passengers, where they would apparently feel more comfortable. When she’d protested, Cord had assured her it was their choice and not his.
A set of fiddle rails ran the length of the table to keep the china from sliding off onto the floor. The sea had become so rough that the plates slid from side to side between the rails. The table and benches were bolted to the floor.
“Are you finding your accommodations to your liking, Mrs. Moreau?”
It wasn’t until Cord nudged her that Celine realized the captain was addressing her. The man seemed to be totally oblivious to the fact that the ship was groaning and straining at every seam. Isaac Thompson was a congenial sort who looked to be in his midforties, with brown hair and eyes and the beginnings of a paunch at his waistline.
Celine watched as a halo of light from the lamp swinging above the center of the table momentarily highlighted his features, then answered, “The cabin is fine, thank you.”
“I understand you are newly wed.” He smiled over at Cord. “My congratulations to you both.”
When the captain lifted his wineglass in a toast, Celine watched the cabernet slosh with the motion of the ship. Its rhythm matched that of the lanterns swaying above them. She tried to concentrate on the man’s smile rather than the constant rolling motion of the ship.
Cord acknowledged the toast with a nod and drained his wine. Celine wondered if it would help to match him glass for glass. She might very well pass out and he would be forced to wait to press her into doing her wifely duty. She took a gulp of wine, came up sputtering and decided she would leave overindulgence to her husband.
Captain Thompson signaled one of the sailors in the nearby pantry to refill his plate with mutton and boiled potatoes. Celine glanced down at her food, which she had barely touched, and felt faintly nauseous. She swallowed and tried to concentrate on what the captain was saying.
“Seeing you two together reminds me of my wife. She comes along whenever she can, but she’s near the end of her confinement and had to stay at home.”
He forked a slice of mutton, piled potatoes on top of it and lifted the concoction to his lips. Celine looked away as he shoveled the food into his mouth. Cord had eaten one helping of everything and seemed now to be content with just wine. He did not comment on the captain’s statement.
“Is this your first child?” she asked.
The captain washed down his food with another hearty swallow of wine and shook his head. “Got five already. You would think that would be enough, but my wife loves babies. About the time we’ve got the last walking, she’s after having another.”
He cut another piece of lamb and paused with his fork halfway to his lips. Winking at Cord, he said, “I can’t say as I mind having to oblige.”
Celine dropped her fork, which clattered against her plate. She set down her knife and folded her hands together in her lap.
“Where do you make your home, Captain? In the West Indies?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
“No. Heavens, no. My wife hates the islands. Too hot, too humid, still too uncivilized for her,” he said, laughing. “I understand your husband is returning after a long absence, but have you ever been there, Mrs. Moreau?”
Celine grabbed the stem of her wineglass to prevent it from tipping over. “No. I’ve not had the pleasure.”
Cord deftly took the glass from her. The blood red cabernet sloshed near the lip, threatening to spill. He leaned close and murmured in her ear, “You should drink this. It’ll take the edge off.”
She ignored him, but her heart began to beat double-time. He drank the wine for her.
Dr. Campbell had finished his dinner and appeared to be asleep, but suddenly he spoke up. “The islands aren’t for everyone, that’s for certain. Some people don’t take to the tropical heat, especially Englishwomen. I’ve seen some who cover themselves completely, head to toe,
A set of fiddle rails ran the length of the table to keep the china from sliding off onto the floor. The sea had become so rough that the plates slid from side to side between the rails. The table and benches were bolted to the floor.
“Are you finding your accommodations to your liking, Mrs. Moreau?”
It wasn’t until Cord nudged her that Celine realized the captain was addressing her. The man seemed to be totally oblivious to the fact that the ship was groaning and straining at every seam. Isaac Thompson was a congenial sort who looked to be in his midforties, with brown hair and eyes and the beginnings of a paunch at his waistline.
Celine watched as a halo of light from the lamp swinging above the center of the table momentarily highlighted his features, then answered, “The cabin is fine, thank you.”
“I understand you are newly wed.” He smiled over at Cord. “My congratulations to you both.”
When the captain lifted his wineglass in a toast, Celine watched the cabernet slosh with the motion of the ship. Its rhythm matched that of the lanterns swaying above them. She tried to concentrate on the man’s smile rather than the constant rolling motion of the ship.
Cord acknowledged the toast with a nod and drained his wine. Celine wondered if it would help to match him glass for glass. She might very well pass out and he would be forced to wait to press her into doing her wifely duty. She took a gulp of wine, came up sputtering and decided she would leave overindulgence to her husband.
Captain Thompson signaled one of the sailors in the nearby pantry to refill his plate with mutton and boiled potatoes. Celine glanced down at her food, which she had barely touched, and felt faintly nauseous. She swallowed and tried to concentrate on what the captain was saying.
“Seeing you two together reminds me of my wife. She comes along whenever she can, but she’s near the end of her confinement and had to stay at home.”
He forked a slice of mutton, piled potatoes on top of it and lifted the concoction to his lips. Celine looked away as he shoveled the food into his mouth. Cord had eaten one helping of everything and seemed now to be content with just wine. He did not comment on the captain’s statement.
“Is this your first child?” she asked.
The captain washed down his food with another hearty swallow of wine and shook his head. “Got five already. You would think that would be enough, but my wife loves babies. About the time we’ve got the last walking, she’s after having another.”
He cut another piece of lamb and paused with his fork halfway to his lips. Winking at Cord, he said, “I can’t say as I mind having to oblige.”
Celine dropped her fork, which clattered against her plate. She set down her knife and folded her hands together in her lap.
“Where do you make your home, Captain? In the West Indies?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
“No. Heavens, no. My wife hates the islands. Too hot, too humid, still too uncivilized for her,” he said, laughing. “I understand your husband is returning after a long absence, but have you ever been there, Mrs. Moreau?”
Celine grabbed the stem of her wineglass to prevent it from tipping over. “No. I’ve not had the pleasure.”
Cord deftly took the glass from her. The blood red cabernet sloshed near the lip, threatening to spill. He leaned close and murmured in her ear, “You should drink this. It’ll take the edge off.”
She ignored him, but her heart began to beat double-time. He drank the wine for her.
Dr. Campbell had finished his dinner and appeared to be asleep, but suddenly he spoke up. “The islands aren’t for everyone, that’s for certain. Some people don’t take to the tropical heat, especially Englishwomen. I’ve seen some who cover themselves completely, head to toe,
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