spreading out the plans on the long reading table and anchoring the corners with paperweights and books to keep the edges from rolling up. Dorian stirred up The fire while she lit lamps. The tea tray came and they found a place for it at the end of the table. The little tasks helped her regain composure. She designed yachts and ran a business, for heaven’s sake. It was silly to be daunted by a simple task and one handsome man.
When everything was finally settled to their satisfaction, Dorian pointed to the areain question. ‘Here’s the problem—I think the centre of the hull is too narrow. It will increase the chance of capsizing. Do you know what your father was thinking when he established these dimensions?’
‘These aren’t solely my father’s plans. We designed this boat together,’ Elise said slowly. Even now, no one quite grasped her level of involvement in the shipyard. ‘This is my boat, too. I simply don’t know how to build it, but in theory it should work.’
Dorian swore softly under his breath and she braced herself for the worst. But it didn’t come. He didn’t harangue her for the idea that she thought she could build a boat. ‘In
theory It should work?
Do you have a model? Did you do any kind of trial?’
‘No. It will work. I modelled this after Joshua Humphreys’s work, only we’ve used his design with more intensity. This boat is longer, lower and leaner.’ She could see he was unconvinced. ‘We’ve installed extra buoyancy bags on the port and starboard sides to compensate for any drastic heeling.’ She warmed to her subject now, making her argument with passion as she pointed to the various adaptations they’d made. ‘So you seethere was no need to test it. Humphreys’s design works. We’ve just modified it.’
Dorian was starting to thaw. ‘We’ll have to be careful through here and here.’ His finger drew invisible circles on the plans. ‘But it could work, I guess. It’s just that I’ve never seen it done. Once we get the frame timbered, it will be too late for any alterations. It’s almost too late now.’
A little thrill ran through her at the prospect of the fully timbered hull. ‘How long?’
‘Two days. Then there will be the rigging to discuss.’ He gave her a wry grin. ‘I don’t suppose you designed the rigging, too?’
‘Perhaps you’d like to discuss rigging over tea?’ Elise smiled, feeling relieved. There’d been a moment when she’d thought he might quit the job.
With tea and biscuits on plates, they settled into the big chairs in front of the fire to discuss the merits of sloop versus ketch and cutter-rigging styles. It was an animated discussion and, for a while, Elise forgot she was entertaining alone, forgot what a scoundrel Dorian was. It felt good to talk about boats and sailing with someone who knew something about it. It had seemed ages since she’dhad this sort of discussion. She and her father used to talk boats all the time. They’d talked about yachts the day he’d gone out on the test run. It was the last conversation they’d had.
Dorian broke off in mid-sentence. ‘What is it? It looks like a shadow has just crossed your face. Have I offended your sensibilities with my position on ketch rigging?’ he joked.
‘No.’ Elise looked down at her hands, embarrassed over having been caught with her mind wandering. ‘This talk of boats reminds me of my father. We had conversations like this all the time. In fact, we’d talked about new ways to increase windage the day he went out.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Dorian’s tan hand covered hers where it lay in her lap. He gave it a warm squeeze. ‘You must miss him.’
Elise nodded, not daring to trust her voice. She’d not expected such a tender gesture from the king of insouciance himself. It threatened to undo her. She managed a smile and then a few words to turn the conversation away from herself. ‘What about your family? Do they enjoy boats and yachting as much as
When everything was finally settled to their satisfaction, Dorian pointed to the areain question. ‘Here’s the problem—I think the centre of the hull is too narrow. It will increase the chance of capsizing. Do you know what your father was thinking when he established these dimensions?’
‘These aren’t solely my father’s plans. We designed this boat together,’ Elise said slowly. Even now, no one quite grasped her level of involvement in the shipyard. ‘This is my boat, too. I simply don’t know how to build it, but in theory it should work.’
Dorian swore softly under his breath and she braced herself for the worst. But it didn’t come. He didn’t harangue her for the idea that she thought she could build a boat. ‘In
theory It should work?
Do you have a model? Did you do any kind of trial?’
‘No. It will work. I modelled this after Joshua Humphreys’s work, only we’ve used his design with more intensity. This boat is longer, lower and leaner.’ She could see he was unconvinced. ‘We’ve installed extra buoyancy bags on the port and starboard sides to compensate for any drastic heeling.’ She warmed to her subject now, making her argument with passion as she pointed to the various adaptations they’d made. ‘So you seethere was no need to test it. Humphreys’s design works. We’ve just modified it.’
Dorian was starting to thaw. ‘We’ll have to be careful through here and here.’ His finger drew invisible circles on the plans. ‘But it could work, I guess. It’s just that I’ve never seen it done. Once we get the frame timbered, it will be too late for any alterations. It’s almost too late now.’
A little thrill ran through her at the prospect of the fully timbered hull. ‘How long?’
‘Two days. Then there will be the rigging to discuss.’ He gave her a wry grin. ‘I don’t suppose you designed the rigging, too?’
‘Perhaps you’d like to discuss rigging over tea?’ Elise smiled, feeling relieved. There’d been a moment when she’d thought he might quit the job.
With tea and biscuits on plates, they settled into the big chairs in front of the fire to discuss the merits of sloop versus ketch and cutter-rigging styles. It was an animated discussion and, for a while, Elise forgot she was entertaining alone, forgot what a scoundrel Dorian was. It felt good to talk about boats and sailing with someone who knew something about it. It had seemed ages since she’dhad this sort of discussion. She and her father used to talk boats all the time. They’d talked about yachts the day he’d gone out on the test run. It was the last conversation they’d had.
Dorian broke off in mid-sentence. ‘What is it? It looks like a shadow has just crossed your face. Have I offended your sensibilities with my position on ketch rigging?’ he joked.
‘No.’ Elise looked down at her hands, embarrassed over having been caught with her mind wandering. ‘This talk of boats reminds me of my father. We had conversations like this all the time. In fact, we’d talked about new ways to increase windage the day he went out.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Dorian’s tan hand covered hers where it lay in her lap. He gave it a warm squeeze. ‘You must miss him.’
Elise nodded, not daring to trust her voice. She’d not expected such a tender gesture from the king of insouciance himself. It threatened to undo her. She managed a smile and then a few words to turn the conversation away from herself. ‘What about your family? Do they enjoy boats and yachting as much as
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