Meanwhile, on The Fairweather
Once their trunks and valises had been delivered to their cabin on The Fairweather, the two recent graduates of Cambridge University realized their quarters might be too cramped to live in during the voyage to Rome. Besides the two bunks, one mounted above the other on one wall, the cabin featured a square table, two wooden chairs, and a lantern. Their luggage took up nearly all the remaining floor space.
“I’m going to bed,” Frank announced, shedding his top coat before he deftly jumped up and onto the top bunk.
“Hey,” Marcus said in protest, expecting he would take the top bunk. A thought he might be tossed out of it in the event of bad weather had him reconsidering.
“Wake me when the food is served.”
The reminder they hadn’t eaten breakfast prior to their departure that morning had Marcus’ stomach growling in protest. He acknowledged Frank’s request as he hung his top hat on a peg. “Captain St. John said we could join him for meals,” he commented. “Sinclair and Hornsby as well,” he added, referring to two other classmates who had boarded The Fairweather for the trip to Rome and their Grand Tours.
He had been relieved upon meeting the older captain in the wheelhouse. Half expecting a piratical character sporting a peg leg, Marcus was pleased when John St. John proved nothing of the sort.
He had obviously been a sea captain for some time. For the past three years, he had sailed the London to Rome to London route as captain of The Fairweather, although he hinted he’d had other responsibilities on the side. His crew seemed loyal, especially his first mate, a man he called Rodney.
Although the ship had been beset by the same sorts of disasters any sailing ship did, The Fairweather seemed in good shape. Even though steam ships were taking over most of the work of moving goods across the water, the sailing vessels were still in demand for their speed in seas where winds could be relied upon to fill their sails.
Marcus opened his trunk and pulled out his stationery box. Moving to the table, he took a seat and considered how to compose a letter to the woman who would one day be his wife.
Dear Sweeting,
He scratched his chin. Perhaps it was too soon for endearments. Lucy was probably still suffering her mother’s scolds.
Dear Gorgeous,
Rolling his eyes, he could just imagine how Lucy would roll hers upon reading the salutation.
Dear Miss Fitzsimmons,
Yes, it was ordinary, but it showed he knew her name, and it showed a level of respect she deserved.
Dear Miss Fitzsimmons,
I owe you an apology for what happened last night, although...
He sat back. An apology implied he was sorry when he really wasn’t. How could he be when their kiss had been so earth-shattering?
Their intimate act had been somewhat of a surprise. One of those serendipitous events that could change the course of one’s life.
The kiss would certainly change theirs. Or rather, the discovery by Lady Pettigrew would. The hag had been lying in wait to follow an unsuspecting couple into the gardens for the sole purpose of creating a gossip-worthy event.
He had seen to it. But not in the manner it had actually occurred. How could Lady Pettigrew betray him with her cutting words?
Giving his head a shake, Marcus returned his attention to the letter.
Although I must admit, I am not sorry for having kissed you. I found the experience most illuminating, for it opened my eyes to the possibility of what is to come in my life. Of what I may look forward to for the rest of my life.
I do hope you are able to see it the same.
Here he paused and tried to imagine Lucy’s reaction. Either she would be of the same mind as him, or she wouldn’t. Perhaps she would require some prodding.
As per our agreement, I will of course marry you. I look forward to the day when we will say our vows and take up residence in Pendleton House in Mayfair.
It wasn’t as if anyone else lived in Pendleton House. The butler there claimed ignorance as to the whereabouts of his older sister, Barbara. His younger sister was living with an aunt in Staffordshire. If his older brother remained in Staffordshire at the Greenley country estate, Higgins House, then Lucy would be the lady of Pendleton House. Was that enough of an incentive in the event merely marrying him wasn’t?
He jerked himself out of his reverie and continued to write.
There is a slight matter of timing, however. I have only this morning boarded a sailing vessel bound for Rome as I have embarked on my Grand Tour. Frank Turnbridge and I made the arrangements well before our terms at Cambridge ended a fortnight ago. The itinerary will keep us away from British shores for two years.
Upon my return, I shall pay a call to renew our acquaintance so that a date can be set for our wedding. I do hope this will not inconvenience you. It will give you two years to attend the entertainments of the ton with the knowledge you no longer need to impress a young man into proposing marriage.
Let this letter be a formal acknowledgment of our betrothal. Upon my return to British shores, I will see to paying a call at Reardon Manor to seek your brother’s permission to marry you.
Please know that I shall think about you often as I visit Ancient Greek temples, for I know it was Cupid who was responsible for our meeting again.
Yours in service,
Marcus Higgins
Marcus set aside his pen and reread the letter, grunting softly as he imagined how she might react upon reading the news of his departure.
He briefly thought about adding “Heir to the Greenley earldom,” at the bottom, but thought better of it.
About to write a post scriptum to mention he would write again soon, he couldn’t when the ship suddenly jerked and the quick steps and shouts of sailors sounded from above.
“What’s going on?” he asked aloud.
From the upper bunk where he had a clear view through the room’s only porthole window, Frank said, “They’re undoing the ropes from the dock.”
“Already?” Marcus hurriedly folded the letter and addressed it. “Dammit. I thought I’d have more time,” he murmured, rushing from the room to climb the companionway.
When he landed on the deck, he had to quickly step aside or fall backward given the sailor who nearly collided with him. A sail unfurled on the fore-mast followed by another on the main-mast. The sense of sudden motion he felt was confirmed when he realized they were no longer tethered to the dock.
Once he was sure he wasn’t in anyone’s way, he rushed to the railing in search of anyone on the dock he might engage in the delivery of his letter.
Spotting a young man dressed in the uniform of a porter, he called out to him.
The porter looked up. “Aye?” He stutter-stepped into motion, matching the ship’s movement along the dock.
“Can you see to delivering this letter?” Marcus called out as he held up the envelope. He frowned when he realized the ship was moving faster than he thought.
The porter looked both ways and began jogging in the same direction as The Fairweather. “Toss it, sir,” he called out. “I’ll see what I can do!”
Marcus hoisted the envelope and gave it his best throw. Although the envelope landed well away from the porter, it did land on the dock. “For your trouble,” Marcus called out as he tossed a sovereign.
This time, the porter caught the silver coin and held it up. “Good travels, sir.”
Marcus watched as the porter picked up the envelope and seemed to study the address, but the foggy and crowded docks soon hid him from view as The Fairweather increased its easterly movement on the Thames. Within the hour, they would be in the Channel and headed for the Strait of Gibraltar.
He hoped his missive might end up in Lucy’s hands well before then.