Marrying Christopher (37 page)

“I understand. Good day, ladies. Or at least, I hope it gets better.” He left them to sit in silence, watching the New York skyline come into view.

Something nagged at the back of Marsali’s mind, something she felt she ought to do. “I must see Mr. Thatcher— Christopher.” She attempted to stand, but Lady Cosgrove restrained her.

“You don’t know that they’ve found him,” she whispered. “And even if they have— it isn’t something you wish to see. It is better to remember him as he was. Trust me. I have seen two husbands in death, and I will both remember and regret it for as long as I live.” She smoothed Marsali’s hair away from her face. “That life is over now. You have a new one.”

“But, Lydia,” Marsali turned to Lady Cosgrove. “He couldn’t find her.”

“Shh. All will be well. You shall see,” Lady Cosgrove said, and Marsali was not sure to whom she was speaking.

She felt as if nothing would ever be well again.

“We’ve suffered terrible losses, but we have each other now.” Lady Cosgrove held Marsali’s hand. “And we can help one another. We will
have
to help one another if either of us is to survive.”

“The poor miss. She’s been through so much.” A woman was speaking nearby.

A second female voice came from Marsali’s other side, this one farther away. “Yes, but she’s here now. She
survived
. She and her mother were the only ones from the whole ship.”

Mother is dead.
Marsali attempted to open her eyes to see whom the voices belonged to, but the effort required was too great.

“She’ll be all right.” The second voice spoke again. “Mr. Vancer will take care of her. He’s half in love with her already. Have you seen the way he looks at her?”

The name Vancer sounded familiar, but Marsali could not put a face with it. And she still did not know who was speaking— or, for that matter, where she was. She was going to have to open her eyes.

They didn’t want to at first, heavy as they were with sleep, or possibly some medicine, but at last she forced them open and stared wide-eyed at a completely unfamiliar room and two maids she had never seen before, one seated on either side of her.

“Who are you?” Marsali asked. “This isn’t my aunt’s house.”

The one closest to her smiled kindly. “You’re in New York, miss. In Mr. Vancer’s house. Your ship wrecked off the coast, but you were rescued, and he brought you here.”

“Mr. Vancer?” She still had no recollection of who he was, though the events they had described were at least partially familiar. She remembered the storm and being in the lifeboat.

The second maid’s mouth turned down, and she exchanged a worried look across the bed with the maid who had just spoken. “You do not know who Mr. Vancer is?”

Wasn’t that obvious? She’d just asked, hadn’t she? “I do not,” Marsali said, trying not to panic.

“Mr. William Vancer,” the first woman said, “is one of the wealthiest men in New York— and your fiancé.”

The clock downstairs struck eight times, and Marsali left the luxurious bedchamber, wondering if she had spent her last night in it. She had planned her meeting with Mr. Vancer for morning, when it was sure Lady Cosgrove would not be awake and about, for she would not approve of what Marsali was about to do and might have found some means to prevent it.

And though Lady Cosgrove’s plan might have been the easier route, Marsali could not go through with it. She
would
not. No matter what the consequences. A week had passed since she had arrived at Mr. Vancer’s home, and it was long past time that he learned who she really was.

Perhaps Mr. Vancer would be so put off by her deception that he would throw her out immediately— and Lady Cosgrove along with her. If so, Marsali felt regret about that, but she could continue this ruse no longer. She was not Lydia, and she had no intention of becoming so.

Even risking her life by subjecting herself to Mr. Thomas and the terms of her indenture was better than losing herself, simply disappearing, and becoming someone else, as if she’d never existed.

Though a few servants moved about the upper hall and downstairs, no one stopped Marsali as she wandered, searching for the breakfast room, or perhaps a study, where she might locate Mr. Vancer. She’d yet to leave her chamber before today, and she’d dared not voice her request to meet with him to anyone else, lest word of it got back to Lady Cosgrove.

After peering into several rooms— a sitting room, a music room, a library— Marsali discovered what she had been searching for, along with the man she had been hoping to see. Gathering her courage, she stepped through the doorway. “Mr. Vancer.”

He’d been looking down reading a newspaper, a tray of sundry breakfast items on the table in front of him, but lifted his head to look at her. She was relieved to see that it truly was he; she’d only guessed it would be but recalled his face from their earlier, brief meeting, when he had come up to her room for a few minutes to see how she was recovering. She ought to have told him the truth then, but Lady Cosgrove and two maids had also been in the room, and Marsali had been too surprised by his presence to form any kind of cohesive thought or explanation.

“Miss Cosgrove. Good to see you up and about.” He pushed back his chair and rose, then held his hand out, inviting her to join him and take the seat nearest his.

Marsali strode purposefully into the room, stopping before the chair he held out. She hesitated, then sank into it, rationalizing that she might as well have a bit of breakfast while she broke the news to him.

He passed a plate of toast and a dish of marmalade to her. “Are you feeling much improved this morning?” His brows lifted as he studied her with a look of hopeful concern.

“I am well rested, thank you.” She gave up all pretense of fixing her toast and turned to face him. “But I am much troubled otherwise. There is something I must tell you.”

“Go on.” Neither his expression nor tone suggested any concern at her announcement. Rather, it almost seemed as if he was having difficulty containing a smile.

“I am not Lydia Cosgrove,” Marsali blurted. There was no easy way to say it.

He smiled warmly. “I know.”

“You do?” All of the tension and worry she’d felt over his reaction left in a rush, leaving her feeling somewhat deflated, yet much better at the same time.

“I know all about you, Miss Abbott.”

Not everything, apparently.
“I am no longer Miss Abbott,” she corrected him. “I am a married woman. My last name is Thatcher.” She showed him her hand with the wedding ring.

Mr. Vancer glanced over her head toward the doorway. Wordlessly, he rose from his chair once more, then crossed the room and slid the doors shut.

“
I
know, but much of the staff does not,” he said by way of explanation. “And we don’t need a lot of gossip about you spreading around New York, do we?”

She shook her head, though she had no idea what he was talking about.
Who would bother to gossip about unimportant me?

“I can see you don’t believe me,” he said. “So please allow me to explain.”

“Go on,” Marsali said, wondering how it was that he was the one doing much of the talking when she’d planned out her long speech so carefully.

“You married a Mr. Christopher Thatcher while aboard the
Amanda May
. Is that correct?”

“It is,” she said, her heart throbbing with loss at the reminder. “The captain married us.”

“That would be Captain Gower, whose body was recovered from the wreckage?”

Marsali swallowed with difficulty as she nodded. She hadn’t known Captain Gower long, but the thought that he had died still made her sad. He’d had a family— a wife and children— to return home to.
What must the real Amanda May be feeling now?

“So the man who performed your marriage is dead,” Mr. Vancer continued. “As is the man you married— Mr. Thatcher.”

“That is not certain.” Marsali looked at her lap as she fought back tears.
Christopher dead
. She still refused to believe it. She’d never known anyone more alive. “I have checked the papers daily, and there has been no report that his— that he— has been found.”

“I do not mean to be unkind,” Mr. Vancer said, compassion in his voice. “But much of the crew has not been discovered. Those who went down with the ship likely remain in it.”

Marsali thought of Christopher as she had last seen him, on the floor and unmoving just inside the captain’s quarters. It was not likely that he had survived.
But neither is it impossible.
She looked up at Mr. Vancer and found him gazing at her with concern.

“With the captain dead and your husband… missing… and the ship’s records at the bottom of the sea, any proof that your brief marriage even happened has vanished. It is simply gone.”

“I realize this.” Marsali straightened and met his intense gaze with her own. “And so I am prepared to honor the terms of my indenture with Mr. Thomas.”

“But why?” Mr. Vancer leaned back in his chair and brought a hand to his mouth as if puzzled. “Why should you do such a thing? Lady Cosgrove has told me about him as well. Surely you do not wish to subject yourself to his cruelty— or worse?”

“I do not see that I have a choice,” Marsali said, then hurried on before he could suggest otherwise. “I am not Lydia Cosgrove, and I do not feel it right to pretend to be. I haven’t amnesia. I did not hit my head. When we arrived I might have been temporarily unsettled, but now I am perfectly aware of who I am— and what debts I have incurred that must yet be paid.”

“What if I were to pay them?” Mr. Vancer asked.

“That is a very generous offer, but it is unnecessary.”

“As it was unnecessary for Mr. Thatcher to marry you?”

Marsali squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. “Yes— no. That was different.”

I never do anything I do not wish.
How many times had Christopher told her that? He had wanted to marry her, had even mentioned love when he had given her his grandmother’s ring.

There had been far more between them than the issue of her safety, though each had danced around their mutual attraction, avoiding it as long as possible.
Wasted days
,
she thought with regret. “Mr. Thatcher and I had become acquainted with one another on our voyage. We felt we suited each other.”

“But still, the primary reason for your hasty marriage
was
so that he could protect you from Mr. Thomas, is that not correct?”

“It is,” Marsali said. “But as Mr. Thatcher is… missing, and possibly deceased…” She closed her eyes briefly, attempting to shut out the pain of that admission. “And as I am not—”

“You are now a widow,” Mr. Vancer finished. “Who is recovering from a tragedy and is a guest in my house.” He pushed back his chair and stood suddenly, then came around the table and seated himself in the chair directly beside hers. Leaning forward, he reached for her hand, taking it into his two as he looked at her directly.

She resisted the urge to pull away from him, all the while feeling an unfaithful wife, sitting here conversing so intimately with another man when she ought to have been out looking for her husband.

“Will you not give me that same opportunity, Miss Abbott? Allow me the same four weeks you spent with Mr. Thatcher, and let us see if we do not suit each other as well? I have lost the woman I was going to marry, and you have, in all likelihood, lost your husband. I can pay your debt, freeing you from the term of your indenture, and if— at the end of a month spent together— you do not feel a marriage between us to be in your best interest, you will be free to leave.”

“That is very kind, but—”

“Kindness has little to do with it,” he confessed, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth— a mouth, Marsali noticed suddenly, that was rather attractive, along with the rest of his face.

“Lady Cosgrove has not stopped singing your praises since she arrived, and I find that I am deeply curious to get to know you. To count the extraordinary young woman described to me as my friend— at least.”

“I am quite flattered, but still…” She searched her mind for another argument and could find none. Yet staying here, with him, under any pretense, felt wrong. Disloyal— to Christopher.