Castaway Dreams (26 page)

He was so brilliant about so many things, and so utterly dense about other things. Between that denseness regarding rogering and his lack of fashion sense, she felt sorry for him.

When she was not feeling sorry for herself.

After the humans and the dog settled in for the night, Daphne found she could not sleep. She lay there on her back, her hands laced over her stomach, staring up at the rough ceiling that protected them from the elements. It was a good thing this cabin was here. They could be stranded for months and months until a ship and woodcutters came back. With the goods in the cave, some problems were solved, but others were still out there. The possibility of pirates, for example. Not the kinds of pirates in the novels she liked to read, but pirates like Dr. Murray's, who were not nice and probably did not bathe often enough.

"Go to sleep, Miss Farnham," rumbled a deep voice beside her. Pompom snorted in his sleep and snuggled closer.

"I can't fall asleep, Dr. Murray. I keep thinking about pirates and what our lives might be like if we're not rescued and we are here for months and months and maybe years."

He moved and she turned her head and looked at him in the dark. He was lying on his side, his head propped up on his hand.

"If I could build a boat, Miss Farnham, I would, and then we could try to leave. But logic tells me that the woodcutters will return, and we are best off staying put here."

Daphne swallowed, her throat dry.

"I am frightened, Dr. Murray. I try not to be, especially because you are here with me, but sometimes I am afraid."

He did not say "Do not worry your pretty little head about it" or any of the other useless phrases she'd heard from men all her life. Instead, he sighed, and put his arm around her and pulled her up against his body. Her head rested on his strong chest and she heard his heartbeat, the steady thump of it a comfort to her, as much as the warmth and closeness of him holding her, and it was exactly what she needed at this moment. She needed to feel connected to him.

Daphne knew enough about men to know perfect heroes only exist in novels. Real men had stubbly faces and clothes they'd been wearing too long, and glum expressions. Once upon a time she thought that was what she wanted, that perfect hero, but now she knew better.

She sat up.

"Dr. Murray, we need to come to some sort of agreement."

He looked at her, but she could not read his expression in the dark.

"What are you talking about, Miss Farnham?"

"How long have we been here? I know you are keeping track of the days since the shipwreck."

"Nearly a month."

"What if we are stranded here for six months? Or a year? I do not understand you, Dr. Murray. How do you sleep next to me, night after night, without wanting to--without--you know what I mean!"

He sighed, and sat up alongside her.

"Yes, I know what you mean. Miss Farnham, I am not a eunuch. That means--"

"I know that word, Doctor."

"As you know, I spent most of my life in the company of men. I tell myself that it is not unusual for me to go long periods of time without--is this conversation truly necessary?"

She put her hand on his arm. His very tense arm.

"Is that working for you, lying here, night after night?"

Daphne heard the frogs and birds outside, loud in the silence of a conversation come to a halt.

"No," he finally said. "It is not working."

"It's hard, isn't it, Doctor?"

"Oh yes," he said, swiping his hand across his face. "It's hard. It's unbearably hard. It's harder than it's ever been. Painfully hard."

"Exactly! So this is what I propose, Dr. Murray. We endured a month of this painful condition. We must acknowledge though that we do not know when we will be rescued, and will make decisions based on our needs here and now."

He was silent again, and she wished she could see his face. Then he dropped something into the conversation that startled her.

"Miss Farnham, are your menses regular?"

"My--you mean my woman's time?"

"Yes. Do you keep track of yourself?"

She thought about it for a moment, counting the days back to the
Magpie.

"How clever you are, Dr. Murray! It will come in a day or two. Oh dear, I suppose that will be the end of wearing this shift. I will have to tear it up."

He sighed again, and when he spoke his voice was full of resignation, and maybe something else.

"We will discuss this again after your courses are finished, Miss Farnham. If we agree to pursue this, that will be a safer time."

"Safer?"

"To avoid your becoming pregnant."

"Oh! I had not even thought about that."

"I assumed that was the case, Miss Farnham. Goodnight."

Daphne smiled to herself in the dark. Now that she had a goal, she could plan and make sure that everything was perfect when she and Dr. Murray finally fulfilled their mutual longings.

"Cease that humming, Miss Farnham, and go to sleep."

Daphne's days were even sunnier now that she knew Dr. Murray wanted to do more than hold her at night and recite formulae. Not that that was bad--the holding, not the formulae. She liked the cuddling. When her "flowers" came two days after that nighttime conversation, just as she'd predicted (and wasn't he the clever surgeon to remind her of that!), she did not mind the discomfort as she usually did because she had a special evening planned for when it was all over.

To that end, she'd put off wearing the breathtaking pink satin. With Dr. Murray's help, and a small shears from his kit, she'd cut a length of cloth suitable for wrapping around her body. Sometimes she would see him watching her, when she was washing herself, or braiding her hair for their daily chores. The chores they did together, sharing their life here.

Now she paused from where she was peeling eggs for breakfast. What would a life with Dr. Murray be like away from here? She might have to cut back on her hat and shoe purchases, and perhaps there would not be as many theater evenings, but the rest of it would be wonderful. She would wake up beside Dr. Murray every morning. He would teach her new words and she would have a kitchen garden and teach him about vegetables. She would also help him with his wardrobe.

Daphne sighed. She was bright enough to know she was fooling herself. If she married Dr. Murray she would be cut off from society and she did not know if Dr. Murray's friends would accept her in their circle of natural philosophers. Assuming the grumpy surgeon had friends. Then she remembered that it could be a long, long time until they reached England. Much could happen in that time. Maybe they would not return to England at all.

"Dr. Murray, have you ever thought of moving to Canada? Or the United States?"

He gave her that vaguely confused look he sometimes wore when he was not following her conversations. Honestly, she expected a man with a brain as large as his to be quicker!

"Why do you ask that, Miss Farnham?"

She fiddled with the egg, rolling it to loosen the shell so she could avoid looking at him as she spoke.

"I was just thinking aloud, Dr. Murray. Sometimes people go to new lands to give themselves a fresh start. That's what George was trying to do when we went to Jamaica. Of course, he thought it would be a temporary stay and we would return to England, but I met other people there who were staying in Jamaica, building homes and raising families."

She pulled out another egg, trying to organize her thoughts to best say what she wanted to say.

"In a new place, there would be fewer issues standing between us. If you wanted to visit me, it would not be like your coming to my home in London and feeling as if you did not fit in except as a surgeon called to treat a patient. It is different in other places. I saw that in Jamaica. I hear that is even truer in the United States, and in Canada."

Her thoughts ran down and so did her speech, and she looked up to see him watching her in the steady, expressionless manner he had, and she wanted to bash him over the head with all the eggs just to see if he would respond with something resembling a human emotion.

"An interesting thought, Miss Farnham."

He stopped talking, and looked at her and something shifted in his face. Daphne realized she was better at reading him, and the way he was looking at her now made her wish that it was tomorrow and she was wearing pink satin.

"We are in a strange bubble out of time and place here, Da--Miss Farnham. We both need to return to London to pick up the threads of our lives, the lives we've been living for so long, because only then will we know..." his voice trailed off. "I do not know what will happen, but I do strongly believe our future lies in our homeland, not abroad. I need to earn a living, Miss Farnham, and there is business I must transact in London before I can determine where my future will take me."

"It was just a thought."

Pompom came running into the hut, a piece of seaweed draped over his ear. She knelt down to clean him off and fussed with the dog so she would not have to look at sober, businesslike, muscled Dr. Murray.

"I am returning to the cave for the other bolts of cloth, Miss Farnham. Would you care to accompany me?"

Daphne stopped petting Pompom and looked up at him.

"Why do you want me with you?"

He walked over to her and held out his hand to help her to her feet. He'd removed his jacket as the day was fast warming up, and Daphne wondered if for the rest of her life she would always compare the men she knew to Dr. Murray, and find them wanting.

"Your company is welcome, Miss Farnham. There are times I enjoy solitude, but I also enjoy spending the day with you."

Daphne's mood brightened.

"I wager you would not have said that aboard the
Magpie
, Dr. Murray."

He said nothing to this, but gave her a warm glance that made her feel even better about spending time with him. Maybe this was Dr. Murray's way of courting, after the fashion of a natural philosopher, spending time with her to study her and determine if she was appropriate? Entertaining? Rogerable?

She already suspected the last was a given, based on her experience with men, although Dr. Murray was a breed apart. No matter.

"What about the eggs?"

"We'll take them with us and eat while we walk. Fetch your hat and we will go."

Daphne grabbed her hat and the eggs and followed along beside him, Pompom dancing at her heels.

* * * *

Alexander glanced over at his companion as they walked along, her mood bright again. There were so many things he wanted to say to her. He wanted to say, "You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen. You make my day brighter and my mood lighter and I care about you so very much."

But when he opened his mouth, what came out was, "Wear your hat."

It was just as well. He was already on edge in anticipation of his night with Daphne. Alexander was amongst those who sailed to Naples following the Battle of the Nile. There had been enough celebrating to gladden the heart of any navy man, and it was the surgeon's first opportunity to see a fireworks display. The illuminations dazzled the young Scotsman. He stood alongside his shipmates, many of whom were already roaring drunk and, as usual, roasting Alexander over his abstemious habits.

He ignored their banter, entranced by the entertainment in the sky. What could be more removed from his chilled, sober, frugal life than a show of lights and noise and color in a sultry climate, a show that produced absolutely nothing useful? Except joy in the heart of the beholder, a desire to say "Ahhh!" at each fanciful dragon and serpent and fire blossom created from the same substance that blew apart stout wooden ships and the men that sailed them? The colors burned their images into his eyes, and his brain, and there was no one there with whom he could share his thoughts on the illuminations, even if he had been able to find the right words.

That was how Daphne Farnham made him feel. She was fireworks, rockets, blossoms, filling the heavens with light and his heart with joy. And she was as much above him and beyond his reach as those explosions in the night sky. She'd mentioned her father trying to marry her off to raise her up in the ranks of society. Alexander knew Mr. Farnham would not welcome a bastard Scots surgeon as a replacement for an earl.

There were other reasons he would be all wrong for Daphne Farnham. He did not know anything about women, not as a species. But how many men did, when all was said and done? Could any man truly know a woman's mind?

He smiled inwardly as he thought about how few of his colleagues who studied the heavens and the natural workings of their surroundings would be brave enough to consider making the study of women their life's work. They left that to the rakes, which was a shame when you thought about it. A rake was primarily concerned with his own pleasure. Alexander wanted to make things as wonderful as possible for Daphne. He wanted her to have fireworks and explosions of colors.

She slipped her hand into his and he took it, relishing the human contact. Such contact was missing from his life for so long, he did not even realize it was lacking. Now he craved touch and warmth and he was not looking forward to going without it when they were rescued, as he believed they would be, eventually.

He resolved to find himself a suitable wife. He was sure he could find a woman who was sober and frugal and industrious and would consider marriage to a successful surgeon a social advancement of sorts.

He suppressed a sigh at the thought.

They returned to the cave without stopping along the way. Alexander built a fire far enough from the cave entrance that smoke wouldn't blow in, then lit brands for them to carry while they explored the cave's interior.

"It is a treasure house!" Daphne said in awe when they illuminated the cache. The treasures weren't gold and silver, but goods--coffee, salt, rum, tobacco, molasses, sugar--all highly saleable products of the Indies, and there were European goods desired in the islands, cloth and pottery and casks of oil and rice.