All the Tea in China (24 page)

“Isabella.”

I felt a hand at my elbow. “Yes?”

Phineas stood beside me. “May I have a word with you?”

He seemed so formal, so serious. Had I done something wrong? “Yes, of course.”

Confused, I let him lead me to a corner of the cuddy where it was quiet. He had never asked to have “a word” before we began lessons. Oh my, in all the excitement over Mr. Gilpin’s appearance at breakfast, I had forgotten about last night! Did Phineas seek an apology? Did he seek to berate me? I should never have agreed to the dance . . .

I studied him as he watched the last of our group heading out, Julia and Mr. Gilpin among them. The servants moved into the room to clear the tables, and Phineas spoke in a low voice. “I wish to speak to you about last night.”

Oh dear. It
was
my fault. I knew little of men, but I knew enough to act as a lady should, and I had failed.

He cleared his throat. “I have done a great deal of thinking since our time together at the bow. I can scarcely believe a ship to be romantic with so many people occupied with their own business and lives.”

I said nothing, still confused as to his intention. Why did he speak of romance? And why must he have such dark eyes? I could read nothing there whatsoever.

“The truth is,” he said, then faltered. “The truth is that you must know I care greatly about your welfare. I hope I have exhibited that, if nothing else, during our acquaintanceship.”

“I believe you have.”

He looked relieved. “Then you will understand that I am in earnest by my declaration. I cannot bear the thought of either your unhappiness, your lack of security, or a bad reputation attached to your name.” He drew a deep breath. “Isabella Goodrich, will you marry me?”

11

“I . . . You want to marry me?”

“Did I not say I was in earnest?”

“Water spaniels are earnest, Phineas. So are clergymen and Parliament. Well, perhaps we could argue about Parliament . . . But come, it is too early in the day to jest with me.”

“I speak the truth, Isabella. I seek your hand in marriage. I have given it much thought, and I believe it is the only way.”

“The only way for what?”

The servants clattered the dishes as they went about their work. Phineas drew two chairs into the corner and bade me sit. “I did not believe anyone saw us last night at the bow, but suppose they had? Brother and sister do not dance so closely. Nor kiss as we did.”

I flushed. “That is true.”

“And our entire charade about being related . . . suppose it were found to be false. What would happen?”

“We would not only be pegged as liars but as . . .” I trailed off, my flush deepening. “Do you suspect that the truth has been discovered?”

“Julia Whipple informed me that one or two of the seamen suspect our relationship. She gave them a few coins, enough to buy their silence until we reach China, but even after that, gossip could prevail.”

“So your solution is marriage?”

“Yes. The
Dignity
must leave Mrs. Akers, Mrs. Harrison, and Julia Whipple in Macao, as foreign ladies are not allowed in Canton. We, too, will disembark. There we will marry in secret and find another means of transportation to Canton.”

“And from there?”

“You will find the missionary work you seek. It is the best plan to protect your reputation, Isabella. Even if someone should discover our ruse later, they will know we have done the honorable deed by marrying.”

“If I find my missionary work, as you call it, where will you go?”

“With you, naturally. And you, with me. I know a Christian couple in Macao who are Chinese. They can help us.”

I rose, trembling. “This is . . . this is too soon. It is too sudden. Sir, you take me quite unawares by your declaration.”

Why oh why had I allowed him to dance with me? My foolishness had gotten me into trouble yet again. And what of him? Had he not enticed me into that most intimate of dances, one that I had heard was not even accepted without permission at balls at Almack’s in London? For the first time in my life, I felt that I might swoon not only from the memory but from what he asked of me.

He must have noticed my faintness, for he helped me to sit again. I could not have been more embarrassed. To be caught in such a feminine act as swooning! Yet in truth I could not tell if it was fear or excitement that caused my head to swim so alarmingly.

“Isabella.” He dropped to one knee before my chair, holding my hand. “You may think that China is a heathen nation where a lady’s reputation does not matter, but I assure you that it is not so very different from England in certain regards. I seek to protect you from more than just idle gossip, however. You may speak the language tolerably well, and no one can doubt your ability to handle a sword in your own defense. But there are some instances in which the protection of my name, my position as your husband, would allow you more freedom to pursue your purpose.”

I could scarcely hear what he was saying over the horror pounding in my heart. “Please do not kneel so,” I whispered. “The servants are staring.”

He sat in the chair, his eyes still beseeching. “As my wife, you can travel where no English lady can go. You can be the missionary that you have always desired—without being limited to Macao.”

The thought did appeal to me. Though I spoke the language, Phineas’s presence would allow me access to China. But something seemed amiss. Phineas never bargained without getting something in return. “What would be the advantage for you?”

He studied me for a moment. “I esteem my mother highly, of course, but she has long wanted me wed.”

“To a Chinese maiden, I suppose?”

“Yes.”

“That does not meet with your approval?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I wish to travel between China and England at will. I cannot imagine a Chinese wife adapting to the change.” He smiled. “However, I might have once said the same about you.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “You would present me as your wife simply to satisfy your mother?”

He nodded. “We would both accomplish our purposes, and your reputation would be safe.”

What he said made a certain amount of sense. What did it matter if I were married? Matches were arranged all the time at home. Hadn’t David entered into one with Cathy for mutual advantage?

And hadn’t I told Phineas when we first met that I never felt that young ladies were much concerned with love but with making a good match?

“This
would
be a good match for us both,” I said.

“Match?” He looked at me quizzically.

I nodded. “You once said that a lady who settles for love generally settles beneath herself.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you settling, Isabella?”

“I agree to your offer. I am entering into an agreement suitable for us both.” I shifted uncomfortably.

He cupped my face with his hand. “Beautiful Isabella, on my part there is more to the offer than mere convenience. Do you settle for love as well as the arrangement?” He lowered his voice. “I would have it so.”

His gaze and words transfixed me. I nodded, unable to speak.

He smiled then took my hand, and we rose. He did not look away from me, however, but continued to study my face. “Is something amiss?” I said.

He leaned closer, whispering. “I would seal our agreement with a binding kiss, but the servants may be watching. We must keep our engagement secret until we land at Macao and can wed quietly. Is that acceptable?”

“Of course.” I could not believe that he would bypass what we had both desired last night. I laughed. “Are you certain you will wait for the kiss?”

“You may depend upon it, my future Mrs. Snowe.”

Oh, how I longed for the arms of Flora in which to be hugged and advised. I was engaged to be wed, and yet I could tell no one, not even Julia Whipple. Uncle Toby . . . would he be happy by my news? Would he think a marriage of convenience to be better than none at all? But was it indeed only for convenience? Gentlemen desired wives, but not always for love. Companionship and intimacy, yet. But
love
?

As for myself, I was quite fond of Phineas Snowe, but did I love him? I had once imagined myself in love with David Ransom, but when he had married Catherine, I had not felt heartbreak so much as bewilderment that he had simply not spoken to me in advance about his plans.

No, Phineas sought only to protect me and to relieve his mother’s worries. And I . . . I would finally be the missionary I knew I was called to be!

The days passed with extraordinary swiftness, a contrast to the weariness of all aboard ship. Mrs. Akers had been heard to snap at Mrs. Harrison, who, to the amazement of all within earshot, seemed to possess enough wakefulness to snap back. Mr. Harrison and Mr. Akers, in turn, pretended nothing was amiss, perhaps relishing the day they could bid
adieu
to their wives in Macao for six months while they lived in Canton during the trade season.

The sailors, of course, were ready for their own free time on shore. I wondered at the lives they led, those aboard ship and those on land. Their grumbling had increased the farther away from England we had sailed, yet apparently they returned to a life at sea again and again, so they must find some enjoyment.

Mr. Calow never flagged in his enthusiasm for seafaring, though I accounted it all to his youthful nature. Since the voyage began, he had not only become quite proficient in tying the required naval knots but had also, from all reports, excelled in navigation. I believe Mr. Gilpin had a distinct hand in the midshipman’s tutoring, though the first mate himself seemed to have regained a sort of youthful enthusiasm of his own.

Julia may have had something, in turn, to do with his change of nature, for she remained his constant companion. No longer did I see her go below for hours at a time—for what purposes I had never asked, of course. She and I did not study together, either. Rather, she spent her time in her cabin reading one of Gilpin’s books or listening as he read aloud to her while they strolled the deck. They seemed quite devoted to one another, but it was still with some surprise that I received her news one day when we chanced to meet alone on the poop deck.

“What do you think?” she said. “Mr. Gilpin has asked me to marry him!”

I could have fallen overboard and not been more surprised. “I knew that you had favored each other’s company lately, but . . .”

“But he has made his opinion about me clear from the beginning of the voyage,” she finished for me. “That
is
what you were going to say?”

“Well . . . yes.”

“He said that no one could have given him better care while he was wounded, and he realized that it was not just physical care. He did not understand why I would want to change his bandage every day or help him with simple tasks like sitting or walking when he had never regarded me as a person of any character.”

I sat silent, unable to speak. Had we crossed some sort of invisible line in the ocean whereby society’s standards had been tossed overboard? “Please continue, Julia.”

“I told him that though I was a fallen woman, I yet considered myself a Christian, and it was my duty to help those in need. Once we spoke plainly with each other, we found the freedom to discuss more, such as the books we read, where we had been raised, and so on. He was unaware that I came from Portsmouth and was so familiar with the sea. You can imagine that we had much to discuss on that account.”

“Naturally,” I said. “Mr. Gilpin seems particularly fond of the naval life.”

“Yes, and I shouldn’t wonder that he will be the captain of his own ship one day, for he works hard, as I am certain you have noticed.”

I nodded. “What of his mother?” I said, disliking that my curiosity forced me to broach the subject, but it was a rather important one if they had discussed marriage.

Miss Whipple twisted her hands in her lap. “You know of her?”

“I have heard him speak of her, yes.”

“We believe it best not to speak of my past in her presence, of course. He says that my personality is remarkably akin to her own. One of the purposes of a union between Mr. Gilpin and myself would be for me to live with his mother and care for her while he was at sea.”

She did not have to mention the beneficial purpose to herself, which would involve the abandonment of her former way of life. It was peculiar that she had mentioned the word
purpose
, just as Phineas had done when discussing our own marriage. Thomas Gilpin would have a wife with a dubious past, but he would be at sea for a great part of each year, so he would not have to look upon her often enough to be reminded. She, in turn, would have a home, and the elder Mrs. Gilpin would have a compassionate companion in her declining years.

It seemed as calculated as the navigation Mr. Calow performed with his compass.

“Julia, you may think me forward,” I said, “but has the word
love
entered into your conversation with Mr. Gilpin at all?”

“Love?” She blinked. “That is a luxury for certain people, Isabella.”

“Yes, of course,” I murmured.

I wished that I could unburden my heart to her. There was no lady aboard ship my age, no one with whom to confer. I forced myself to smile, and in thinking on their future, I did find joy. “I wish you all happiness.”

“We will marry in Macao, and I would consider it a great honor were you to attend . . . Phineas as well.”

“I would not miss it,” I said. “I cannot speak for Phineas, of course.”

She peered at me thoughtfully. “I thought perhaps you two seemed closer these days. Is it so?”

I schooled my expression. Julia Whipple knew many of Phineas and my secrets, but this was one to which she could not be privy. Particularly if she was Thomas Gilpin’s future wife. “Phineas and I are friends, naturally, but we have our own plans once we reach China.”

“Then you will go your separate ways, I suppose?” She shook her head. “It is probably for the best, no matter how I had hoped . . . Never mind. It is of little consequence.”

Our fellow passengers delighted themselves with the news. Unlike the proverbial leopard, the spots on Julia Whipple’s character seemed to abruptly change. She was now hailed as the heroine of the
Dignity
for giving her time so unselfishly to the wounded—particularly Thomas Gilpin. After the impending wedding was announced after dinner that day, Mrs. Akers took Julia under her wing without another mention of the past.