridiculous dream that maybe, somehow, during the night Jowan had realised he loved her.

And if he had, what difference would it make? He had a job, a responsibility to the packet and her crew. He was on the ship and it was bound for Cornwall. Their time together was over. They had fought and clashed and argued. But they had also discussed and shared and worked together in mutual respect.
And she would miss him so much
. Her breath caught unexpectedly and she choked down a sob.

“Miss?” Quamin's face was anxious.

Unable to speak, she shook her head, wiped her eyes and raised her hand in a gesture intended to assure him she was fine. She tried to smile but her lips quivered uncontrollably. Bending her head so that the brim of her hat hid her face she pretended to brush dust from her skirt as her chest heaved painfully. She had experienced loss before, and grief. But not like this. Never ever like this.

Out of sight behind a wall of casks Jowan watched Phoebe's struggle. His own eyes burned and overwhelming relief left him physically weak as he realised that she too had been hiding her feelings.
But why?
Suddenly he understood. She had told him the first time they met that she hadn't wanted him to feel obligated: either to her uncle or to her. So even when her anger at having his guardianship imposed on her had begun to soften, to grow into something warmer than mere friendship, she would have been afraid to reveal it: afraid he might consider her a burden, an additional responsibility, an
obligation.

He gazed at the slender girl trying so valiantly not to break down. What had it cost her to keep such powerful emotions so tightly controlled?

A great rush of love and admiration engulfed him. He had never expected to meet anyone like her. She was both girl and woman: in so many ways strong and wise beyond her years, yet in others naïve and vulnerable. Her determined independence would cause him anxious days and sleepless nights. But he could not contemplate a future without her.

Picking up his luggage, knowing the next few minutes would be the most important of his life, he drew a deep breath and stepped out from behind the casks. “Phoebe?”

She spun round, disbelief vivid on her tear-stained face. Her gaze darted from the bags he was holding to the departing ship and back. “What are you – ?”

“I couldn't go.” He set the bags down. “A surgeon from the naval hospital was only too pleased to take my berth.“

“I d-don't – Why – ?“ Shock was making her teeth chatter.

He shrugged awkwardly. “If you are staying here then so am I. I want you to understand it is entirely my choice.” He had never felt so nervous in his life. “You are under no obligation whatever to work with me.” He paused, took another breath, and pressed on. “Or to be my wife. Though I hope with all my heart you can forgive me sufficiently to agree to both.”

Her eyes widened. He saw her face turn pale. As she raised a hand to her throat fear squeezed his heart. Instinctively he reached out, afraid she was about to faint.

“Phoebe? Are you all right?”

“Yes. Oh yes.” Radiant joy lit her face, suffusing it with colour. Then, heedless of the surrounding slaves, wharf-gangs, passengers, and businessmen she lifted her arms and walked into his embrace. Holding her close he pulled off her hat and buried his face in her hair, inhaling the sweet fragrance that was uniquely hers.

Quamin examined the ground at his feet, grinning as he darted sidelong glances at them.

Drawing back Phoebe searched Jowan's face. “Your family – “

“My parents,” he corrected gently, “have their life back in Cornwall. Just as your uncle does with his new wife. You will be my family. You and our children.”

A rosy blush bloomed in her cheeks. Her eyes were luminous. “But your career with the packet service. I thought – I mean I was given to understand that you joined because you were seeking challenge and adventure.“

He smiled down at her. “Really. May I ask where – or rather who – told you so? Was it Mossop or Grigg?”

“Grigg,” she admitted shyly.

Stifling laughter, Jowan shook his head. “My reason for joining
Providence
was far less romantic.” Remembering the harrowing weeks of grief and frustration his smile faded. “I could not be what my parents wanted, and they could not understand my need to follow a different path from my brother.” As her gaze softened in sympathy he offered a brief prayer of thanks for the girl in his arms. Then, leaving the past where it belonged, he turned his thoughts to the future.

“As for challenge and adventure,” lifting her hand Jowan pressed his lips to her palm then held it against his cheek. “Dearest Phoebe, life with you will give me all I could desire – or cope with – of both.”