Mary-Michael lifted her hand from the table and waved it to stop her friend. "No. Not that, though I thank you for the offer."
"Then what did you..."
Becky's look of confusion prompted Mary to stare at her friend, the one who'd obviously forgotten the reason why she had no children yet.
"Oh! Oh! Mary... Oh! I forgot! Dear God in heaven, what do you do now?"
Mary gave her friend a flummoxed stare. "I was kind of hoping you could help me!"
Becky closed her eyes, and swore under her breath. "You
do
know what has to be done, right?"
"Of course I know about inserting the—" Mary glanced around the room again, as though it was suddenly filled with eavesdroppers. "—I know about sheathing the sword, as Sister Agnes once called it."
Becky choked on her beer, then let forth a string of colorful words that she could only have learned by owning a tavern.
Mary-Michael suddenly felt stupid sitting before her friend. This was the one thing women were supposed to have done when they were married, and Becky knew she hadn't. Ever. And Mary-Michael was beginning to think she'd made a mistake. "Just because I've never, doesn't mean I don't know what happens."
Becky's beautiful complexion turned a mottled red and white. "Oh, saints preserve us!" Her friend's eyes were so wide Mary-Michael thought they might pop right out of the sockets.
"I see you remember my predicament," Mary-Michael said. "But aside from that problem, I couldn't begin to fake being experienced enough to be comfortable in his bed. I don't know how to be intimate and..."
"Oh, my heavens," Becky fretted before closing her eyes. "Let me think on this." She took a sip of her ale and the two women stared at each other for several moments before Becky burst out, "I know! I know how you can... get around your... problem."
"Well, it is very obvious that Mr. Watkins is not a well man and has not been for quite a while. Your nervousness could be attributed to the fact that you've never been unfaithful to your husband. You do not ever need to mention that your husband has never claimed his marital rights."
Mary-Michael's eyes constantly scanned the room in case anyone should enter. "You are right. And none of this is lying. I hate that I have to lie to him."
"Get over it if you wish to have a child," Becky admonished. "You must not think about the discomfort, because it's temporary, I promise you." Becky's expression changed to one of sympathy. "Mr. Watkins is right. This is your opportunity to have a child. But, you have to do this while he still lives if you wish for your babe to carry his name."
"How will I know—" Mary dropped her voice even lower than a whisper. "—what to do when the time comes to actually... do
it?"
"Have a glass of wine to relax you, then let him lead. Give in to the sensations you will feel, Mary-Michael, because they are—" This time it was Becky's turn to make sure there was no one in the room with them. "—it is a most wonderful feeling. And if you are enjoying what you are feeling, it is completely acceptable for you to tell him you like what he is doing. Men like that."
"What about... blood? Virgins bleed do they not? How will I explain that?"
"Not all virgins bleed, and with you being so active, you may not." Mary tried to interject, but Becky stopped her. "If you do, you can say that you've just come off your monthly flux within the past day. That will work."
"You think so?
"I
know
so."
S
hortly before six o'clock that evening, Mary-Michael looked into the pier glass in her bedroom to check her appearance one more time before going downstairs. She could do nothing more for her nerves besides taking laudanum, but then she'd fall asleep. She could only hope that no one noticed her jitters.
Her hair was another hopeless case, so she left it hanging straight down, tying the sides behind her head in a ribbon. The last few days had been so unbearably muggy and hot, she'd actually considered cutting it all off because of the heat. Some of her friends at church told her that shorter hair kept the working woman cooler. She was getting very close to testing their theory. And thinking about her hair kept her from thinking about everything else—her husband's deteriorating condition, and the handsome client she was about to seduce into hopefully giving her a child.
She pressed at the quivering, racing heart in her chest and realized she couldn't control the shaking in her hands. Since her conversation with Mr. Watkins earlier in the afternoon and her visit with Becky, she'd done nothing but think of the possibility of an intimate relationship with the captain.
She worried over her appearance. Would he find her attractive? Could someone as plain as her persuade someone as handsome as him to take her to his bed? She glanced down at her gown. Spying a wrinkle in her peach and cream muslin skirt, she ran her hand down its length to smooth it out. And that was the moment she realized Captain Gualtiero had never seen her in appropriate women's clothing. Or even with her hair down, as she usually wore it braided and tied into a snood. Tonight, he would be seeing her for the first time as a woman, not a worker in a shipyard office.
Hearing her brother's voice below and that of Father Douglas, she trembled with nervous anticipation, then turned away from the pier glass and went downstairs. Upon entering the parlor, she noticed the guest of honor had not yet arrived, so she greeted both priests, poured herself a glass of wine to help with her nerves, and fell into conversation with her brother while they all waited.
They didn't have to wait long. Mary-Michael's breath caught in her throat the moment she heard the front door open. She forced herself not to turn around and look in the direction of the doorway as he entered. But it didn't matter. She felt his presence without having to see him. His stare scalded her back. Only after she was able to fill her lungs did she turn to greet him.
When their gazes met, he smiled at her and she felt that strange quivering in her chest once again. Becky told her this was good, that her body was reacting to his presence because she was attracted to him. The captain's gold-flecked brown eyes raked over her, and her entire body melted under his perusal. He'd found a barber she noticed, as he was freshly shaved. His hair was shorter, she wasn't sure yet if she liked it better, and still damp from a bath. An odd sensation dropped into her lower belly as she thought of him naked in a bath. It was thoughts like that about this man that should send her straight to the confessional. But she'd worry about that next weekend, when she made a shopping trip to Baltimore after the captain left.
Her hand trembled as she stepped forward and offered it in greeting. When he lifted it to his lips she sighed inwardly as she drew a breath.
Oh heaven help her
. She was not ready for this. Not at all. She'd worn no gloves because it was so warm, and the feel of his firm full lips on the back of her hand sent a river of heat crashing through her veins and onward to her soul. This man, without doing or saying a word, could make her melt into a puddle at his feet. All while her husband, her brother, and her priest looked on. She simply
must
get control of herself before she embarrassed herself in front of everyone.
"Thank you for coming to dinner, Captain," she said, hoping he would behave himself this night. She took her hand from his as he lingered a moment longer than was appropriate. "I would like to introduce you to my brother, Father George Albright."
She deliberately looked away from the captain, though her gaze wanted to cling to him. "George, this is Captain Gualtiero. He is the client we are now contracted with to build two new tea clippers." The men exchanged their greetings, and Mary-Michael moved on to Father Douglas, introducing him as well. Though in making this introduction, she noted the priest's reaction. There was recognition in his eyes. Father Douglas knew their dinner guest. She wondered how and whether her brother knew him as well.
Thankfully her husband took over the direction of conversation, for Mary-Michael felt a bit overwhelmed at that discovery. She had to keep reminding herself that Captain Gualtiero would be leaving on Monday, and when next she saw him he would take ownership of his ships and be gone from her life forever. She just had to get past this next year.
Someone said her name and it broke her introspection. "Yes?"
George was at her side, leaning toward her. "I asked if you were all right. You seem distant."
She forced a smile. "I'm fine, brother. Perhaps a bit tired, is all."
"You have been working rather hard lately. Maybe you should go to the farm for a few weeks. You could use a rest in the country where it's not as hot. And it wouldn't take much to convince Spenser, I'm sure."
"I cannot just yet. There is an enormous amount of work that needs to be done to start the process for these two new ships." It wasn't a lie,
per se
, but not the complete truth either. And it was yet another thing she needed to confess. Mary-Michael had a feeling that before these ships were handed over to their new owners, she was sure she'd have to find a church in Baltimore proper where she wasn't so well-known to the priests. She was beginning to think she'd need a place just for confessing this growing list of sins she was becoming proficient at committing.
"I'm only thinking about you, Mary-Michael. I'd hate for you to work yourself sick."
"George, I love you, brother." She hugged the younger priest. "As is your way, you think of everyone else first. I
am
doing exactly what my heart desires. And, I promise, I will go with Mr. Watkins to the farm soon." She was beginning to feel guilty for not being completely honest with her brother. This quest for a child was causing her to hide things from him, and she'd never done that before.
"Do you ever think perhaps there is something more than a life of constant work?" Her brother peered into her eyes, and she hoped he could see nothing. "No matter how much you love the job?"
"You're one to talk," she said through a smile, just as Victor entered the room announce dinner. And thank goodness for that. If she continued to lie, she'd need to start keeping a list, if not to read them off in the confessional, then just so she could keep them straight.
L
ucky watched Mary-Michael as much as he could. He would have loved to have more time to converse with her, but he thought it would be rude to ignore his host in favor of that man's wife.
During dinner she avoided him completely and unless forced, she would not look in his direction. Just once, as Victor served the smoked fish, Lucky met her gaze over their wine glasses and he smiled an acknowledgment. She gave the slightest nod of her head in response as she turned to try to pay attention to her husband's conversation with the older priest. But it was obvious her ears were tuned to her brother and the elderly priest seated across from her.
"Captain," her brother began, "what nationality are you, if you don't mind my asking? Your accent is English and your surname is not."
"Italian, from south of Naples originally," he said. "Though I moved to England with my sister when I was eight. Our parents died when I was six and Lia seventeen."
"Your sister just moved you both to England?" Mary-Michael's brother sounded astonished.
Lucky chuckled. "No. She married an Englishman." There was much more to the story, but no one outside the family would ever know. Nor did most inside the family.
"Did you have a religious upbringing?" This came from the elder priest.
"I did. I'm Catholic." He smiled, for the elder priest knew all this already. Lucky assumed his purpose was to inform Mr. and Mrs. Watkins for some reason.
Father Douglas then asked him questions about his attendance of services when he traveled. His reply caused Mary-Michael to finally look up from her plate. "I attend mass in every port. The first thing I do after unloading our cargo is to find where the closest church is—there is almost always one within a few blocks of the dock area. It's the only constant I have, for the mass is the same no matter the country."
"That it is, my good man," said Father Douglas with a wide, approving smile.
"Do you have a wife, Captain?" asked Mr. Watkins.
Mrs. Watkins' knife fell from her hand onto the china plate, the noise reverberating throughout the dining room. He'd wondered at her quiet and avoidant demeanor the entire evening and hoped her actions weren't about to send signals to the others at the table that there was an attraction between them. She fumbled the knife off the plate onto the table, apologizing for the disruption. Her hand trembled as she picked up her wine glass to sip at the rich ruby liquid, turning her attention back to her food, though Lucky was certain she still listened.
"No, sir," he replied honestly. "I hope to one day. As I do not own property, I have no home to bring a wife to yet. But more than that, Ian and I have committed ourselves to spending a great portion of the next few years at sea in order to build our company. Perhaps in the near future I will settle down." Surely it would only be a few years until Mary-Michael was free—though he should not be even thinking such a thing.
Mrs. Watkins lifted her wine glass and downed the contents before saying, "A strong enough woman can handle her man being gone, especially if she has more important matters that need her attention." When she realized the other occupants in the dining room were staring at her in astonishment, she clarified, "I meant, if she has a business to run. Or, God willing, children to raise."
The men around the table nodded and Lucky wondered if she was talking about herself. Did Mrs. Watkins feel at all uncomfortable being the only woman in the room? If so, Lucky thought she did an excellent job hiding it. Still she didn't look his way often and it rankled him. He wanted her focus all to himself. Which was entirely wrong given their circumstance, but true nonetheless.