Sail Away (5 page)

"Geoffrey...” She bit her lip. “Geoff, please—make your peace with our father, come along to Nova Scotia. Surely you can come back later, if you think you must."

"Why waste the time? Cynthia, do you not see that we must fight for America?"

His speech was really quite monotonous. “No, I do not. If you want the truth, Geoff, the truth for me—I am the same as our poor mother, only perhaps a little stronger. This place will never be my home; I wish that we had never left England. I know Papa has done well here, he has made his fortune, even bought his own ships—but we were not poor when we lived in Southampton. We had friends, family—we had music, Geoffrey. When was the last time you heard real music? Can you even remember?"

He was staring at her as though she'd suddenly begun speaking Greek—worse, perhaps, since he'd been taught a little Greek by his tutor. “Cynthia, what difference does a little music matter when human liberty is at stake?"

Anger and affection warred within her. She seized his shoulders and shook him, then pulled him into a hug. “Geoff, it is not human liberty you are speaking of. It is only taxes and politics, the affairs of men. For me and Grandmama—for us women, I do not see how your revolution could change our lives very much. But I cannot bear to see you throw your own life away on this ill-considered rebellion!"

His face hardened, and for the first time Cynthia saw her little brother as a man. “So you are English, then?” he asked.

"Yes, I am. And so are you!"

He shook his head. “No. No, sister, I am an American. There is nowhere else I would wish to live—nowhere else I could live. Which I suppose makes me a traitor in your English eyes."

"Of course not. You are my brother. Please, stay here, talk to Papa—"

"Cynthia, it would do no good. Father and I have nothing to say to one another.” He glanced out the window, waved to someone she could not see who must be waiting outside. “Can I trust you not to raise the alarm to the fine naval officer downstairs?"

"Of course,” she said wearily. “If you are determined to go off on your own, I will not try to stop you. Where can I reach you?"

"You promise not to tell anyone?"

"Of course."

"The Westcott farm, just across the river. Write me when you're settled in Nova Scotia."

"I will.” She studied the serious young face that she had scrubbed so many times, to clean him up for supper or church services. “Little brother, please be careful."

He gave her a hug. “I will."

"And remember to clean your teeth."

Geoff groaned. “Liberty from the nagging of older sisters—that will be my battle cry! Now take this—” he shook out her cloak and threw it around her shoulders, “and get that Redcoat out of the house so I can make my escape."

"Say goodbye to Grandmama before you go!"

"Of course I will. You take care of her, Cynthia, she loves you best of all."

"I will.” She settled the folds of the cloak around herself and paused in the hall outside her room. For all his youth, Geoff was right. It was one thing to say goodbye to her father and elder brother; Winston was cut from the same cloth as her father, and it was only natural that one day she would marry and leave her father's home. But to leave Grandmama, who had been as much a mother to her as the woman who gave her birth—how could she consider doing such a thing?

She started down the stair with leaden feet. Paul and her grandmother were waiting there, looking very pleased with themselves—no, she must not think of him as Paul, to do so would only mean disappointment. But the two of them were smiling at her, so she had to smile back, however difficult that was. “Let me just get the market-basket and we can be off."

Paul took charge of the basket as soon as they were out of the house, and insisted she take his arm as they strolled along the board walk. It was early in the day, and there were as yet few people about. “Your grandmother is a remarkable woman,” Paul said.

Coals of fire to heap on her head! “Yes, she is. I don't know what I would have done without her when I lost my mother."

"She reminds me a great deal of my own grandmother. Any time I got myself into trouble, I could always talk to her."

"Were you often in trouble?"

"Constantly. My father finally got me a midshipman's berth because he was afraid I'd get myself hanged, or worse, if left to my own devices. I don't say my grandmother coddled me, or made excuses for my misdeeds. But she spoke to me as though I had sense—she made me reason out the error of my ways—to understand why it was not wise to take a dare, even if I went back and did the same thing the next day."

"I have always thought boys were strange creatures,” Cynthia said. “Why is it that a boy can know perfectly well that something is foolish, but if a friend issues a dare, he's off like a shot—in the wrong direction?"

"I have a theory on why that occurs,” Paul said. “In the society of warriors—and even our relatively civilized society is still based on defense of the our homes and loved ones, our territory—it is necessary that there be no weak links. When boys tease one another, and dare each other to take chances, they are testing their fellow warriors."

"That may be true,” she agreed. “Still, my brother and his friends would often tease one another to the point of cruelty—and I've seen my elder brother do that, as well, and even grown men. Not all men are equally strong, and I cannot see that it does the larger society much good to demean those who have not been blessed with great size or strength."

"If the society were perfect, and men were perfect—perhaps that would not happen. I doubt we shall live long enough to see such perfection. Besides, you forget the role of women. Without you, there would be no civilization beyond what might be needed to put food in our bellies and build warm huts. We need you to remind us when it is time to stop acting as though we're filthy little beasts."

"You may give us too much credit,” Cynthia said. “Women can be cruel to one another, but those who are try to exercise their ill-will in ways that gentlemen will not notice—though I believe most of us realize we need to help one another. I have always been exasperated by girls who throw themselves so furiously into competing for the attention of men. It seems demeaning, somehow, to treat a fellow human being as though all persons of his gender are brainless boobies to be manipulated..."

"Miss Lancaster,” Paul said.

"Yes?"

"When it comes to dealing with the fair sex, I have come to the conclusion that most of us are indeed brainless boobies. I cannot tell you the number of my fellow officers who have lost their hearts to some young lady who had nothing more to recommend her than a pretty face and a flattering tongue."

"Since I have neither of these qualities, I must then be a tremendous prize!” Cynthia said ironically. “Oh, bother!"

"What is it?"

"Your fascinating conversation, Commander, has distracted me from my errand. We are nearly halfway to the ferry—we must turn back."

He accepted the course-correction without demur, but asked a difficult question. “Why do you demean yourself?"

"I do?"

"You said you did not have a pretty face."

"Oh, sir, you have a good pair of eyes, and you have seen the portrait of my mother. To call me
plain
is a kindness."

"To call you plain would be an injustice,” he said. “I have known you less than a day, but in the Navy one learns to observe a man's actions—or a woman's—and draw rapid conclusions. Would you like to know what I have observed about you?"

Heart in her throat, Cynthia hesitated. “Perhaps."

"You are polite, neat in your dress and gentle in your manner. Even though your father does not give you a great deal of consideration, you love and defend him."

"My father is kind to me, sir, and most generous. We disagree on some matters, but that is natural, I think."

He smiled. “You prove my point. Furthermore, you keep a tidy house and your grandmother has called you the best housekeeper in Trenton. From what she has told me, you have been doing a woman's work since you were little more than a girl, without complaint."

"Grandmama underestimates herself, then. I could not have managed without her."

"That may be true, but I think it would have been difficult for her to have managed without you, as well. You are a superb cook, you manage the household with only one servant, you are well-read and I enjoy your conversation. If you also play a musical instrument—"

"I learned to play the piano when I was a child,” she said. “My father has promised to bring one from England, when things settle down. He gave me a Spanish guitar three years ago, and I have learned to play it a little. Do you enjoy music, sir?"

"Only singing. ‘Alas, my love, you do me wrong ... ‘” he began, and she joined in, “to cast me off discourteously...” They walked along singing
Greensleeves
, and Cynthia was certain that the townsfolk who noticed must think she had run mad. But it was worth their possible censure to learn that Paul did indeed have a marvelous voice, and not only did it tingle down to her toes, it produced extremely pleasant sensations in other parts of her anatomy. If she held his arm a little tighter than was absolutely necessary, he did not seem to be troubled by it.

They nearly walked past the fishmonger's a second time, but Cynthia called a halt and procured the necessary victuals, a section of fresh halibut that would do beautifully for dinner. She introduced Commander Smith to Mr. Herbert and confirmed the rumor that the Lancaster family was indeed leaving Trenton.

She had thought that the musical interlude and the stop at the fishmonger's had ended Paul's embarrassing catalog of her supposed merits, but she was mistaken. They were no sooner out of the shop than he resumed.

"So, then, Miss Lancaster, on the subject of your virtues, I would say in conclusion that yours far outweigh those of young ladies who have cultivated only superficial charm."

"And I would say that you are either a gentleman of acute perception, or a seriously deluded lunatic who has been at sea far too long!” she responded.

"You are too modest,” he said. “I have only been at sea for some ten years."

They walked along quietly for a time and were within sight of the house when Paul cleared his throat once more. “Miss Lancaster,” he said. “I realize this is extremely irregular—and I should have spoken to your father first, but I
have
spoken to your grandmother—and considering that you will shortly be leaving the area and I will in all likelihood be returning to England—"

They had reached the door, and her heart was beating so fast she thought he ought to be able to hear it. “Just a moment, sir, if you please.” She quickly took the halibut into the kitchen and left it with Noreen for cleaning, then took Paul into the parlor. Oddly, her grandmother was not in her usual seat by the window.

Paul looked at her, and in those deep brown eyes she saw the answer to her question. But he was a dutiful man, and continued with what he'd been saying as they arrived. “I do appreciate your father's concern for your safety, Miss Lancaster, and his intention to provide you with a suitable husband—"

As interesting as it was to watch a man of such force and decision floundering so profoundly, Cynthia could tolerate it no longer. “Captain Smith."

He took the interruption mildly. “Yes, Miss Lancaster?"

"You have my permission to appreciate my father's decision on my behalf as well as your own, for I promise you, I do not appreciate it at all."

He blinked as though she had slapped him. “I beg your pardon?"

"That is not necessary. But please, I beg you, cease praising the wisdom of my father's decision. Mr. Humboldt is a worthy gentleman, but even if I end my days a spinster, I will not be his wife."

Paul's mouth opened, but for a moment no words came out. Then he said, “My dear Miss Lancaster!"

"Am I?” she demanded.

"Are—are you what?"

"Your dear.” She felt the heat rush to her cheeks as she said it, but there was no taking it back, so she plunged ahead. “For if you feel anything for me, I do wish you would screw up your courage and say so, before I am dragged off to that howling wilderness!"

"Miss Lancaster!” Her hand disappeared between his two much larger ones. “I would like nothing better. But to disregard the wishes of your father—"

"My father is a fine man, and I do love him. But I do not wish to spend the rest of my life in his care, nor with a man who is enough like him to be his son.” She met those deep brown eyes and the hope she saw in them gave her the courage to finish. “I hope to have my own home, my own family ... my own husband."

"Might I ask—” he stopped to clear his throat, “Whether you have any gentleman in mind for the honour?"

"I do,” she said with some asperity. “I have been conversing with him for at least an hour. He is a fine, gallant gentleman and I believe we would suit one another admirably."

"I believe we would,” he said. “But only if you can dispense with one bit of foolishness."

Did he not like her bonnet? “I think I very likely can. What foolishness is that?"

He brought her hand to his lips, and kissed it. A shiver ran through her. “The delusion that you are unattractive."

"I am not in the least pretty,” she said. “My mother—"

"Your mother was exceptionally pretty. But you are beautiful, too—in an entirely different way. She was, I think, a fairy princess, too frail to stay upon the earth. But you—my dearest lady, you are a human woman, round and ripe and altogether desirable, beautiful inside and out—exactly the sort of woman I had despaired of ever finding."

He went to one knee in the classic pose, and Cynthia thought her heart would burst through her ribs. “Miss Lancaster, I know that this is far too sudden, and I do not expect an immediate answer—but I beg that you will do me the honor of becoming my wife."

She had hoped, wished, half-expected it—but the reality was still a shock. “Yes, I would like to,” she said, and found herself caught up in an overwhelming embrace, literally lifted from the floor and squeezed so hard she could not breathe. When he set her back on her feet at last, she had to sit down on the divan.