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“They’re a proper success, I’d say.” Luke shot to his feet and hopped about as he pointed at the two newspaper boats bobbing on the river’s currents. “Haven’t sunk yet, Captain.”
“I can see that.” Bartholomew beamed as he glanced between the boats and Luke. “Next time we’ll make an armada.”
“That’ll be jolly fun.” The boy bent near to the water’s edge and poked at one of the boats with a stick. “Oh, look at it go!” He laughed with innocent glee, and Bartholomew put a hand to his heart. That was one of the first times he’d heard Luke laugh with genuine abandon in all the time he’d known him. “I think this one’s a pirate ship. It’s so fast.”
“Yes, indeed. So fast.” Everything in his life had happened in such a blur since his return to London. Not only had Luke blossomed under his guidance, but Felicity had come into full bloom merely from his attention.
To say nothing of the affection he had for them both.
Was this maturity, then, this wanting his life to keep burgeoning forward and expanding toward domestication? Even when he had no business wishing for such? As he monitored Luke’s progress with the ever-dampening boats, he cleared his throat. “Luke, are you pleased about life away from the ship?”
“Of course.” The boy spared him a glance from over his shoulder, confusion evident in his expression. “It’s bully nice to get enough food and have people to talk to that don’t order me to swab a deck. Oh, and my shoes fit, Captain. I ain’t never had that afore.”
At some point, would the boy ever refer to him as father? The longing to hear that word burned strong deep within him. “No, I suppose not.” It was interesting to discover what children valued more than adults. “Do you miss the men onboard ship?” For him, it was difficult to transition, but sailors were a transient lot, and most of them would sail back out with the next captain of the ship.
“No, sir. Ain’t none of them were as kind to me as you and Mr. Farmington were.” He returned to his contemplation of the newspaper boats. Now that the structures were damp and taking on water, the two little vessels were beginning to flag.
“There is that.” A sailor’s life was busy enough. They often didn’t have time to spare for a growing boy. “Well, I’m happy to have you with me.” When the boy remained silent, he sighed. The muscles in his stomach knotted, for there was more he wished to know. “How do you like Miss Cowan?”
“She’s nice.” He poked at one of the boats with his stick, but that only made the vessel sink faster. No amount of prodding would let him fish it out, and soon enough it disappeared beneath the water’s surface. “Sometimes, when she reads to me and smiles just right, she’s a real looker.”
“Agreed.” Was she the only one in London who didn’t believe she was beautiful? “Er, she works as Mrs. Grayson’s companion, but I was thinking she has the potential to be something more.”
Luke poked at the second boat with his stick until it, too, sank under the water. With a sigh, he turned about and peered up at Bartholomew. “You want to keep her about for a bit of slap and tickle, eh Captain?” he asked with a sly grin.
“What?” Shock slammed through his chest as he gaped at the boy. “Of course not.” He chose to ignore the insistent heat at the back of his neck. “Also, proper lads don’t use such can’t.” A sigh escaped him. “You’re respectable now.”
“I’m sorry.” A crestfallen expression came over the boy. He kicked at a patch of browning grass and then whacked at it with his stick. “The rules are hard, but I’ll try to be better.”
“It’s all I can ask.”
“I wager Miss Cowan wants me to be respectable too, don’t she?”
“Most certainly. I’m sure she’ll be proud if you make an effort.”
Luke’s chin quivered, but he mastered his emotions enough to nod. “I like it when she pats my hand when I do something good or if I want to cry but don’t show it.”
So do I. Bartholomew nodded. “She’s a good sort. Life goes down easier when she’s around, doesn’t it?”
“It bloody well does.” He glanced upward with a sheepish expression. “I guess some females are nice to have around.”
“Agreed, so we have to make certain we treat them with respect and affection, so they’ll always know how much they mean to us.” Another wave of shock plowed through him. Did that mean he wished to have her in his life for more than friendship, for more than relieving the desire building between them?
It certainly bore more thought, and he’d allow himself a few dreams of the future after he’d told her about the work his solicitor had finished earlier.
Bartholomew was hit with another wave of emotion later that afternoon while taking tea with his mother and Felicity, for the feeling of family and connection in that drawing room couldn’t be denied. Luke acted the proper boy as he sat next to Felicity on a low sofa. Across the table, Bartholomew rested beside his mother, grinning like a fool while the boy related the ins and outs of sailing newspaper boats and what he’d do differently the next time.
Felicity gazed at him with a soft expression and eyes full of the same longing that currently gripped him. Her inherent nurturing instinct came through in her interactions with Luke. Each time his plate was emptied of treats, she quietly put another few honey cakes and tarts upon it, and the boy happily munched to his heart’s content as he chattered away.
In his mind’s eye, Bartholomew saw her sitting on the green grass of a lawn somewhere with three children of various ages gathered about, all gazing at her with rapt expressions as she read from a book. And he was there, looking ready to pop with pride with a toddler-aged boy in his arms and an older Luke trailing behind. Wishful thinking or a sign of things to come?
“Captain Grayson, do you think it might be all right if I gave Luke the present I’ve made for him?” The dulcet tones of Felicity’s voice yanked him from the daydream.
In some confusion he blinked and stared at her while his brain attempted to muddle through what she’d said. Finally, he nodded and pushed the lingering images from his mind. Such things were rushing his fences. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t.”
His mother snorted in derision. “What’s this, then? You’re not going to save it for Christmas Day?”
The smile Felicity bestowed upon his mother held a wicked edge that set fire to his blood. “I rather think Luke could do with presents more often than one day a year. Besides, it’s useful.” She stood and shook out her navy skirting. Then she moved over to the small secretary and picked up a small wooden box.
