Lost Lady (7 page)

For a few moments, Regan sat alone on the window seat, looking at the cabin and wondering what adventures were ahead of her. She thought of Farrell and wished he knew she was on a ship bound for America and that a wardrobe fit for a princess was being sewn for her.

She had no idea how long she sat immobile on the seat, but gradually she became aware of the sounds outside her door. For all of her life she'd been forced to stay in a very small area, and the only living she could do was inside her head. Now she realized that she was free to see and do things, that the door to her cabin was not locked, and all she had to do was walk up some stairs and she'd be on the deck of an actual ship.

Taking a deep breath, feeling like a bird let out of a cage, she left the cabin, standing for a moment at the bottom of the dark stairwell. When a door next to her opened, she jumped in surprise.

“I beg your pardon,” came a polite male voice. “I had no idea anyone was here.” When Regan didn't answer, he continued, “Perhaps I should introduce myself since it looks as though we're to be neighbors. Or am I being too presumptuous? Maybe the captain could do the honors.”

The young man's formal manners were a welcome relief after the last few days' complete suspension of anything resembling courtesy. “We will be neighbors,” she smiled, “so perhaps just this once we can suspend formalities.”

“Then allow me to present myself. I am David Wainwright.”

“And I am Regan Alena…Stanford,” she said as an afterthought, not wanting to reveal her true identity or let this man know the truth about her relationship with Travis.

Gently, he shook her hand, then asked if she'd accompany him up to the upper deck. “I believe they're still loading. It may afford us some amusement to see these Americans among themselves, though I confess I sometimes have difficulty understanding their dialect.”

The sun was warm and bright on the deck, and Regan caught the feeling of excitement as people rushed around her everywhere. They emerged at the base of the quarterdeck, a partial additional deck at the fore end of the ship. Soon realizing they were in the way, she and David climbed the stairs to the top of the quarterdeck. Here they had a good, high view of the activities on the rest of the ship as well as on the wharf. And here, too, she had a view of David Wainwright. He was a small man with a plain face topped with straw-colored hair. His clothes were of good wool, his cravat perfectly white, and his slim feet were encased in soft kid slippers. He was the type of gentleman she'd always known—his hands made for the keys of a piano or to idly twirl a snifter of brandy. Looking at his long, slim fingers, she thought with disgust that an uncouth man such as Travis would probably hit two keys at once with his big fingers. Of course, she had to admit that those wide fingers sometimes hit the right chords.

As her lips curved in a secret smile, she looked away from David, who was explaining why he was going to such a heathen place as America, and searched for Travis.

“I can't tell you how glad I am to be traveling with an English lady,” David was saying. “When my father suggested I go and see to his holdings in that wilderness, I dreaded the journey. I've heard more than my share of stories about the place, and as if that weren't enough, just meeting a single American can turn one against the country. Look at that!” he gasped. “That is just what I was speaking of.”

Below them, two sailors dropped the burdens they were carrying to the center of the deck, where another man carried them downstairs, and began shoving each other. Within seconds, one swung his fist at the other's jaw and missed, but before he could strike again the second man slammed his fist into the first's nose. Blood seemed to gush forth instantly, and the hurt, angry man began to swing wildly.

Out of nowhere, Travis appeared, grabbed the much smaller men by the backs of their shirt collars, and lifted them from the deck. There was no difficulty in hearing Travis as he told the sailors what he thought of their behavior and what he promised to do if they gave him any more trouble. Shaking them like puppies, he tossed them aside, told them to get cleaned up and return to work, as he carried both their bundles to the waiting sailor.

“That is an example of what I mean,” David said. “Those Americans have no discipline. This is an English ship with an English captain, yet that…that American lout thinks he has every right to enforce his will over the crew. And besides, the men should not have been let off so lightly. Their bad conduct should be made an example of. Every captain knows that the only way to stop insubordination is at the very outset of it.”

Regan agreed with him, of course. She'd heard her uncle say the same sort of thing many times, but the way Travis had handled the angry men seemed to her efficient and sensible. Frowning, she was puzzled by her thoughts, wondering who was actually right.

Her mind on other things, she did not at first see Travis waving at her.

“I believe that man is trying to get your attention,” David said, half in disgust, half in disbelief.

Trying to be sophisticated, Regan gave Travis a polite return wave before looking away from him. She had no desire to make a spectacle of herself as he had just done.

“I don't think he was satisfied,” David said wonderingly. “He now seems to be coming this way. Perhaps I should get the captain.”

“No!” Regan gasped, her eyes turning to Travis and smiling in spite of herself.

“Did you miss me?” Travis laughed, sweeping her into his arms and swirling her around once.

“Let me down!” she said angrily, but her voice did not agree with the pleasure on her face. “You smell like a gardener.”

“And what would you know of the smell of a gardener?” he teased.

From behind her, David cleared his throat noisily.

Blushing, Regan managed to push Travis's hands away from her. “Mr. Wainwright, this is Travis Stanford.” Her eyes looked up pleadingly at him. “My…husband,” she whispered.

Travis's eyes didn't flicker. Actually, his smile seemed to grow warmer as he thrust out his hand, enveloping David's slim, smooth one. “I am glad to meet you, Mr. Wainwright. Did you know my wife in England?”

How smoothly he said the lie! she thought. Yet how kind of him to save her honor this way. She would have thought he'd laugh at her, as he did so often.

“No, we just met,” David said quietly, looking from one to the other, seeing Travis's possessive arm about Regan's small shoulders, seeing a refined, elegant English lady in the grasp of a half-savage, mannerless, working-class man. He very much wanted to wipe his palm where Travis had touched him.

If Travis saw the delicate curl of the small man's upper lip, he did not show it, and Regan was too busy trying to regain some of her dignity by pushing Travis's hand away.

“I was hoping you'd known her before,” Travis said, and ignored Regan's look because his words had an odd ring to them, almost as if he wasn't telling the truth. “I have to get back to work, love,” he smiled. “You stay up here and away from the lower deck, you understand?” He didn't wait for her to answer but turned to appraise Wainwright. “I trust I may leave her with you?” he said politely, formally, but at the same time he gave the impression that he was laughing. Regan very much wanted to kick him.

Swiftly, he turned and bounded down the stairs, leaving Regan to wonder if he were jealous. Perhaps Travis was worried that he couldn't compete with a gentleman of Mr. Wainwright's quality.

T
HE SHIP SAILED WITH THE TIDE.
R
EGAN, TOO EXCITED TO
eat, too curious to leave the quarterdeck even for a moment, was unaware of the way David's face whitened or of his constant swallowing. When he excused himself, she smiled and stayed where she was. Noisy seagulls flew overhead as the men ran the sails up. The rolling of the ship reminded her that they were about to set out on a journey, that with the moving of the ship she was starting a new life.

“You look happy,” Travis said quietly from beside her.

She hadn't been aware of him coming up the stairs. “Oh yes, I am. What are those men doing? Where do those stairs lead to? Where are the other passengers? Do their rooms look like ours, or is everyone's a different color?”

Travis gave her a grin and fell to telling her what he could about the ship. It was a twenty-four-gun brig, the guns needed to keep away pirates. The other passengers lived in the lower deck, amidships. He didn't tell her about the close airlessness of their quarters or the strict rules governing the passengers' infrequent exercise. Only the two of them and Wainwright were allowed to come and go freely.

He explained why nearly all ships were now painted a shade of ochre. Before America's revolution, all ships had been swabbed with linseed oil, which made the wood darken with each coating. The older the ship, the darker it was. During the war, the English made a point of attacking the darker ships, until someone decided to paint all the ships the color of a newly built one.

Travis pointed to several patches of red paint and said that almost all the interiors, especially around the cannons, had been painted red so that the crew would be used to the color and not panic when, during a battle, they were surrounded by the red of blood.

“Where did you learn all this?” Regan asked eagerly.

“Someday I'll have to tell you about my time on the whaler, but for now let's get something to eat. Unless, of course, you don't feel like eating.”

“Why shouldn't I want to eat? It's been a long time since breakfast.”

“I was afraid you might have a touch of what your little friend had—seasickness. It's my guess that half the passengers below are spilling their guts into chamber pots.”

“Really? Oh, Travis, I must see if I can help.”

He caught her arm before she could reach the stairs. “There'll be plenty of sick people later, but for now you're going to eat and rest. You've had a long day.”

Maybe she was tired, but also she was sick to death of his orders. “I am not hungry, and I can rest later. I will go to help the other passengers.”

“And I say you will obey me, so you'd better make up your mind.”

She glared up at him, refusing to move.

Leaning down, his face close to hers, he said quietly, “Either you do what I say or I carry you downstairs in front of the entire crew.”

A feeling of helplessness came over her. How could she reason with this man? What could she do to make him understand that it was important to her to feel useful?

As he moved his hand toward her shoulder, she pivoted on one foot and sped down the stairs, through the door, and into the cabin. Sitting down on the window seat, she tried hard not to cry. It wasn't easy to keep to her dreams of someday being a respected lady when she was ordered about like a child.

It was some time before Travis came back to the room bearing a tray laden with food. Quietly, he set the table before going to sit by her. “Supper's ready.” He tried to take her hand, but she drew it away.

“Damn it!” he exploded, jumping up. “Why do you sit there looking like I've just beaten you? All I said was I didn't think you should miss your supper and do without sleep to help a bunch of people you don't even know.”

“I know Sarah!” she gasped. “And you did not say I
should
rest; you said I
had
to rest. You never suggest anything; you always demand everything. Did it ever occur to you that I have a mind of my own? You held me prisoner in England, wouldn't so much as allow me out the door, and now you hold me prisoner in this little room. Why don't you tie me to the bed or chain me to the table? Why not be honest about what I am to you?”

Several emotions flickered across Travis's handsome face, but the predominant one was confusion. “I told you why you couldn't stay in England. I even asked that boy you were with if he'd known you. The ship hadn't set sail then, and if he'd told me, I could have taken you to your family.”

More tears came to Regan's eyes. To think she'd thought Travis was jealous, and all he'd actually wanted was another chance to get rid of her. “Excuse me for being such a burden to you,” she said haughtily. “Perhaps you should throw me overboard and save yourself so much trouble.”

Astonished, Travis could only look at her in bewilderment. “If I live to be a thousand, I don't believe I'll be able to understand your reasoning. Why don't you eat something, and then if you want I'll take you below, and you can hold sick heads over pots all night.”

He looked so sweet, his big eyes so liquid, pleading with her, trying his best to please her. How could she explain to him that what she wanted was the freedom to choose, the right to make her own decisions? She wanted to prove to herself and to her uncle that she was worth something.

Accepting his hand, she let herself be led to the table, but she couldn't seem to pull herself out of her dark mood. She pushed her food around, barely tasting it. She tried to listen to what Travis was telling her but couldn't seem to keep her mind on it. She kept thinking of her whole life as someone's prisoner, never allowed to make even a single decision.

“Drink your wine,” Travis said gently.

Obediently, she drained the glass and felt her body relaxing. It seemed natural when Travis swept her into his arms, held her so securely, and carried her to the bed. While he was undressing her, she was awake only in a haze. Even when she was naked and he was kissing her neck, she only smiled and fell into a deeper sleep.

Seeing that she needed sleep more than anything else, Travis snuggled her under the covers before taking a cigar and going up to the top of the quarterdeck to smoke it.

“All settled in?”

Travis turned to the captain behind him. “We'll make it, I guess.”

The captain watched Travis as he leaned on the railing, a long cigar hanging out of his mouth. “What's wrong, boy?” he asked seriously.

Travis smiled. The captain and Travis's father had been friends for years, until cholera took the older man. “What do you know about women?”

“No man knows much,” the captain said, trying not to smile, glad there was nothing seriously wrong. “I'm sorry I didn't get to meet your bride. I hear she's a beauty.”

Studying his cigar, Travis took a moment before answering. “My bride, yes. I'm just having some trouble understanding her.” He wasn't a man to share confidences, and this was as much as he could say. Straightening, he changed the subject. “You think that furniture will be safe in the hold?”

“It should be,” the captain said. “But what do you need more furniture for? You haven't added a wing to that mansion of yours, have you?”

Travis chuckled. “No, at least not until I have about fifty kids to fill all the rooms I already have. The furniture's for a friend. I did buy some land, though. I'll put in more cotton this year.”

“More!” the captain gasped before gesturing toward the deck in front of them. “This is all the space I need. I couldn't keep up with—how many acres of land do you own now?”

“About four thousand, give or take a few.”

The captain gave a snort of disbelief. “I hope that little bride of yours is a good housewife. The place took all your mother's talents, and you've nearly doubled it in size since your father died.”

“She can handle it,” Travis said confidently. “Good night, sir.”

In their cabin again, he undressed thoughtfully before climbing into bed and drawing Regan to him. “The question is, can I handle her?” he murmured just before he fell asleep.

It took Regan exactly twenty-four hours to learn that Travis was completely correct about what an awful job it was dealing with seasick people. From early morning until late at night she did little more than wash vomit from people and belongings. The passengers were too sick to hold their heads over the porcelain basins she held toward them and too ill to care what happened to the contents of their stomachs. Mothers lay in their narrow bunks, their babies crying beside them, while Regan and two other women cleaned, tried to comfort, and worked long, hard hours.

As if the seasickness weren't enough, the condition of the passengers' accommodations appalled Regan. There were three dormitories, one for married couples, and two for single men and women, and the discipline enforced by the crew to keep unmarried men and women apart was strict. Sisters were not allowed to speak to brothers, or fathers to daughters, and each worried about the other in these first few days of illness and misery.

In each dormitory were many narrow rows of hard, small bunkbeds. In the close aisles were the passengers' belongings: trunks, boxes, parcels, baskets, containing not only clothes and what goods they needed for the New World but also the food for the voyage. Already some of it was beginning to decay, the smell aggravating the passengers' nausea.

Regan and the other women ran in and out of the women's cabin, trying to get over the trunks, having to walk up and down, over and around for every step they had to take.

By the time she returned to her own cabin, which by contrast looked like a room in a palace, she was more exhausted than she'd ever imagined she could be.

Travis put down his book immediately and gathered her into his arms. “Was it difficult, love?” he whispered.

She could only nod against his chest, so glad to be near someone healthy and strong, glad to be away from the squalor and poverty she'd seen today.

Relaxing against him, half-asleep, she was hardly aware when he put her in a chair and went to answer the door. Even when she heard water splashing, she didn't bother to open her eyes. After all, she'd heard little else all day when she'd washed clothes, babies' diapers, and dirty chamber pots.

Smiling deliciously, she relaxed as Travis's hands began to unbutton her dress. It was nice to be taken care of instead of the other way around. When he gathered her naked form in his arms, she was pleased to be going to bed, but when her bottom hit the hot water, her eyes flew open.

“You need a bath, my smelly little mate,” he laughed at her surprise.

The hot water, even if it was sea water, felt wonderful, and she leaned back, letting Travis wash her.

“I don't understand you,” she said softly, watching him, feeling his hands, soapy and strong, run over her body.

“What's to understand? I'll tell you what you want to know.”

“A few weeks ago I would have said a man who kidnapped people was evil and should be put in jail, but you….”

“I what? I kidnap pretty young ladies, ravish them, yet I don't beat them? Not too often anyway,” he smiled.

“No,” she said seriously. “You don't, but I believe you're capable of anything. I don't understand a man like you.”

“And what kind of man do you understand? Your little Wainwright? Tell me, how many men have you gotten to know? How many times have you been in love?”

He wasn't prepared for her answer.

“One man,” she said quietly. “I've been in love once, and I can't imagine it ever happening again.”

Travis studied her expression for a moment, the way her eyes softened with a faraway look, the gentle way her mouth curved up at the corners.

One moment Regan was thinking of Farrell, how he'd asked her to marry him, and the next she was sputtering as Travis tossed the soap into the water in front of her eyes.

“Finish it yourself, or wait for your lover to come and do it,” he growled before slamming from the cabin.

Smiling, feeling she'd at last made him jealous, she left the tub and began to dry herself. She thought that perhaps it was good for Travis to realize that he wasn't the only person in her life, that maybe other people existed in the world. When she got to America and they parted ways, perhaps he'd not be so sure she couldn't make it on her own, maybe even find a man like Farrell, someone who would love her and not think she was an ignorant child.

Climbing into bed, she suddenly felt very lonely. Farrell didn't love her; he'd wanted her for her money. Her uncle didn't want her either, and Travis, this strange, arrogant, kind man, made it clear he only wanted her for the moment. Alone, tired, hungry, miserable, she began to cry.

When Travis pulled her into his arms, she clutched at him, scared that he'd leave her too. “Hush, sweet, be quiet. You're safe now,” he whispered, trying to soothe her, but when her lips fastened to his, he no longer thought of comfort.

She had no idea if it was being close to the illness all day or her thoughts of being alone, but she was ravenous for Travis. She didn't think about the fact that she was a prisoner or that she should at least be a reluctant lover. Her only thought was that she needed him desperately, needed for him to hold her, to love her, to make her feel as if she were part of the world and not a useless, unneeded appendage.