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Authors: Elizabeth Essex
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the right of it.”
“Thank you. I hope I do.”
“Well.” Mr. Denman folded his hands in front of himself, as if he had run out of conversation.
“I’ll just settle myself in then.”
“Oh, yes. I’ll leave you to it.” And with that, Mr. Denman ended their mutual awkwardness by raising the hat in his hands in farewell, and exiting into the small cabin right next to hers. How nice. He was sure to make a pleasant, congenial neighbor.
Jane returned to investigating her own little space without an audience this time. The only light came from the lantern the steward had thoughtfully hooked to the low ceiling beam. Indeed, the ceiling above was so low that Jane could nearly reach the beams that arched up from the side of the ship and held up the ceiling with her upstretched hand. She was quite sure no one as tall as the lieutenant could ever be able to stand in such a small space. Certainly the mirror, tacked to the wall well above her head, was his, hung so high it was of no use to her.
The thought made her uncomfortable again—knowing that it was his, knowing that he hung the mirror close to where the lantern hooked onto the beam so he could shave by its light, his chin tilted high. Uncomfortable because she oughtn’t be thinking such intimate thoughts about a man she had just met. A man who was all but a stranger to her.
She would have to ask Punch if there were another hanging cot available for her use. And certainly Mr. Dance would need his own long bed back at some point. Or she might see if Mr. Denman next door might need it. He certainly was tall and would need a long bed. And he certainly didn’t smell in a way that was unsettling and disconcerting. Mr. Denman smelled pleasantly of— wax and paper? Oh, she didn’t know. It was just that he didn’t smell like the lieutenant, that was all.
But she would think of the lieutenant no more. She needed to be practical and quiet and organized and keep herself from his attention, and Sir Richard’s attention, at all costs if she were to stay aboard. She would have to be less trouble than anyone else.
What had her aunt Celia always said? That to succeed, she would have to be twice as smart and useful and learned as anyone else. And do her work in half the time. Being twice as smart was going to be difficult at best—for she knew full well that all of the other naturalists on the expedition were first-rate scholars. But since she appeared to be the only conchologist aboard, there was at least no one who could question her abilities.
But useful—useful was going to be very, very difficult indeed. Especially useful enough to please the all-seeing, green-eyed lieutenant.
Chapter Five
Dance awoke before first light to an ache in his neck from sleeping in a chair, and the depressing news that two more men had deserted during the night.
“Gone, sir.” Morris delivered the news with the sad-eyed look of a dog who expects to be kicked—his tail was all but tucked between his legs.
“The hell you say.” Dance growled his way out of the damned uncomfortable chair, and scrubbed a hand through his short hair, as if he could chafe some better ideas into his tired brain. “How?”
It ought to have been damn near impossible. Both the officers and the marines had been standing regular watches. Dance himself had stood watch on watch for the better part of the night, and had only retreated to a chair in the wardroom at four bells of the middle watch—near two o’clock in the morning—when Mr. Lawrence had finally made his groggy way to the deck. Which meant that the deserters had been gone for at least four hours. Too long ago to make any pursuit feasible.
God’s balls. What a fucking mess Dance had gotten himself into—he had never worked so hard in his life for such little good result. This was meant to be an easy, soft posting, not a job where he was like a grave digger—up to his arse in the business with nowhere to turn. “Tell me the worst of
“Thank you. I hope I do.”
“Well.” Mr. Denman folded his hands in front of himself, as if he had run out of conversation.
“I’ll just settle myself in then.”
“Oh, yes. I’ll leave you to it.” And with that, Mr. Denman ended their mutual awkwardness by raising the hat in his hands in farewell, and exiting into the small cabin right next to hers. How nice. He was sure to make a pleasant, congenial neighbor.
Jane returned to investigating her own little space without an audience this time. The only light came from the lantern the steward had thoughtfully hooked to the low ceiling beam. Indeed, the ceiling above was so low that Jane could nearly reach the beams that arched up from the side of the ship and held up the ceiling with her upstretched hand. She was quite sure no one as tall as the lieutenant could ever be able to stand in such a small space. Certainly the mirror, tacked to the wall well above her head, was his, hung so high it was of no use to her.
The thought made her uncomfortable again—knowing that it was his, knowing that he hung the mirror close to where the lantern hooked onto the beam so he could shave by its light, his chin tilted high. Uncomfortable because she oughtn’t be thinking such intimate thoughts about a man she had just met. A man who was all but a stranger to her.
She would have to ask Punch if there were another hanging cot available for her use. And certainly Mr. Dance would need his own long bed back at some point. Or she might see if Mr. Denman next door might need it. He certainly was tall and would need a long bed. And he certainly didn’t smell in a way that was unsettling and disconcerting. Mr. Denman smelled pleasantly of— wax and paper? Oh, she didn’t know. It was just that he didn’t smell like the lieutenant, that was all.
But she would think of the lieutenant no more. She needed to be practical and quiet and organized and keep herself from his attention, and Sir Richard’s attention, at all costs if she were to stay aboard. She would have to be less trouble than anyone else.
What had her aunt Celia always said? That to succeed, she would have to be twice as smart and useful and learned as anyone else. And do her work in half the time. Being twice as smart was going to be difficult at best—for she knew full well that all of the other naturalists on the expedition were first-rate scholars. But since she appeared to be the only conchologist aboard, there was at least no one who could question her abilities.
But useful—useful was going to be very, very difficult indeed. Especially useful enough to please the all-seeing, green-eyed lieutenant.
Chapter Five
Dance awoke before first light to an ache in his neck from sleeping in a chair, and the depressing news that two more men had deserted during the night.
“Gone, sir.” Morris delivered the news with the sad-eyed look of a dog who expects to be kicked—his tail was all but tucked between his legs.
“The hell you say.” Dance growled his way out of the damned uncomfortable chair, and scrubbed a hand through his short hair, as if he could chafe some better ideas into his tired brain. “How?”
It ought to have been damn near impossible. Both the officers and the marines had been standing regular watches. Dance himself had stood watch on watch for the better part of the night, and had only retreated to a chair in the wardroom at four bells of the middle watch—near two o’clock in the morning—when Mr. Lawrence had finally made his groggy way to the deck. Which meant that the deserters had been gone for at least four hours. Too long ago to make any pursuit feasible.
God’s balls. What a fucking mess Dance had gotten himself into—he had never worked so hard in his life for such little good result. This was meant to be an easy, soft posting, not a job where he was like a grave digger—up to his arse in the business with nowhere to turn. “Tell me the worst of
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