Unclaimed Heart (30 page)

It was little surprise that he was still awake. His mind turned over and over on itself, the way a piece of seaweed tumbles in a wave. Constance and Faith. The way he had felt that morning when he believed Constance had run away. The way he had felt that afternoon when he accepted that Faith was dead, that he would never be able to ask her the hundred questions he needed answers to.

Something troubled him, and he couldn't put his finger precisely on what it was. It had to do with Constance, with the future. Was he being a blind old fool? Had he lost sight of what was important?

Leaning on the window sill, he turned his face to the stars and made up his mind.

At sunset the next day, Constance was up in her room, folding her dresses to place them in her little bag. The pearler had been sold that morning; Father's business here was finished. Soon he would ask her to gather her things and get aboard
Good Bess
. The next favorable tide would take them out of the harbor and towards home. She had little to gather, but it made her feel useful to do something. It kept her mind from being drawn into sad thoughts.

She was surprised by a knock at the door.

“Come in,” she called.

Father opened the door. “In the library, please, immediately.” Then he backed away.

She put down the dress she was folding and, puzzled, followed him. In the library, she found Alexandre. He was sitting on the sofa, looking as confused as she was. Guilt made her fearful. Had Father heard reports of the kisses she and Alexandre had shared? Were there to be more punishments?

Father closed the door and turned to them with a serious expression.

“I have heard today that my first officer, Francis Maitland, is to leave my service.”

Constance and Alexandre exchanged glances.

Father began to pace. “You two have presented me with quite a challenge,” he said. “I am two men. A sentimental one and a sensible one. I know, all too well, how a match made to suit the needs of society can have disastrous consequences. And yet . . . I cannot be the man who allows his daughter to marry a pearl diver.”

Constance's heart caught on a hook. Why was Father discussing such things?

“Constance,” he said, fixing her in his gaze. “You think I do not hear you or understand you. But I do. You say you love this young man, and he is certainly worthy of your love. Alexandre, I presume you return these feelings?”

Alexandre nodded, shocked into silence.

Father stroked his beard. “And yet you are both young.”

Alexandre found his voice. “I am nearly twenty, sir.”

“Pish. You are
so young
. I have a good second officer, who will make an adequate first officer in Maitland's absence. But I need someone to take Hickey's place. Alexandre, are you interested?”

Alexandre's eyes rounded. “You want me to become your second officer?”

“I do. I want you to sail with me for one year. At the end of that time, if you two still feel the same way about each other, I will allow you to marry.”

Constance felt as though she might faint.

Father moved towards the door. “I will give you a moment alone to make your decision.” He closed the door behind him.

Constance turned to Alexandre. He smiled and pulled her into his arms. “Is he playing a trick on us?”

“I am certain he isn't.”

“What shall we say?”

“I expect we shall say yes.”

“It is decided then.” He stroked her hair. “I love you so dearly, Constance. How are we to survive, being apart for a year?”

Her heart already lurched at the idea of their separation. “I will keep busy and try not to worry, because you will be in the care of a good man.”

Father opened the door unexpectedly, and they jumped apart. He pretended not to see. “Well?” he asked.

“I accept the terms of your offer, Captain Blackchurch,” Alexandre said.

“Good,” Father said, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Good. We will leave tomorrow morning. Why don't you both go out and enjoy your last Sinhalese sunset? I have some correspondence to deal with.”

They escaped into the amber half-light, hand in hand, laughing with joy and relief. It was a few moments before they realized.

“Alexandre, look,” Constance said. “No clouds.”

“No clouds,” he repeated, squeezing her hand in his own.

They stood side by side on the beach and watched the brilliant sun disappear behind the restless sea.

Thanks are due to Kate Morton, Nicole Ruckels, Mary-Rose MacColl, Mirko Ruckels, Danielle Rankin, and Elaine Wilkins. Also to the 2007 Year of the Novel cohort, especially Ian Golledge, Nina McGrath, and Rowan Hunt for their wonderful descriptions of nausea. Very special thanks to Ian Wilkins for help with maritime history and other details. All misuses of his carefully researched information I own solely.

K.W.