Carol Arens - Rescued By The Viscount's Ring

‘I imagine you are hungry,’ he stated.

How could he possibly imagine such a thing? And why was he looking at her with an air of familiarity?

‘Somewhat hungry,’ she admitted because he wore a crewman’s uniform and would be able to direct her to the closest place to obtain a meal.

‘The dining room is that way...’ He lifted his arm and pointed past her shoulder. ‘Just three doors down. If I’m not mistaken, there is scent of fresh bread to lead the way.’

Perhaps there was, but there was also the masculine scent of this man which was suddenly more appealing than bread.

But bread, yes, she was hungry. ‘Thank you, sir.’

She nodded, then turned, feeling the slight vibration of the ship under her shoes as she walked towards the dining room.

Pausing with her hand on the doorknob, she glanced over her shoulder because could a man really be that handsome?

Oh, well, yes, he could.

‘I, Madeline Claire Macooish,’ she groaned, while wrapping her arms about her belly, ‘being of sound mind—’

Or perhaps not. Had she been that she would be wed to the Earl of Fencroft and not huddled under a lifeboat tarp, dying.

‘Do bequeath all my worldly goods...’ Of which she had none since her small valise had vanished when she set it down in the steerage dining room while pretending that she had as much right to eat there as anyone else.

What she hadn’t known was that poorer-class passengers tended to bring meals with them. Not that she had a dime to purchase what leftovers they might have.

Luckily, a sweet young man, Edward, had shared his bread with her.

Oh, she had been more than grateful at the time for the food and for the company, but now twelve hours later she was certain she would not eat for the rest of her life, of which there was not much left.

Earlier today, she had thought herself lucky when the Captain of the ship told the ticket master that she be allowed to board.

In the moment she had decided it was more strange than lucky. Given that she was clearly a stowaway, it was beyond belief that he would spare her a word or a glance.

Once, when she and Clementine were young, Grandfather had taken them to Paris with him on one of his business trips. She clearly recalled dining with the Captain of the ship. Grandfather had warned them to be on their best behaviour because it was a great honour to dine with the Captain.

So why had this important personage permitted her to come aboard? It certainly was not because she had charmed him. Of course, she tried her best, but the fellow was adamant in his resentment of escorting her up the gangplank.

Indeed, he had left her standing at the rail, gripping it tight while the ship heaved up and down.

Better that she did not think of that motion now.

In the end, the Captain had given no answer to her question of where she was to stay. He’d simply grunted and walked away.

It was all too curious to consider in the moment.

Well, she had told herself she would do whatever it took to get to Grandfather and Clementine, even if it meant sleeping on deck. Of course, she had thought that before it began to rain and before the rolling waves tossed the ship in a way that made her stomach flip inside out.

When she first spotted the lifeboat covered by a tarp and hanging on a pair of hooks, it seemed a sweet haven. It took only an hour for her to feel the effects of the rocking which felt worse than standing on the deck had.

Looking for a new shelter would have been a brilliant idea, except that it was raining. And what a cold piercing rain it was.

On the brighter side of the situation—something she always strove to look for—the lifeboat was only feet from the ship’s rail. It made her frequent trips to vomit over the edge easier.

Of course, that had been hours ago when this journey was still an adventure. All this time later, no matter how she tried, she could not summon her venturesome spirit.

This was no way to die—curled in a wet, shivering ball—no longer having the strength of will or body to go to the rail. If only she had had the good sense not to cross the Atlantic in December.

How long did it take to expire from seasickness and exposure? Too long, no doubt.

But the worst of it was, if she died she would not have the chance to beg Grandfather’s forgiveness, or feel his great strong arms wrap her up and hear him tell her all was well. That nothing mattered except for her coming safely to him.

Instead of Grandfather slaughtering the fatted calf and calling for a great celebration, he would be arranging her funeral.

What she ought to do was get out of the lifeboat, seek help. The thought of the grief he and Clementine would suffer made her heart hurt worse than her belly.

She was the worst granddaughter ever born. She had been given so much, been loved so dearly, and what had she done?

Cast it away for some grand romantic lark, believed the lies of a man who assured her he adored her even without her fortune.

Truly, she had always believed she was smarter than that. She was not going to slip the veil like this. No! She was going to fight.

As she sat up, her stomach heaved. She was dizzy to the point that if she tried to stand she would surely faint. Even if she managed to make it to the rail and pull herself along seeking help, she would no doubt topple over the side. There would be no body for Grandfather to bury and he would wonder what had happened to her for the rest of his life.

Perhaps she would try again in a little while. She curled into herself, trying to imagine that her clothes were not wet, that she was not encrusted in an icicle. No, rather that she was wrapped in a blanket that had been warmed by a fire. That she held a cup of hot tea in her hand which warmed her from the inside out.

Perhaps if she could trick herself into being warm, she would wake in the morning to find the sun shining and her stomach adjusted to the rolling of the ship.

Yes, in the morning she would be stronger, things would be better—perhaps even adventurous. She would find Grandfather and Clementine and prove somehow how desperately sorry she was for betraying them.

Only a fool, or the owner of a ship that had been cursed with some incompetent employees, would leave his cabin at two in the morning during a bitterly cold Atlantic storm.

Rees doubted he would find anyone neglecting their work at this hour and in this weather, but it could not be discounted.

Which was why he was huddled into his heavy coat and walking the deck, looking for any little thing that might seem out of order.

Better a fool than remiss. Living with the knowledge that something had happened because of his negligence was not a thing he could bear. This was his ship. He was responsible for the lives entrusted to his care.

The problem was, being so new to owning a steamer, he didn’t know exactly what ‘something’ out of place might look like.

He’d simply have to go by his instincts on it. Ordinarily his instincts were reliable.

Rain pelted his face while he walked past the lifeboats, checking them one by one to make sure they were secure. At least he thought it was rain. It felt more like icy pinpricks assaulting his skin.

As wicked as this storm seemed, Captain Collier had assured him that the Edwina was secure, that she had been through worse and with ease.

Still, it could not hurt to make sure the lifeboats were intact.

He might own a ship whose reputation had taken a blow, but, because it had, the Edwina had been a great financial bargain.

In Rees’s opinion, it was important to invest Glenbrook’s wealth in various places. He knew some in society looked down upon ‘being in trade’, so to speak, but when it came to the welfare of those dependent upon the estate, it hardly mattered what society might think.