The Pirate's Secret Baby (17 page)

The cabin was largely dark, so he did not see Lydia go still at his words.

"Come now, Mattie, it is time for you to get ready for bed. We had a busy day today and you must be worn out.

Mattie started to shake her head no, but her wide yawn punctuated Lydia's words and she smiled at the youngster. Captain St. Armand waited for the girl to get beneath the covers, then tucked her in and kissed her on the forehead.

"Good night, Marauding Mattie."

"Goodnight, Captain Papa."

He straightened and looked at Lydia. He seemed about to say something to her, but only bowed and left the cabin.

The men kept watch for signs of friends or foes on the water, but the voyage continued smoothly, even as the ship's stores began to develop a sameness, less variety in their diet. Mattie fussed over some of the concoctions coming from the galley, but her papa backed Lydia when she said, "This is shipboard life, Mathilde. We will have fresh fruit again when the ship docks, but for now you will eat the same food as the rest of the crew."

"The men are having burgoo also?"

"Yes, and they know better than to complain."

"If the rest of the crew is eating this, then I will eat it," Mattie announced, and that was the end of that mutiny.

For her part Lydia had no fears about her place aboard the
Prodigal
, at least as far as the men were concerned. They treated her with respect, and they approved of her efforts to teach Mattie knowledge not involving edged weapons or thievery. Nash and Turnbull joined in the lessons later in the day, days that grew shorter as they moved into northern climes.

It was at the end of one of those lessons that Sails came looking for her. He was older than the other sailors, with a deep scar pitting his cheek but nimble fingers and sinewy arms from years of wrestling canvas and hemp into shape.

"I have your jacket here, miss. Captain St. Armand said to bring it to you as it's blowin' up stiff in the next day or two."

He unwrapped a length of worn, but clean cotton in the late afternoon sun. Inside was a pelisse, longer than the jackets the men wore and bearing no resemblance to their utilitarian gear. It was sapphire silk brocade lined with the pink satin. Golden buttons rimmed with seed pearls fastened the front.

Lydia stared at it, speechless. It was a garment fit for a princess, not a governess. Sails pointed out the features.

"See, the brocade would have been scratchy up around your face and neck, so that's why the captain told me to use the sable pelt to line it for you."

"Sable?" she asked dumbly. There was fur on the jacket, rich, thick brown fur. The collar was deep to provide additional warmth and there were fur cuffs also. She put her hand out to stroke it, and it was kitten soft beneath her fingertips. She nearly moaned with delight at the sensation. It was soft as the captain's pillow and it made her think of how that pillow must feel against bare skin.

"We took those pelts off of a Russian who traded to us and saved himself a trip to England for his efforts."

"Mr. Sails, it is lovely, but--"

"If you reject it, you will make poor Sails feel miserable," said a low voice in her ear. "Look at how much effort he put into your jacket. That hideous cap, however, is completely wrong for this ensemble. You need a bonnet, Miss Burke, something in plush to set this garment off."

Lydia turned to look at him, but he was looking down at the fabric spread out for her view, the brocade glowing in the mellow light.

"The pink works well for a lining and if you had a fabric rose or two adorning your bonnet it would add to the appearance. But only if the roses are on the crown, far enough from your face not to make you look sallow."

He leaned over and swooped up the garment, and while Lydia stood as still and dumb as a fashion doll he took his wool jacket off of her and helped her slip her arms into the new pelisse, the satin sliding over the rough wool of her gray dress. Then he turned her toward him, raising the fur collar to frame her face.

"I approve, Sails. You've done a masterful job on Miss Burke's gear."

"Thank'ee, Captain. I'm glad of the chance to make something pretty for a change."

Lydia wanted to turn to thank Sails herself, but Captain St. Armand was still holding the fur collar and looking down at her. She could get lost in those eyes the same shade as the brocade surrounding her, eyes promising dangerous delights. Her excellent imagination kicked in and she envisioned him against a collection of furs, his lean body spread out for her gaze. Perhaps there would be fur cuffs of a different sort there. She'd seen such devices before and never imagined them in her life. Until now.

"What thoughts are you thinking, that have made your eyes go all black and brought a flush to your cheeks?" he said to her in a low voice.

She stepped back, and this time he didn't restrain her. Lydia cleared her throat and stroked the cuff of her pelisse.

"I am thinking that while this garment is more than lovely, it is too fine for a governess. If an employer saw me wearing something like this it would spark either jealousy or the thought that I am being overcompensated for my efforts. Indeed, a prudent woman would ask what I'd done to receive so spectacular a gift from Captain Robert St. Armand. But I suspect you knew that. You deliberately gave me a beautiful garment unsuitable for my life, and my position."

He looked amused by her concerns, which did not help. Soon she'd be back in the world where people looked at you and judged you shallowly, not on a floating world of men who judged you for your skills rather than your family, your demeanor, or most importantly, your past. Nash and Turnbull cheerfully talked about episodes from their past that would have sent them to New South Wales if not the gallows, but aboard the
Prodigal Son
they were valued crewmembers.

"If I did, I may have done it to remind you that there is a woman inside those rags, a woman who is every bit as entitled to wear pretty things as the crows employing her. You have made a deliberate decision to dress like a dowd. I do not have to support that decision. I will
not
support that decision, not while I have to look at you."

In some ways, Lydia fit right in with these miscreants, but it was a temporary haven. That issue was on her mind at supper that evening, when she asked which port they would be entering.

"Liverpool," St. Armand said, watching her. "There are merchants there ready to purchase my wares from the Indies."

Some of her tension left her. If he'd put in at Portsmouth it would be more difficult for her to quickly book passage back to the West Indies, or to America. Bristol and Liverpool were her best options for getting out of England quickly. She'd been thinking about the best way to accomplish this, and to her regret, it meant depending on him.

"I have a request, Captain. Can you arrange my passage to Boston? I would be happy to stay aboard the ship until such arrangements are made."

It was just the two of them at supper, as they were dining later than usual and Mattie had already been tucked in for the night. This hadn't been Lydia's plan, but Mr. Fuller had excused himself early to tend to some ship's business and they were alone. She sat closest to the door, but it was scant comfort. She had no reason to think he would pounce on her, but there was something in his eyes when he watched her that put her too much in mind of a cat eyeing a mousehole, waiting for its prey to make a misstep.

He sat back now and steepled his fingers, watching her.

"I have to say, almost every time you open your mouth you surprise me. Any person who'd been at sea for weeks would want to get off the ship, stretch her legs, eat better food, shop for items to be restocked. But not you. Why is that? No, don't fob me off, because I will tell you what will happen. You will try to deflect the conversation, or tell me a half-truth or obfuscate further, but it will not work. You have aroused my curiosity, a desire to poke at things to see what happens."

"I am a governess used to dealing with obnoxious little boys. Your
poking
is nothing new to me. You find it amusing to make me feel on edge, don't you, Captain St. Armand?"

"Yes. Yes, I do, Miss Burke. More wine?"

He leaned forward and poured wine into her glass, and into his. Lydia's hand twitched toward the ruby liquid, but she refrained. As tempting as it was to grab the lifeline of wine-soaked oblivion, she needed to keep her wits sharp. He did not refrain, but drank deep, his throat working as he took obvious delight in to the beverage. The man was one of the most sybaritic humans she'd ever met. He surrounded himself in luxurious fabrics, glittering metals and jewels, scented soaps, and an appetite for food and drink that would lead to gout if he weren't careful. It made his fascination with her all the more disturbing. She wasn't a raving beauty, her mirror told her that. She was attractive enough not to scare passersby and her shape was proportional to her height, but surely someone like St. Armand wanted a woman by his side and in his bed who would compliment his good looks? Someone with lusher hair, a more buxom figure, even straighter teeth?

She was only a temporary distraction. Once she was out of his sight, he'd be like the little boy she knew him to be inside. He'd look for another toy, another pretty bauble, bored by her and her dowdy exterior.

"Despite your behavior, Captain, I would like to know more about you. You are well spoken, and appear to have had a solid education. Your manners and speech tell me you are no common seaman, unless you are an extraordinarily gifted mimic. It makes me curious, and I suspect your story is far more interesting than mine."

Lydia knew men. The best way to hold their attention and make them think you were fascinating was to get them talking about themselves. He'd want a woman who acted as a mirror, reflecting his prettiness, his sense of self-importance, his rampant masculinity right back at him. In his universe, it was all about what made his life better, richer, more enjoyable.

He did not rise to her bait and only gave a small smile making her suspect he knew exactly what she was up to. There was one safe subject they both could agree on--Mattie's welfare.

"Do you have lodgings in Liverpool suitable for Mattie, Captain?"

The question seemed to surprise him, and he sat up straighter.

"I had not truly thought about that until this moment. There are lodgings where I usually stay, but to say they're inappropriate for Mattie would understate the issue."

"Lodgings like Madame Olifier's?" Lydia said dryly.

"Worse," he admitted. He frowned while thinking about it, the remainder of his wine untouched.

"You will need to stay aboard ship with Mattie, at least until I can secure appropriate lodgings for us. Then I need you to continue caring for her until I can make further provision for her. You will join us in those lodgings. I insist."

"At a house in Liverpool?"

"I will find someplace appropriate, you can be sure."

Lydia wanted to argue this plan, but thought it best to stay silent. If she stayed out of sight in town, she should be able to leave without additional difficulties, and her being with Mattie offered protective coloration as well.

Lydia counted her small supply of coins, then counted again. There was no help for it, she was going to have to collect her wages from Captain St. Armand if she wanted to get out of England. She'd concocted elaborate schemes in her head to slip away from the
Prodigal Son
or wherever he stashed them in Liverpool, but she was realistic enough to know there was only one thing that would get her out of England. Without money a woman alone had no options worth considering. The sailors could work their passage across, but a governess was not a valuable commodity.

Mattie had gone ahead to breakfast, as familiar with the ship and its routine as any powder monkey aboard a man-o-war. The crew kept an eye on her and this voyage had been just the tonic the child needed after the devastating loss of her mother, and upheaval from the life she'd known in St. Martin. Children adapt to new circumstances, but their enthusiasm and spirit of adventure can be quashed by adults who don't understand that not all youngsters fit in the same mold. It was especially difficult for young ladies who had that adventurous spirit. The pluck and courage admired in a young boy too often elicited shrieks of dismay when a young girl exhibited the same behavior.

Lydia had to admit, somewhat grudgingly, that Captain St. Armand understood Mattie's adventurous spirit. He seemed to her to be an overgrown child himself much of the time, a naughty boy playing pirate, but with all too real consequences for others in his game. It did help him in his raising of Mattie though. The child was frustrated by an arithmetic problem during the previous day's lessons, but instead of throwing a tantrum, she'd looked down at the offending numerals and said, "Beets! Beets, Beets, Beets!"

"Beets?"

"Papa said it is not right for a young lady who is also the captain's daughter to go around calling people buggering sods, Miss Burke. He said it shows a lack of imagination. I should learn from Captain Lowther instead, whose men tried to outdo each other inventing new oaths."

Lydia cleared her throat. "I would hope a young lady could avoid oaths and bad language all together, Mathilde."

The child looked at her with a skeptical frown. "I don't know if that is possible, ma'am, but I can try to change what I say so I do not offend. Papa asked me what was the thing I hated most in the world, and it is beetroot. So now when I need to swear a mighty oath like Captain Lowther, I say 'Beets!'"

In his own way he was trying hard to give Mattie what she needed, but the child would never grow up to be a proper young lady at home in society if she continued to be raised by pirates. One could hope the captain would find a good woman, a stable woman who would raise Mattie with balance, helping her to navigate the rocky shoals of adolescence and womanhood.

In the meantime, Lydia would do her best. When she joined the child, Mattie bounced in her chair with excitement at breakfast, because today was the day for her tea party. She'd worked hard on her multiplication tables, but Lydia was even more impressed by Nash and Turnbull. The two scalawags were the ones who'd reminded her, repeatedly, that a reward was owed them for their efforts.