His lips parted, and his hand stilled, entangled in my hair. “My family? I fear there isn’t much of interest to say.”
“I have nowhere to go, Sebastian.” I tried to smile but failed when the ship dived and I nearly rolled off the bunk.
When it righted and I had my hand pressed against my mouth, he hunkered down on the floor beside me. “Very well. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I am the middle son, as you well know. I was born on an indigo plantation. After my mother died of cholera when I was ten, I moved to Calcutta, where you shall meet the rest of the family.”
He inhaled. “When I was eight and ten, my father died of fever, leaving my brother as heir to the Sinclair estates. Hugh was everything I was not. He had a mind for business and was the spitting image of my grandfather. My youngest brother, Julien, and I were raised by Hugh in a sense ... but he wasn’t a kind eldest brother. He was...”
“Yes,” I prodded, thinking of my relationship with Edward. “I, too, have an older brother.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Who loves you dearly and would do anything for you. Hugh was the golden child in our family. And Julien was always ignored and relegated to the nursery to occupy himself. Meanwhile, I attained the distinction of being the proverbial black sheep, always in trouble.”
“I cannot see that,” I admitted as I relaxed against the pillow.
“No?” He trailed his fingers to the bare spot on my shoulder, peeking above the quilt.
“You seem far too much a gentleman to be a black sheep.”
His mouth curved in a lopsided fashion. “Well, I wasn’t a gentleman. Not at all. As a youth, I played cards, drank like a sailor, and carried on so much that my grandfather threatened to send me to the military. I suppose it was my way of rebelling. But when my eldest brother died, I left on a grand tour of sorts, studying with every fencing master I could find. Running away, if I’m honest.
“I made many mistakes in those years. I was too much a coward to face the mistakes and make amends. Had I not met William Carey and Jean-Louis Michel, who knows what further trouble I would have discovered. I will forever be grateful to Michel for rescuing me first. As a Creole from Saint-Domingue, celebrated across France as a master swordsman and decorated soldier under Napoleon, he had no reason to trust a spoiled British youth, yet he saved my life with his discipline. Their friendship brought the faith I now cherish.”
I kept quiet, waiting for him to share more. I sensed somehow that he did not share this side of himself with many.
“You see, my brother died because of me. Had I not been a drunken sot too quick with his mouth and his fists, and too loose with his bets, my brother wouldn’t have been targeted late one night inside our warehouse. I owed money, and an unruly sort came to collect it, mistaking Hugh for me. Now I am the sole heir but for Julien.”
He said nothing about Celeste and I did not ask. But my heart felt for him with such a motley past.
I cleared my throat. “You should not carry such guilt inside.”
“Easy to say,” he said.
“I have heard that it is harder to forgive oneself than others. But I am not an expert on forgiveness. If you have uncovered the secret of livinga life free of regret, I should like to know. Freddy tells me that mercy is a necessity for peace. Perhaps this is why we so desperately need God’s help. To calm the storm.”
And how a tempest raged within me—full of doubt, bringing every anxiety and fear roiling to the surface.
Would Sebastian soon abandon me the way my grandfather had—or my mother, according to Aunt—should I disappoint him?
Instead of retreating, he pressed a kiss against my forehead. “Thank you for the reminder.”
As he leaned back, his hand once again moved to my hair, smoothing the damp strands from my face. The rhythmic motion of his touch was soothing, and before long, I felt sleep pulling me under as the ship rocked.
The last thing I remembered was the gentle cadence of his voice humming a song and the steady rise and fall of his hand against my hair.
When I woke again, the relentless rocking had been replaced by a gentle sway. I blinked, the light of the oil lamp casting a flickering glow across the cabin. He had tidied the room while I slept—including that dreadful basin. And he had changed into a loose white shirt and dark trousers and sat on the small stool, reading as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
Sebastian Sinclair liked books.
My heart skipped a beat when I read the title.Pride and Prejudice.
His tousled hair and chiseled features brought a pang of longing.
He raised his head to catch me staring. “You are awake?”
I nodded, suddenly shy.
He set the book down and, with two strides, was by my side, his expression furrowed as he helped me into a fresh dress. His hands moved with careful precision, tying the laces at my back before lifting me into his arms.
The action shocked me. Then he stood, nearly hitting his head against the ceiling while holding me close to his chest before angling to leave the room.
