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Chapter Nineteen
October 12, 1841
Gwen heaved a heavy sigh as she leaned by the timber wall right by the door. Then she wished she hadn’t.
Her entire family turned around and looked at her.
“What is it, dear?” asked her mother kindly.
“If you’re feeling seasick, it’s quite acceptable to return to the docks,” said her father.
Her brother stuck his nose in the air. “She’ll just have to get used to it!”
“What, like you did?” Phylis snorted as she strode across the deck. “The man still goes green whenever we lose sight of land!”
The deck of the Dreamer was filled with appreciative guffaws, mostly from Gwen’s sister-in-law’s crew, but also from Gwen’s parents.
Gwen tried to smile. This had been one of the things she had first asked for, when she had been introduced to Phylis as Captain Seaton: a visit onto her wonderful ship, currently held in the docks of London while they waited for their next contract to Antwerp.
And it was fascinating. She had only ever read about ships, seen them in plays or marveled at them on the opera stage or spotted them in the distance on the Thames. And yes, she had been vaguely aware that the images presented to her on page and stage were not quite accurate, but that had only increased her curiosity.
Standing here on the actual deck of the Dreamer was a revelation. It smelled very differently to how she’d thought it would, of salt and brine and something Phylis had informed her was tar. The crew was far more respectable than she had supposed, bowing to her parents and offering her mother a seat in a chair that looked almost new. Gwen remained standing near the door that went below deck, though they hadn’t seen it yet. The rigging cracked in the wind above them and the whole thing was marvelously exhilarating.
At least, it would have been. If Gwen could feel exhilaration any longer.
If he hadn’t been so angry at the miscommunication, hadn’t said those things…but she would allow herself to be fooled no longer.
There was nothing Ernest could have heard that could have persuaded him to stay with her. The man had clearly only been interested in what he could get, and after she had given him her everything, her all, her very body, there’d been nothing to keep him with her any longer.
It had been foolish of her to even hope for true love. Foolish, and embarrassing, and just…just awful.
Gwen tried to smile, but the conversation had already moved on. Her sister Teddy was standing by a balustrade looking out across the Thames and a sailor had offered her mother a drink from a bottle he’d unearthed from his shirt, which the dowager viscountess had managed to politely decline. A lad in the corner was playing a fiddle, impressively well, and Michael was dancing with his wife, the captain of the ship and the mother of a future Pernrith Chance. The news had been announced only half an hour ago, to everyone’s delight.
And Gwen was delighted.
At least, she thought she was delighted. Once her heart thawed out and she remembered what it was to feel again, she would sure to be delighted.
“You look a mite down in the dumps.”
Gwen started. It was so rare to hear her sister say anything, she had almost forgotten what Teddy’s voice sounded like.
“I—I am quite well,” she said stiffly.
Teddy blinked. “You don’t look well.”
It was not the most encouraging statement from a sister. “Well, neither do you,” Gwen said harshly, before she could stop herself.
There it was again, that temper of hers, a sign she was not mature—even she could admit as much to herself. One day, she would learn to control it, but in the meantime, it was going to be a steady and unrelenting effort to prevent herself from being rude to those around her.
Especially those she loved.
“I am sorry, Teddy,” she muttered.
Her sister gave her a brief smile as the fiddle sped up in pace and laughter echoed across the deck as Michael and Phylis’s dancing became wilder. “It’s quite all right. You are heartbroken, and I have a cold.”
“‘A cold’?” Gwen didn’t remember her sister complaining about a cold.
But then, Teddy never did complain about anything.