Guilt ate at Julia. Each time she sat down to a meal with her husband, every morning when he read from the prayer book and the Bible, every evening in the short time they had together before going to bed, whenever she looked at him, the news that Charlotte was aboard Audacious burned in her mind. Her inability to figure out how to tell him, how to confess to her husband she had kept this secret from him for ten days…eleven days…twelve days, settled like a weight on her chest.

At night she lay awake, staring at William’s profile as he slept. On several occasions, she thought to whisper the truth in those dark hours to try to alleviate her conscience. But the longer she waited for the appropriate opportunity to tell him, the less one seemed likely to occur.

Finally, her lack of sleep gave her the excuse she needed to avoid her husband altogether: a severe headache, pronounced by Dr. Hawthorne to be a migraine. He recommended rest and cold compresses and avoidance of light and noise. Julia had never heard the term applied to the aches, from which she had suffered for most of her life, but she latched onto the doctor’s suggested cure and retreated to the sleeping cabin, trusting William’s solicitude to keep him from disturbing her until she declared herself well again.

Though it nearly ripped her heart from her chest, she did not mount a protest when he removed his old canvas hammock from his sea chest and hung it in the day cabin so as not to disrupt her sleep by his comings and goings. Dawling plied her with tea and soups and pastries, but the offense against her husband whittled away her appetite until none remained.

After two days, it was not her black mood that drove her from the sleeping cabin, but the overwhelming heat, which the closed gun port only exacerbated. She needed fresh air—and to bathe. She called for Dawling, announced herself well, and asked him to bring her water for washing.

While he went to comply, she stepped into the main cabin to retrieve clean clothing from the wardrobe. She stopped only two paces from the door.

From his desk, William stood and crossed to her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “Are you well?”

She nodded, unable to meet his earnest blue eyes. “Dawling is bringing me water so that I can bathe and wash my hair. I came to retrieve fresh clothing.”

William pulled her into a gentle embrace. “I hoped you would be recovered today. We have arrived at Barbados and will be docking by midday. I will send word to Captain Cochrane to join us for supper.”

Her stomach churned. Would Ned arrive with Charlotte in tow, expecting that Julia had told William? “It…will be good to see him again.”

He held her at arm’s length, his gaze searching. “My dear, are you certain you are well?”

“Weak and tired. I need fresh air.” And to clear her conscience. She started forming the words in her mind, but then he smiled at her, and she could not bring herself to change that look, full of trust and caring, to something full of hurt, resentment, and anger.

“Come join me on the poop deck when you are ready.” He squeezed her shoulders and then bowed away.

“William, wait. I…there is something I need to tell you.”

He returned to her. “What is it?”

She was going to tell him. Until he reached out and brushed her limp hair back from her face, brushing his fingers across her cheek.

“What is this? Are you afraid to tell me?” His face betrayed neither concern nor amusement, but his eyes held hers with an intimacy that curled her toes.

Tears welled in her eyes. “I…I love you.”

His expressionless mask melted away, replaced by a look so tender, it broke her heart. “There, now. That was not so hard, was it?” He cupped her jaw with his hands and kissed her forehead. “I love you, Mrs. Ransome.”

“I do not deserve your love.” His face blurred; she blinked away the moisture from her eyes.

“Yet you have it. You have possessed my heart for a very long time.”

And she had squandered that gift. After he learned the truth, he would never look at her like this again. She committed this moment to her memory so that she could remember in the future she once held his full trust and love.

“Is there more you wanted to say?”

Why had Ned told her? Why had he burdened her with such a terrible secret?

“You are trembling. You should still be abed.”

“No. I am—I need to recover my strength. I have lingered too long already.” And played the coward too long. “I will bathe and dress and meet you on deck.”

As soon as he departed, Julia wrapped her arms around her middle and bent over with a groan. Oh, Lord, how will I explain Charlotte to him? How will he ever forgive me?

Rustling sounds from the sleeping cabin alerted her to Dawling’s presence. She retrieved her clothing from the wardrobe and carried it into the smaller chamber. Dawling was not in the room but reappeared a moment later carrying a tea tray.

“I know you didn’t ask for it, mum, but I thought you could use a spot of food to start rebuilding your strength.” He set the tray atop William’s sea chest.

“Thank you, Dawling. I appreciate all your efforts on my behalf while I have been ill.”

“My pleasure, mum.” He knuckled his forehead and backed out the door that connected to the captain’s galley beyond.

Julia undressed and dunked a clean cloth into the wash basin, the tepid water cooling her hot skin and filling the air with the scent of honeysuckle from the soap Susan had given her. After bathing, she leaned over the washstand and dunked her hair into the shallow water. She soaped her scalp and rinsed it, trying to rub away the heaviness of the guilt along with the grime.

Then she dressed, having pulled out her favorite yellow day dress, and secured her damp hair behind her neck with a ribbon. But she paused before she left the cabin. She could not tell William while they were on deck, with others around. She would have to find a way to tell him before Ned arrived for supper.

Or perhaps she could find a way to pull Ned aside and let him know she thought William might take the news better from Ned than from her.

“Message from lead ship. ‘Captain, Audacious, to report to flagship four bells in the first dogwatch.’”

Ned glanced up from the charts spread out on his table and looked at the young midshipman carrying the message. “Is that all? No indication as to why?”

The boy shrugged. “No, sir.”

“Very good. Dismissed.” Ned thought he might be sick. If Julia had told William about Charlotte, Ned could very well be on his way to his doom in just a little while.

Bolger called his attention back to the charts as they calculated their own navigation into port at Barbados. The message had already been sent down the line as to the commodore’s orders for docking, but no matter whom the orders came from, Ned had been taught to never rely on another ship’s navigational directions without checking them for himself.

Satisfied that Audacious would not be torn apart by a sunken reef or grounded in shallow shoals, he relayed his orders for docking to his sailing master and lieutenants.

All hands were called to their stations. Ned, from his position at the fore of the poop deck, spotted Charlotte easily, his frozen lungs squeezing his heart as she scampered up the foremast shroud to observe the sailors on her station as they raised and secured the sails.

Ned’s skin prickled and a chill like melted snow ran down his back. The heat, combined with his concern for his commodore’s sister, did not agree with him.

Audacious came to rest easily at her assigned mooring. While Ned might have wished for a spot on the opposite side of the eleven remaining ships of the convoy, William wanted him close by, so they lay a score of yards off Alexandra’s larboard stern.

Once he dismissed the crew, he returned to his cabin. He sank into his desk chair, hoping to alleviate the aches in his back. His steward carried in a tray of pastries along with his tea, but Ned waved the whole thing away. The very sight of it made him queasy.

If Julia had not already told William about Charlotte, it would fall on Ned—should fall on him—to tell the tale. Although he still was not certain prayer worked, he prayed for the strength not only to speak the words, but to submit to whatever punishment William meted out afterward.

His head started pounding. But now was no time to allow the symptoms of his guilt to keep him from his duty. He recalled his steward.

“Pass word for Midshipman Lott.”

“Aye, sir.”

To keep from sitting at the table with his head buried in his arms, Ned paced. The action had become a habit—something he had never seen William Ransome do, but it was the only way Ned could find to keep himself calm before his men.

Though Lieutenant Hamilton had not mentioned Lott’s name, his story of overhearing some boys discussing a practical joke they had played on another mid—standing below the stairs and holding something out over a step to make the person trip and fall—had not fooled Ned. The surgeon’s mate reported all injuries to the captain and had informed Ned that Charles Lott had been to see him about a goose-egg-sized lump on the back of his head from falling down the steps. A few days later, Ned himself had noticed Charlotte limping, but when he asked about the injury, she shrugged and mentioned how easy it was to trip over an unknown object in the darkness of the cockpit.

Now that they were docked and only a few men were needed on watch—mostly to perform lookout and security duties—anyone wishing to do Charlotte harm would have ample time to plot and execute their plans. At Madeira, he had taken Jamison the first night and Kent the second night. He could not afford to raise any questions by not allowing Lott to go this time.

Though taking her to Alexandra would be dangerous, she knew the risk and would be cautious to hide her face from William or Julia. If Ned was invited for supper, Charlotte would dine in the midshipmen’s berth. And with Charlotte aboard Alexandra, one of two things would happen. William would recognize her before anything could be said, and he would take matters into his own hands; or Ned would be put through the agony of confessing, William would send for Charles Lott to be brought to the big cabin, and he would take matters into his own hands.

He jumped when the knock came. “Enter.”

Midshipman Lott came in. The bruises and swelling that had partially obscured her face when he’d first come aboard had faded away, leaving a long, red scar across her left cheek. She appeared wan, almost gaunt, but the continual oppression she suffered at Kent’s and his mates’ hands could explain that.

“Mr. Lott, you will form a detail to man the ship’s boat that will take me to Alexandra by four bells in the first dogwatch.”

“You want me to—” She swallowed convulsively, blue eyes wide. “Aye, sir.”

If he thought he could get away with it, he would take one of the ship’s boats and run away with her, saving both of them from facing her brother’s anger and disappointment. His imagination showed him the idyllic picture of the two of them together—Charlotte in a white gown, as he’d been accustomed to seeing her—in a garden, behaving like normal people.

But they weren’t normal people. “That is all, Mr. Lott.”

For a moment it seemed that she would protest, but then she exited instead.

Ned sank into the closest chair. If he survived tonight, it would be a miracle. He folded his arms atop the table and rested his head on them. “To sleep, perchance to dream…” of a way to get out of the mess of his own making.

A knocking on the door awoke him. Groggy and bleary eyed, he raised his head. “Enter.”

Charlotte came in. “The boat is ready, sir.”

“So soon?”

She frowned. “We must leave almost immediately to get to Alexandra by four bells, sir.”

Ned pulled out his watch. He’d slept for more than an hour. No wonder his head felt heavy. And when he stood…pain arced through his back, and a wave of dizziness struck him with such force that he had to grab the side of the table to keep from losing his balance. If this was what the tropical heat did to him, he was not going to enjoy being assigned to Jamaica station. If he did not lose his commission in the next few hours.

While he should have changed into his other, fresher uniform, he now had not the time or the energy. “Very well, then. Let us be off.”

He straightened his waistcoat, took his hat from his steward, and led the way from the cabin to the waist entry port. He looked down at the boat waiting for him at the bottom of the accommodation ladder and had to grab the bulwark rail to keep from pitching head-long over the side. Though the ship lay quietly at her moorings, with the way his head was spinning, he felt as though he were on a ship in the midst of a hurricane.

But it would not do for the captain of the ship, acting or no, to have to be lowered down with the bosun’s chair. Gathering his strength, Ned turned. “Mr. Gardiner, you have the ship.”

“Aye, sir.” Gardiner saluted.

Ned returned it, took a deep breath, and started down the side of the ship. Only his experience with using the narrow slots to climb up and down the sides of ships kept him from falling into the boat. The surgeon’s mate offered him a steadying hand when he stepped in, which Ned accepted readily.

Charlotte was last to descend to the boat. Her foot slipped from the last slot, and she pitched backward. Ned, still standing, was in perfect position to catch her and keep her from falling over the side. His hands clamped around her waist—and he was shocked at just how thin she truly was under her layers of voluminous uniform. He waited until certain she regained her balance before releasing her.

They took their seats, and Charlotte took charge of commanding the sailors to row the boat around Alexandra’s stern to her starboard entry port.

After gaining permission to board, Ned climbed up first, fighting nausea the entire time. He would have to do it straight off. Until he confessed, his guilt would continue attacking him.

He ordered Charlotte to the midshipmen’s berth, and she complied, following Midshipman Kennedy down the nearest companionway. The surgeon’s mate asked permission to visit Dr. Hawthorne, which Ned gave with alacrity. The rest of the sailors would find their way among Alexandra’s crew.

Ned trudged toward the big cabin. William stood before the wheelhouse, waiting for him. As usual, the commodore’s expression revealed nothing of his thoughts.

“Come. We have much to discuss.” William motioned Ned to follow him to the big cabin.

When the door closed behind him, Ned flinched, imagining the shackles of the bilbo clamping down over his ankles.

“Report.”

“Sir?”

William frowned. “Report on your ship’s activities since your last report in Madeira.”

Oh, yes. If it had not been to clap Ned in irons over Charlotte, the other reason William would have ordered him to Alexandra was to report upon his ship. He pulled out his journal from his coat pocket and gave William the important parts.

“…We searched the ship from bow to stern. No trace of the stolen food, and no one would confess to having done it.”

“Searching the entire ship was a good idea, especially by including the officers. The sailors will respect you more for that.”

“Thank you, sir.” Would now be a good time to tell William, when he was happy with something Ned had done? “Sir, there is something—”

The door from the day cabin opened. Julia stood framed in the opening, hesitant and looking from William to Ned and back. “I am sorry for interrupting, but I wanted to greet Captain Cochrane and assure him that we miss him considerably.”

Ned stood, but he kept his hands braced against the tabletop to keep his balance. Chills rushed over the surface of his skin. He was starting to think that these might not be the symptoms of guilt but of something much simpler. He was getting sick. A risk every sailor ran when coming to the tropics for the first time.

“Thank you, Mrs. Ransome. I miss serving on Alexandra.”

“Have you—did you determine what to do about the problem you spoke to me about at Madeira?” Julia’s green eyes were piercing.

She had not told William. “Nay, but it should be resolved shortly.”

William looked back and forth between the two of them. “May I be privy to the secret?”

Julia clasped her hands in front of her, looking almost as ill as Ned felt.

“You cannot blame Mrs. Ransome, Commodore. I alone bear the responsibility.”

William pressed his own palms against the tabletop and leaned forward. “Speak.”

Wave after wave of chills broke over Ned, and he began to tremble. “Sir, when I first reported to Audacious, I noticed a problem with one of the—”

A knock on the door interrupted him.

William stepped around behind Ned and opened it. Kennedy and another midshipman stood there.

“What is it?” William demanded.

“Sir, it’s Midshipman Lott. He fainted, sir. We took him to Dr. Hawthorne, and he said to come tell you it’s a serious fever.”

William’s demeanor changed from annoyance to concern. “Is he recommending quarantine?”

“Not for the ship, sir, but—”

“Oh, dear.” Ned reached for his chair, but his knees gave out on him and he fell to the floor, succumbing to a swirling blackness.