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“He didn’t,” she interrupted. “Papa never knew of my feelings. No one did. In fact, you’re the first person I’ve ever told. Had I confessed the truth to Papa, one of two things would have happened: either he would have given up the sea, which I couldn’t abide—’twas his life—or he’d have restored me to boarding school, which would have been akin to thrashing me. I’d spent months pleading with him to withdraw me and equally as many months upending the school so they were more than happy to comply.”
Slayde’s lips twitched. “It sounds like you were a terror.”
“I was.” He felt her smile faintly against his shirt. “Trust me, Aurora is a lamb in comparison.”
“What a harrowing thought.” Slayde’s brows knit. “When we first spoke of your father, you referred to the Isobel in affectionate terms—as your home.”
“It was. Because Papa was there. But every night, I prayed for the impossible: that he would tire of the sea on his own and choose for us to settle down. To make a real home, together.”
“I see.” Slayde stared off into space, wondering why he, the most circumspect of men, was asking so many intrusive questions, and more importantly, why he felt compelled to know as much as he could about his beautiful houseguest. “Is your mother alive?”
“No. Mama died just after I was born. I never knew her. But I knew a great deal about her. Papa spoke of her constantly: her beauty, her warm-hearted nature, her enthusiasm for life. Of course, he was more than a bit subjective. He adored her.”
“Did she live near the docks? Is that where they met?”
A soft breath of laughter. “She lived in a mansion. They met when Papa’s ship was docked and Mama happened to be strolling near the water’s edge. Mama’s parents were blue bloods—titled and affluent. Needless to say, they were less than thrilled with her choice of husbands. But it didn’t matter, not to her or to Papa. They were very much in love. The fact that she was an aristocrat and Papa a sea captain mattered not a whit. Eventually, their devotion triumphed. They procured her parents’ blessing and were married that very week.” Courtney rose up, inclining her head in question. “Do you recall the timepiece you rescued? The one you placed in the nightstand drawer?”
Slayde nodded. “I remember.”
“It’s the finest of captain’s watches. And Papa’s most treasured memory of Mama. She gave it to him as a wedding gift, a symbol of
their lives and their love. Not only is the craftsmanship exquisite, the scene within—” Courtney broke off, her eyes widening eagerly. “Would you like to see it? Really see it, in detail?”
The glow on her face was worth the cost of a dozen timepieces combined. “Yes, I would. Very much.”
Gingerly, Courtney twisted about and extracted the piece of silver with a familiarity that made Slayde suspect she’d done this repeatedly over the past two days. “I realize you must already have glanced at it,” she said, “but ’tis far too beautiful for a cursory look.” Lovingly, she caressed the gleaming case, extending the watch for Slayde’s perusal.
He took it, noting the intricacy of the pattern etched on the outside. “It’s lovely.”
“Open it,” Courtney urged. “Hold it to the lamp so you can see the scene inside.”
Slayde complied, studying the enchanting picture that greeted him.
A solitary ship graced the center of the watch’s face. The vessel appeared to be paused on a course to the lighthouse depicted on the right—no, not paused—unmoving. Cushioned by peaceful sea waters, the ship remained as it was, halted midway to its destination, suspended in time.
“According to Papa, Mama claimed he was the ship and she, the lighthouse,” Courtney elaborated, her voice choked. “That’s because, until a few days past, the picture moved. The lighthouse beam appeared, beckoning, and the ship sailed toward it, hastening toward its welcoming light just as Papa always did to Mama. He took the watch with him wherever he traveled, kept it with him all these years—even after she died. It was his way of having Mama beside him, always.” A shuddering breath. “He gave me the timepiece just before he was forced overboard, told me to keep it as a memory of them both. I clutched it long after that animal locked me in my cabin. I was afraid to open the case, because I knew what I would find. At last, I relented, needing to see I was wrong—only to discover I was right. Just as I dreaded, the watch had stopped.” Hollow emptiness returned to Courtney’s eyes. “It won’t start again until Papa is home where he belongs.”
“Courtney—”
“Don’t tell me he’s dead,” she refuted in a strangled whisper. “I refuse to accept that.” Two tears slid down her cheeks. “I can’t explain it, but while I realize up here”—she touched her brow—“the implausibility of what I’m saying, in here”—she lay her palm over her heart—“I believe otherwise.” Valiantly, she struggled for control. “So let’s not discuss it, all right? Let’s speak of something else.”
With a wordless nod, Slayde snapped the watch case shut and replaced it in the drawer. “The timepiece is exquisite. Your mother had exceptional taste.” A heartbeat of a pause. “And an exceptional daughter.”
Warm color tinged Courtney’s cheeks. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Unsettled by his own sense of imbalance, Slayde sought a safer ground. “Tell me, why did you hate sailing? Was it the lack of privacy?”
Courtney shook her head, capturing a tear with the tip of her tongue. “No. I had all the privacy I wished for. In fact, I spent long hours alone in my cabin. Only Papa visited me there. The men were given strict orders—by Papa—never to enter my quarters.”
“I don’t blame him. A beautiful woman, together with a shipload of men? Were I your father, I’d have locked you in.”
A twinge of amusement. “I was hardly compromised. The men treated me with the utmost respect. After all, my father was their captain.”
“Where did your ship journey?”
“To the Colonies. We carried furniture and other English goods to New York and Boston.”
“Did you dislike visiting the Colonies?”
