The English Lily (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) (3 page)

“I suppose so.” She smiled. “I find her somewhat engaging, personally.”

Niccòlo stepped into the cabin and over to the table. “Interesting note, no?”

Blast. The note.
“Uh, yes. Yes, it is.”

Niccòlo picked it up and scanned it. A quick laugh erupted. “What is this nonsense about a curse?”

A curse?

“And true love?”

“I-I’m sure I don’t know,” she said coolly. She could hardly ask
him
what it said now. She plucked the missive from his fingers and stuffed it into her apron pocket. “Shall we?”

****

Joseph stood against the rail and let the warm humid air ruffle his hair. There was nothing more invigorating than being at sea. Now if he could just conjure up some credible strategy for securing Lady Kendra’s hand... Niccòlo’s presence on board should not have been an issue, but clearly Kendra sported a
tendresse
for him. It was clear in how they put their heads together and whispered, her hand reaching for his arm, her soft laugh when he was near.

Shoving a hand in his pocket, the tinkling of feminine laughter touched his ear, followed by Kendra’s soft-pitched voice. “Surely, you jest,
signore
. Don’t tell me your words were that you were looking for a maiden with a wart on her nose?”

“I couldn’t have you sounding so irresistible, lest we find ourselves fighting the hordes of them through my search,
signorina.”

The
signore
’
s
voice held a throaty purr that set Joseph’s teeth on edge.

“I fear I had to mention your flaxen hair, white-as-cream skin, and heavenly blue eyes, however.”

Joseph rolled his own eyes and stifled a groan. They had not yet rounded the corner and seen him. He pushed himself from the rail, determined to interrupt before Niccòlo dropped to his knees to kiss Kendra’s feet. Or, worse, to propose.

“If I may be so bold,
signorina
, why did you run? Were you so distraught by my brother’s nuptials?”

Joseph halted, curious to hear her answer.

Kendra cleared her throat with a delicate cough. “N-no, of course not. Lady Esmeralda is…uh…p-perfect for Alessandro,” she said softly. “I…”

Joseph waited, breath held. He knew he should let his presence be known—not that he was hiding. Blast, he was in plain sight, on the deck of a ship.

“You?” Niccòlo prompted.

“I was ready for adventure, that’s all.”

Kendra’s voice brushed over Joseph’s skin like fine East India silk. He could gift her with adventure. Once they married, he vowed, she’d have all the adventure she could handle for years to come.

Her sharp gasp penetrated the fog in his brain. He straightened and faced them as they rounded the corner. “Lady
Kate
.” He smiled. “Niccòlo. I see you are taking advantage of the temperate weather. I fear it may storm soon, and we shall all be confined below.”

A frown creased her forehead as she looked out over a darkening sky.

The gathering black clouds did not appear encouraging, to Kendra’s dismay. She may not have thought out well enough this plan of hers to run to the Americas. The sea itself seemed unusually calm. The Bible clearly stated, “…always calmest before the storm.” So the vicar preached on Sundays, leastways.

“What plans have you for this afternoon, my lady?” Lord Lawrie asked.

She shook her head, and with a small prayer for smooth sailing said, “I’m sorry?” She turned to him with a slight smile. “I believe some of the other ladies and I will be visiting and embroidering our way through the monotony of sea life.”

“That should keep you out of trouble.” His sardonic grin did nothing to ease the sting of his words. “Anything else might tax your delicate sensibilities.”

Irritation skittered up her spine. “Do
I
trouble you, my lord?”

“Most assuredly, my lady, but nothing I am not prepared to handle.” He took her gloved hand and bowed. Heat seeped through the thin fabric and up her arm to her neck, her cheeks. She snatched her hand away, disturbed by the unexpected sensations.

His words sounded distinctly like a challenge. Niccòlo shifted beside her impatiently or uncomfortably, she was unsure which.

“I shall escort you back to your cabin, my lady,” Niccòlo said, pointedly holding out his arm.

“Thank you.” She kept her tone polite but shot Lord Lawrie a glare.

Twenty minutes later, Kendra found herself situated between Juliette Chylton of Brighton and Mr. Charles Thomas, a schoolmaster who had grown up in Sunderland. Niccòlo sat trapped between Miss Chylton and Rebecca Selwyn.

Kendra sighed, thinking it best to remain quiet with Miss Selwyn in the vicinity. Rebecca reminded Kendra of a vulture circling over dead sheep, with her gossipy nature and her too-close-together eyes and thin puckered lips. Kendra blinked away the picture. Her eyes felt scratchy and dry, her face overly warm.

“And, what is it you instruct, Mr. Thomas?” Juliette asked. She was a pert, dark-haired beauty who could, no doubt, read with little trouble. Her forward manner was somewhat annoying, but Kendra listened while she concentrated on threading her needle through the delicate muslin.

Mr. Thomas’s good-natured chuckle was indulgent. “I believe you mean,
who
is it I instruct.”

Juliette grinned. “
Who
is it you instruct, then?”

“The offspring of the local gentry. The subjects range from mathematics and geography to Latin and writing. Mostly young men, but a few indulgent parents are adamant about their daughters’ education, as well, I’m happy to say.”

“My parents were certainly adamant about mine,” Juliette groused. “If I never read another book on Egyptology as long as I live, ’twill be too soon for me.”

Kendra’s fingers moved with the winning speed of a horse at Ascot, crossing the finish line.

“Oh, I should love to read stories of Egypt.” A wistful sigh escaped Winifred Digby, a homely girl whose barrister father had emigrated to the New World several years prior and sent for his wife and daughter as soon as he could arrange their passage. “ ’Tis Latin I abhor most.”

The poor child had recently lost her mother and, with no other relatives, found herself relegated to America through no choice of her own. To Winifred’s credit, she grasped it all as a Grand Adventure. Kendra suppressed a shudder at the girl’s circumstances while still envying her attitude. It was all quite brave.

She was frantic to steer the conversation in another direction. They would expect her contribution, whether she wished to be forthcoming or not. Her heart pounded in her chest. With a delicate cough, she cleared her throat. “What is that you are reading, Mrs. Blythe?”

Mrs. Blythe was a woman of indeterminate years and a short round body, with a gray chignon at her nape. She did not care for the talk surrounding her unless it pertained to her present reading material. Kendra loathed drawing their attention, but she was desperate.

“Bernard de la Harpe’s explorations in the great plains of the New World. ’Tis quite fascinating. Of course, he was not the first adventurer to explore his opportunities in the southwest part of the continent.
The Spaniard Coronado first traveled through the area in the fifteen hundreds, though he left little evidence behind. You are welcome to borrow it once I’m finished.”

Panic seized Kendra, and she froze. She found herself unable to speak; words stuck in her throat.

“I’ve read similar accounts to my charges,” Mr. Thomas said, smiling. He had a kind face, young despite his thinning hair. He must have been quite active with his charges, as he was certainly not soft about the middle compared to that Marquis of Bute. “ ’Tis fascinating reading, what with the Indians they encountered. Life was truly uncivilized.”

Saved by Mr. Thomas, she let out a small relieved breath.

“The Spanish control most of the area currently. It sounds darkly romantic.” Mrs. Blythe’s eyes took on a dreamy quality.

A surge of fury flooded Kendra’s veins. It took her a moment to identify the emotion.
She was jealous
. Jealous that they could all read without a speck of trouble, no aching head for their efforts, no ridicule for stupidity or not applying themselves. Her finger slipped, and she pricked herself with the needle. Stark red drops appeared, then soaked into the soft muslin.

“Kendra? I-I mean Miss Faye?” Niccòlo stuttered.

Troubled
? Bah, every word struck as a condescending slap. She had to escape.

“Is something the matter, Miss Faye?”

Kendra raised her eyes to the concerned gaze of Mr. Thomas.

“You’ve hurt yourself, Miss Faye,” he said. Before she realized his intentions, he peeled the glove from her hand. “Someone, please get water and a towel.”

“I’ll do it,” Niccòlo said and rushed out.

“Your pretty muslin piece is ruined,” Juliette said.

“What are those marks on your hand?” Rebecca gasped.

Kendra jerked her hand from Mr. Thomas and snatched up her glove, biting back another sting of tears. She could not abide the kindness or the humiliation. “Please, excuse me. I-I must find Louisa.” She dashed out, ignoring their protests. Let them talk. ’Twas nothing to which she was unaccustomed.

The need for fresh air overwhelmed her. Nausea threatened. It was all she could do to make her way to the upper deck, posthaste, where large drops of rain were starting to cry from the clouds.

She turned her face up. No one would see
her
cry. The rain would do it for her.

Chapter Four

“What the hell are you doing standing in the rain like an
imbécile
?” Joseph barked. The balmy air from that morning had dissipated into a cold wet blanket. “You’re not even wearing a cloak.”

Kendra’s spine was so rigid Joseph feared it would snap if the ship took an unexpected lurch. Her gloved hand clutched its mate. She did not turn, nor did she admonish him with one of her scathing retorts. Indeed, she did not even look at him. Her despondency did more to diminish his anger than he cared to admit. A delicate shudder racked her small frame. She was freezing, shivering under the onslaught of the chilled rain.

“
Mon Dieu
,” he muttered, slipping from his great coat. He dropped it about her shoulders and guided her back to the companionway. “What is it, Lady Kendra? Are you ill? Where is your maid?”

“No! No, I’m…I’m not…I don’t know. I-I just needed…some air.” Her chest heaved in heavy gasps.

“Well, now you need dry clothes. Come, let us find your maid, and I shall see about rallying some tea for you.”

“Please, I just want to be left alone,” she said. Her voice was faint, hidden beneath his cloak.

Joseph stopped. Gripping the folds, he turned her to him. He had to part the coat to see her downturned head. Her pale gold hair was soaked and plastered to her head. With an index finger, he lifted her chin. Two spots of red flushed her cheeks in an otherwise pale pallor. A stab of guilt pierced his chest. She’d been crying. “I’ll kill him.”

“Kill whom?” she hiccupped. Her body convulsed in a shivering mass.

“Niccòlo. What did he do?”

“W-what a-are you t-talking about?” Her teeth chattered so hard, he could hardly discern the words.

Joseph’s gaze strayed to her luscious red lips. Breath hitched, he froze. Something intense flared through his entrancement. Suddenly, unable to help himself, he leaned in and brushed his mouth against hers. She tasted of sweetness, innocence. Too much to resist. He coaxed her mouth apart with his. After her initial shock, she melted into him, and he devoured her mouth, stroking his tongue against hers, over and over. And hot. Very hot. His hands fell away and he stepped back, appalled by his abrupt lack of control.

Her face was like fire, her one hand ice cold. “Find your maid,” he growled, and spun on his heel.

Joseph cursed himself to hell and back, hunting down the cook. Sometimes he was the most insensitive clod. How could he expect Kendra to accept his hand in marriage when he accused her of being an
imbécile
, for God’s sake? And who the hell had made her cry?

He found the cook deep in his cups, reeking of gin. Joseph snatched him up by the neck of his worn shirt. “Send tea to Kend—Lady Kate’s quarters. Hurry it up,” he snarled. He paused. “Wait, just prepare it. I’ll deliver it myself.” Satisfied with the fear in the man’s eye, Joseph let go and darted back to the group gathered in the commons. At first, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. His gaze fell on Niccòlo conversing with Juliette Chylton.

That should certainly work to his advantage. His boot crushed a piece of metal. Joseph glanced down and noticed a scrap of white peeking from beneath his toe. He reached down and picked it up. Soft white muslin with an intricate border of silk thread was stained with blood and drooped round the now-ruined hoop.

Pulling the delicate fabric from its frame, he stuffed the scrap in his pocket and returned for the tea.

****

Kendra could not quit shivering, and Louisa was nowhere to be found. She’d sack her, that’s what she would do. What good was a maid who wasn’t there when one needed her? Her fingers fumbled clumsily with the buttons on the back of her dress but kept slipping. Tears of frustration spilled down her face. Tea. Tea would help.