Prue woke to find the sun setting and Dawn Ghost battling into a confused and choppy sea.
‘Is it a storm coming?’ she asked the ship’s boy who brought them tea strong enough to take the glaze off the mugs.
‘Oh, no, ma’am. This is nothing to worry about. We’re just meeting the Channel here, so it gets a bit rougher, you see, what with the North Sea hitting the Channel head-on, as it were. That’s Margate over there—you can see the lights. We’re going to round the North Foreland, then things will calm down, don’t you fear. Then we slip down to Ramsgate harbour, all safe and sound.’
‘I will take Jon down for his feed,’ Maud said, getting to her feet while Prue held the baby. ‘There we are, nice and steady now. It’s all very well, my lady, now and again for a novelty, but I wouldn’t want to be doing this with a baby every day of the week.’
‘It has rocked him to sleep, though,’ Prue said. ‘He hasn’t been fretting over his teeth so much.’
‘That’s the sea air, I expect, my lady. We’ll all sleep well tonight.’
Prue wriggled into a comfortable position to watch Ross, who was standing near the foremast, spyglass in hand, as rock-steady on the pitching deck as he was on the terrace at home.
Home? she thought. I suppose it is now. My home, our home. That brought a warm glow to her insides which were, she realised, quite happy now, even on the rougher water.
Ross looked content, easy in his skin. This was the real man, not the captive inside the smart clothes, tied to his desk with endless decisions to make about leases and crop rotations. Perhaps she could encourage him to employ a really efficient secretary, someone with a good understanding of land management, then he could spend his time doing what he so clearly loved.
She was glad he had asked her to come on this journey and to make it by sea. She was beginning to come to know him now, perhaps to understand him better. She could not have imagined him opening up, confiding the story of his first marriage, before now.
Perhaps it was not that he was coming to trust her more, she thought, with a sudden dip in her confidence. Perhaps it was simply that he was happy and relaxed at the wheel of his ship so he found it easier to tolerate her.
Poor little Jon, she thought. The child of that unhappy marriage, of that calculating, selfish woman.
And I should not judge, she reproved herself. I do not know what might have made her like that.
It had been dark when they reached Ramsgate, although the harbour was bright with illumination—the lighthouse by the entrance, the lanterns on the mass of ships and boats crowded inside, the twinkling stars that must be the houses of the town climbing away from the sea. Prue was too tired and too concerned about getting Jon safely off the Dawn Ghost and on to dry land to pay much attention to her surroundings. The house was just a short distance away, Ross said. There would be supper waiting.
As far as Prue had been concerned, if it contained a bed, and Maud, Tansy, Mrs Goodnight and Jon were all comfortable, that was all that mattered. Without as much as a glance for her surroundings she had refused supper and tumbled into bed.
Now, waking in a bedchamber already full of light through the thin window blind, she sat up and looked around. Not a large room, but modern and comfortable. A big, soft bed that did not contain a husband—where was Ross?—and a window, she found when she released the blind, that gave her a sweeping view over the harbour.
Thank goodness it had been dark and she had been too preoccupied with Jon to notice the narrowness of the harbour entrance or how crowded the enclosed basin was with ships. Even with Ross at the wheel, entering at night must be fraught with dangers.
Now all was a picture of organised chaos. She might know next to nothing about the sea, but she could recognise warships when she saw them in among a mass of vessels very like Dawn Ghost. Beyond the harbour arms the sea was dotted with more ships, some at anchor, others with sails set, looking as though someone had tipped up a basket of clean white handkerchiefs, scattering them across the ocean as far as the eye could see. People bustled along the quaysides, small boats rowed between the anchored ships and, as she watched, a file of soldiers marched into sight and formed up, packs at their feet, muskets at the slope.
Ross had told her that the Royal Navy had control of the seas, but she had not imagined so much power, so much activity. Napoleon would never get across the Channel, she was certain. But that still meant he had to be confronted on land. How many thousands of lives would be lost for one man’s belief in his own destiny?
That thought had her pulling on her robe and looking for Jon. Even as she did so she recognised the impulse for what it was: an irrational reaction to danger. Jon, thank goodness, would never have to fight Napoleon Bonaparte. But Ross? She pushed away that nagging thought.
The room immediately opposite hers was the same size with the identical panoramic view of the harbour and a very masculine look to it. The bed was empty, the covers tossed back. This was Ross’s room and, she realised, he must own this house; it was not a lodgings.
In the room behind hers she found Maud and Mrs Goodnight who were already dressed. So was Jon, laughing and kicking on a blanket in the middle of the floor. He reached out his arms when he saw her and she went to scoop him up. ‘Goodness, you are growing heavy, young man. And, no, my hair is very firmly attached to my head, thank you. Is everything all right?’ she asked the other women.
‘Perfect, thank you, my lady. Tansy went down to the kitchen a moment ago when we heard you moving about. She’ll be sending up your hot water and ordering breakfast.’
‘Have you seen His Lordship?’
‘He went out at dawn, they told me downstairs.’ The wet nurse came to take Jon, who was clearly determined to see just how well fixed Prue’s hair was. ‘Down to his ship, I’ll be bound. Now then, my little lord, don’t you be grizzling at me. We can’t have all what we want.’
That was very true, Prue thought as she went back to her room, encountering Tansy as she did so. You could not have everything you wished for, but she thought she had more than she had ever expected, just weeks before. Far more. So it was ungrateful to have a little ache for what she did not have. Ungrateful and pointless.
Ross came in as she was sitting down to breakfast and joined her to take a second one himself. This morning he looked smart but practical—crisp white linen, blue coat, buckskins and boots. Sharp and powerful, Prue thought with an unexpected glow of pride in her husband. The scar would not seem out of place here where soldiers, naval men and tough local sailors thronged the streets.
‘I have been talking to the quartermasters and the harbour master to see what they need from my ships,’ he said as he stole a slice of toast from the rack in front of her.
‘Ships?’
‘I have three here already now and one coming in today or tomorrow from Ostend. They do not want us converting for horses, which is a relief, but we’ll be carrying small arms and ammunition, which doesn’t need any work on the vessels, and some troops, which will. Bulkheads moving, extra water casks loading, that sort of thing,’ Ross added when she raised an interrogative eyebrow.
‘Jonas is working on that,’ he added. ‘Which means I have a day to show you the sights of Ramsgate if you would like that.’
Prue dropped the butter knife into the marmalade. Ross wanted to show her the sights? Ross wanted to take a day away from his beloved ships and his business for what she was fairly certain he thought of as frivolity? She had already decided that her idea of asking him to squire her around would be selfish under the circumstances, so the offer took her aback.
‘I would enjoy that,’ she said mildly, retrieving the knife. ‘What is there to see in Ramsgate besides the harbour?’
‘The pier, which forms the east arm of the harbour, makes a good promenade. We might be able to see France, so you can wave to Boney if you are so inclined. Then there are shops—not as good as Margate, but I can show you where they are. The main library is just around the corner from here and I know you will want to locate that. Then there are the baths—or do you want to try bathing from a machine?’
‘I had not thought of it,’ she said, not very sure she liked the idea now she was contemplating it. ‘Will the sea be cold?’
‘Very. I wouldn’t try it until at least August, myself, but perhaps you are made of sterner stuff.’
‘Most definitely not, then. I think I will confine myself to admiring the sea from the shore.’
‘Wise woman. The Assembly Rooms are up the hill, if you would not consider this evening’s ball too provincial an entertainment.’
‘You are offering to take me to a ball?’
‘You endured a long day at sea for my convenience. It is the least I can do.’
‘Well, fortunately for you I told Hedges not to pack a ball gown as we did not have time to properly consider all the other things one needs to go with it.’ She smiled at him. ‘So you are saved.’
‘Yes,’ Ross said, giving her a heavy-lidded, considering look that made her toes curl. ‘Yes, I believe I am.’ Then, before she could be so foolish as to ask him what he meant by that, he finished the toast, tossed his napkin on the table and stood up. ‘I will go up and spend some time with Jon. Let me know when you are ready to go out.’
It felt very wifely, somehow, to be promenading along the East Pier, her arm tucked firmly against Ross’s side, her nicest bonnet tied securely against the breeze and in company with a multitude of complete strangers who, despite that, still bowed, smiled or raised their hats as they passed.
‘It does not seem very like a pier,’ she said after the first few yards. ‘I thought piers went straight out to sea. I have seen pictures.’
‘You are right. Piers have metal or wooden legs to carry them over the water. Someone had a cunning idea with this one and combined the harbour wall with a promenade and that gives us a much longer walk.’
‘And a chance to observe the ships more closely. I can see Dawn Ghost. Which are the other two that you own?’
‘Those two brigs over there just before the frigate. Evening Shadow and Dark Phantom. Night Spectre, the other brig, is on her way back from Ostend. There’s a ketch as well, Will o’ the Wisp. She is much smaller. I use her for coastal work, running messages, that kind of thing. She’s over there behind Phantom—you won’t be able to see her from here.’
‘Such names! Why are they all named for ghosts?’
‘My ships need to be as elusive as spirits, as frightening as spectres,’ he told her.
She could hear the amusement in his voice, but also the seriousness and that gave her a sudden qualm. ‘Needed to be, surely?’ she asked, hoping for reassurance. ‘They are purely trading vessels now, surely? Once the need to carry troops and supplies is over, that is.’
‘I suppose so.’ He half turned and looked across the Channel at the heavy clouds that obscured the distant coast. ‘If we beat him.’
‘We will. And then you will not be doing anything dangerous any more, will you? Not more dangerous than sailing already is,’ Prue added, eyeing the grey sea with the choppy white horses doubtfully.
‘You do not wish to be a wealthy, titled widow, then?’
He was teasing her. Or she hoped he was. Even so, she felt a spurt of anger, sudden and hot. ‘No, I do not. It is not amusing to say that. I would hate for Jon to lose his father and I... I would miss you. Leaving aside the fact that I would wish no one dead,’ she added hastily when he looked down at her with that sudden intensity she had glimpsed at the breakfast table.
‘You would miss me?’
‘Of course I would. You are my husband.’ She remembered what he had told her about his first wife and realised that might not be a very convincing argument. ‘And I like you. We are lovers.’ Prue could feel the heat in her cheeks despite the breeze and hurried on. ‘And we are friends, are we not?’
‘Perhaps we are. Perhaps that is what this is,’ Ross added so quietly that the words were almost lost on the wind. He cleared his throat, added more strongly, ‘I do not envisage taking up privateering again unless the British Navy loses control of the seas.’
‘So you will not risk your life again?’
‘So fierce.’ The twisted smile was wry. ‘No, I will not, leaving aside the normal hazards of the sea.’
‘You promise?’ She gripped his forearm, suddenly full of dread.
‘Such intensity! Yes, I promise.’
She breathed out, wondering why that flash of fear had hit her like that. Not a premonition, surely? She did not believe in such things.
‘Now, tell me,’ Ross said, oblivious to her turmoil, ‘why has that female in front of us come out here wearing a bonnet the size and shape of a coal scuttle and expressly designed to catch every zephyr of air? She will take off like a kite in a moment and, as I have promised you to do nothing dangerous, I will not be able to save her as she flies towards France.’
‘She has just purchased it,’ Prue said, determined to ignore her foolish fancies. ‘She considers it to be the latest crack and, as it cost her a great deal of money, she is determined to wear it whenever possible. Or impossible,’ Prue added as a particularly strong gust caught the brim and sent the woman staggering backwards.
Ross ran forward and caught her before she landed on the cobbled surface and she twisted round in his arms, laughing up at him.
‘Oh, my goodness! Why, thank you, sir. How gallant you are. So strong.’
She was very pretty, Prue saw. She also noticed with some amusement that the stranger did not appear to be disconcerted by Ross’s scar and was fluttering her eyelashes at him with great aplomb.
Ross set her on her feet, expression stony. ‘Do not mention it, ma’am.’
Prue was half inclined not to rescue him, just for the fun of seeing him extract himself. But it was not really fair to abandon her husband to the wiles of a young woman who she strongly suspected was one of the muslin company.
She moved just as another couple came up to them from the seaward end of the pier. They were in their early fifties, she thought, noticing them simply because of the lady’s very smart walking dress and the expression on both their faces. How odd to come to the seaside if it made you feel so sour, she thought.
No, not sour, Prue realised almost immediately. That was real dislike and it was directed squarely at Ross.
He had seen them, too. He bowed slightly, then raised his tall hat—and they cut him dead, ignoring him as though he was invisible and they had a very bad smell under their noses.
Prue took three hasty steps forward, linked her arm through Ross’s and stared back at them with furious hauteur. When they had swept past she turned to Ross and gave the young woman with the impractical hat a frosty glare.
The damsel giggled, simpered at Ross and tripped off towards the end of the pier.
‘Who the blazes was that?’ she demanded, too angry to watch her language.
‘A female of the class ladies are not supposed to notice,’ Ross said with a smile that was clearly forced.
‘I do not mean her and you know it. Who were those unpleasant people who just cut us?’
‘They cut me. I doubt they noticed you. They were Jon’s grandparents. I would not have suggested that you come here if I had realised they were staying. They normally spend a few weeks at Brighton.’
‘Ross, I saw the way they looked at you—it was almost as though they hate you.’
‘I have the very poor taste to be alive while their daughter is dead,’ he said. ‘And they are doubtless still fuming over the fact that I have remarried before a year was out. It must seem to them that I am not honouring her memory.’
‘Even giving them every allowance for their grief over Honoria, it is still a horrible way to behave.’ Prue felt quite queasy. The world was full of unpleasant people, she was not so naive as to think otherwise, but it was still a shock to encounter such malevolence at close quarters, directed at someone she—
‘Prudence?’ Ross looked down at her. ‘What is it? You must not allow them to upset you. After all, we are unlikely to encounter them again.’
‘I—I’m not upset, exactly.’ She struggled to find an explanation for her sudden gasp, her stumble. ‘Not about... I mean, I am more shocked, that is all.’ She tried to articulate a coherent sentence despite her rioting thoughts. ‘That is, I mean they should have more self-respect and dignity than to behave is such a way.’ She managed to find a smile. ‘Now, had we better hurry in case your fair admirer is carried off from the point of the pier and needs rescuing again?’
‘She will not be my admirer now that she has seen I have my wife on my arm. And it was I who needed rescuing—do not think I did not notice that you found it amusing and were in half a mind to leave me to my fate.’
‘She is a very highly finished piece of work, is she not? Do you think those brazen curls could possibly be natural? Look, she has found another Galahad and a retired admiral, at the very least, by the look of him. Oh, dear, she appears to have turned her ankle on the cobbles, how clever of her.’
Ross followed her lead and appeared ready to ignore the unpleasant encounter as they both admired the young woman’s technique with the white-haired gentleman who was giving her his arm back towards Prue and Ross. The girl dimpled prettily at Ross as she passed him.
Despite everything, Prue burst out laughing. ‘She winked at me, the little hussy! I do hope he is a nice man.’
They had reached the far end where the pier widened out into a circular bulwark with a lantern on a tall pole at its centre. It was not as attractive to look at as the little stone lighthouse on the opposite side of the harbour entrance, but it made a focal point to gather around for those promenading to rest and admire the view over the harbour or out to sea.
‘There are benches against the wall. Shall we sit a while?’ she suggested, wanting to be still and close for a little.
‘If you will not be too cold.’ Ross dusted a bench with his handkerchief for her and they sat gazing at the bustling harbour and the town beyond.
Ross appeared to be engrossed in the shipping. Prue was just grateful for the silence to try to come to terms with the fact that she seemed to have fallen in love with her husband.