Marrying Christopher (23 page)

“There. That’s better.” Marsali smiled as she held out the bowl.

“Must you always be so cheerful?” Lady Cosgrove said, snatching the bowl so quickly that some of the broth spilled onto the quilt. “Clumsy girl.”

“That was not my doing, and you know it.” Marsali turned away without offering to assist in cleaning up the mess. “And I
do
prefer being cheerful to being sour, as
some
people on this voyage seem wont to be.”

The second the words were out of her mouth, she realized she’d gone too far in standing up to Lady Cosgrove.
I am not her servant
, Marsali reminded herself as she cringed, waiting for the stinging rebuke that was sure to come yet wondering at the same time why she cared— why she continued to help the woman at all.

“You think yourself so clever.” Lady Cosgrove’s voice held none of the feebleness that had been there but a moment ago. Instead Marsali sensed a bitterness and a dislike that surely bordered on hatred.

Marsali turned to face her once more. “I apologize. I should not have said what I did. Feeling ill as you have been is reason enough for behaving poorly.”

Lady Cosgrove gasped but did not further disagree with Marsali’s assessment.

It is true enough.
Marsali well remembered those few occasions she had been allowed to visit her mother before she’d died. Instead of the sweet-tempered and loving woman she had grown up with, Marsali had found her shriveled and bitter, short of temper and disinterested in her own daughter.
Because she was in such agony.

Pain, she had learned through unfortunate experience, changed people’s behavior. Even those with usually good dispositions could be made cruel when enough misery was inflicted upon them.

“And I do not think myself overly clever,” Marsali continued. “But this morning I am feeling particularly grateful. Lydia’s color is better, and her breathing has improved as well. I have hope that she may yet fully return to us.”

“Do not try to soften me with a reminder of what you have done for my daughter.”

“I wasn’t.” Marsali held her head high but chose her words more carefully this time. “I am not so foolish as to expect gratitude from someone who hasn’t experience with such— both giving
and accepting,
if I am correct.”
Another insult, but certainly a true one.
“I am grateful Lydia is improving because I genuinely care for your daughter, and I want her to be well.”

“As do I,” Lady Cosgrove said, a bit of softening to her tone. “And I… thank you. For your part in it.”

“You are most welcome,” Marsali said, recognizing the difficulty it had to have caused Lady Cosgrove to say such words.

One does not thank a servant
,
Aunt Ada had instructed her children shortly after Marsali had come to live with them.
One uses her as one might a plaything or a piece of furniture. A servant is for your benefit, for you to avail yourself of whenever you need her—
not
the other way around. And if she does anything amiss, she is to be punished— severely. It is the only way she will learn.

“If Lydia does not come round, I am not certain what will become of us,” Lady Cosgrove admitted, sounding frightened now.

“She will be whole again.”
She must.
Marsali could not imagine a young life with so much promise being snuffed out.
And yet she has wavered on the brink of death these many days.

“So you say,” Lady Cosgrove said. “But you have youth on your side, and ignorance. It is a blissful combination that has provided you, for the time being, with an optimistic outlook and a rash independence. I rather envy you that.”

“If ignorance is found in watching one’s mother waste away from illness, dying a piece at a time, little by little, day after day, then you are correct.” Marsali added more laundry to the overflowing pile by the door. “Or perhaps it is knowing that my future is bound to a man reputed for cruelty and who has, quite probably, ended the lives of those previously indentured to him. If this is what you envy, Lady Cosgrove, then I pity you indeed.”

“Ignorance may have been the wrong word,” she conceded in a rare moment of admitting to anything less than perfection. “Nevertheless, I find myself wishing I was in possession of your willpower and determination.”

“You are.” Marsali opened the door, carrying the basket of used rags with her. “You’ve more strength than you give yourself credit for. And when the need for it arises, I’ve no doubt you’ll reach inside and find it.”

Christopher adjusted his cravat and tugged down his vest before approaching Lady Cosgrove as she sat in one of the chairs Captain Gower had brought up on deck. Instead of leaning against the back of the chair, she sat perched on the edge, her spine unnaturally straight, one hand tightly gripping the handle of the white parasol held loftily over her head.

“Good afternoon, Lady Cosgrove.” Christopher removed his hat and settled in another of the chairs, leaving the one between them empty.

“What do you find good about it?” she asked, her tone icy.

“The weather is quite fine,” Christopher said. “We’ve encountered very little storminess, in this time of year known to be most vulnerable to that sort of thing.”

“Hmph.”

“The breeze is light. We are making good headway. The sea is calm and beautiful.”

“
That
is a matter of opinion.”

“True,” Christopher conceded while wondering how anyone could dispute its beauty. Both the blue sky and ocean provided an endless horizon. The air was clear and clean, the scent of the ocean so much more pleasant than that of the city they’d left behind. Out here a man could imagine and dream any possibility and believe he would achieve such.

“But you are well and your daughter nearly so,” Christopher said. “Surely you cannot argue against that happy news.”

“I cannot,” Lady Cosgrove said stiffly.

A tiny step in the right direction.
“Miss Abbott has worked a miracle if I’ve ever seen one. You would think she and your daughter were sisters or longtime friends, at least, with the way she has so lovingly cared for her.”

Lady Cosgrove looked at him sideways. “
Lovingly
does not seem to be a word I would have thought to be in your vocabulary, Mr. Thatcher.”

Tread carefully.
“Only occasionally will you find it.” Christopher smiled. “For example, when I am referring to the care given me by our faithful servants. And, as Miss Abbott has been like a faithful servant to your daughter, that term seems most appropriate.”

Lady Cosgrove faced forward, her nose tilted upward. “I have yet to witness Miss Abbott acting the part of a faithful servant.”

Christopher nodded, pretending to agree. “I believe that is because she was not raised as a servant but rather brought up in a home with servants herself. Her father was quite wealthy and well connected in France.”

“Not so well. Look what the girl has become— an indentured servant is less respectable than those who have served for years, who have remained loyal to one family and dwelt at the same estate for decades.”

“So society tells us, but one cannot fault Miss Abbott for seeking a better life.” He recalled his grandfather having explained the principle of longtime servitude to him once, when telling him that Harrison’s family, his ancestors, had been serving at his estate as far back as the dukedom existed. “I believe Miss Abbott shows much promise. Whomever she serves will be fortunate to have her. Miss Abbott will be loyal to a fault. In addition, she has lived both in England and on the Continent, and that experience will, no doubt, prove valuable in less-civilized America.”

“What is your point, Mr. Thatcher?” Lady Cosgrove somehow managed to peer down her nose at him, though he was clearly taller, even seated as they were. “All this talk of Miss Abbott grows tedious.”

He decided to change tactics.
Honesty is not the best policy. It is the
only
policy
,
Grandfather had said. Christopher very much hoped Lady Cosgrove felt the same. “I would like you to consider hiring Miss Abbott to be your daughter’s lady’s maid. Once we reach New York, it would require an upfront payment to the man she is indentured to, but then she would be your faithful servant for a period of four years. And, as she appears to be quite fond of your daughter, I’ve no doubt she could be persuaded to stay on beyond that term.”

Lady Cosgrove’s mouth opened widely, then closed, bringing to mind a few of the unusual fish Christopher had seen on this voyage.

“How very audacious of you to presume to tell me whom I should hire as a servant— when it appears you are little better than a servant yourself.”

“There is no shame in serving others,” Christopher said evenly, “and I have spent a portion of my life doing that. Just as I’ve spent a number of years living with my grandfather, who was the seventh duke in a rather long and prestigious line.”

“Was,” Lady Cosgrove said. “He is dead now. And once more you are no one.”

“If you view my connection to him as the definition of who I am— or was,” Christopher said. Her attitude annoyed him, but it did not come as a surprise. “He was my mother’s father, so I remain untitled— unworthy of company such as yourself.” He made to leave, believing his cause to be lost, when she spoke again.

“I am sorry for your loss. And I understand your plight more than you may think.”

“I have no plight,” Christopher said. “I am my own man, responsible for my own future. It is likely that— even had a dukedom been offered me— I would have refused it in favor of this journey and the subsequent opportunities.”

“Then you would have been most foolish,” Lady Cosgrove said. “For a man, at least, may be secure in the knowledge that he will have an income for the duration of his life. But a woman is not so fortunate. I have buried two husbands— both men I cared for deeply. And upon the deaths of each, I found myself to be virtually penniless, without home or income.”

“And with a daughter to support,” Christopher added quietly.

Lady Cosgrove gave a brief nod, then immediately resumed her straight-backed posture. “In truth, I am powerless to choose so much as a servant or a gown or a cup of tea. Beyond the clothing that Lydia and I have brought in our trunks, we have nothing. Much of our jewelry was sold to sustain us these past months, until we received the offer from Mr. Vancer. From this point on it is he upon whom we are both completely reliant. I can only hope that Lydia’s being forced to a marriage of convenience turns out as fortunate as my marriage did.”

“For both your sakes, I hope so as well.” Christopher rose from his chair, the optimism he’d felt at the beginning of their meeting having completely vanished.
Are there any ladies who are
not
misfortunate?

“Good day to you, Lady Cosgrove.” He tipped his hat.

“And to you. I am sorry I cannot help with your request.”

“As am I,” Christopher said, feeling that her admission was something at least. Though it would not help Miss Abbott at all.

Marsali watched as Mr. Tenney poured champagne into her glass, then proceeded around the table. Beside her, Mr. Luke swirled the amber liquid appreciatively before taking a drink. On her other side, Mr. Jones— ever seeming uncomfortable when away from his engine room— covered his glass with his hand.

“None for me, thank you. I’ve got to be clearheaded to see to things below deck.” To Marsali, he said, “Never could hold my liquor well.”

“I do not believe there are many men who can,” she said, thinking of her uncle. “But it is an admirable one who admits it.”

In answer to her compliment, Mr. Jones stared at his place setting, his face flushing red to match his hair.

Marsali leaned closer. “Please do not be flustered by all this unexpected formality,” she whispered. “In truth, I am not at all certain anymore which fork is to be used first either.”

He braved a glance at her, an appreciative smile lighting his face. “I’ll not tell if you don’t.”

“Our secret,” Marsali whispered, bringing a finger to her lips. “We must only watch Lady Cosgrove for our example, and all will be well.”

Their
example
sat on the other side of the table between Captain Gower and Mr. Thatcher, directly opposite them. As Marsali looked up from her whispered conversation, she found Mr. Thatcher watching her, a most peculiar look— one she could not quite decipher— upon his face.