Castaway Dreams (23 page)

"Ridiculous. A marriage is not about giggling and foolishness, Miss Farnham. A marriage is about shared values and compatibility and mutual goals."

"Oh?" she said loftily. "And do you speak from experience, Dr. Murray? Let me remind you that one of us has been married--more or less--and is the more knowledgeable in this area. You may know all about starting fires and cooking fish, but I know more than you about being married."

"Do you? Miss Farnham, the idea of taking your advice for something as important as how I'll spend the rest of my life, and with whom, fills me with dread."

"Scoff if you will, Dr. Murray, but if you are as intelligent as you think you are, you will listen to me. If I had a pencil and paper I would make you a list."

He leaned back against a tree and crossed his arms over his chest, then crossed his legs at the ankles. His feet were on the large side, which for some reason she had never noticed before, but now she did. George had small feet.

"Miss Farnham? You were going to offer me advice? I do not need paper, I have an excellent memory. You tell me what you think I need to know, and I will give it all the consideration it deserves."

"Very well," Daphne said. She sat up straight, her legs folded beneath her and her hands in her lap. Looking up at the surgeon leaning against the tree she was struck again by how she failed to notice so much about him aboard the
Magpie.
How his build was solid, but not heavy. It was the solidity of muscles earned laboring over men who needed bones reset and limbs removed. He was not overly tall, but his legs were long and, as torn as his trousers were, she could see those legs were excellently formed. The pared-down planes and angles of his face reflected his stony outlook, but it was not an unattractive combination. No, some woman would find his face attractive, she had no doubt, even with the wrinkles at the edges of his hazel eyes and the skin bronzed from the tropical sun and years at sea. In fact, some women might find him amazingly attractive, in a gruff and serious fashion.

Speaking of fashion...

"First of all, Dr. Murray, if you are going to attract a wife, you will need an entire new wardrobe when we land in England."

"Miss Farnham, all of my clothes were lost at sea. I will need an entire new wardrobe regardless of whether or not I mean to attract a wife."

"Exactly! You are presented with an opportunity, Dr. Murray, an opportunity to join the world of well-dressed men with good tailoring. No, don't pucker up at me! I saw your wardrobe on the
Magpie.
The best that could be said about your appearance was that you were clean and neat."

"Thank you," he said humbly.

"I am serious, Doctor! We established this is an area of particular expertise for me, so you should pay attention."

"Yes, ma'am."

She looked at him suspiciously, but as usual his face gave away little. Even his eyebrows were at rest.

"Now then, your wardrobe. I noticed on the ship that you favor the color brown."

"It does hide bloodstains."

She shuddered.

"You will not be choosing your wardrobe based on what hides bloodstains, Doctor. I cannot imagine you will show up for a ride in the park or a morning call with a bloody knife sticking out of your pocket!"

He thought about this.

"Probably not, but I do always like to keep a tourniquet or two on my person. You never know when you'll need to tie off a limb."

"Dr. Murray, gentlemen do not show up in a lady's parlor bearing tourniquets! You are to show up with flowers, or send them ahead of you. Really, you said yourself you were rejected for an
American
, for goodness sake!"

She stood, and briskly wiped her hands together. She needed to pace--and hum--while she was thinking.

"We've established you like women--"

"Did you have doubts on that score?"

"Not the way you disdain fashion. Now then, on that note. You need colors and fabrics reflecting who you are, Dr. Murray, or more properly, who you will be by the time I am finished with you. The natural philosopher who thinks deep thoughts, but is also capable of dressing appropriately."

"If that's the case, we are back to brown and bloodstains."

"No, we are not!" She nearly stamped her bare foot in frustration, but then she looked at him and realized he was laughing at her. Oh, he was not
laughing
laughing, that would be over the top, but he was amused.

And she realized one more thing--he was not laughing at her, thinking her stupid or empty headed, he was laughing because he was entertained by her.

That is what Dr. Murray needed. He did not realize it yet, but he needed a woman who'd take him out of his grumps, who would make him see more of the humor in life. Daphne could help with that. Once he was properly outfitted, she could introduce him to women who would be right for him.

She frowned at that idea. There was something about the idea of introducing Dr. Murray to other women that simply did not appeal. And to be honest, she knew very few women of his class, women of the trade and merchant class.

But she knew dressmakers, and some of them were successful businesswomen in their own right, and if they were not looking for a man, perhaps they'd know a merchant's daughter or a tradesman's widow who was looking for a man.

She'd worry later about how the idea of Dr. Murray holding someone else in his arms at night bothered her.

"Do you not want to cut a dash in society? Never mind, I do not know why I even bother. If I said I needed a new hat you would say, 'You only have one head, why do you need more than one hat?'"

"I am perfectly willing to acknowledge you need a warm hat for winter wear and a straw hat for summer. Miss Farnham, this conversation is nonsense. I do not need to change my ways to catch a wife. I have money saved, and all of my limbs and my teeth. I am a man of abstemious habits. I cannot imagine how having a waistcoat of daffodil satin would make a bit of difference in my prospects."

Daphne perked up.

"Now you are putting your brain to work, Dr. Murray!" She pointed her finger at him. "With your coloring daffodil satin would be a handsome choice. Not for a coat though, that would be a bit much. As you say, for a waistcoat. Really, Doctor, I had no idea you were taking fashion so seriously."

"I am not taking this seriously, for a very good reason. That statement about my wearing something as ridiculous as daffodil satin was meant to illustrate why this conversation is waste of time. I have no intention of drawing attention to myself that way.

"All I need is someone who can tend house, cook a meal, will not frighten the horses with her looks and who will care for her children. The more I think about it, the more I agree with you that I could use a wife, Miss Farnham. If I had a wife, I would not need to pay for a housekeeper or a cook, an economy I approve of."

Daphne was left speechless by his words, and it took a few moments to gather her wits together. Even George offered more to her than what Dr. Murray outlined in a spouse. George made her laugh and was entertaining. Now she felt sorry for the poor woman the surgeon would marry. An unpaid housekeeper and cook indeed!

In her stunned silence the surgeon pushed himself off the tree and began gathering up their dishes from lunch, rescuing the ones Pompom was licking clean for a more thorough washing.

Daphne had regained her equilibrium and could even smile as she envisioned Dr. Murray going to a hiring fair to find a wife, for that seemed to be his plan. She helped him carry the dishes to the pool and scrubbed them with sand before rinsing them for later use. Pompom took a drink from the pool, shaking his head and spraying her with drops of water when he was done.

"Poor Pompom, you are sadly in need of a good brushing also," Daphne commiserated, but the dog seemed to care as little for fashion as the other male, and only barked and danced around her feet when she started back to the cabin.

She was not willing to let the subject of grooming the other male go by the wayside. Someday he would thank her for it. And if he did not, his wife would, no matter what he said. A flash of color in a palmetto gave her an idea.

"You are a natural philosopher, Doctor, and you observe the natural world. Do the males of the bird species not sport the brightest plumage? It attracts the eyes of their mates. Perhaps, sir, you would do well to add some bright plumage to your wardrobe."

"I have no desire to be a peacock, Miss Farnham."

"Maybe not a peacock, but even a robin sports colorful feathers. Your hair looks like autumn foliage, the bones of your face are strong, and your eyes are the color of..." She thought for a moment as they walked. "The color of sunlight and leaves together. A good combination for the earthen tones you favor. But for special occasions, a purple waistcoat would bring out the green of your eyes even more."

She realized she was walking by herself, and turned around. Dr. Murray had stopped on the path and stared at her.

"What?"

"You see me that way, Miss Farnham? As someone whose physiognomy is all of that?"

"I do not know," she said. "What does that mean?"

"Physiognomy. My face. I believe it is the origin of the cant word 'phiz.'"

"Truly? Then I learned something else new today! Thank you, Dr. Murray. Physiognomy," she said beneath her breath, remembering the word. She would work it into a conversation at some point in London to demonstrate how much more learned she was than before she was shipwrecked.

She looked over her shoulder. Dr. Murray was following her, with an unreadable expression on his, she smiled, his physiognomy. Soon she would be sounding like Daphne Farnham, natural philosopheress!

After they put up the dishes, Dr. Murray said, "It is time to light our beacon, Miss Farnham."

"Do you believe it will draw ships to us?"

"I am more concerned about the sorts of ships it might draw. Unless it is a Royal Navy ship we will proceed with great caution."

Daphne looked down at her bare feet, scuffed with dirt and rough from walking.

"Will you be sorry to leave this island, Dr. Murray?"

When he did not speak she finally raised her eyes, and saw him watching her intently. He took a step closer, then stopped himself.

"First comes rescue, Miss Farnham."

They walked in silence up to the beacon firepit. Everything was in readiness, the wood gathered, the conditions perfect--dry and only a slight breeze. Their fire would be visible for vast distances.

Dr. Murray passed Daphne the fire making tools, and she stood there, looking at them.

"Think of all the hats waiting for you to purchase them, Miss Farnham."

Daphne knelt down next to the pit, and after some fierce humming and a few strikes her fire started smoldering. It did not give her the same sense of accomplishment it had that morning, but Dr. Murray assisted her in laying the wood and feeding it, the green wood making her cough as the smoke rose up into the blue sky. They moved away from the smoke and watched it, a signal for all the ships at sea.

"It will burn until near sunset," he said. "Before it is too dark we will feed it again with the dry wood and hope for the best."

He watched her for some heartbeats, not saying anything else. Then he stepped closer to her, and put his hand beneath her chin, lifting her face up to look at him.

"Do not be downcast, Miss Farnham. We knew this idyll could not last, and we both have responsibilities and lives to return to."

She clasped his hand, so strong, so capable. "You will not forget me, will you, Dr. Murray? You will think of me sometimes, and our time on our island?"

"I could never forget you, Daphne Farnham," he said in a low voice, and his other hand came up, cradling her face. Her eyes fluttered shut and she wanted to stand there, forever, feeling the touch of his hands on her. He startled her then, kissing her on her forehead, a kiss of friendship, but she made a little noise deep in her throat and he stilled. She heard the far off call of a bird, and the snap of the wood smoking on the fire. Then she felt his lips again, touching delicately at the corner of her closed eye, her cheekbone, like the faintest brush of sensation, as light as smoke at the corner of her mouth, and her lips opened, seeking more of him, all of him.

She clutched at his shoulders, covered by his ragged coat, but that wasn't enough, not when his mouth was teasing hers, his firm lips caressing hers, his tongue seeking entrance.

Daphne opened for him with a hum of delight, her hands slipping inside his coat to feel his warmth, his back with the play of muscles beneath the skin, and she clutched him to her. It felt so good, like a fine wine trickling down her throat, the kiss opening up her senses to every other part of her body. She pressed herself against his bare chest, and her breasts, separated by only the thin layer of her remaining garment felt wonderful against his firmness, the nipples tightening and swelling against him. She could feel him against her belly, hard and erect, as solid as the rest of him and she wanted more. One hand held his head to hers, reveling in the feel of the crisp curls at the back of his neck, the other pressed against his hips, bringing him into contact with the place that needed his touch, that ached for him.

He kept an arm at her back while his mouth roamed over her face, her neck, down to the collarbones that showed through her ragged dress, and his kisses there made her shiver, his mouth making her feel--she had no more words left to describe how she felt, only that it was like flying. His other hand rested on her breast, so lightly she scarcely knew it was there until his fingers stroked her, at that point where she was swollen and aching, even as his mouth returned, his lips slanting across hers, his tongue stroking inside her. When she widened her stance to take him more fully against her, she hummed deep in her throat, a sound of contentment and satisfaction.

He broke the kiss and moved his head back from hers, his breath a harsh rasp. His hand moved off her breast to hold her head against his shoulder as a shudder wracked his frame. Daphne's hand fisted in the collar of his coat, not willing to release him.