The Countess' Lucky Charm (8 page)

“You do,” Temple nodded. Yes, he thought, she had her dignity but at what price?

Furthermore, his reaction to the sailor accosting Simone had surprised him. Rage had overtaken him and his first thought had been to throttle the man.

Plainly, other than Mrs Featherstone who was perhaps too nice to voice her disbelief, no one on the ship believed they were married. Petey provided ample testament to that. Feeling a dolt, Temple began to understand Simone’s delicate situation. Her virtue may be intact but who in their right mind would believe that of her? She wanted nothing more than to earn a decent living with dignity and respect, taking what the fates had handed her and making the best of it.

He studied her profile closely. Her nose was straight but pert, the jaw delicate, and the eyelashes long and lush. Her neck where it disappeared into the ruffled collar of her dress was creamy smooth. By looks alone, if he had met her at any society function rather than on the docks one foggy evening, he would never doubt her background. Intriguing, really, for she did not fit his idea of a street urchin in the slightest. She was too, too—his mind grasped for the proper word—patrician.

Nonetheless she was what she was and for the wager to be successful, she would have to accustom herself to being his social equal, with all the rules and restrictions of the ton. It was up to him to see it happened.

“Simone, you must be chaperoned from now on.”

“Why,” she asked him sarcastically. “Everyone knows we are not married.”

“Everyone knows you share my cabin but we know it’s a matter of convenience only. Just because everyone thinks the worst doesn’t mean it’s true. A lady of quality would be chaperoned.” He shook his head. “Why didn’t I think of that before?”

Because, he answered himself mentally, she had never looked as attractive before as she did in her new blue dress. He took another long, appraising look at her. Blood rushed to his loins and he fought the urge to take her in his arms, to taste the luscious lips beneath his own, to kiss her repeatedly until they both were senseless.

 
“Lady of quality? No one believes that of me,” she scoffed.

At her sarcastic voice, he was brought back to the conversation with a jolt. Regretfully, he tucked away the pleasant image of her in his arms.

“I do,” he replied stoutly. “Being chaperoned is really for your own protection.”

“I kin protect
meself
,” she announced. “And I could have run away. I’m quick on my feet.”

“Run?” He looked pointedly about them. “To where? There?” He pointed his finger to the crow’s nest on the main mast. “Or perhaps over there.” He pointed over the railing. “Assuming you can swim, that is.”

“Oh, all right,” Simone grumped.

She hated to admit Temple was right. She stood on the deck of a ship, with nowhere to run. Here there were no alleys or alcoves to duck into, no doorjambs to press against, no crowds to disappear into. Here was a three mast wooden ship, insignificant against the vastness surrounding them. She couldn’t run if she wanted to.

“When do we start, then, with the chaperoning?” Voice resigned, she slumped against the railing.

More rules, apparently. Her previous life, so restricted due to the circumstances of her birth, was nothing but freedom in comparison to a lady of quality. Before, short of running foul of the law, she had no one to answer to. She could come and go as she pleased, say what she pleased, behave as she pleased. No one expected anything of her.

Now, her entire day was planned, all because of a silly wager. At first, it had been easy enough but now Temple told her how to eat, how to talk, how to walk, with nary a minute to herself.

How she had once envied the ladies as they visited the shops, so perfect, so carefree, while she stood cold, dirty and shivering in the street.

However, ladies of quality paid a price. For all intents and purposes, they lived in a prison. Not a prison of bars and stone but an invisible prison imposed on them by the society in which they lived.

Sighing, she pulled out from beneath her dress the gold medallion hanging about her neck. It usually lay hidden beneath the floor boards beside her cot in the workhouse but she had been wearing it the day she met Temple. She rubbed her thumb over it, taking comfort in the familiar grooves that formed the image of a crest.

She wanted Temple to be proud of her, to repay the faith he had in her. If it meant more rules, then so be it.

The wager had not been made by her, but she would honour it.

* * *

Simone cheered up at dinner. Temple had not noticed her new dress but Gordon Dixon, the young clerk, couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Only it wasn’t Mr Dixon’s admiring eyes she wanted, but Temple’s.

Truthfully, she wanted Temple to find her attractive, to see her as a woman and not an obligation. Impossible, of course, considering the difference in their stations but that thought crept in her mind every now and then to tease her with its ridiculousness.

She turned her attention back to the young man. “You may seat me,” she murmured.

 
“Of course,” he stammered, beet red. He held out his elbow and Simone lightly placed her hand on it. “Lady Wellington, you look particularly lovely this evening,”

“Why, thank you, Mr Dixon.” She replied slowly, carefully forming her words as Temple had taught her. She batted her eyelashes and almost laughed out loud at the result it had on the poor fellow. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead and he almost fell over in his attempt to pull out the chair for her.

Really, this was too easy. The young man had turned to putty in her hands. She pretended not to notice the scowl on Temple’s face as she smiled at the clerk, enjoying the influence she had over the smitten fellow.

How lovely to have the clerk’s attention and so delicious for her ego. For once, she looked forward to the evening.

* * *

“Your display at dinner appalled me,” Temple snarled as he shut the cabin door before turning around to face her. “A married lady of quality never carries on in such a blatant manner.”

She looked at him, amazed. He had ignored her all evening, so why this reaction?

Realization cascaded through her.

“Why, you are jealous,” she said in her very best lady of quality of voice.

“I am not,” he growled back at her.

“Oh, but you are.” She clapped her hands in delight.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He pushed past her to stand in front of the porthole. He stared out into the blackness for a moment before turning around, displeasure evident in the set of his face. “It’s disappointing to spend time in your instruction only to see you disregard everything you have been taught the minute some bleeder looks your way.”

Anger spurted through her at his hurtful words. Just this afternoon, he had wanted to chaperone her for her protection and now he verbally attacked her over her behaviour at dinner?

“What do ye mean, disregard everything.” She glared at him, hands on her hips. “I let a gentleman seat me. I didn’t slurp. I used me knife and fork properly. I watched me diction.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it,” he interrupted. “You practically threw yourself at Mr Dixon for all to see.”

“So what if I did,” she snapped. “For the first time in me life, a man looked at me, really looked at me.”

“After such an exhibition, you want me to believe your virtue is intact?” His voice dripped with disgust.

“Believe it or no, it’s true,” she retorted. “Besides, where’s the harm in talking to Mr Dixon?”

“Dinner chit chat is one thing, monopolizing the man is another.” Temple shook his head. “What was I thinking? You can take the girl from the street but you can’t take the street from the girl.” He meant the nasty remark to wound her.

Simone felt it as purely as if he had slipped a blade between her ribs. She stared at him, speechless. This unpleasant side to Temple she had not seen before. Moisture began to gather on her lashes and she swallowed hard, not wanting to dissolve into tears in front of him. She looked down at the beautiful dress, sick at heart.

It seemed as if she would never get it right.

Only one thing gave her a glimmer of hope. Temple’s jealousy had to mean something. She peeped up at him but he had turned back to the porthole and all she could see was his back, stiff with disapproval.

“I am sorry if I disappointed you,” she whispered, hoping he noticed how proper she sounded.

He didn’t respond.

Temple
’s anger surprised her. He never got angry with her, no matter how many mistakes or mispronunciations she made. Perhaps he had a point. Perhaps her behaviour had been unacceptable. She would ask Mrs Featherstone about it later.

In the meantime, she would try and smooth things over.

“I’ll do better, really I will.” She vowed to try harder for she wanted his praise not the derisive words he had just flung at her.

He turned around, still glowering, eyes full of misgiving. He ran both hands through his hair, leaving it tousled and unkempt, and heaved a sigh before speaking. “Perhaps we should cancel the wager. The captain has asked me to join him for an after dinner brandy. I shall discuss it.”

“No!” Her cry pierced the heavy wooden beams. She plucked at his sleeve. “We can’t cancel it. I can do it, my lord.”

He brushed past her again and lifted the latch on the door before turning to her. “If you would excuse me,” he said, resignation heavy in his voice.

Dismayed, Simone watched him leave. Her heart splintered at the regret etched in his face. Plainly, she had failed him.

* * *

Temple
strode down the corridor toward the dining room, baffled by his reaction. Aye, he had been angry when Petey had accosted Simone but it had been nothing compared to the rage flooding through him when watching her play the coquette with the smitten Gordon Dixon earlier this evening.

At the door to the dining room, he poked his head in to discover the captain had gone, doubtless not expecting Temple’s return. Ah well, that suited him just fine, he needed air to sort his thoughts. He made his way above board and proceeded to pace the deck, from bow to stern.

He paused to chat to the first mate whose knobby hands deftly manned the wheel.

“Petey has complained to the captain regarding Miss Dougherty. He’s accused her of unwarranted fisticuffs.” Allan McCabe’s voice was apologetic. “I find Miss Dougherty charming and I don’t believe him.”

Temple
’s mind reeled with the news and he tightened his fists. “It’s not true. He was fit to be tied for she rebuffed his advances.”

“Aye,
Petey’s
a vengeful one.” McCabe leaned against the wheel, holding course into the wind. “I thought to warn you so perhaps you could smooth things with the captain.”

“I do thank you. I’ll meet with Captain Featherstone tomorrow as I have another item to discuss with him.” He bowed slightly and paced anew, weaving figure eights between the masts.
Petey’s
allegation didn’t concern him—one word from Temple as witness and that would be put to rights.

Nevertheless, there was still the matter of Simone’s behaviour earlier this evening.

By his fifth pass, the crisp air had cleansed his mind and cooled his rage. Rueful, he realized Simone had been right—he had been jealous. He wanted her teasing eyes and dazzling smile focused only on him. Each day, he enjoyed her company more for her keen wit and saucy attitude pleased him.

However, the more time he spent with her, the more he realized the enormity of the wager he had made with the captain. To put it succinctly, her shortcomings were many: her language, her manners, her lack of training in the womanly arts, her lack of appropriate clothing. The list could go on and on.

He had seen her horrified face when he had told her he would cancel the wager but in truth, he thought to cancel it to spare her feelings. As much progress as she had made, it was simply not possible for her to transform in the few remaining weeks at sea.

He leaned over the stern, watching the ship’s wake foam and glisten in the moonlight. It would mean going back on his promise to himself that he always covered his bets. That didn’t sit well with him either but his impetuous words had instigated the whole escapade and he bore the responsibility to deal with it and
Petey’s
allegation.

A vision of the captain’s sharp features arose in Temple’s mind; his curt voice echoed in Temple’s ears. The captain, used to giving orders and having them obeyed, would be a formidable opponent.

Chapter Seven

The following morning, a thoughtful Temple emerged from the meeting with Captain Featherstone and went in search of Simone. He didn’t find her in the cabin, nor in the dining room, nor at her favourite spot by the bowsprit.

Puzzled at her disappearance, he turned toward the sounds of hilarity swirling on the stiff breeze, nipping at Temple’s ears. What the devil?