Marrying Christopher (20 page)

“Off to relieve Miss Abbott?” Captain Gower asked, lowering his spectacles and giving Christopher an appraising look.

“If she will allow me to,” Christopher said, knowing, in truth, that if Miss Abbott declined his offering or shooed him from the room, there was little he could do. Insist he might, but he could not argue with her or bully her to acquiesce when she stood up to him. She might be petite, but her stubbornness was solid.

“Admirable of you,” the captain said.

“
She
is admirable.” Carrying the bowl of stew carefully, Christopher made his way down the corridor. He felt the captain’s eyes following him as he walked, but he did not turn around.
Let him think what he will.
Someone had to look out for Miss Abbott. For one who had seemed so concerned with her late arrival and the possibility that Mr. Thomas would not get his servant, the captain appeared to give little thought to her health now.

Christopher crossed over to the other side of the saloon, to Miss Cosgrove’s door. It was partially open, but he knocked anyway before proceeding to enter.

The cabin was dark, and he stood in the doorway for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust. When they did, what he saw made his heart lurch. Setting the bowl and biscuits on top of a trunk near the door, he crossed to the bed and Miss Abbott, draped across the foot of it.

“Miss Abbott, are you all right?” He touched her shoulder, but she did not stir. Christopher knelt beside her and felt relief as he heard her soft intake of breath.
Just fallen asleep— little wonder with the nights she’s stayed awake, watching over her patients
. Lady Cosgrove seemed to have turned a corner and moved past the critical point. It was her daughter who had Miss Abbott most concerned now, for after Miss Cosgrove’s initial night of sickness and fits, she had largely failed to respond.

But Miss Abbott falling ill as well will not help.

Christopher stood once more, then bent over and carefully picked her up, cradling her in his arms. She weighed far less than it seemed she ought to, and she promptly turned her head to his chest, letting out an almost delicate snore.

Christopher grinned and tucked away the moment to tease her about later. He glanced down at Miss Abbott’s slightly parted lips, and a rush of desire caught him off guard.
What would it be like to kiss her?

He banished the thought and looked elsewhere, to the long lashes that curved over her closed eyes—
the prettiest I’ve ever seen—
to the wispy curls always escaping her bun. Reaching his hand around, he touched one.
So soft.
He thought of the cruel aunt who had shorn Miss Abbott’s hair and felt a surge of protectiveness— and something more. He had to make certain Miss Abbott never suffered such indignities again. He needed to know she would be both safe and cared for.

Christopher tightened his grip, holding her closer.
Take her to her room.
His feet refused to move, and he could not tear his eyes from her. Every rise and fall of her chest equally reassured and frightened him.
She is well enough now. Will she continue to be? Why do I care so much?

He was more than losing the battle to remain unattached, unconcerned.
Free.
Had the constant worry over his sisters not left him physically and emotionally depleted? And here he had become entrapped in it once again.

But this time it felt different.

Forcing his feet to move, Christopher left the room and carried her easily from Miss Cosgrove’s cabin to her own at the opposite end of the saloon.

Captain Gower looked up from the documents he was reading and, seeing Christopher’s need, jumped up to open Miss Abbott’s door for him.

“She’d fallen asleep by the side of Miss Cosgrove’s bed,” Christopher explained.

“She deserves a good rest, I’d say,” Captain Gower said with what Christopher suspected was a hint of affection in his tone.

“I’ll sit outside Miss Cosgrove’s door tonight,” Christopher offered, “if you’re worried about leaving her alone.” He entered Miss Abbott’s cabin— smaller than Miss Cosgrove’s and sparse in belongings. The captain hurried ahead to pull back the bedcovers, and Christopher laid Miss Abbott down, then reached for the quilt to cover her, though she was fully clothed.

The blanket caught on her shoe, and Christopher cast an uncertain glance at the captain, grateful he was in the room.

“No good sleeping with shoes on.” Captain Gower inclined his head toward Miss Abbott’s feet. “Best take them off for her.”

Christopher stared at him, uncertain he’d heard correctly and wary of the amused expression on the captain’s face.

“Go on.” Captain Gower folded his arms and fixed Christopher with a pointed look.

If my sisters could see me now.
Gritting his teeth, he lifted Miss Abbott’s right heel and tried to wriggle the slipper off.
Grace would laugh.
The slipper would not budge but appeared almost molded to Miss Abbott’s foot, so Christopher set about untying the ribbon.
And Helen would be appalled at such brazenness.
Like the slipper it was attached to, the ribbon was a much-faded blue, the edges frayed, the top stained. Once untied, the shoe came off easily. Christopher set it aside on the floor but not before noting what poor condition it was in, with holes near both the toe and the heel.

Until now he’d not paid any attention to Miss Abbott’s footwear, but he now recalled her explanation for her slow, pained walk that first late evening of her arrival. No doubt these were the slippers that had trod the cobbled streets for over two hours.

Quickly he untied the second slipper and removed it, grateful the moment his hands were no longer on Miss Abbott’s ankle. He stood and stepped back, eager to exit the overly warm room.

“Don’t you think you ought to put the quilt over her?” the captain asked. “The nights can get cool.”

Christopher knew the captain to be right, but at the moment he couldn’t imagine this stifling room becoming chilled. He didn’t dare touch his forehead, lest the captain suspect the difficulty he was experiencing, but he felt beads of sweat forming there all the same.

Stepping forward once more, Christopher took the top of the quilt and pulled it up to Miss Abbott’s shoulders. Then, instead of leaving as he ought to have done, he watched her for a brief moment, his yearning frightening in its intensity. He appreciated her beauty, yes. And he admired her strength of character, but seeing her asleep like this stirred something deep within him, a desire so powerful it felt almost like a need. He wanted suddenly, very much, to touch her, to smooth the hair back from her face, perhaps even to place his lips on hers.

I’ve gone mad.

He hurriedly straightened and stepped back, then fled the room, feeling vast relief— and the tiniest regret— when Captain Gower also exited and closed the door behind him.

“No need to watch over Lady Cosgrove and her daughter tonight,” the captain said congenially. “I’ll get Tenney to check in on them, and I’ll ask Murphy to make his bed outside their door. He can alert me if he hears anything unusual.”

“Thank you, sir,” Christopher said. “Good eve to you, then.” He nodded, then strode away, around the tables and toward his own cabin.

Behind him the captain chuckled. “Cannot ask you to watch out for Miss Cosgrove when you’ve more than you can handle with Miss Abbott.”

“Captain?” Christopher pivoted to face him, but Captain Gower had just exited the saloon through the doorway to the kitchen.

Christopher entered his cabin and closed the door behind him, then crossed to the bed and sat alone in the darkness.

Helping a woman, admiring her, enjoying her company, and even befriending her were all acceptable actions for a man in his position— or at least he had managed to convince himself they were. But feeling as he had a minute ago was entirely different. Entirely
un
acceptable.

Yet he could not seem to rid his mind of Miss Abbott, of how it had felt to hold her in his arms and the ache he had experienced in leaving her. Christopher leaned forward, head in his hands.
At this rate, I’ll be as besotted as my brothers-in-law by the time we reach New York.

And that would never do. Grace and Helen had as much power over Nicholas and Samuel as if they were connected by a string. Christopher had witnessed the process firsthand— the not-so-covert glances exchanged between Helen and Samuel, the conversations that hinted at their attraction to one another, Helen’s blushing and Samuel’s clearing his throat as if he’d gotten something stuck in it. Almost overnight those seemingly harmless actions had turned to an obvious and shared affection that made an otherwise sensible man do rather nonsensical things, like carrying his wife out of doors in only her nightdress so he could show her the hundreds of roses he’d spent weeks planting for her.

Nicholas was no better. He followed Grace around like a lovesick puppy, running ahead of her to pull out her chair, offering her bites of his own meal from his fork, constantly staring at her, even in public, as if to reassure himself that she was well and his.

Such fanatical behavior is not for me.
Christopher sat up and ran a hand through his hair, exasperated with himself for his wayward thoughts. Yet he knew he had no one but himself to blame. He was the one who had first reached out to Miss Abbott. He had joined her on deck and asked her to dance. He’d lent her books and invited her to walk with him.
I am my own worst enemy.

Instead of doing a jig on deck when they’d danced, he should have been doing a jig that he was free of worrying over anyone other than himself. But he did not see how that was possible now, not when he knew Miss Abbott and, worse, knew of the trouble awaiting her.

He groaned.
I am a bigger fool than both Nicholas and Samuel combined.

At least they had seen a future ahead of them. Marrying his sisters had made sense for each man, had led them down a path of happiness, albeit one where each had turned rather soft and acted somewhat ridiculous.

But there could be no ending like that for Christopher and Miss Abbott. He could not afford to entertain any thoughts about her as more than a friend— more than an acquaintance, really, as they would part ways in another two weeks’ time. So he had best start acting like that acquaintance now.

Instead of imagining what it would feel like to kiss her.
Christopher fell back on the bed, grabbed the pillow, and clamped it over his face
.

As if that could somehow block out the thoughts running through his mind and the feelings pulsing through his heart.

Marsali left her cabin with both the star chart and lantern in hand and walked the length of the saloon with deliberate noise, allowing the parchment to crinkle and stomping her feet in exaggerated steps. She opened the door and shut it soundly behind her, then waited a moment, hopeful that Mr. Thatcher might join her. When he did not, she held back a sigh of disappointment and resolutely took up her place on deck, determined to enjoy the night anyway. Mr. Murphy was nowhere to be seen, but First Officer Luke strode over and greeted her heartily, his moustache curving upward and twitching in a way that almost made it appear he had a small creature residing on his lip.

“Captain Gower has told me of your affinity for the stars.” He gazed heavenward as he spoke, hands clasped behind his back. “I, too, find them fascinating.”

“Indeed.” Marsali had learned through previous unfortunate experience that First Officer Luke took his position a bit too seriously. His rank had obviously gone to his head, enlarging it to the point that it was a wonder it did not tip precariously off his bony neck. “Are you a particular fan of Greek mythology as well?” she asked politely.
This must be how Mr. Thatcher feels whenever Lydia accosts him.

Officer Luke appeared somewhat taken aback by her question. “If you mean all that nonsense about gods and demigods, the underworld and the like, then no. I have to say that I am not.”

The stories of ancient Greece were not necessarily her favorite reading material either, but Marsali at least recognized that the constellations and the myths went hand in hand.

She sat and unrolled the chart, holding the lantern above it while she tried to determine which constellations she might be able to find now that she must deal with the waxing moon’s interference. Aside from that first night of the new moon— the same that Lydia had become so ill— Marsali had not been out to stargaze again and had missed the best opportunities, when their view of the moon was slight.

Mr. Luke raised a straightened arm to the sky, his fist directed at the North Star. “Just checking our latitude,” he said importantly as he tilted his head back and squinted in the direction of his extended arm.

He does not actually expect to impress me, does he?
Any fool knew latitude could be gauged using the North Star as a guide. She certainly hoped the first officer did as well. “Isn’t a sextant usually employed for that task?”

“Well, yes.” He lowered his hands. “But it’s late, and this will do.”

“Let us hope so.” If he wished to risk the captain’s wrath if they went off course and were delayed, so be it. She was in no hurry to arrive in New York. Still, she glanced toward the wheel and felt relieved to see the helmsman stationed there.