Marrying Christopher (30 page)

Marsali gave a short laugh. “Even the boys? How terrible for them.”

“Even the boys, and not so terrible at all.” Mr. Thatcher scooted closer, no longer focused on the sea but looking intently at her.

With intent
,
Marsali thought, her heart pounding. But
what
was his intention? She felt hers well enough. They were sitting close, but she wished for more and longed for him to take her in his arms again. That was all she wished for, and to stay there forever.

“Marry me, Marsali.”

His lips moved, and it was his voice she heard, but the words had to be in her imagination. It was impossible that she could be hearing them from him. Four weeks wasn’t time enough to come to know someone so well, to become betrothed. He had said so himself.

“I promise to keep you safe throughout your term of indenture— and beyond.” He offered her a tentative smile, the first glimpse of vulnerability she had ever seen in him. “Captain Gower can marry us here, aboard his ship, before we reach America, and he has agreed to help with the transition to Mr. Thomas’s residence. I will offer to work for Mr. Thomas as well— hopefully to shorten the length of your service, but if not, to at least see you safely through it.”

A fresh set of tears leaked from her eyes as Marsali brought her hand to her head, certain she’d heard him incorrectly, that there was some terrible mistake.
Am I dreaming?
She pressed her hands to her still-damp cheeks and felt that the tears there were very real and she was quite awake.

“You have... just asked me to marry you?” She cringed as she spoke the words, knowing they could not be true.

“I have.” His smile widened to the more familiar, confident one. “You cannot be more astonished than I was when I first considered the possibility.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain.” She offered a tremulous laugh. “But you don’t wish to be married— especially not to me, not when you’ve your dreams and plans.”

“Which include you now.” He reached for her hand once more, and she allowed him to take it, savoring every second of this closeness and his touch as his fingers brushed over hers.

“Marsali?”

She loved hearing him speak her name. “Yes.”
Christopher.
She was not brave enough to speak it or to quite believe this was truly happening.

He leaned forward, then stopped, his brow furrowing. “Was that yes a question, or a yes as in—”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I will marry you.”

“You will? You are certain?” He studied her quizzically, as if not quite believing her answer. She felt suddenly alarmed and pulled away.

“Were you not in earnest when you asked?”

“No one has ever been more earnest than I.” He placed his hands upon her shoulders and looked at her directly. “It is only that Captain Gower believed you would take a great deal of convincing to accept my offer.”

“What would
he
know about my feelings?” Marsali demanded with a huff.

“Not much, apparently.” Mr. Thatcher’s lopsided grin returned. “
Thankfully
.” His hands slid from her shoulders and down the length of her arms. “I meant every word I said, every promise I made.”

“But why change your plans— for me?”

“Because it is for
you
. Because I have scarce been able to stop thinking of you since the moment you first shuffled up the ramp in that clever disguise. I was so very impressed that night. And then we danced, and you told me about the stars, and you helped Miss Cosgrove— every day I found something more to admire about you.”

She blushed from his praise while beneath her dress her heart pounded.

“And then just yesterday I realized that if I did not marry you, you should suffer a lifetime without clean clothing, considering your lack of laundry skills.”

“You told me I had improved,” she said, sticking out her lip as if he had wounded her.

“Oh, you have,” he rushed to say. “But considering what skill you began with…”

She folded her arms and did her best to look cross. “Be grateful that I am not in possession of a wet article of clothing right now. You might find it upon your head.”

“Deserved, no doubt.” He continued with his assessment. “I do believe that watching you attempting to do laundry was the deciding factor in my proposal. That, and your gumption at climbing up to the lifeboat. Oh, and Mr. Luke persuaded me as well.”

“Mr. Luke?” Marsali’s frown deepened and was no longer pretended. “What has he got to do with this?” One minute Mr. Thatcher spoke tenderly, and the next he teased. She could scarce keep up or believe him.

“Well…” He released her and stood suddenly, then began walking before her, imitating Mr. Luke’s arrogant gait. “As you began to spend more and more time with the gallant first officer, it became quite apparent that if left to your own devices, you would end up with someone ostentatious like him. And I knew it would not be long before the fellow drove you completely mad, and then I began to worry not only for your safety with Thomas but your sanity with Mr. Luke, or someone like him. And so I said to myself, ‘Christopher, you’ve got to save that woman not only from the cruelty of her employer but from herself as well.’”

“Such chivalry.” Marsali rolled her eyes. “I had the matter in hand, you know. Why do you think I was hiding in that boat?”

“I thought you were avoiding Lady or Miss Cosgrove.”

“I was not,” Marsali said, eager to clarify the matter. “Lydia could talk to me for an entire week, and I would prefer to wash all of her dresses again over another hour spent in Mr. Luke’s company.”

“I am quite happy to realize that.” Mr. Thatcher ceased walking and stopped before her. “I might, perhaps, have been jealous.” He helped Marsali from the window seat.

“You have no reason to be jealous,” she assured him. “I have wished only for your company since that very first night.”

The room grew silent as they faced one another.

“I only tease those I care for,” he said quietly. “My younger sister, Helen, used to be my favorite target, and I love her dearly. But were she here with us now, I should think she would come in second to my love of sparring with you.”

“I shall take that as a compliment.” Marsali’s tears had finally dried, so she allowed herself to look up at him. “Still, this is madness, and I cannot quite believe it.”

“Believe it,” he said. “I shall be haunted if you leave without me, if you knowingly go alone to face danger. That would be the only madness herein.”

“What if Mr. Thomas is a danger to you as well?” Marsali asked, worrying suddenly that he would be.

Mr. Thatcher shrugged. “As a wise young woman recently once told me—” he brought a hand to his chin as if speculating— “there is little point in letting the possibility of tomorrow’s troubles interfere with today. When they come,
if
they do, we shall face them together— as husband and wife. Marry me, Marsali.”

She attempted to mirror his casual smile. “I already said yes.”

His eyes grew dark with intent once more. “Perhaps something more, then, to seal the bargain.”

She stuck her hand out in the manner of a business agreement. He took it and pulled her to him, slipping his other arm around her waist, then whispered in her ear.

“Am I truly as bad at courting as the captain says?”

“Worse.” Her hair caught on the evening stubble along his jawline. “I had no idea you
were
courting me until a few minutes ago.”

“Ah,” he said. “My subtlety worked, then.”

“It did,” she conceded, thinking it seemed days ago— not within the last hour— that she had come to this room, believing a reprimand from the captain awaited her. “But do not think that tactic will continue to work for you. From now on I should like more direct communication, so as to not be confused about your objectives.”

“I’ve only one at the moment.” He leaned in closer. “My objective is to kiss you.”

“You are too bold, Mr. Thatcher.”
Delightfully so.

“My name is Christopher. I should like to hear you say it.”

“You are too bold,
Christopher
.”

He grinned rakishly. “Get used to it.” He kissed the bridge of her nose.

Marsali sighed with disappointment when he pulled back. “
That
was your objective?”

“Hardly,” he said, “but the captain’s quarters are no place for a first kiss between us.”

“Why not?” She glanced about the room again.
It is pleasant enough, and we are alone.
Instead of being frightened by the prospect of kissing him, she felt exhilarated.

“Trust me.” Christopher pulled her close briefly, then kissed her forehead and set her away from him. “If I have learned one thing from my brother-in-law, it is that a first kiss must be done right.”

She tilted her face up toward him. “There is a wrong way to kiss?”

“No,” he said. “At least there won’t be when we do it— tomorrow.”

Christopher knew the second Marsali entered the room. Before he heard the click of her door or caught a glimpse of the fabric of her dress as she sat across from him, he felt her presence and the quantity of electricity that came with it. It stretched between them, an invisible force that seemed almost tangible. He felt pulled toward her, aware of her every movement, conscious of her expressions, the slightest change in her delicate features, every breath she drew.

It was driving him mad— in a pleasantly torturous sort of way.

If one could only patent this feeling,
he would surely make a fortune.

“Good morning, Miss Abbott.” He handed her the dish of berry jam, knowing— from days of studying her habits— what she would choose to spread across her biscuit.

“Good morning, Mr. Thatcher.” Their fingers touched briefly, and color flooded her cheeks. She avoided his gaze, but he caught her biting her lip in an attempt to hold back a smile.

He didn’t bother holding his back— probably couldn’t have if he’d wanted to. He’d woken with two thoughts this morning: that Marsali was to be his wife; and that they would soon be in America. With both of these events to happen within the next two days, he’d never felt happier or more alive.

“Enchanted morning, everyone,” Miss Cosgrove called as she wrestled her wide gown through the doorway, then sailed down the corridor toward them, flamboyant layers of lavender preceding her.

Enchanted
. A fine word. I am enchanted with my soon-to-be wife.
Marsali wore a pale green gown today, simple in adornment compared to Miss Cosgrove’s, but he thought it very pretty on her. She needed no frills or frippery to assist her beauty.

“Green becomes you,” Christopher said as he handed her the milk before she could request it.

“Thank you. My father used to tell me the same thing.” She pulled at the pitcher, but he refused to release it, preferring to maintain their eye contact across the table and having her hand so near to his.

“He was a very wise man.”

“As are you. Feel free to compliment me often.” Marsali leaned forward. “However, you must share the milk if this courtship is going to come to fruition.”

He laughed and let her have the pitcher just as Miss Cosgrove joined them.

“Good morning,” Marsali said with far more enthusiasm than Christopher felt about Miss Cosgrove’s arrival, though even her chatter could not dampen his spirits this morning.

Miss Cosgrove returned Marsali’s greeting and followed it with what sounded strangely like an order. “Do be a dear and slide down so I may sit across from Mr. Thatcher this morning.” She held her skirts and waited expectantly.

“Of course.” Marsali slid to the end of the bench, stood, and walked around the head of the table, past Captain Gower’s as-yet vacant chair, to the other side.

Feeling inordinately pleased at her bold move, Christopher made room for her next to him and reached across the table to pull her dishes to his side. Miss Cosgrove still stood, squinting at them, her brow furrowed, a look of perplexity mingled with a dash of annoyance. She gave a forced laugh as she clapped her hands together.

“Well, I did not mean
that
far, but I suppose it shall do. Now I can look at both of you.”

“And we you,” Marsali said pleasantly.

Christopher silently admired both her assertiveness in staking her claim and her apparent lack of a grudge against Miss Cosgrove. He doubted he would have been so generous had Mr. Luke requested to sit near Marsali.

Miss Cosgrove poured herself a cup of tea. “Since we’ve only three days left for amusement, I thought we might stroll the deck this morning. The captain says we shall begin to see signs of land soon— birds and such. After being inside that dreary cabin so long, the sea air will be most refreshing. Though I dare not go walking on my own, weak as I still am.”

Her tongue has not weakened with her illness
. Christopher took a larger bite of his roll than necessary, ensuring his mouth was too full to respond to anything Miss Cosgrove said.

“I will accompany you,” Marsali offered.

Christopher hurriedly chewed, then swallowed too quickly, the dry bread scratching his throat as it went down. “Will you not have other matters to attend to today?” he asked, giving her a sideways glance as he reached for his cup. He had assumed— wrongly, perhaps— that their remaining time on the ship would be spent together. At the least, they were to be married today. And though they could not have a traditional wedding night, he wished to spend the time talking with Marsali and enjoying her company.