William tried to hold Julia back, but she pulled her arm free and knelt beside the fallen officer. He staunched his jealousy when she pressed her hands to Ned’s cheeks and forehead.

“He burns with fever.” She looked over her shoulder at William.

“Mr. Kennedy, pass word for Dr. Hawthorne and his mates.” William put his hands around Julia’s waist and lifted her away from Ned.

“Aye, aye, sir.” Kennedy rushed away, the other midshipman on his heels.

As soon as William released Julia, she hoisted her skirt and hurried into the day cabin. He was happy to have her away from Ned. The headache had brought her so low the last two days, he feared she might catch whatever Ned had. “Dawling!”

The steward threw open the main door. “Aye, sir?”

“Fetch water and cloths.”

“No need.” Julia returned with the bowl of water from the washstand and several clean rags. She again knelt beside the prone figure, placed a wet rag across his forehead, and bathed his face with another.

Ned groaned and stirred.

“Shh. Do not try to move.” Julia pressed down on his shoulders when he tried to sit up.

William moved around to Ned’s other side and knelt as well. “The doctor is coming.”

“Audacious…and Char—”

“Hush, now, save your strength.” Julia dipped the cloth in the water, wrung it out, and continued bathing Ned’s face.

Watching her tender ministrations, William remembered the time he had taken a shard of wood in his leg many years ago. When it became infected and he landed in the sick berth with a high fever, he had dreamed of Julia—as he had last seen her at seventeen years old—hovering over his hammock, whispering endearments to him.

Dr. Hawthorne arrived. “Has he been vomiting? Complaining of back pain? Headache?”

William stood and allowed the doctor to take his place beside Ned.

Julia sat back on her heels. “You believe it is yellow fever?”

The doctor nodded. “The young midshipman from Audacious presented with those symptoms, which are commonly associated with the disease.” Hawthorne looked at Julia with concern. “You are from this part of the world, are you not, Mrs. Ransome?”

“Yes, I spent most of my life in Jamaica.”

“Do you know if you have ever contracted yellow fever?”

“Yes. When I was a girl.”

Hawthorne nodded. “You are unlikely to become sick with it again.” The doctor stood and faced William. “May I request that Mrs. Ransome help with nursing the sick? I would like to limit exposure to keep it from spreading to the rest of the crew, if possible.”

“No—”

“Yes, I will be happy to help in whatever way I can.” Julia stood, drawing the doctor’s attention to herself and cutting off William’s protest.

“Ah…I shall leave the decision to the two of you.” Hawthorne cleared his throat and then ordered Ned placed in the canvas litter his mates had carried in with them.

Julia disappeared into the day cabin while William helped lift Ned. He joined her after the doctor and his mates took his former first officer away. In just the few moments that had taken, Julia had changed out of her green evening gown into the yellow gown she called a work dress. At his entrance she turned, arms lifted as she tied a kerchief over her bundled hair.

“Julia, you will not risk yourself by attending the sick berth.”

She finished tying up her hair and then turned to retrieve a large apron from the bottom drawer of the wardrobe. When she finished dressing, she moved to stand before him.

“If it were James or Philip, would you ban me from the sick room? Did not you, yourself, allay my fears back in Portsmouth by reassuring me that I would not sicken with yellow fever and die, as I have had it once before?” She rested her hands on the lapels of his coat. “William, I have had no duty, no effectual function since I have been aboard except teaching two calculus lessons to the midshipmen.”

Her color heightened, her eyes sparkling with energy, William admitted defeat. Julia needed to feel useful, needed to contribute to the workings of life around her—something she had been denied since boarding his ship. “Very well. But you will take every caution, and you will obey the doctor. If he sends you away, you will leave.”

She nodded, raised up on her toes, and kissed him. “Pray for them, William.”

He pulled her close for a moment. “I will pray for you as well.”

Julia nodded again and departed.

William stepped out onto the deck, and the officers and crew—who had lined the sides of the ship chattering and trading with the merchants that always swarmed around an arriving ship—now looked upon him with a mixture of curiosity and fear. As soon as he stepped out from under the shade of the poop deck awning, the questions started—all the sailors speaking at once, yelling to be heard over one another.

A raised hand was all it took to silence them. William looked around at the familiar faces of the men who had pledged their lives to serve him, this ship, the Royal Navy, and King George.

“Captain Cochrane and one of his crew members who came with him from Audacious are taken ill. Dr. Hawthorne believes it might be yellow fever. They are to be quarantined in the sick berth. There is no reason to fear a plague. It is expected that a few men will fall ill with fever upon arrival in the Caribbean, but pass word to your mates that if you begin to feel feverish, nauseated, or faint, you are to report to Dr. Hawthorne immediately. Is that understood?”

“Aye, sir,” chorused from the men.

“Good. As you were.” He waited until the men returned to duty or idling and then turned. As he hoped, his first officer awaited him in the wheelhouse.

“Mr. O’Rourke, prepare the ship’s boat to take me to Audacious. Captain Cochrane is too ill to return and command her, so I must go confer with his first lieutenant and ensure he is competent to command the ship into Jamaica.”

“Aye, sir.” The Irishman worried his bottom lip with his teeth. “Sir, is it safe for you to board Audacious?”

William raised his brows. “Are you questioning my judgment, Mr. O’Rourke?”

“No, sir!” O’Rourke snapped to attention, his eyes showing his horror at the idea. “I will go prepare the ship’s boat now, sir.”

“Very good.” William returned to the cabin and changed from his formal frock coat to the plain one he wore daily. He returned to deck just as the men finished lowering the jolly boat into the water. The sailors O’Rourke had designated to man the oars quickly filled the boat.

“Lieutenant O’Rourke, you have command until I return.” He inclined his head toward his first officer and then climbed down the side of his ship.

His mind replayed the last hour, settling on the odd interaction between Ned and Julia before Ned’s swoon had interrupted them.

The two shared a secret; of that, William had no doubt. He could be patient…to a point. But before they reached Jamaica, he would have the truth from them.

The doctor and his mates worked at getting Ned into a hammock. Julia took the opportunity to lean over Midshipman Charles Lott. Charlotte’s gaunt face startled her—as did the angry red scar across her cheek. Julia’s decision not to tell William about his sister came into vivid relief. If Julia had told William and he had sent for her, Charlotte might not have suffered such pain and indignity.

“Mrs. Ransome, would you mind divesting the midshipman of his coat and waistcoat?” Dr. Hawthorne glanced at her over Ned’s hammock. “One of my mates will join you shortly and take charge of removing the rest of the lad’s clothing.”

Julia shook her head. “There is something…Doctor, may I speak with you privately a moment?” She could not believe she was about to reveal Charlotte’s identity to Hawthorne before William.

Frowning, Hawthorne turned Ned’s care over to his mates and motioned Julia toward his small cabin, which served as both office and sleeping quarters. “Is there a problem, Mrs. Ransome?”

“A problem. Um, yes. Well, more of a complication. You see, Midshipman Lott…well, he is not actually a boy.” Julia chewed the tip of her thumb, trying to figure out how to explain what she meant without revealing who lay in the sick berth behind her.

“I am unclear as to your meaning.”

She sighed. Best to come right out and say it. “The midshipman is not a boy, but a young woman disguised as a boy.”

The doctor’s jaw slackened and his mouth hung open a moment. “Are you certain?”

She nodded. “Captain Cochrane confided this to me.”

“Then I shall rely on you more than I originally thought. Have you served as a nurse in a sick chamber before, Mrs. Ransome?”

“I have been called upon many times to tend ill workers on my plantation when the doctor was busy elsewhere.” Including tending her mother those final weeks of her life. She swallowed hard. If Charlotte died, and Julia could have saved her by revealing her secret to William, not only would she never expect or deserve William’s forgiveness, she would never forgive herself.

“Good. We shall work together to get them hale and healthy again.”

She followed him out of the cabin and busied herself with removing Charlotte’s coat and vest while Hawthorne informed his mates that Julia would be responsible for the midshipman.

When Julia put her hand under Charlotte’s side to roll her so she could remove the excess clothing, she could feel each of Charlotte’s ribs. The young woman weighed practically nothing, enabling Julia to manipulate and move her easily—and increasing Julia’s concern over Charlotte’s eventual recovery. While Charlotte’s figure had not been ample before, Julia had a hard time imagining she had been this thin when dining upon the rich foods served her at the Yateses’ and Lady Dalrymple’s homes.

Several years ago a half-starved slave sought refuge at Tierra Dulce. When Julia helped her undress to bathe, she had been horrified by the way her skin clung to her bones, showing the definition of each one. Although Julia, Jerusha, and the doctor had done everything they could, the young woman developed a fever and died a few days later. All they had been able to do was make her as comfortable as possible, and she died with a smile on her face, a song on her lips.

Fear formed a lump in Julia’s throat. She would not allow Charlotte to die.

Another lump gave her concern—until she reached under the blouse and extracted a leather-bound book, a journal, from under the waistband of Charlotte’s pants. Impressed by the girl’s ingenuity at finding a hiding place for her most personal of possessions, she set it aside with the clothing and began bathing Charlotte.

Charlotte moaned and tossed her head.

Julia shushed her. “It is all right. You are safe.”

“Mama?”

The word, spoken with a child’s inflection, broke Julia’s heart. “Nay, ’tis Julia. I am here to nurse you through your fever.”

“Tell Mama…about me…if I die, they won’t know. No one will know to tell Mama…William.” Charlotte opened her eyes, and though she looked at Julia, there was no recognition in her eyes.

“I will tell them. Have no fear.”

“And Ned. I need…to apologize.”

Julia glanced across at the other hammock, where Dr. Hawthorne leaned over, ear pressed to Ned’s chest. “You will tell him yourself when you are recovered.”

Tears trickled from the corners of Charlotte’s blue eyes. “I’ve been foolish. I should have stayed in Portsmouth. But I needed…wanted to go.”

Julia shushed her again, even though Charlotte’s voice barely rose above a whisper. She needed to keep the doctor and his mates from learning who she was—at least until she told William.

Charlotte continued to mumble, but the words slurred together until incoherent. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she slept.

Julia straightened, a hand to the small of her back, which ached from leaning over the hammock to bathe Charlotte as best she could without completely undressing her. With the doctor’s assistance cutting through it at the back as Julia held Charlotte up on her side, they removed the muslin wrapped around Charlotte’s chest. Even in her sleep, Charlotte shivered when Julia ran the cool, wet cloth over the red marks the binding left behind. The doctor brought a clean blouse and trousers, and sent his men to fetch various items or discard others while Julia changed Charlotte’s clothes.

The light coming through the gun ports waned, and Hawthorne lit more candles and lanterns. “You should rest, Mrs. Ransome. Return to your cabin, take some tea, and eat something. ’Twill be a long night.”

Julia pressed her fingertips to the sides of her neck. “Thank you, Doctor. I believe I will.” She retrieved Charlotte’s journal and made her way up to the open air of the quarterdeck and into the cabin. Dawling had replaced the bowl in the washstand and refilled it with fresh water. To try to get the sour smell of the air below decks from her nose, she washed her hands, arms, and face with the honeysuckle soap.

A noise from the day cabin startled her. Carrying the drying cloth with her, she stepped out into the room.

William looked at her in question. “How is Ned?”

“The doctor has not given his opinion yet.” She returned to the sleeping cabin, dunked a cloth into the water, and returned to the sitting room, where she used it to wipe the sweat from her husband’s face. He should at least be comfortable when she told him.

He caught her hand in his and kissed her palm. “Thank you.”

She nodded, afraid to open her mouth before she had organized her thoughts.

William called for Dawling to bring tea and some of the supper he and the cook had prepared earlier. At the dining table, Julia sat at William’s right hand, biding her time until he had eaten his fill.

“Two others aboard Audacious are ill. One cargo ship reported that they have one man with fever.” William pushed his empty plate back.

Julia had eaten as much as she could, taking heed of the doctor’s warning, though she had no appetite. “And is the first lieutenant of Audacious capable of commanding her to Jamaica?”

“I believe so. He is young but competent. And it will be for less than a fortnight. I am sending Lieutenant Campbell over to serve as his first lieutenant.”

“But with the threat from pirates…?”

“I spoke with Mr. Gardiner at length. He commanded a small brig during an engagement and lost none of his crew. He is aware of the increased security measures his crew will need to take once we leave Barbados.”

Julia could think of nothing else to ask him on the subject. She ran her tongue along the edges of her upper teeth, trying to determine how best to broach the subject of Charlotte.

William settled back in his chair. “I can see you have something you wish to say to me.”

She nodded and looked down at the half-eaten beef and onions on her plate; she shoved it away and stood. “When Ned paid his respects to me at Madeira, he confided a secret so great, I have been unable to find a way to tell you.”

William’s expression did not change. “I assumed he had spoken to you of his crew, of the problems he was having with some of them.”

Unable to continue to meet his unwavering, unreadable gaze, Julia walked slowly toward the other end of the table. At her chair at the foot, where she sat when others joined them for meals, she stopped and grabbed the finials adorning the back. “Ned wished to speak to me of one person particularly. One of his midshipmen.”

“I see.”

“Midshipman Lott, as a matter of fact.”

“The one who is even now in my sick berth?” The question conveyed no surprise, no indication of any change in William’s calmness.

“Yes. Midshipman Charles Lott.” Would her emphasis of the name make him understand? She finally looked up the table at him.

The slight raising of his brows indicated nothing other than a desire for her to continue.

“Midshipman Charles Lott is not who he claimed to be.”

“Is that so?”

She looked down at the chair before her. “Yes. You see, Midshipman Charles Lott is actually a young woman.” She glanced up at him again.

“A…woman?”

“Yes, William.” Lord, give me strength. “Yes. A young woman.”

“I see.” Still the same, calm intonation.

“But she is not just any young woman.” She took a deep breath. “Midshipman Charles Lott is your sister. Charlotte.”

Julia’s father would have exploded from his chair, face mottled red with fury, and started yelling. William steepled his fingers and pressed his forefingers to his lips.

Words of apology, of begging his forgiveness, flew through Julia’s mind, but she did not speak. Until William spoke, she needed to tread carefully so she did not anger him further.

“You need not explain why you have kept this from me until now.” William spoke through tight lips. “That is something we will discuss at another time. Have you any idea why my sister would do such a thing?”

Her husband’s gaze met hers with such a piercing intensity that she could hardly breathe. She nodded. “While I have heard no explanation from her, I have a suspicion.”

“And that is…?”

“The day after our engagement, when I went to Charlotte’s room to dress for dinner at Collin and Susan’s home, I discovered a page from a letter that I believe belonged to Charlotte. It was not addressed nor signed, so I cannot be certain, but it seemed to be from a young man…who asked Charlotte to marry him.”

William remained still, his eyes still boring into hers.

“I believe Charlotte disguised herself as a midshipman and signed on to Audacious to marry this young man.” Silence stretched out after this statement. Julia chewed the inside corner of her bottom lip until it was raw.

“Is that all?”

“That is all I know.”

“Then I thank you for entrusting me with the information.”

“What…what will you do?”

“That is yet to be decided.” William stood. “But I can assure you. My sister will not be marrying anyone at the end of this voyage.”