Never Land the First Fish

Chapter Seven: Part 1

Lady Julia emerged from the bath much cleaner and more alert, and with her vicious tongue fully restored.

"You will not be sharing my cabin," she demanded imperiously, when Gills came to empty her bath—since that arse Maddox was still refusing to allow any of the crew to serve either of what he persisted in calling stowaways.

"Correct; I will not," Gills told her. "All my things are in the cabin next door. And I'll be sleeping there now that you're recovered."

He ignored her indignant snort and refrained from telling her he'd rather bed a weasel. He was telling himself that—repeatedly. It was hard to take intimate care of a person without growing to feel some kindness towards them, and he'd always suspected that Julia was as sinned against as she was sinning.

As he lugged buckets up and down the companionway, he reminded himself that she was the author of much of what Sally had suffered. The trouble was, she'd suffered herself, and in the end, she'd suffered far worse.

Over the next few days, his sympathy shrivelled under her demands until he began to avoid his cabin as much as possible. Julia stayed in hers, so he saw her only when he delivered a meal or collected the garbage. He was waiting on her like a damned servant, and even they, though they often suffered abuse and not a word of thanks, were paid for their trouble.

"She'd feel better if she came up on deck," he told Maddox one day, "but she says she is going nowhere looking like a crow. I can understand that she doesn't want to wear mourning for the swine she was married to, but honestly! What does she expect me to do? Pull a gown out of thin air? That woman! If we both make it to New York without me killing her, it will be a wonder."

"Along with spiteful, bitter, nasty, and ill-tempered, it's such a surprise to discover she's vain, too," Maddox grumbled.

To his own surprise, Gills found himself defending her. "That's not fair. She's had a hard time of things."

"Since she trapped Athol Soddenfeld in the garden behind her father's house," Maddox retorted. "She has no one to blame but herself for her troubles."

"Possibly." Gills had heard a different story; one that convicted Julia of pride, but of no worse. "If it was her mistake, she paid for it."

Maddox was indignant. "Do you forget what she did to Sally?"

Gills sighed. "No, I do not forget. But after all, she recanted in the end, and was tortured by Athol and ignored by her family for her trouble. Besides, Sally came out of it, if not unscathed, at least married to the love of her life and embraced by the whole of Society, not to mention her family. It isn't Sally who is going into exile with people who have every cause to despise her and facing an uncertain future."

Maddox growled wordlessly and turned away.

"She's not as bad as you make her out to be," Gills insisted. "Not precisely 'good,' but not as bad as all that. She survived more than a decade under Athol's ownership, which is no small feat. I wouldn't give a dog a month, much less a woman."

Maddox was leaning his forearms on the rail and staring down into the ocean, rushing past their keel. Without turning around, he said, "You're the one who has been complaining all week about how demanding she is, and how she hasn't once said thank you for all you're doing for her."

"That's the part that's not precisely good," Gills said with a wry twist of his lips.

He joined Maddox at the rail. Below, half a dozen birds dived and fought over scraps that the cook was throwing from the galley. Not a scrap hit the water.

He tried to articulate his feelings. "I owe her something, Mad. I killed her husband. I didn't mean it, and I did it to save her, but because of me, she is fleeing England in the rags from her beating and a widow's gown that doesn't fit properly. I feel responsible for her." His laugh was short and bitter. "No one could be worse suited to the role. I've made a poor job of it."

Maddox shifted to meet his eyes. "You've cleaned up her vomit, fetched her bath, served her food. I'd say you're doing better than she could possibly expect."

"Well, I'm not doing better than I expect." Embarrassed at what he had revealed, he managed a broad grin. "If you could make landfall somewhere with a Harrod's, I'd be grateful."

Maddox raised his eyebrows. "You're taking her under your protection, are you? Good luck with that."

Gills shook his head. Any thought of Julia in his bed — no, that wasn't interest; just the natural response of a man who had been celibate for longer than usual. "No. No, nothing like that. I just feel... she's all alone and afraid and needs looking after. Do you remember her when we were children? No, I don't suppose you would, would you, old man?"

Maddox growled and Gills chuckled at him. "She was so self-assured before her mother turned her into a little lady. But something happened when she was... we must have been about seven or eight. She turned skittish then, but no one would say why. She'd cry at the drop of a hat. She grew out of it—by the time she made her come-out, she was nothing but a debutante doll, saying and doing and wearing all the right things, but never really engaging with anyone, least of all the rakes of London. Within a few months, she was married to Athol and turned hard and brittle. Before Athol, she was spoilt—never let anyone forget she was a marquess's daughter—but there was no real harm to her. She'd have grown out of her selfishness."

"Perhaps you're right, but we shall never know. Or, perhaps we will. Perhaps she will grow up. If Sally Grenford and Toad Abersham did it, anyone can."

"You, on the other hand, were born fifty and have worked your way back."

Maddox laughed. "That might be true. With two scapegraces as older brothers? It wasn't hard to be more sensible than them, and it perhaps made me intolerant of youthful foibles. Perhaps she was just young and foolish."

Maddox's unexpected sympathy tempted Gills to share the snippet he'd picked up about that long ago incident in the garden. "I heard... You know that Soddenfield boasts in his cups and in his—amorous pursuits? I have a friend who entertained him once. Never again, she said. Wouldn't tell me why, except to comment he was not a gentleman, and he was not a welcome visitor at any house she knew."

"Based on what I know of the man, it does not surprise me." Maddox waited while Gills decided whether to continue.

Ah, well, he'd gone this far. Maddox might as well have the rest. "He told my friend that Lady Julia didn't lure him into that garden. It was the other way around. He'd been luring her for weeks, but only to take her maidenhead. When he discovered she had a vastly improved second-Season dowry, courtesy of her loving aunt and uncle, the Duke and Duchess of Wellbridge, he decided to take her maidenhead and her dowry. She fell in love with him, or so he said, and perhaps it was true, for I have heard she begged her father to allow the marriage. But her father tied her money up so Athol couldn't get at it, and..." Gills trailed off. Soddenfield had said that Julia was a frigid bitch with a waspish tongue, but since he was stuck with her, he'd bring her to heel. One way or another. "He said he'd regretted it ever since.

"If that were true, why did she marry him?" Maddox asked. "Surely her father wouldn't have made her go through with it if she told him." He shrugged and answered his own question. "Pride, I suppose. She always had more than her fair share."

Gills echoed the shrug. "I suppose I'd better go and see if her highness has finished her luncheon," he said. Poor Julia.

No, not poor Julia. He'd better hide any pity he felt, and it might be cruel to inspire it in Maddox. He was reasonably certain she'd rather die than be pitied. Lady Julia, daughter-of-a-marquess-lest-you-forget-it. He wished he could still call her Lady Julia Marloughe. His lip curled at the word Soddenfeld.