Castaway Dreams Page 5

  The couple ahead of him stopped walking and Miss Farnham turned to look over her shoulder, knocking Carr in the head with her oversized bonnet, which immediately started a chorus of apologies between the two of them.

  Alexander stood with his hands behind his back, waiting for them to stop twittering like starlings.

  "Tomorrow morning, Miss Farnham, report to sick bay after breakfast. You will roll bandages and help me organize my supplies. If we encounter rough weather then I can expect men to show up with sprains and contusions at the very least, and possibly more serious injuries."

  "See here, Murray, you can't order Miss Farn--"

  "Will that make me useful, Dr. Murray?"

  She'd ignored the mate's protests and was looking at Alexander, her eyes reflecting the color of the late afternoon sky.

  He watched her for a heartbeat before answering.

  "You will be performing a useful task, Miss Farnham. It is not the same as being a useful person. But it is a beginning."

  Carr still protested, but Alexander was not listening to him. He watching the play of expression on Miss Farnham's lovely face and found her small smile oddly unreadable. And challenging.

  "Yes, Doctor, I will be in your sick bay after breakfast. To perform a useful task."

  Carr glared at Alexander.

  "You have no business ordering a passenger about, Murray!"

  "Mr. Carr, do not scold poor Dr. Murray," Miss Farnham said, patting the man on the arm. "He cannot help himself, I am sure. After all, he has spent years and years ordering people to take their medications even when they taste unpleasant, or to suffer through some procedure which will improve their condition. Ordering people about is his nature."

  Alexander was startled.

  "Are you now my champion, Miss Farnham?"

  "A man of your age and experience does not need me to champion him, Dr. Murray. But, Mr. Carr, do you truly believe the weather will turn rough? I would so hate for my poor little Pompom to be sick again."

  Without another glance at Alexander she turned to her swain, who glared one last time in Alex's direction and then resumed strolling with her.

  "We will know more as the night progresses, Miss Farnham. But do not worry your pretty little head over it. Captain Franklin and the crew are all experienced hands, and we will ride this out without difficulty."

  A shiver ran down Miss Farnham's delicate spine and she clutched her escort's arm with one hand while the other kept a tight hold of her pup's leash as the dog sniffed at the chicken coop, setting up a squawking inside. After another glance behind to confirm Alexander was still following like an albatross, Carr resigned himself to simply strolling and not doing anything further that would advance his case with the attractive heiress.

  Normally Alexander would have had at least a dozen other places he'd rather be, but this thwarting of Young Lochinvar entertained him, so he kept his countenance severe and his steps steady as he walked along.

  Sadly for the younger man, he was called back to his duties and Miss Farnham and her dog were alone on deck. Alexander stepped up to her side.

  "I would offer my arm as your escort, Miss Farnham, but two things occur to me. One is that you do not appear in any danger of falling down if you do not hold on to me. The other is that I risk becoming entangled in that animal's leash."

  He did not think he had said anything to amuse, but those dimples that surely had other men tripping over their own feet without the danger of the dog's leash punctuated the smile flashing on her face.

  "How very logical you are, Dr. Murray. By all means, do join me on my walk, but do not take any unnecessary risks. At your age a sprain or a broken bone is no small thing."

  Was the chit baiting him? Alexander had not thought she possessed the intellectual skill or the intestinal fortitude to cross verbal swords with him. Of course, he was above such petty irritations, so he clasped his hands behind his back and strolled alongside her.

  "Why rolling bandages?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Why do you wish me to roll bandages for you?"

  He looked at her, her face mostly shaded by the flowers flopping around her hat brim. It was an impractical piece of headgear, but when she turned her head and looked him full in the face it acted as a perfect frame for her features, making her eyes appear more amethyst than clear blue.

  It was an interesting trick of the light and hues, nothing more.

  "Bandages must be rolled to be ready for use. It is one of the constant tasks one finds in a surgery and if I must do it, it takes time away from more important tasks."

  "Ah. So my time is less valuable than yours, Dr. Murray?"

  He paused in his steps and looked at her.

  "Are you prepared to argue that it is not less valuable, Miss Farnham?"

  "I would lose, wouldn't I?"

  He did not bother to dignify that with an answer.

  "Since Mr. Carr was called away, what do you know about this weather, Doctor?"

  He did not want to send her into a panic, but it was good to be prepared for any happenstance.

  "Weather is a constant concern aboard ship, Miss Farnham. This is the storm season, and Captain Franklin must be especially vigilant."

  "I have been through some strong storms in England."

  "But you did not experience a hurricane in Jamaica, did you?"

  She stopped and looked at him.

  "Is that what is coming, Doctor?"

  Now he had gone and done the very thing he said he would not do.

  "I do not think so, Miss Farnham. I am not a sailor, but those storms are rare. More likely it is a typical blow and will be over without mishap."

  They completed another circuit of the deck in silence, each lost in thought, and then Miss Farnham returned below to wash for supper.

  * * * *

  "This may be our last hot food for a while, lady and gentlemen."

  Daphne looked up from her plate of boiled beef and questionable objects that might be root vegetables. The captain served himself a hearty portion, and the others followed suit. Except for Dr. Murray. She had noticed that about him. He was as spare in his table habits as in his attire and his conversation. He did not drink to excess, as some of the officers did, nor did he eat to where his clothes strained at the seams, as they did on Captain Franklin.

  Did the man have any passions at all? Nothing that drove him to act foolishly or take risks? Daphne thought sometimes during the tedious days aboard ship that she would be willing to dance a hornpipe if it would produce for her a cup of chocolate. The very thought of the treat for which she lusted had water pooling in her mouth.

  Oh well, at least it made the salt beef easier to chew.

  "Do you not agreed, Miss Farnham?"

  Daphne stopped chewing and swallowed, brought back to her surroundings by the question from Mr. Carr.

  "I am so sorry, sir, but I was woolgathering and did not hear your question."

  "Thinking of the beautiful shops awaiting you in London?"

  Mr. Carr's question was innocent enough, but Daphne caught the doctor's eye at that moment and the sardonic expression on his face tempted her to say that she was thinking about passion and lust.

  However, that would open up a hornet's nest given her past, and her current precarious and unchaperoned circumstances, so she refrained.

  "La, Mr. Carr, what would a lady be thinking of if not fashion and the upcoming season? I fear my wardrobe will be sadly out of date by the time we dock, and I will exhaust myself replenishing it. It is all too fatiguing to dwell on, but I shall do what I must."

  Daphne punctuated this by pushing her plate aside to take to Pompom, and pulled out her fan, for the air in the captain's cabin where they took their meals was close and heavy, hotter than usual even for the tropics. Daphne wished again for a ladies' maid or someone who would help her dress for dinner, because while her walking dress of merino cloth with its delightful lilac satin bands at the hem was a la mode, the
high neck and lace ruff did not bare as much skin as the lightweight silk evening gown she would have worn for such a humid evening.

  She'd managed to fasten a white satin bandeau to keep her hair from falling across her face and sticking to her skin, and wrapped her braid into a twist and pinned it atop her head, all by herself.

  She feared though that if she moved her head quickly the entire mass would come undone and billow out in a disorderly mess. That would no doubt make old Dr. Murray raise one of his heavy eyebrows at her, using it in place of a sneer or a biting comment to illustrate how he felt about her general uselessness.

  The man understood nothing about ladies and their lives. It took time and effort to arrange one's hair, to apply a bit of rose lip salve or brush a touch of pink on cheekbones just so, disguising that one was indeed wearing cosmetics. Being laced up, fastening garters, picking just the right chapeau, these were time-consuming tasks. And one did not do it once in the morning, oh no, there were separate outfits for riding and walking and morning calls and evenings in with family and evenings at the theater. He had no idea how many pairs of shoes and boots and slippers alone that took. It was a wonder she was not more exhausted at the end of each day!

  Now, Mr. Carr appreciated her. He did not judge her, he admired her face and form. He never thought about whether she was useful.

  But, Daphne had to admit, she found Dr. Murray's forthright disdain intriguing. He was one of the few men she'd met, of any age, who made no effort to charm her. His verbal provocations made her want to respond in kind. While their encounters too often left her feeling like she was lacking in some fashion, at least they made her feel alive and stimulated.

  "Captain Franklin, why did you say this may be our last hot meal?"

  Captain Franklin paused from lifting his overloaded fork to his mouth, looked at the food he wasn't about to chew with a moment of regret and answered her.

  "We're in for rough weather, Miss Farnham. Nothing the Magpie cannot handle, but when we're tossing about, we can't risk a fire in the galley. As soon as we're past it, though, Cookie will put something on the boil for us, you can be sure."

  "I will be ready for your men, Captain," Dr. Murray said.

  "You are making me glad I brought you aboard as a passenger," Captain Franklin said with a genuine smile. He shoved his food into his mouth and spoke around it. "I wish I could carry a sawbones on every voyage, and save myself from the chore of tending the men."

  Dr. Murray said nothing to this, carefully cutting his beef into small bites. Daphne had not thought about a voyage without a medical man. On her journey to Jamaica she'd been too busy dealing with the violently ill George. The ship's officers and crew were full of helpful advice, so she did not miss having a physician or surgeon about.

  There was always a physician or surgeon available when she was growing up, whether in the country or the city. Her father's wealth guaranteed a fast response and her every need was attended to promptly and diligently. She paused, thinking about Dr. Murray as one of those men. She could not see him dropping everything and neglecting his other patients to leap at her father's commands, as she suspected Dr. Drummond did when called to treat Mr. Farnham's gout or Daphne's occasional childhood ailment.

  Dr. Murray glanced up and met Daphne's eyes across the table. He held her glance and the cabin became oddly hushed in the moment. It was an interesting face, she thought, broad and well-made, with a blade of a nose. His forehead was high, the rufous hair neatly swept back and kept short, a style more suited to practicality than fashion. Not a handsome face like Mr. Carr's, and one could easily overlook it, focusing instead on the surgeon's gruff demeanor. After all, when one was having dealings with a surgeon, what his face looked like was generally the last consideration, wasn't it? You looked at his hands, the strength in his arms for bone-setting or bone-sawing.

  Daphne broke the glance and looked down at those hands, finely shaped, with long fingers holding his fork and knife in a delicate manner, handling them like instruments, no motion or effort wasted.

  Then she remembered that those hands would shortly be on her, helping her out of her clothes, and she felt the warmth flow across her cheekbones. Startled, she looked up at Dr. Murray. He was still watching her face, but now his eyes were darker, more brown than the blend of forest colors she saw when he was in the sunlight. Unaccountably nervous, Daphne licked her lips and his eyes grew darker still at the motion. He set his silverware down on the rough table and appeared about to speak.

  "Excuse me, gentlemen," Daphne said, rising to her feet, and there was a wave of motion as the men jumped up, Dr. Murray the last to rise as he watched her still.

  "Are you well, Miss Farnham?" Mr. Carr asked concernedly.

  "Yes, indeed I am, but I just recalled some tasks I must see to in my cabin before it becomes too late. If you will forgive me, I will say goodnight now."

  Daphne paused outside the captain's cabin, holding her tinware plate for the dog, and took a deep breath. She could still hear the rumble of voices within as the men finished up their supper and port.

  There was nothing to be nervous about. Dr. Murray would be brisk and efficient, as he always was, and he would look at her as if she had a brain the size of Pompom's.

  * * * *

  There was nothing to be nervous about, Alexander mentally chided himself. The chit had a brain the size of a walnut, and all he had to do was enter her cabin, undo her tapes, and bid her goodnight.

  The fact that her looking at him earlier this evening had caused his body to stir to life was simply proximity and her undeniable physical attractiveness. He could have taken care of these needs in Jamaica, but between the rather dubious wares offered in the dockside brothels and his efforts to wrap up his work aboard the Caeneus, the opportunity passed and he was bound for England.

  With the delectable Miss Farnham.

  He wiped his palms against his thighs and took a deep breath.

  As soon as Alexander's knuckles touched the door, it was flung open, and it helped clear his thoughts.

  "Miss Farnham, you must ask who is on the other side of the door before opening it," he said sternly. "What if it were one of the sailors standing there, a man with no business being at your cabin?"

  "Why would a sailor be rapping at my door, Doctor, unless he had an important message?" Miss Farnham blinked up at him, those long, lush lashes shading her eyes. "Oh dear, do you have indigestion?"

  "The pain I am experiencing at the moment has nothing to do with supper, Miss Farnham. May I come in?"

  "Of course," she said, opening the door wider. Some order had been restored to the cabin, and there were less furbelows blocking movement. Miss Farnham beamed at him.

  "I did as you said, Doctor, and pared down my wardrobe. I also packed up Mrs. Cowper's belongings and had them put in the hold. I am certain her family will be glad to receive them when we dock."

  Alexander looked at her.

  "Did you find more appropriate attire for yourself, Miss Farnham?"

  "Yes. I found a stomacher-front walking dress that I can fasten, that one there of rose-striped muslin." She gestured at a white frock draped over a chair. Alexander could see nothing that distinguished it from other women's garments, but that was not the issue.

  "It is last season's style, but I am willing to make do and wear it."

  "I am cognizant of what a great sacrifice it must be for you, Miss Farnham."

  "Indeed." She sighed. "But if it aids me in being more useful, Doctor, I will do what I must."

  He looked at her, but the girl seemed completely serious.

  "Is that the only useful garment you own, Miss Farnham?"

  She put one finger to her dainty chin as she thought.

  "I think there are dresses in a similar style in my trunks in the hold, Doctor."

  "You have more trunks than these?"

  She smiled at him as if he were the one with diminished mental capacity standing in the cabin.

  "Of cours
e I have more trunks, Dr. Murray. But it sounds to me as if the men will be busy tonight and tomorrow with this storm, so I will wait before asking them to haul them up so I can look for additional garments."

  She'd removed the headpiece she wore earlier, and her thick braid snaked down her back, more disheveled than the neat construction he'd made earlier in the day. Wisps of hair curled around the tops of her ears and across her forehead, drawing attention to her eyes and her delicate cheekbones.

  The silent cabin seemed too warm to him. He was anxious to leave and return to his own quarters, so his voice came out gruffer than he intended when he said, "It is time you were abed, Miss Farnham. Turn around and I will unfasten you."

  Without waiting for her assent he stepped behind her. Miss Farnham stood with her hands at her side, like a fashion doll. China-headed, stuffed with sawdust...

  ...smelling of lavender and the slight tang of a woman's body sweating in a warm, moist environment, the skin at the back of her neck dewy and shining in the lamplight. When a swell caused the deck beneath his feet to shift, he grasped Miss Farnham's waist to steady her.

  "Thank you, Dr. Murray," she said in a low voice. He pulled his hand back as if burned and grunted in response, concentrating instead on the ties at the back of her frock. Ridiculous, the way women's garments were fashioned. He'd heard tales of fops who needed to be squeezed into their coats by their valets and who were incapable of tying their own cravats, but he'd never thought about an entire class of humans reduced to the status of dressmakers' dummies by their need to be fastened in and out of their own clothing.

  Such thoughts should distract him from the feel of the soft skin beneath her nape, the area above her chemise and corset revealed by the fabric falling away beneath his fingers. Fingers he'd always prided himself were steady and sure, but now seemed swollen and clumsy, fumbling with a knotted string.

  "Your hands are warm, Doctor. My maid at home always had hands like icicles."

  "Good circulation."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "The strong flow of blood beneath the skin keeps my limbs warm, Miss Farnham. Your maid might benefit from a modest amount of brisk exercise each day to keep her blood circulating."