The Ideal Bride (9 page)

 
She liked the house, but now when she went there… something simply wasn’t right.

 
“I, ah, wondered whether you were thinking of marrying again.”

 
She met Geoffrey’s gaze. “No, I’m not. I have no intention of remarrying.”

 
He colored slightly, patted her hand as he looked forward. “It’s just that—well, if you do, I hope you’ll stay closer this time.” His voice turned gruff. “You’ve family here…”

 
His words trailed away; his gaze remained fixed ahead. Caro followed it, to Ferdinand, standing beside the wheel giving his captain orders.

 
Geoffrey snorted. “I just don’t want you marrying some foreign bounder.”

 
She laughed, hugged his arm reassuringly. “Truly, you can set your mind at rest. Ferdinand is playing some game, but it’s not one in which I have any interest.” She met Geoffrey’s gaze. “I won’t be throwing my cap into his ring.”

 
He read her eyes, then humphed. “Good!”

 
Half an hour later, she thanked the gods that Geoffrey had spoken of his concerns sooner rather than later, and so given her the opportunity to allay them before Ferdinand made his move. As soon as he’d finished with his captain, he fixed his sights on her. With considerable flair, he displaced Geoffrey at her side, then cut her out from the crowd congregated behind the forecastle. She permitted him to take her strolling about the deck—for the simple reason that it was an open deck; there was a limit to what he might even think to accomplish within plain sight of all the others.

 
Including his aunt, who, somewhat to Caro’s surprise, seemed to be keeping a sharp eye on her nephew, although whether that eye was severely disapproving or simply severe, she couldn’t say.

 
“Perhaps, my dear Caro, as you are so enjoying the trip, you could return tomorrow and we could go out again. A private cruise just for two.”

 
She assumed a considering expression, sensed him holding his breath, then resolutely shook her head. “The church fete is quite soon. If I don’t make an effort, Muriel Hedderwick will be unbearable.”

 
Ferdinand frowned. “Who is this Muriel Hedderwick?”

 
Caro smiled. “She’s actually my niece-by-marriage, but that doesn’t adequately describe our relationship.”

 
Ferdinand continued to frown, then ventured, “Niece-by-marriage—this means she is Sutcliffe’s—your late husband’s—niece?”

 
She nodded. “That’s right. She married a gentleman named Hedderwick and lives…” She continued, putting Muriel and her history to good use, totally distracting Ferdinand, who wanted to know only so he could counter Muriel’s supposed influence and inveigle Caro away on his yacht.

 
Poor Ferdinand was destined for disappointment, on that and all other scores. By the time he realized he’d been diverted, they were nearing the bow once more.

 
Looking ahead to where Michael and the girls had been standing, Caro saw the group clustering by the rail. She could see Michael’s back, and the Driscoll girls’ gowns, and Edward, all pressing close.

 
Edward glanced around and saw her. He beckoned urgently.

 
Both she and Ferdinand hurried across.

 
“There, there.” One of the Driscoll girls murmured. “Here, take my handkerchief.”

 
“You poor thing—how dreadful.” Seeing Caro approaching, the other sister stepped back.

 
Edward looked grim as he quickly stepped in, taking the arm of the wilting figure slumped over the rail.

 
“
Oohhhh
,” Elizabeth moaned, a sound of abject misery. Michael, on her other side, was supporting most of her weight.

 
Edward cast a speaking glance at Caro; she stared back at him. They hadn’t thought…

 
She blinked. Turned to Ferdinand. “Do you have a cabin—some place she can lie down?”

 
“Of course.” Ferdinand squeezed her shoulder. “I will have it prepared.”

 
“Wait!” Michael turned his head and spoke to Ferdinand. “Tell your captain to turn around. We’re now in the Solent—he needs to get back into calmer waters, and closer to shore.”

 
Caro realized the ride had become considerably more choppy; used to tipping decks—this was mild compared to the Atlantic—she hadn’t truly noticed when they’d emerged from the relatively protected reaches of Southampton Water and heeled southwest into the Solent.

 
Glancing at the limp figure Michael was holding upright, Ferdinand nodded curtly and left. On the way to the wheel, he called orders to one of his crew; the sailor scurried to open the doors to the companionway leading to the lower deck. Looking Caro’s way, he beckoned, called “Come, come” in Portuguese, then disappeared down the steep stairs.

 
Caro exchanged glances with Michael and Edward, then moved to the rail, taking Edward’s place; stroking Elizabeth ’s back, she tried to look into her face. “Don’t worry, darling. We’ll get you downstairs. Once you’re lying down, you won’t feel so poorly.”

 
Elizabeth gulped in air, tried to speak, then weakly shook her head and moaned again.

 
She slumped even lower. Michael tightened his hold. “She’s close to fainting. Here—stand back.”

 
He stooped, then lifted Elizabeth into his arms. He settled her, then nodded at Caro. “Lead the way. You’re right—she needs to be horizontal.‘

 
Getting
 
Elizabeth —who truly was as good as unconscious—down the narrow stairs was no easy feat. With help from Caro and Edward, Michael managed it; once he gained the lower deck, Caro looked past him and called to Edward, who’d been helping from behind. “Cold water, a bowl, and some cloths.”

 
Grim-faced, Edward nodded. “I’ll get them.”

 
Caro turned and hurried ahead to hold the door to the stern cabin open. Michael angled his awkward burden through, then walked to the bunk bed the sailor had hurriedly made up, and laid Elizabeth down.

 
She moaned again. She was whiter than the proverbial sheet—her fine skin looked almost green.

 
“She lost her breakfast over the rail.” Michael stepped back, met Caro’s worried eyes. “Is there anything else you need?”

 
She bit her lip, then shook her head. “Not at present—just that water.”

 
He nodded and turned for the door. “Call me when she wants to come up again—she won’t be able to manage the stairs without help.”

 
Distractedly, Caro murmured her thanks. Leaning over Elizabeth , she brushed tendrils of damp hair off her forehead. She heard the door softly close; glancing around, she confirmed the sailor had left, too. Gently, she folded Elizabeth ’s forearm over her chest.

 
Elizabeth moaned again. “It’s all right, sweetheart—I’m going to loosen your laces.”

 
Edward brought the water in an ewer with a basin; Caro met him at the door and took them. “Is she all right?” he asked.

 
She will be.“ Caro grimaced. ”It never occurred to me she might be seasick.“

 
With a worried glance, Edward left. Caro bathed Elizabeth ’s face and hands, then eased her up so she could sip from a glass. She was still very pale, but her skin no longer felt quite so clammy.

 
She sank back on the pillows with a sigh and a little shiver.

 
“Just sleep.” Unwinding her shawl, Caro draped it over
 
Elizabeth ’s shoulders and chest, then brushed the pale curls from her forehead. “I’ll be here.”

 
She didn’t need to look out of the portholes set across the stern to know the yacht had heeled and turned. The chop and slap of the Solent’s waters had faded; the hull was once more riding smoothly, slowly gliding back up the estuary.

 
Elizabeth dozed. Caro sat in the cabin’s only chair. After a time, she rose and stretched, then crossed to the row of portholes. She studied the catches, then opened one, pushing it wide. A faint breeze drifted in, stirring the stale air in the cabin. She opened two more of the five round windows, then heard a rattle and a great splash.

 
Glancing at the narrow bunk, she saw Elizabeth hadn’t stirred. Peering out, she glimpsed the shore. The captain had dropped anchor. Presumably lunch would be served soon.

 
She debated, but decided against leaving Elizabeth . With a sigh, she sank back onto the chair.

 
Sometime later, a soft tap sounded on the door. Elizabeth slept on; crossing the cabin, Caro opened the door. Michael stood in the corridor holding a tray.

 
“Campbell picked out what he thought you and
 
Elizabeth
 
would like. How is she?”

 
“Still sleeping.” Caro reached to take the tray.

 
Michael gestured her back. “It’s heavy.”

 
With her shawl covering her, Elizabeth was decent enough; Caro stepped back. Michael carried the tray to the table; she followed, studying the plates as he set the tray down.

 
“Once she wakes, you should try to get her to eat something.”

 
She glanced at him, then grimaced. “I’ve never been seasick— have you?‘

 
Michael shook his head. “But I’ve seen plenty of others who were. She’ll feel weak and woozy when she awakes. Now that we’re back in calmer waters, eating something will help.”

 
Caro nodded, looked back at
 
Elizabeth .

 
He hesitated, then said, “Geoffrey’s a trifle queasy, too.”

 
Caro turned back to him, eyes widening in concern.

 
“That’s why he hasn’t been down to ask about
 
Elizabeth . He’s not as badly affected as she—he’ll be better off in the open air.”

 
A frown creased her brow; he suppressed an urge to run his thumb over her forehead and ease it away—squeezed her shoulder lightly instead. “Don’t worry about Geoffrey—Edward and I will keep an eye on him.” With a nod, he indicated Elizabeth . “You’ve enough on your hands.”

 
Caro followed his nod, remained looking at
 
Elizabeth . He hesitated, then turned away. As he opened the door, he heard Caro’s soft “Thank you.” Saluting her, he stepped out and softly closed the door.

 
Back on the main deck, he joined the other guests around the tables Ferdinand’s crew had set up to display the delicacies of an alfresco meal. He chatted with General Kleber, who’d spent the previous day touring Bucklers Hard, the center of the local shipbuilding industry, then moved on to speak with the duke and the count, furthering his understanding of their country’s views on a number of pertinent trade issues.

 
Once the meal was over and the tables cleared away, the ladies gathered behind the forecastle to gossip. Most of the men drifted to the rails, finding spots to lounge and enjoy the sunshine. The breeze, previously brisk, had faded to a gentle zephyr; the soft slap of rippling waves was punctuated by the raucous cries of gulls.

 
A postprandial peace settled over the yacht.