Never Land the First Fish

Chapter Seven: Part 3

Don't be excited, Julia told herself when it was time to dress for dinner. It was just a gown — and not even one made for her, though the sailmaker had made an excellent job of taking it in to fit her much reduced figure. It was just dinner — and dinner with people who didn't like her, though that was nothing new.

It is something other than this cabin. Despite Gills' best efforts, the place still had a sour smell under the odour of disinfectant and the scent of the cologne he'd splashed around to disguise the stink.

Julia owed Gills her life and more. She hadn't needed Lord Maddox to tell her that she should at least act grateful, but every time she tried to be gracious, the words choked in her throat. Surely he was just waiting his moment to exact his price? The more he waited on her, the more he turned her sour remarks away with a joke, the more she feared the moment he finally snapped.

Athol had been charming, too, right up until the moment he fell on her like an animal. Which, or so he assured her when he apologised, was her fault for being so desirable. She snorted. He hadn't found her at all desirable once he discovered he would not have a free hand with her dowry.

Why was she thinking about that despicable degenerate at all? If he was still alive — she still could not believe he was dead — he'd have to cross the Atlantic Ocean to find her. She was about to go to dinner and attempt to be a friendly and pleasant guest. She should be thinking about that.

Julia sat on the bunk and did her hair back in a loose chignon. Years of poverty, moving from lodging to lodging a few steps ahead of the debt collectors had made her an expert at turning herself out commendably without a mirror or a maid. Looking the part was all that was required to retain the invitations that were her due as daughter of a marquess, and the refreshments that others served kept her from starving.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of her escort. Gills, she hoped, and it was he.

"You look lovely, Lady Julia."

He looked rather special himself. Julia had always liked the way that dinner wear displayed the assets of a well-formed man, and Gills was certainly appealing to the eyes. Not that she was interested. She knew better than most how disappointing the male body was once it was stripped of its corsets and padding, and sexual congress wasn't worth the fuss made about it, either. Not for a woman.

She took the arm he offered. "Thank you. You are kind to say so." There. That wasn't so hard. She would show them all that she could be civil, if they were civil to her.

***

Lady Julia had been thin before the seasickness; now she was gaunt, her eyes huge below hollow cheeks. Gills had washed every inch of the woman during her illness, and had felt nothing more than pity for her poor abused flesh.

It wasn't her body that aroused him but her tongue. He must be going mad, for he desired her more and more at each acerbic remark or cutting rejoinder. He'd seen what she'd suffered; that she was still fighting was as admirable as it was irritating. He wondered what she'd do if he silenced her by kissing her? Bite his tongue off, probably. He had quickly discovered that she met any remarks on her desirability with anger and disbelief.

Even telling her she looked lovely was a risk, though compared to the mess she'd been, she certainly did. At least the cuts had healed and the bruises had faded to a yellow that was far less obvious in the blue of her outfit than in the widow's weeds she'd been wearing. Once they arrived in New York, Gills would take her shopping for a bigger wardrobe. No more black.

She would probably refuse. Gills looked forward to the disagreement.

In the wardroom, Gills introduced her as Lady Julia. Apart from a sharp glance, Maddox made no comment on the complete effacement of her marriage, and Julia's only reaction was a slight relaxation in her shoulders.

She was on her best behaviour this evening, greeting the captain, his senior officers, and the chief of Maddox's balloon support crew with a courteous smile, thanking Maddox politely for the invitation to dinner, and answering any remark directly addressed to her, though in as few words as possible.

After several attempts to find subjects she might converse on, the others at the table returned to their own interests: the likely date on which they'd dock in New York, what the ship would do while Maddox was carrying out his lectures, and the likely difficulties of the some of the planned balloon ascensions.

Julia seemed to be pleased to be overlooked.

After dinner, Maddox stopped them before they could follow the others from the room. "Lady Julia, I'm pleased to see you out of your cabin. However, for your own safety, I must insist that you do not go anywhere on the ship unless you are escorted."

Julia frowned. "Can you not control your men? They are fresh from port, and I am not that much of a siren."

Maddox lifted one brow. "Nonetheless. Gildeforte, she is your responsibility. If she is assaulted, I will throw both her and the offender overboard. See her back to her cabin, will you?"

Gills ushered Julia from the wardroom before she managed to decide which vituperative comment to unleash, but was surprised when she finally spoke.

"Would you mind escorting me up onto the deck, Lord Joseph? I would be grateful to see the sky, and I do not wish to defy His Highness."

"Certainly, Lady Julia. But will you not call me Gills?"

He had asked before, but the formality seemed to give her some comfort. This time, though, she didn't argue, remaining quiet until some minutes after they found their way to a quiet portion of the railing on the upper deck.

"Lord Joseph, I have been thinking," she said. "There is nothing for me in England. Do you not think that in New York I might be..." she trailed off, and he waited in silence.

"Someone different," she finished at last. "I might be someone different. Julia Marloughe died a long time ago, I think. Perhaps in New York she might find out how to live."

"I will write to my brother and your father and tell them what happened," Gills assured her. "You don't have to be afraid of going back."

"Yes, I do. If I go back..." she grasped Gills arm, her eyes intent on his. "I have always been someone's something. My father's daughter. Athol's wife. Aunt Bella's niece. I want to be me, Gills. Lord Joseph. Do you understand? I want..." She dropped his arm and turned to the rail, looking into a distance that had nothing to do with the shifting waves. "I want to belong to myself. I want to make my own way. There must be something I can do? Will you help me to find a job? A companion, perhaps? Or a governess? Do they have finishing governesses in New York? I am well qualified to navigate the perils of a Season, I can assure you. I know the worst Society can do. Heavens, I have been part of the worst Society can do!"

She could probably do it, too. But Gills was prepared to bet her intent wouldn't last to New York, and certainly wouldn't survive the first disagreement with any employer. He made some soothing answer, and she opened her eyes wide.

"You don't believe me. You will just have wait and see, Lord Joseph."

"As you will, my lady," he replied. He would wait. And when she tripped over, he would be there to pick her up. Gills expected he would have to wait a long time for her to be grateful. It probably wasn't going to be worth it. The idea of giving up occurred only to be dismissed. Somehow, he had become committed to seeing Lady Julia through her trials and out the other side. If I believed she'd accept, I'd offer her half my fortune to go away and stop bedevilling me.

Even as the thought occurred, he knew it wasn't true.