Liz much preferred her night in a life raft to her accommodations belowdecks. After a fitful sleep on a hard pallet, sweltering in the stuffy, putrid air, Liz craved the daylight. Anything was better than trying unsuccessfully to sleep in the dark with a handkerchief tied around her face to lessen the smells. Her skin, the very hairs on her arms, would soon begin to take on the odors. The smells never quite faded, still sharp to her nose even after a complete night of immersion in them.
Cramped in an upper bunk, if she opened her eyes, no matter where she looked, she could see the sleeping forms of others. A narrow walkway separated her from another row of beds along the opposite wall. The ceiling pressed down upon her. If she sat too quickly, she bumped her head.
They were given an allotment of food, uncooked, and were expected to share a small one-person galley to cook something with it. Never had she been asked to create something edible from a bit of meal, oil, and biscuit. They didn’t have so much as a privy between them, and human waste dominated the burning smell that disturbed her nose. Vomit, illness, and the early signs of death were now smells she could recognize. Steerage and its horrors would stay with her forever, she hoped only in memory. She hoped also that the smell would one day fade from her person.
As soon as the tiniest pink lit the sky and filtered in through the crack in the doorway, she wrapped a shawl across her shoulders and climbed the stairs.
The air misted her face, and she smiled. The fresh briskness felt so delicious she shivered a bit. Walking with long steps to stretch her legs, she drank in everything around her. The rolling blue water stretched out everywhere she looked. Water that had seemed so terrifying as it had enclosed around her yesterday now held a wisp of magic. The sails filled, the fabric shaking, crinkling, and rustling in some places. The wind whipped them in intervals before the sails filled in grand arcs again, stretched and resisting the ropes.
All of it seemed glorious—men moving about with purpose, the call of birds. Perhaps Liz was made for the sea. Not once did the slightest discomfort plague her stomach. Reaching the railing, she searched the depths of blue off the side of the ship, giggling when a pair of gray fish, each with a large fin on its back, leapt from the water in a beautiful arc.
The breeze carried a lovely smell to her—masculine, friendly—and she breathed deeply before its owner spoke. “They are lovely, are they not?”
She turned to Lord Barton and smiled, wondering if he had any idea how wonderful a clean human smelled. “What are they?”
She returned her attention to the creatures; they jumped again, and others joined them. It looked to be a whole school of the sleek, gray animals.
“Dolphins. Sailors view them as a good omen.” He tipped his head toward the deckhands. They pointed out at the dolphins, big smiles on their faces.
“Good. I don’t imagine they look forward to more storms like that last one.” She blushed, remembering his last view of her. “I might have drowned if not for you.” She coughed. “After I floated out to sea in a life raft, that is.” She wanted him to know his sacrifice was appreciated.
“Well now, there may not have been any possibility of drowning if you were floating aimlessly about in the boat.”
She laughed. “True. But plenty of thirst, I’d imagine.”
“Yes, and with all this water all around, that would be the worst cruelty of all.”
“Well, whether from thirst or drowning, I do feel I owe you my life. Twice. And I am grateful. If there is ever anything I or my father can do for your family—” She stopped.
He raised an eyebrow, a soft twinkle betraying his blank expression.
“I mean, well, my father would do everything in his power, however meager his wages.” She winced. “Were he alive.”
She had better become more practiced at telling her story. Now was as good a time as any. She had spent much of the night thinking up a history she would tell, but it just wasn’t coming out in this moment as she’d envisioned.
He tilted his head curiously, watching her. “I thank you for your offer. I don’t imagine there is much he could do by way of compensation from the heavens.” He searched her eyes. “Why are you travelling alone?”
She swallowed. He seemed so sincere, so caring. Why had she not noticed before? She bit the inside of her cheek to stop the truth from pouring out and deliberately lied. “Because Father died. Who else would come?”
It came out too quickly, too clipped. But it felt almost unlucky to claim her own father’s death while he yet lived. What if she caused such a thing to come upon him? She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands.
“As you said.” He nodded. “I am sorry. What of your mother?”
“She doesn’t know where I am.”
He raised his eyebrows and waited for her to continue.
“I haven’t always been a servant.”
“That, I am afraid to tell you, is painfully obvious.”
She felt her cheeks flame, and then she frowned. “Well, you needn’t be so rude. It is my occupation now, as you know.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Is it now?” Leaning forward, he spoke into her ear, close enough that she felt his breath on her neck. “I’d wager you have never spent a day as a servant in your life.”
She stammered. “How could you possibly know that?” She turned to him. “What I mean . . . oh, never mind.” She turned from him, frowning to the blue sky.
He cleared his throat. “I was wondering, my lady . . .”
“Yes?”
He tipped his head back and laughed. “I knew it!”
Now she crossed her arms. “You knew what? I don’t know what you are talking about. I am quite a good lady’s maid, if you must know something.”
He didn’t stop his laughter but gripped the railing and let it fill the air above the sea in front of them. “And what are your responsibilities?”
“I used to fix my lady’s hair and help her dress and bring her chocolate to drink in the morning.” She sighed, remembering the lovely mornings she’d spent sipping chocolate while still in bed. “And those cakes from Cook. The ones that melt away on your tongue.”
“Miss Worthing. How many maids do you know who speak as you do?” He reached for her hand. “Or have hands as soft as these?” His bare skin held hers, and spurts of fire shot up her arms. Surprised, she pulled her hand away.
He stepped closer. “Or a face as smooth as this one?” He ran his hand down the side of her cheek.
She closed her eyes at his touch and held her breath.
“Or allow such a touch from a gentleman, unless you are a lady yourself, being courted?”
Her eyes shot open, and she clenched her fists. “And how many gentlemen behave as you are with a woman they hardly know?” She gasped. “Unless you are not a gentleman as you say.”
“I am very much a gentleman, and I assure you, you are safe with me. But am I safe with you? Just what is your background, Miss Worthing?”
She held her breath. What was he asking? Her face flamed. She was so confused. She guessed he was asking if she was, in fact, an honorable woman. But what did that mean? And how to respond? She had never discussed such things with anyone before.
Somehow she must salvage her disguise. No one could know her identity or whereabouts. It would be too easy for this lord, whoever he was, to send word to her father.
“My father was a baron, if you must know. We lived in Westchester.”
His eyes perked up in interest.
She nodded. “Mm-hmm, but we fell on hard times. My father lost his land and suffered dreadfully from the fevers that racked our town. Involved in some form of scandal to rescue us from ruin, he ruined us nonetheless. He passed away many summers ago. My mother, she could never console herself. She withered and wasted away until I barely knew her.” Her voice wavered as if it were true. “And she went to live with my aunt.”
“Without you?”
“I needed to earn a wage. There was barely enough money for my aunt and mother to live on, you see.”
He nodded in understanding, and his eyes held sympathy and caring and such a large measure of respect she almost wished her tale were true so she could earn it truly. “But I am a terrible lady’s maid, if you must know. And so I am trying my hand at something new.”
“As a housekeeper? Doesn’t that involve a much greater responsibility?”
“Well yes, but I have helped run a household before, with my mother. How much different can it be?” Liz was convinced she could handle whatever the housekeeper was required to do. She and her mother had spent many an afternoon writing out invitations, planning menus, and ordering room decorations.
But Lord Barton placed a hand over his mouth to cough and, she noticed, to hide the upturn of his lips.
Indignation rose inside her. “I don’t see what is so funny, my lord.”
His eyebrow rose. “Well now, you see, right there. How many housekeepers do you know who address a member of the peerage in such a way?”
She widened her eyes and swallowed. He was right. What did servants do when they encountered such nonsense from a person of superior rank? Stared at the floor, she imagined. What a dreadful life a servant must have. And then, yet again, the realization struck that she must now lead such a life.
So her eyes found the deck, and she studied the cracks in the wood. “I have always had a bit of a stubborn streak.” She curtsied. “Please accept my apology.”
He burst out laughing. “You can’t do it even though you try. I can see it in the turn of your chin, the reluctance with which you stare at the ground. You are not very convincing.”
“Am I so terribly awful at it?” She searched his face.
Full of amusement and curiosity, he answered. “You are.”
Deflated, everything that had happened to her since meeting Nigel Pinweather crashed down around her like a great wave of water. Her shoulders drooped, her arms hung at her sides, and she turned from Lord Barton, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears that welled in them. She could not be sent home. She would not face the life that waited for her there. She wished to hide her vulnerability, those tears that began to fall, but she couldn’t summon the strength to hold it all back. Stepping toward the rail, she gripped it with tight knuckles and let her forehead drop to them while great sadness shook her body.
“Oh, come now. It isn’t as bad as all that.” He paused. “Is it?”
She nodded and let the tears come. She knew this man better than any other on the ship and would never see him again. She really should stop caring what he thought of her, but she found she could not.
“How can I ever be a housekeeper if I cannot fool even you?”
He stepped nearer so his side almost pressed against her, just near enough for her to imagine the heat of his warmth. Its comfort called to her, if only to stop the ache that cut through her, the utter black loneliness that would not leave.
But she dared not move closer. Already she had spent a night in his company, allowed his embrace, and witnessed his bare chest. No, embracing him again was certainly not a possibility, however greatly she found herself in need of comfort.
But he did rest a hand on her arm, and the gentle pressure of human touch reassured her enough that her cries softened, and she lifted her head.
He offered her a handkerchief.
Turning from him, she used the cloth to make herself presentable and then tucked it away. “Thank you.”
Her whisper almost lost itself to the ocean breeze, but he answered, “You’re welcome.”
They stood in silence for many moments, and a great calm settled over her. She still did not know how she would accomplish a new life alone, employed in a strange house in a new land of unknown cultures, but her worry had been replaced by peace.
“I could help you.”
She turned to him, a question on her lips.
“Be a housekeeper,” he added.
“What?”
“Yes. We could review all the responsibilities and go over what is required, and you could practice proper servant demeanor around me.”
At any other time, that last bit would have simmered under her skin, but she had the presence of mind to grab hold of this lifeline. “I would be much obliged.” He seemed so genuine, so interested in helping her. “But what could you possibly know about servant responsibilities?”
“It just so happens I do run several households, if you recall my mentioning it. And I just recently underwent many a meeting training the new staff and a steward to care for things while I am away.”
Hope filled her, and she smiled. “This could very well save my position. Shall we begin right now?”
His gaze shifted up and over her shoulder. “Indeed we shall. Here comes the only other gentleman on the ship. Let’s see if we can fool him.”