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Alex shrugged. “That depends on what one calls a family.”
It was Drake’s turn to be curious. “What does that mean?”
Alex rested her head against the solid mast. “Only that it must be lovely to be part of a real family, with sisters and brothers and a dog that sleeps by the fire.”
He was struck by the wistfulness in her voice. “Is that so farfetched?”
She sighed. “For me it is impossible. I am an only child, and my parents forbid animals in our house. Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“Yes.”
“Yes … what?”
“Yes, one of each.”
“Really?” Her eyes lit up, gleaming silver in the darkness. “How old are they? What are their names? Are you very close to them?”
Drake chuckled. Her enthusiasm was endearing; her naïveté was hopeless. “My sister’s name is Samantha. She is fifteen and a joy. She is rather like a frisky puppy, noisy and inquisitive and always following me about.” He warmed to his subject. “She will grow to be quite lovely in a few years.”
“Does she resemble you?”
He considered. “Yes, I suppose she does. She is tall with dark hair, several shades lighter than mine, and her eyes are as green as a meadow.”
“She sounds wonderful. And your brother?”
Drake’s smile vanished. “Sebastian is thirty years old, two years younger than I. We are nothing alike.”
Alex could hear the hardness of his tone, but she wished she could see him better. All she could make out was the outline of his features.
“Does he captain a ship, as well?”
Drake laughed bitterly. “Hardly. Honest work has never been Sebastian’s forte. He much prefers to play.”
Knowing how devoted Drake was to La Belle Illusion and how proud he was to captain her, Alex understood his disgust for someone’s idleness and lack of purpose. She thought of the frivolous members of the ton who constituted her acquaintanceship back at Sudsbury. Yes, she understood Drake’s scorn, for she had felt it countless times herself.
She voiced her thoughts. “Your brother is but one of many who prefer to reap life’s pleasures with no thought to the contrary, no need for something more.”
Drake stared down at the shadow of her profile, hearing the derisive note in her tone.
“You sound as if you speak from experience.”
She locked her arms around her knees, drawing them up to her body. “I do. In my world, all people are such as you describe. Our gowns, the balls we attend, the appropriate men we meet—such is our shallow existence.”
“Shallow but entertaining, princess. Surely you are an avid participant in the festive life you have just depicted.” She couldn’t mean a word she had said. So why, then, was he awaiting her reply with bated breath and a pounding heart?
Alex settled her chin atop her raised knees. “As a sea captain you have never been part of my ‘aristocratic upbringing,’ as you call it. It is natural that in your mind my life is enviable. It is true that I have never had to concern myself with money; wealth has been mine since birth.”
She paused. “But I have paid a high price for my affluence. I live within rigid constraints. There is judgment attached to everything I do. Noblewomen simply do not enjoy or long to do certain things. They meekly do and comply with other things. This is well and good if your nature enables you to be happy this way. But what if your life feels hollow? What if there is an ache inside you that you do not know how to fill … are not permitted to fill?”
Unbeknownst to Alex, her voice trembled. “In truth, I would gladly trade my gowns, my servants, and my cold, aloof suitors for a simpler life, a life with meaning, with a person who loves me and whom I love in return.”
She turned to Drake. “I envy you, Drake. I know that you are not rich. But you go to bed each night feeling whole, knowing where you belong. You know what you need and have found it.” She drew in an unsteady breath. “I long to find that same sense of purpose.”
Drake had not spoken once during Alex’s emotional talk. In truth he was moved. It was ironic. She thought he was poor and that his bitterness was based on envy when in fact he had been born into the very world of which she spoke, and he shared her scorn, for he knew only too well how vapid and restricted a life it was.
She was such a puzzling dichotomy. On the one hand she was haughty and arrogant. On the other hand she was a lonely and searching little girl, needing to love and to be loved. Which one was real? More important, which one did he want to be real?
Moving to safer ground, he asked gently, “Is your life really so dismal, Alexandria? What about your parents? I know that your father is the governor of York in Canada, but what of your mother?”
