Ship of Dreams (12 page)

"Are you worried?" she asked, almost without thinking.

For a moment she didn't think he would answer. Then he said, "We all have worries, I suppose. Mine are less significant than those of most people, no doubt, though of course they loom large to me. At a moment like this, however, I can't seem to dwell on them."

She turned from the rail to smile up at him. "Then we have something to thank these dolphins for, don't we?"

As he had last night at dinner, Kent met her eyes with an intensity that took her breath away. No, she had not imagined the heat in those golden-brown depths. It fairly scorched her before he abruptly shifted his gaze back to the animals below.

"Escaping from one's cares for a time is well enough," he said now, not looking at her. "But it would be dangerous to forget them entirely, particularly if doing so might harm others besides oneself."

"Your mother and sisters," she guessed, remembering that they were dependent on the income from his business. After a brief hesitation, he nodded, his expression now unreadable.

"Oh, they're leaving!" came a general lament from the crowd around them. Indeed, the dolphins were dispersing, heading west to the open sea.

With a sigh, Della left the rail. Perhaps now she could have a few private words with Kent. But already he was turning away.

"I was in the middle of a discussion of how the influx of gold to the Eastern markets is affecting business there," he said. "I'd best return to it, now that the excitement is over. I'll see you at luncheon, my dear." His tone was polite, even cordial, but also distant, she thought. As though he had deliberately put things back on a more formal—and less intimate—footing.

Still, her courage had been bolstered by that glimpse into his emotions through their exchanged gaze. She would find a chance to speak before the day was out, she promised herself.

That chance did not come until just before dinnertime, however. If it did not seem absurd, Della might almost think Kent was avoiding her. But why now? He had not done so yesterday, or the day before. Or ... had she simply not noticed? Perhaps only now that she was anxious for a word alone with him had it become obvious.

She considered simply waiting until tonight, when they would have hours to themselves, but for some reason she was reluctant to do that. If he did not return her regard, it would make for an awkwardness from which there would be no escape—and likely no sleep. And if he did ... She shied away from that possibility, too. No, better to discover the truth while there were still some hours in company ahead, to allow her time to come to terms with whatever she learned.

Besides, he might do as he had last night, and wait until after she fell asleep to come to the cabin. She'd planned to stay awake then and hadn't managed it, so didn't want to gamble that she would tonight.

The sun was hastening toward the horizon when the other ladies left her to go freshen up before dinner and she turned to spot Kent standing alone near the stairs leading down to the cabins and dining saloon. She hurried over to him before he could descend.

"Do you have a moment?" she asked, then chided herself for the clumsiness of her words.

He turned in some surprise. "I did not see you there. Did you wish to visit the cabin before dinner? I can remain here, if so."

She shook her head. "No. That is, I'd prefer to remain here with you, unless ..." Della could not recall ever being so tongue-tied in her life. "I'd—I'd like to talk," she finally blurted out.

Now she thought he looked wary, though he merely nodded and moved toward the nearby railing. "Certainly. What about?"

He wasn't going to make this easy, she realized. Or perhaps he really had no clue about what she wished to say—or to ask. Frantically gathering her thoughts and her dignity, she followed him to the railing. He was watching her expectantly now. She
had
to speak!

"We've ... gotten to know each other fairly well by now, wouldn't you say?" she began.

He raised an eyebrow. "I suppose we have, yes." He looked curious, but not at all forbidding. She took it as a good sign.

"When we first met—that first day or two—I didn't think I liked you very much. You seemed pompous and dictatorial, and you quite clearly disapproved of me." That wasn't what she'd meant to say at all! She was making a botch of this, insulting him and reminding him of reasons
not
to care for her.

But then he smiled, easing her worries. "I hope your opinion of me has improved, as mine has of you," he said, buoying her hopes further.

Della nodded. "Yes, it has. That's what I wanted to speak with you about. I wanted to let you know that, and to apologize for my earlier attitude." She paused. "And I'm pleased to hear you no longer dislike me, either."

He was still smiling. "I don't dislike you at all, Della. I've found you provoking at times, and a bit of an enigma, but I don't believe I ever actually disliked you, though I'm sure I acted as though I did."

Now it was her turn to raise an eyebrow, her original purpose momentarily forgotten. "Oh, come! That first day we met, you found me the most irritating person you'd ever known, and a confounded nuisance. You'd have wished me out of existence if you could have done so. Admit it."

His smile became a bit sheepish, though his eyes still twinkled. "I can't deny that, no. I already said I found you provoking. But that's not precisely the same thing as dislike."

Was he hinting that even then he'd found her attractive? If so, that boded well. "Goodness, that almost seems to imply that you actually like me now." She kept her voice light, so that she didn't risk too much, but held her breath for his response.

"Of course I like you, Della," he said, without hesitation. "I'd have thought by now that was obvious. I enjoy your conversation, and you're quite easy to look at, as well."

His voice was light too, holding no real hint of his emotions, but his words made her nearly sag with relief. Still, she couldn't seem to bring herself to look at him as she asked the next question—the one that meant so much. Gripping the rail with both hands, she stared out at the red disk of the sinking sun and blurted out the words she'd been building up to.

"I like you too, Kent. In fact, I ... I find I'm more attracted to you than I've ever been to any man. Which is why I feel I should confess—"

The supper bell cut across her words, immediately followed by Mary Patterson's voice. "There you are, you two! The tables are filling up quickly this evening, so you'd best hurry if you don't wish to sit with strangers. Come on!"

She clearly planned to wait for them, so they had no choice but to accompany her, Della mentally cursing the whole way down. If only she'd had five more minutes! Even two more minutes would have been enough for her to finish her confession, about both her name and her feelings, and to hear Kent's reply. Now they wouldn't have another chance of private conversation before bedtime after all.

The dining saloon was indeed crowded already, with several second-class passengers—or so Della assumed—encroaching on the section she and Kent normally occupied. The Eastons had saved them seats, however, so they were still able to sit at their usual table.

As the meal was served, Della tried unsuccessfully to catch Kent's eye. Surely she had said enough for him to understand her feelings—which meant she should be able to make a guess at his own from his expression, if he would only turn toward her. He was talking with the gentlemen, however, and she couldn't tell yet whether he was deliberately avoiding her glance or not.

"Virginia was just suggesting that we have a game of charades this evening after supper," Mary said to her then, forcing Della's attention away from Kent. "Won't that be a delightful change?"

"That is, if we can persuade the men to abandon their interminable card games to play with us," added Virginia with a fierce mock-scowl at her husband, Billy. He was oblivious, however, talking with the other gentlemen.

"Do you think Mr. Bradford will play?" Mary asked Della.

Before she could hazard a guess, a voice from her other side exclaimed, "Bradford? Did someone say Bradford? That wouldn't be one of the New York Bradfords, would it?"

Della turned to see a plump matron in a bright orange gown seated at the next table. She'd seen the woman before during the voyage, of course, but hadn't had occasion to speak with her, as she normally socialized with the other second-class passengers.

"Why, yes," she replied. "His family is in New York City."

The matron's small gray eyes lit up. "Would they be the Bradfords of Bradford Shipping and Mercantile?" At Della's nod, she then asked, "Then this Mr. Bradford would be—?"

"Kenton Bradford," Della supplied, amused by the woman's eagerness, which now increased.

"How delightful!" she all but squealed, her puffy cheeks crinkling with pleasure. "I'm well acquainted with his mother, I'll have you know. I must introduce myself. Which gentleman is he?"

Thinking her acquaintance couldn't be terribly close if she had never met Kent, Della turned to tap him on the shoulder. "There's a woman here who would like to speak with you," she said when she had his attention.

His face displayed no recognition as he looked past Della to the brightly-clad matron on her other side. "Kenton Bradford at your service, madam."

She stuck out her hand, forcing him to take it and nearly knocking Della off the bench. "How wonderful! I am Gladys Benbow. You wouldn't know me, but I'm acquainted with your mother, Mrs. Willa Maples Bradford."

Della thought Kent's smile looked rather forced. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Benbow. You are also from New York, then?"

"Oh, my, no! I can't abide the bustle of a port city like that. It's why I didn't stay long in San Francisco, even with my new grandbaby there. I'm from Philadelphia, myself."

"Ah." Kent's smile became even stiffer.

Mrs. Benbow nodded, just as though he'd made a real comment, her improbably black curls bouncing by her ears. "Indeed, I live just one street away from the lovely Maples house, where your mother grew up. I knew her quite well when we were both girls."

"What a coincidence that we should be on the same ship, then." Kent began to turn away, obviously desiring to end the conversation. Though it was rude, Della could hardly blame him. Mrs. Benbow seemed a bit vulgar. She wondered how someone like this could have moved in the same social circle as a woman who had produced a gentleman like Kenton Bradford.

Her next comment shed a bit of light on that mystery. "We attended the same primary school, in fact. Of course, Willa and I drifted apart as we grew older, particularly when she married your father and moved away to New York."

Kent turned back to her with obvious reluctance. "You still correspond then?" he asked politely.

Mrs. Benbow looked slightly abashed. "Not in the strictest sense, no. But I do still hear of her, and her family, from mutual friends. Mrs. Cadbury, for one. My sister taught her daughters the piano, you see."

Della suppressed a smile. So that was how this brash woman claimed "friendship" with the old-money families. But Kent seemed not at all amused. In fact, his face had gone rather red, and he seemed to be suppressing some strong emotion. Again he tried to turn away from Mrs. Benbow, and again she recalled his attention.

"I was delighted, of course, to hear about you and dear Caroline late last winter, shortly before I left for California. Quite a coup for you both, I should think, with two such fine families and the strong friendship already in place between your mothers."

Kent glanced quickly at Della, and then away, but not before she had glimpsed the alarm in his eyes. A sudden curiosity, bordering on suspicion, seized her, which was only intensified by Mrs. Benbow's next comment.

"It was in all of the papers, of course—quite the talk of the town for a week and more! She'll be so pleased at your return—and to think that I may be in a position to witness your reunion!"

Kent was now studiously ignoring the woman, apparently not caring in the least how rude he appeared. But Della had to know. She turned to Mrs. Benbow and asked, in a carefully disinterested tone, "And who might Caroline be?"

For the first time since speaking to Kent, the woman focused on her. "Why, Caroline Cadbury, of course, eldest daughter of Mr. and Mrs. George Cadbury, one of Philadelphia's finest, oldest families. Kenton Bradford's fiancée. Surely he has mentioned her?"

Della felt the dream world she had begun blithely constructing come crashing down around her ears. "No," she replied with an effort. "No, I don't believe he has."

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CHAPTER 9

The other was a softer voice,

As soft as honey-dew:

Quoth he, "The man hath penance done,

And penance more will do."

—Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner