The Countess' Lucky Charm (6 page)

“Forgive me,” he managed to choke out, tears streaming down his cheeks. He whipped the handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face before bursting forth again in gales of laughter.

“It
ain’t
funny,” she sputtered. “Stop it.”

“Aye, you’re right, it isn’t funny. They were your boots and I had no right to give them the heave ho. Once we arrive in Montreal, I’ll replace them. But the look on your face as I tossed them was priceless.”

“I’m tired,” she said suddenly, obviously stung by his laughter. “I’m going to the cabin.”

“Very well. I’ve a mind to stay on deck.” He could tell by her relieved expression she had been worried he would accompany her.

She turned to go then turned back. “Mrs Featherstone invited us to join the captain’s table for supper.”

Her face still bore traces of red. She looked vibrant and alive and it gave him the strangest sensation of wanting to cosset her. How ironic, for he knew she didn’t see herself as needing cosseting.

She waited for his answer so he quelled his unruly thoughts. “Then we shall have to go.”

“Really? I were hoping
ye’d
say no. What with the captain being angry with me and all.”

“You cannot evade him altogether. Besides, it wouldn’t do to turn down his wife’s invitation,” he said, ignoring the clanging cacophony of warning bells in his mind.

Chapter Five

Three hours later, before the first course even appeared, Temple regretted accepting the invitation.

The evening had started innocuously enough.

He and Simone entered the empty dining room to find the table set with a white damask tablecloth, gold rimmed porcelain, fine glassware, heavy silver and even place cards. Several heavy silver dishes, a cut crystal decanter of red wine and a woven basket of oranges graced the sideboard.

“You sit here. I’m across from you.” He pointed to her chair.

He strolled around the table to read the rest of the place cards while she sidled past the side board to her chair. From the corner of his eye, he noticed she snatched an orange and stuffed it into her pocket, looking at him all the while with a wary expression. He pretended not to notice; she was, after all, a paying passenger and perfectly entitled to an orange if she so wished.

They sat down and Simone immediately picked up her card. “This says my name?” At his nod, she tucked the card into her sleeve.

Not surprising, she didn’t know how to read. How, then, would she comport herself at dinner if a simple place card held fascination for her?

Foreboding tickled Temple’s spine.

However, she sat with hands demurely folded in her lap, a hesitant smile on her lips. It was a promising sign and he turned his attention to the other passengers as they trickled in.

As a cargo ship, not a passenger ship, their dinner companions were small in number and consisted of the first mate, Allan McCabe, the ship’s surgeon, Dr Nicholas Taylor, and Gordon Dixon, a clerk bound for Montreal. Last to arrive were Mrs Featherstone, who smiled at Simone, and the captain. He gave Simone a fierce look then made a point of ignoring her, stomping to his seat at the head of the table.

No sooner had the introductions been completed than Simone proceeded to inspect the cutlery before declaring “This be fine silver.”

She picked up the dinner plate and turned it over, running her finger along the gold trimmed edge before replacing it. The crystal glasses were inspected with the same thoroughness. These she flicked with her finger until they produced a fine ring. “Nice,” she declared.

Foreboding again tickled Temple’s spine. He wanted to enjoy his first real meal at sea in peace but this could be an awkward situation if he didn’t handle it properly. He would have to count on her quick wits.

He made an extravagant show of unfolding his napkin and placing it on his lap; she followed suit. At least she had noticed.

“Are we having them?” Simone pointed toward the basket of oranges.

Bloody hell, what was her fascination with the fruit? He opened his mouth to answer but the captain’s wife forestalled him.

“No.” Mrs Featherstone shook her head. “Perhaps later. Why do you ask?”

“They’re me favourite,” she replied enthusiastically. “I don’t know why, I’ve just always liked them.” Her voice trailed away when she noticed Dr Taylor looking at her.

 
“Good choice,” Dr Taylor said. “We have a barrel of oranges on board. They’re good for the scurvy.”

“Scurvy?” Simone’s brow wrinkled.

“Aye, scurvy. It’s caused by a deficiency of ascorbic acid. Its symptoms are bleeding gums, loose teeth, aching joints and red spots.” Dr Taylor stopped. “Oh, dear, I must sound like a medical encyclopaedia. I just finished my studies last week,” he explained apologetically.

“That sounds like spring sickness.” Her brow smoothed in understanding.

“Spring sickness,
scorbutus
, scurvy, it’s one and the same.”

“And oranges fixes that?”

“Well, fresh food of any kind is good,” interjected Allan McCabe, the first mate. “It’s just that citrus fruits keep well.”

“I see.” Simone was silent for an instant. “That explains why I never got spring sickness.”

“How so?” Dr Taylor asked.

“I stole me an orange almost every day. From the markets. I went to a different one every day, so I wouldn’t get caught,” she bragged.

Dismay surged through Temple. Didn’t she realize she’d admitted to being a thief? The charade as his wife had hardly begun and already it teetered on the edge of disaster.

“Simone!” He tapped his finger on his mouth to shush her.

“Simone, really!” Mrs Featherstone exclaimed.

Simone looked at Temple. At the sight of his murderous expression, she switched her gaze to the captain’s wife.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” she mumbled. “Sometimes I say things without thinking.” A flush crept through her cheeks.

 
“Agreed,” Temple growled. “So enough chatter and let us begin our meal.” He couldn’t decide whether his own embarrassment at Simone’s behaviour or embarrassment on her behalf peppered his brow with beads of sweat. He swiped his forehead with his napkin, frantically shaking his head when he noticed Simone about to copy him. Bloody hell, how would they survive this meal without looking like a pair of buffoons? He groaned inwardly and looked at the clock.

She blinked and replaced her napkin on her lap.

Mrs Featherstone served the soup from a chipped tureen, carefully passing out the bowls one by one. Simone immediately grabbed her bowl and slurped its contents.

Temple
gave her a ferocious kick under the table.

At another time, the sight of two piercing blue eyes glowering at him over the rim of her bowl might have amused him but not tonight, not now. He rolled his eyes skyward. The evening promised to be interminable. Somehow they must get through it without drawing more attention. No, he corrected himself. Without
Simone
drawing any more attention.

He shook his head slightly. “Watch me first,” he whispered. “Do as I do.”

She put down her bowl, flashing him an indignant glance in the process.
How else am I supposed to eat soup,
she seemed to say.

He picked up his spoon in his right hand; so did she. He dipped it into his bowl and raised it to his lips. She did too although it was plain to see she had overfilled the spoon for a trail of amber broth dripped off of it and onto the table cloth. Not too bad, considering the motion of the ship. He gave her an encouraging smile.

Simone took it as permission to go ahead and finish the bowl for she lowered her eyes and bent her head down closer to the bowl, shuttling the liquid between it and her lips without looking up once.

He contemplated giving her another kick but decided against it, opting instead to eat his own soup while it was still hot. A quick glance around the table confirmed the others were occupied with the tricky liquid as well. Perhaps they wouldn’t notice her struggle with the soup.

Of course, she finished long before he did. Soup dripped from her chin and he paused long enough to pat his napkin to his lips. Her expression brightened with understanding and she did the same.

After that she fidgeted while he finished his soup. She tapped her fork on the edge of her plate before tapping it on her glass.

The conversation died away. Temple swivelled his head to find the doctor, clerk and first mate gaping at Simone with a mixture of surprise and amusement. A sympathetic Mrs Featherstone cast an apprehensive glance at the captain, who regarded Simone with blatant dislike.

Bloody hell, they’d only finished the soup course and already things had become undone. Perhaps an explanation would be in order.

“Lady Wellington comes from rather unusual circumstances,” he began in his most pompous voice.

“What is unusual, Lord Wellington, is that you think you can teach the chit table manners.” Captain Featherstone leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I fear you’re wasting your time.”

Temple
’s hackles rose at the captain’s haughty manner. “That sounds like a challenge to me. Perhaps you are up for a wager?”

The captain shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“I shall teach Simone proper table manners.” He ignored her sudden gasp and focused on the captain.

The captain shook his head. “We have a good five weeks ahead of us. A monkey could learn to eat during that time. You must up the stakes.”

“I shall turn her into a proper lady. Speech, comportment, everything.” Inspiration struck as he thought of his limited supply of coins. “If I do, you return our fares.”

“And if you do not?”

“We pay you double.” The brash words slipped out before he realized the consequences. They had better win—he took pride in the fact he always covered his wagers but the sad truth was, he didn’t have double the fare.

“You have yourself a wager, my lord.” The captain leaned forward and held out his hand for Temple to shake. “Our last dinner on board will be the test and Mrs Featherstone shall judge.”

“Agreed,” Temple said as he shook the proffered hand. “Please go on with your meal and do not pay us any attention.” He inclined his head to the others at the table and turned his regard to Simone, who sat there scowling with bottom lip jutted out, plainly not pleased with the wager.

He flashed a reassuring smile and picked up his knife and fork. “The utensils are there for a purpose, Simone. The fork goes in your left hand and the knife in your right.”

Reluctantly, she complied with Temple’s instructions, holding the utensils awkwardly upright before her. Her lip still jutted out and for a crazy instant, he wanted to kiss it back into place. He shook his head at the ridiculous notion. Concentrate on the task at hand, he told himself.

“Good.” He nodded his approval at her death grip on the utensils. At least she wasn’t arguing with him, which he had been expecting when he saw her rebellious expression.

She continued to scowl.

“Now watch me.” Temple placed his fork in his own slice of beef and neatly cut off a morsel with the knife. Again he waited for her.

Silent, she glared at him and her left hand quivered as if she would rather stab him with the fork than her own piece of meat.

Nonetheless, she followed his instructions.

“
Oy
,” she grunted. “It
ain’t
as easy as it looks.”

The meat slid about on her plate as she struggled with it. She managed to cut off a chunk, holding it triumphantly in the air. Unfortunately, the piece she had cut was too large and she chewed for some time before choking it down. “It takes so much longer to eat,” she complained.

“Yes, nevertheless dining is an activity meant to be enjoyed.”

“This
ain’t
very enjoyable,” Simone muttered as she tackled the beef again. After fumbling with it a minute or two more, her face flushed and she gave up, piling her knife and fork with a clatter on the plate before pushing the plate aside.

She stood then and, paying no heed to the startled glances of her dinner companions, stalked off, a perfect picture of frustration.

Temple
excused himself and caught up to her in the hall outside their cabin. She had her hand on the latch and at the sound of his footsteps she tipped her nose in the air in an apparent ploy to ignore him.

“Simone, wait.” He grabbed her elbow and turned her about.

“Don’t ye think ye should have asked me?” The words exploded from her as if from a fermenting keg left in the sun too long.

“About what?”

“About the bet with the captain. About making me into a lady.” She swallowed hard.

“How could I? The opportunity presented itself and I took it. You’ve been looking for a way to pay me back. It seemed a reasonable solution.”

“Reasonable ta ye, maybe.” She pulled her elbow free to frown at him. “Not
ta
me.”