Making Waves (30 page)

“Did you see that?” Mark shouted. “What an underhanded move! If Trip hadn’t given him the right of way, the
Viking
would have tipped. That isn’t fair.”

Marguerite clenched the railing but cheered when the spinnaker sail on the front of the
Endeavor
filled and puffed like a proud man’s chest as the ship sailed the final leg of the triangle. The
Viking
followed moments later, and the two ships raced neck and neck for the finish line.

The men in the crowd shouted, and the women fanned themselves furiously, overcome by the excitement. Marguerite stood on her tiptoes to see who crossed the line first.

“It’s a tie!” Mark shouted.

His words, echoed throughout the crowd, were confirmed by an announcement from the official, Colonel Reed.

“What happens now?” Mark asked.

“I don’t know.”

Trip hadn’t spoken of this eventuality. They watched the other ships come in, but neither the
Endeavor
nor the
Viking
neared the pier where the winners were to be announced.

Both boats lowered their sails and pulled near the dock. Trip and Dane met the official, and soon the crews on both ships disembarked – all except for the two captains.

“They’re going to do a single-handed race,” a man in the crowd shouted.

Marguerite racked her mind for the term. She remembered Trip telling her that it was possible to man the
Endeavor
by himself – single-handedly – but it was difficult. Could that be the way they planned to break the tie?

Colonel Reed announced the tiebreaker would be a cannon race, out and back, with only the skippers of each sailboat at the helm.

Marguerite’s chest tightened.
Lord, please help him. He
can’t lose this race. It’s too important
.

A five-minute shot went off. Under half sail, Trip and Dane negotiated their ships back into position to start. Alone on his boat, Trip managed to hoist the mainsail before the one-minute shot was fired. When the signal sounded, the
Viking
surged forward. Dane got the jump on Trip, who struggled with the jib sail. Once Trip raised both sails, the
Endeavor
flew across the water and made up the distance separating the two vessels.

Heeling so far to the right she feared the boat might capsize, the
Endeavor
surged onward. Marguerite pressed a knuckle to her lips. She knew Trip needed to use each gust of headwind.

“A race is won and lost on the turns,” she remembered Trip saying. Was that still true when he was manning the thirty-two-foot vessel alone?

As Dane had done before, he hugged the buoy on his turn, forcing Trip to go wide. But this time the tactic backfired, and the
Viking
tilted so far it took on water. Dane used precious seconds to tack out of the turn.

Trip hoisted the spinnaker and the crowd cheered. Marguerite held her breath as he covered the last leg with the smaller
Viking
gaining on him every second. She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t watch.

But she had to. She peeled her eyes open.

Time suspended. The two boats flew between the buoys. Her heart came to a halt.

He’d lost. At the last second, the
Viking
had nosed past him.

Phillip Sutton Andrews the Third, her Trip, lost the Manawa Regatta and the hopes of gaining his father’s trust.

Her heart shattered along with his dream.

Stepping on the dock, Trip watched Dane Henderson be whisked away to the podium. He went through the motions, extending his hand in congratulations to Dane when the other skipper passed. Trip’s crew and other spectators gathered around and praised his efforts, but he found their words hollow. He’d lost. Failed.

How had he let this happen? One minute he could taste victory, and the next it was ripped from his grasp.

Lord, why? You know I needed this
.

He spotted his father, whose wrinkled face registered disappointment. Trip had failed him.

The crowd crushed in, rehashing the race minute by minute. The stifling air closed in.

“I still think we deserve a congratulatory dinner, don’t you, Captain?” Harry clapped him on the shoulder. “Second place is nothing to sneeze at. There’s always next year.”

Next year? How was he going to keep his father from working himself to death for a year? He had to get away. He had to think.

“Later, Harry.” Nudging his friend aside, he raced off the dock.

Even though she’d tried for more than an hour to find Trip, Marguerite couldn’t locate him anywhere. Harry insisted Trip needed a little time. He walked her and Mark home, assuring her that Trip would be back to his old self by this evening’s ball.

“At least he has you. That means a lot to him.” Harry removed his hat and ran a hand through his curly hair. “He’s used to other people disappointing him, but he isn’t used to disappointing himself.”

She prepared for the evening with a heavy heart. After donning one of her favorites, a blush pink sleeveless moiré gown, she dusted her neck and shoulders with talcum powder. “You want to talk about it?” Lilly placed a set of pearl earrings in Marguerite’s hand.

Marguerite slid the wires of her earrings through her pierced ears. “The race? I already told you all about it.”

“No, about whatever has you looking so lost.” Lilly swept Marguerite’s hair into a wavy pompadour and secured a bun at the crown.

Marguerite spilled the story to her dearest friend as Lilly listened patiently.

“You can’t marry that dreadful man.” Lilly used the hot curling iron to form a perfect ringlet beside Marguerite’s ear. “What did Mr. Trip say?”

“I haven’t told him. There wasn’t an opportunity.” Marguerite drew on her long kidskin gloves. “How will I tell him what I have to do? Especially now? I’m sure he’s devastated about losing the race.”

Lilly straightened the lace flounces on the dress’s bodice. “You don’t have to do anything, and if your daddy was thinking straight, that’s exactly what he’d tell you.”

“I wish that were true.” Marguerite squeezed Lilly’s hand. “Thank you, Lilly. You’re a good friend.”

Outside the tent, her mother met her. “You look lovely tonight, dear. I thought you’d want to see this before you go.” She passed a telegram to her.

Marguerite quickly read it and her throat tightened. “Roger will be home tomorrow.”

“Indeed.”

“Mother . . .”

Camille stood in front of her and took both of Marguerite’s hands in her own. “Enjoy tonight, dear. Every minute of it.”

Because it’s the last night you’ll have
. Marguerite heard the warning in her mother’s words silently as if her mother had spoken them aloud.

Tears pricked her eyes, and she squeezed them shut. “I will, Mother.”

A pirate dance? Trip had neglected to disclose to Marguerite that this was a themed ball, but when he arrived at the camp dressed in swashbuckler’s knickers, a billowing white shirt, a dark leather eye patch, and a white plumed black tricorne, she easily guessed. To her relief, he said all the ladies still wore ball gowns.

Removing his hat, he took her hand and bowed over it. “You look stunning, Lady Marguerite.”

Even her ears grew hot under his gaze. “Why, thank you, Captain Andrews, but where’s your peg leg?”

“I left it at home. It makes dancing mighty difficult.”

Arm in arm, they walked to the Yacht Club. She stopped on the veranda. “Trip, are you truly all right?”

“I will be.”

“Earlier today, I wish I could’ve told you how proud I was of you.”

“Glad someone is.”

“Trip, your dad is too.” She licked her lips. “What did he say?”

“Not much afterward, but before the race he said I didn’t need luck, that I had skill.”

“That had to feel good.”

“It did.” He released a long sigh. “But then I let him down.”

“No, you didn’t. Maybe you weren’t the winner today, but you raced exactly how he taught you to – with honor and fairness.”

“Thanks.” He paused at the base of the Yacht Club’s stairs and turned to her with a roguish grin. “But no more regatta talk. Tonight belongs to you.”

Glistening beneath gaslight chandeliers, the Yacht Club’s ballroom robbed Marguerite of breath. A stringed quartet played a waltz in one corner, and a bountiful refreshment table had been set up across the room. In keeping with the pirate theme, men of all ages and sizes danced in costume.

Trip led her toward the refreshment table. When they ran into Harry, who was escorting Emily Graham, Trip left Marguerite to speak with her friend while he got them both something to drink. He returned with two frosty lemon ices. They said their goodbyes and found a secluded spot.

“I may not have won the regatta, but at least I’m going to the ball with the prettiest lady on the lake.” He winked at her and the plume on his hat bobbed. “So, what did your father say about the other night?”

She swallowed hard. “Can we talk about that later? Tonight I simply want to enjoy the evening.”

And she did. Every dance in his arms. Every look on his face. Every brush of his hand. Every stolen glance. Every word whispered in her ear.

But it was all over much too soon.

She cherished each moment and hid them away like a buried treasure. When the stringed quartet announced their last set of songs, her heart lurched.

Trip grabbed Marguerite’s hand and pulled her toward him. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “All the rest of your dances are mine.”

“Trip, we can’t dance them all. What will people think?”

He ignored her protests and led her to the center of the dance floor. “Considering all that is going on in your life, sharing more than one dance in a row with a handsome man should be the least of your worries.” He paused when she giggled. “Let’s enjoy ourselves and dance.”

They stayed on the dance floor during the last four songs. Once, she spotted a disapproving glare from a young lady who’d set her eyes on Trip, but Trip spun her away. As the final waltz played, Trip twirled her in a wide circle, making her the center of attention on the dance floor. Her gown rippled around her ankles with every turn.

His eyes locked with hers. “You may have literally fallen for me first, but I believe I’ve fallen for you now. Marguerite, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Trip, please.”

“Why are you crying? Don’t you feel the same way?”

“I do, but there’s something you don’t understand.”

He pulled her from the dance floor and out to the veranda.

“You’re upset. What is it? Is it your father? I’ll speak to him.”

“Tomorrow Roger returns.”

“But you said you didn’t want him.”

“I don’t.”

“So? I won’t let him bother you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Before he left he told me he plans to propose when he comes back.”

“Oh, I understand. You don’t want to hurt him. I’m sure he’ll be upset, but he’ll get over it.”

“Trip,” she croaked, “I plan to accept.”

“You what?” His nostrils flared and a tick throbbed beneath his eye patch. “Do you love him?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“What do you mean you don’t have a choice?” His voice rose. “Of course you do. No one can force you to accept a marriage proposal.” He tore off the eye patch, revealing swirls of emotion. “Do you love him?”