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He handed her the crowbar and the claw hammer, and she practiced the movements he’d taught her. She managed to pry the board loose and remove a nail with less difficulty this time.
“Very good. I’ll join you after I have my coffee.”
She set to work, feeling very industrious now, humming bars of Mozart as she pried and denailed the boards. It was difficult, but it wasn’t impossible, with the proper tools.
Ford returned and began moving down the opposite row of water-damaged floorboards. He removed boards much faster than she did, but that was to be expected.
He reached her quickly, setting to work on the adjacent floorboard, their elbows almost touching.
“There’s something so satisfying about the ping of the nails as they slide free, isn’t there?” Beatrice asked. “And then when a whole board is removed—it’s visible progress. It makes me want to continue just for the satisfaction of reaching the end.”
“Try doing this for a whole day in the hot sun on the deck of a ship. You might not like it so much.”
“I’m sure it can become tiresome. But then againsmiling at loathsome earls at balls is irritating to no end.”
They worked in tandem for a few minutes, the sound of their breathing mingling with the ping of nails and the scraping of metal against wood. “Doesn’t your father want you to stay in Cornwall and take over as carpenter to my brother?”
“Of course he does. I’m his only child.”
He didn’t elaborate. Very well, she’d have to pry the information out of him like he was a nail stuck in a board.
“Why did you choose the Royal Navy instead of taking over your father’s position?”
“I left home after an altercation with my father. I was young and hotheaded. I wanted to see the world. That village was too small for me. Still is.”
“What did you argue with your father about?”
He sat back on his heels. “If you must know, the fight was about your father, the late duke. He rarely visited the estate in person, but when he did, he made his presence known. He visited our cottage one evening. He was screaming at my father about something and I wanted my father to stand up to him, but my father bowed and scraped and apologized until I flew into a fit of temper. I insulted the old duke, who left in a rage, vowing to have us thrown off his lands.”
He bent back to his work, his hammer ripping nails free, as he spoke of his past. “My father tried to force me to apologize to the duke but I refused. We had a huge fight. He told me that I needed to be realistic, to learn my station in life, and I told him he needed to grow some...” He paused, his breathing ragged.
“Bollocks,” she said primly. “Germanic at root, from the Old Englishbeallucas, meaning testicles, deriving from words that mean leather bag, balls, nuts—”
“That’s quite enough etymology, Beatrice.” He smiled briefly, but his face soon clouded over again. “I ran away to the docks and didn’t return to Cornwall for three years.”
Beatrice set down her hammer. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but stopped herself just in time. “My father, the cause of your flight from home, died when I was fourteen. I barely knew him. He was this menacing presence lurking around the edges of my life, disapproving and aloof. How old were you when you ran away?”
“Fifteen. Brash, hotheaded, believing I was invincible.” He gave a short laugh. “I was a handful, and I had to fend for myself on ships full of rough and ready sailors. What were you like at fifteen?”
“Even more awkward than I am now, though that’s difficult to believe, I know. My mother tried her very best to polish me to gracefulness, but I was all knobby knees, sharp elbows, and even sharper opinions. I’ve never been particularly decorous or feminine.”
“You have an economy of motion that I prefer to grace. You’re doing very well at removing this flooring.”
Her heart warmed at his praise. She resumed working. “Fifteen can be a challenging year. My brother Drew, the duke, was kidnapped at the age of fifteen and it changed him. I was only a small child at the time so I didn’t know him well, but Iknew that he used to pick me up in his arms and kiss my cheek and after the kidnapping he became distant and withdrawn. I later learned that he lost himself in London’s underworld, searching for oblivion in unhealthy pleasures. After our father died, he retreated to Thornhill House and I barely saw him anymore. I wanted to follow him to Cornwall. I worshipped him.”
“Your brother’s a fair and honorable man. I remember when he arrived to live at Thornhill. My father wrote to me that the old duke was dead and the new one had taken an interest in the estate. His system of crop rotation has done wonders. He’s increased profits for his tenants exponentially and everyone is very loyal to him.”
“Except Gibbons, it would seem.”
“Gibbons never had to worry about where his next meal would come from. He’s made of the same stuff as Foxton—greedy and grasping.”
“What does your mother think about you sailing around the world? She must miss you.”
“There’s always a letter from her waiting for me at every port. Some of my fellow sailors spend all their pay on the fleeting pleasures available around the docks, but I like to visit as many new sights as possible so that I can write back to my mother and describe it for her.”
“Aha!” Beatrice waved her hammer in the air. “I’ve found a vulnerability in that rogue’s armor of yours.”
“I doubt that.”
