you begin talking. I don’t know how you can be happy, keeping so much to yourself.”
He smiled wistfully. “How many people are really happy, when one comes right down to it?”
She gaped at him. “Why, lots of people. Charlie, for example. I was happy, looking after my father. My mother and father were blissfully happy together, and so were Charlie’s—”
“Shall I escort you to your cabin, Miss Whitwell?” the marquess said with an air of finality. “It’s nearly time to dress for dinner.”
* * *
Rosalie had hoped she and Lord Deal were on their way to becoming friends, but to her disappointment, he made no effort to further their acquaintance after the conversation on deck. Even when Charlie invited him to join their party for a game of Pope Joan after dinner—an offer Charlie made reluctantly, and only at Rosalie’s urging—Lord Deal responded with a vague, “Thank you, Mr. Templeton, but I shouldn’t wish to intrude on you young people.” Which, as Rosalie pointed out to Charlie, was quite ridiculous, since Lord Deal couldn’t be more than a few years older than they were, however more proper and sophisticated he might seem.
She smiled at the marquess whenever she caught his eye, and even stopped to speak to him as she left the dining saloon with Charlie or Mrs. Howard. Her attempts to start a conversation met with polite but unencouraging replies. The Marquess of Deal was clearly not in the market for a friend.
“It’s for the best, Rosie,” Charlie said, observing her downcast expression as he walked her to her cabin at the conclusion of one particularly discouraging evening. “We’re not used to moving in circles that grand. Besides, you like to mother the people in your life, while he seems the last man in the world who would allow any woman to fuss over him.”
She strove to hide her disappointment. “It’s not as if I had designs on the gentleman. He just seems so alone...”
Charlie frowned. “Now don’t go making a virtue out of the fellow’s disagreeable manners. If he’s alone, it’s only because he prefers it that way. You’ve seen how rude he is to everyone, and how he considers himself too good for us.”
“But that’s just it. I don’t believe he considers himself too good for us at all. I think he’s simply been on his own so long, he doesn’t know how to let anyone get close.”
Charlie’s usually amiable face assumed lines of unaccustomed sternness. “I wish you would listen to yourself. He’s not some shy little boy who needs a smile and a pat on the head. He’s a haughty, stiff-necked devil, accountable to no one. It’s past time you gave up on the man and let him be. Anyone else would have done it long ago.”
Charlie didn’t often lose his temper with her. Her shoulders drooped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was making a cake of myself.”
Fortunately, Charlie was too softhearted to stay cross with her for long. “Now, I didn’t say that. I know you mean well. It’s just that you give people more credit than they deserve.”
“Like Lord Deal.” She hadn’t meant to embarrass Charlie, especially in front of the other passengers. But she couldn’t have been mistaken about Lord Deal’s kindness those two times they’d talked together, could she? She was certain he’d been genuinely concerned about her. Or was that only wishful thinking?
Charlie put an arm around her shoulders. “I wasn’t trying to scold you, or imply you’d done anything improper. I understand what you were about. You simply thought the fellow needed rescuing.”
Rosalie nodded glumly, even if Charlie had it wrong. Why would she think she could rescue Lord Deal, when she couldn’t even rescue herself? Only a week remained until the Neptune’s Fancy was due to reach Liverpool. She was torn between wishing the voyage over and dreading the changes she’d face once they arrived in England and news of her father’s death became public. Uncle Roger would
He smiled wistfully. “How many people are really happy, when one comes right down to it?”
She gaped at him. “Why, lots of people. Charlie, for example. I was happy, looking after my father. My mother and father were blissfully happy together, and so were Charlie’s—”
“Shall I escort you to your cabin, Miss Whitwell?” the marquess said with an air of finality. “It’s nearly time to dress for dinner.”
* * *
Rosalie had hoped she and Lord Deal were on their way to becoming friends, but to her disappointment, he made no effort to further their acquaintance after the conversation on deck. Even when Charlie invited him to join their party for a game of Pope Joan after dinner—an offer Charlie made reluctantly, and only at Rosalie’s urging—Lord Deal responded with a vague, “Thank you, Mr. Templeton, but I shouldn’t wish to intrude on you young people.” Which, as Rosalie pointed out to Charlie, was quite ridiculous, since Lord Deal couldn’t be more than a few years older than they were, however more proper and sophisticated he might seem.
She smiled at the marquess whenever she caught his eye, and even stopped to speak to him as she left the dining saloon with Charlie or Mrs. Howard. Her attempts to start a conversation met with polite but unencouraging replies. The Marquess of Deal was clearly not in the market for a friend.
“It’s for the best, Rosie,” Charlie said, observing her downcast expression as he walked her to her cabin at the conclusion of one particularly discouraging evening. “We’re not used to moving in circles that grand. Besides, you like to mother the people in your life, while he seems the last man in the world who would allow any woman to fuss over him.”
She strove to hide her disappointment. “It’s not as if I had designs on the gentleman. He just seems so alone...”
Charlie frowned. “Now don’t go making a virtue out of the fellow’s disagreeable manners. If he’s alone, it’s only because he prefers it that way. You’ve seen how rude he is to everyone, and how he considers himself too good for us.”
“But that’s just it. I don’t believe he considers himself too good for us at all. I think he’s simply been on his own so long, he doesn’t know how to let anyone get close.”
Charlie’s usually amiable face assumed lines of unaccustomed sternness. “I wish you would listen to yourself. He’s not some shy little boy who needs a smile and a pat on the head. He’s a haughty, stiff-necked devil, accountable to no one. It’s past time you gave up on the man and let him be. Anyone else would have done it long ago.”
Charlie didn’t often lose his temper with her. Her shoulders drooped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was making a cake of myself.”
Fortunately, Charlie was too softhearted to stay cross with her for long. “Now, I didn’t say that. I know you mean well. It’s just that you give people more credit than they deserve.”
“Like Lord Deal.” She hadn’t meant to embarrass Charlie, especially in front of the other passengers. But she couldn’t have been mistaken about Lord Deal’s kindness those two times they’d talked together, could she? She was certain he’d been genuinely concerned about her. Or was that only wishful thinking?
Charlie put an arm around her shoulders. “I wasn’t trying to scold you, or imply you’d done anything improper. I understand what you were about. You simply thought the fellow needed rescuing.”
Rosalie nodded glumly, even if Charlie had it wrong. Why would she think she could rescue Lord Deal, when she couldn’t even rescue herself? Only a week remained until the Neptune’s Fancy was due to reach Liverpool. She was torn between wishing the voyage over and dreading the changes she’d face once they arrived in England and news of her father’s death became public. Uncle Roger would
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