Page 43 of A Modest Independence

Jenny’s hand tightened on the rail as she turned to address the two men. “Is the strait dangerous?”

Tom and Ahmad exchanged a weighted look.

She didn’t have to be a mind reader to realize that they were keeping something from her. “Whatever it is you’re not telling me—”

“There was an accident there long ago,” Tom said. “It’s nothing to trouble yourself over. Ahmad should never have made mention of it.”

“How long ago?”

“Five years.” He hesitated before adding, “The French lost a frigate there during a storm. It hit a reef and sank. There were no survivors.”

A chill of foreboding shivered down Jenny’s spine. “What time of year was it? Not February, I hope.” Her question was greeted with an awkward silence. Her stomach sank. “February, then.” She lifted her gaze to the clear blue sky. “But there’s no storm coming now.”

“And the ship is powerful.” Mira directed their attention to the churning water. “See how it cuts through the waves?”

Jenny gripped the rail with both hands. “That’s comforting.”

Tom came to stand beside her. “Even if there were a storm, it’s not likely to sink us.”

“I pray it won’t. I’m not a very strong swimmer.”

His hand rested next to hers on the rail. Their gloved fingers touched. “I am.”

“And that’s supposed to reassure me?” She huffed. “I suppose if everything goes to the devil, I must rely on you to rescue me.”

Tom’s blue eyes were solemn behind the lenses of his spectacles. “And I will. Every time.”

P & O Paddle Steamer Valetta

Marseilles to Malta

February, 1860

Tom didn’t see Jenny again for the rest of the morning. She retired to her cabin, pale and drawn, not long after they left the Port of Marseilles. When he knocked on her door at luncheon it was opened the tiniest crack by Mira.

“Miss Holloway has retired until dinner,” she informed him. “She asks not to be disturbed.”

Tom put his hand on the door, only just preventing her from shutting it in his face. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s clearly ill. If you would step aside—”

“She doesn’t wish to be disturbed, sir.”

This time, when Mira snapped the door shut, Tom made no move to prevent her.

Good lord, only a few days in Jenny’s employ and the blasted girl was already as starchy and intractable as her mistress.

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration before making his way back to the upper deck. Ahmad was there, engaged in conversation with one of the younger sailors. When he saw Tom, he detached himself, his stride surprisingly steady on the rolling deck of the ship.

“Do you have need of me?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Your cousin has barred me from Miss Holloway’s cabin. She’s plainly unwell.”

“She’s seasick,” Ahmad said. “They both are. The same thing happened when we crossed the Channel.”

The young sailor strolled over to join them. “It comes on like that with some of the ladies. Some of the gents, too.”

“Shall I summon the ship’s surgeon?” Ahmad asked.

“There’s naught he can do, sir. It has to run its course.”