Castaway Dreams (21 page)

"Yes."

She sniffed.

"Well! When I have a little boy, I will smile at him all the time, so that he does not grow up into a big grumpy stick!"

Alexander looked into the flames dancing in the firepit, and remembered a russet-haired woman who smiled even when worn down by the cares of the world and the upbringing of a fatherless boy.

"You do that, Miss Farnham. Little boys need to be smiled at. Especially the grumpy ones. They need smiles the most."

She propped her chin on her hand and studied him.

"Tell me about your family, Dr. Murray. I know you did not have a father, but did you have anyone else? Cousins?"

"No, there was just my mother and me," he said, still looking at the fire, and not the woman. "Mother had to leave home; her family did not want her living nearby."

"Oh. Surely you had friends?"

"Children are taught not to befriend boys who are bast--who do not have fathers." He was not inclined to say more, but the words kept flowing.

"I did have one close friend, Jamie Campbell."

"Where is he now?"

"He is dead, Miss Farnham, killed in an accident when he was ten years old."

"He fell from a tree, didn't he?"

He looked at her across the low burning fire. Her face was unusually grave and it struck him again that Miss Farnham saw things with an acuity he would not expect from her, an ability to see deep into a person. It was disturbing, especially when he had his neatly ordered view of her where she resided in the compartment labeled "widgeon."

"Yes. We were climbing after the last of the season's apples. Jamie stood on a branch that looked sturdy enough, but could not bear his weight. It snapped. He fell to the ground."

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to dredge up the memories.

"His organs were damaged, and he was bleeding internally. Bones poked--I sat there with him, paralyzed with fear, but there was no one near enough to run to for assistance."

"You could not save him."

"I know now no one could have saved him. But at the time, all I knew was how helpless I was, incapable of doing anything."

"Dr. Murray, this tragedy could just as easily have happened if your friend Jamie were climbing by himself, or with another boy, correct?"

He looked at her. Without her smiles, her face was the face of the grown woman she was, not that of a giggly girl. She was still every bit as beautiful but in a different fashion, the difference between Athena and Aphrodite.

"Yes, he could still have fallen and died."

"Then your being there accomplished something. You could not save him, but you were with him. He did not die alone."

Now it was her turn to look into the fire.

"When George was dying of his fever, he did not know me. He cried out for his mother, so I stayed with him, and held his hand, and allowed him to think his mother was with him at his last moments. The odd thing is, Dr. Murray, I know George's mother, and she is as frozen as one of Gunter's ices. I cannot imagine her interrupting one of her card games or dress fittings to stay with a dying man, even her son."

"You must have loved George Tyndale very much."

She was silent for such a long time, he was not sure she'd heard him.

"No. I did not love him, but I was fond of him. He was fun, and fashionable, and he made me laugh. I did not need to marry for money, and I thought George was what I wanted in a husband."

"Is that why you ran off with him to Jamaica?"

She was sitting with her arms clasped around her knees, her bare toes peeking out in the firelight.

"My papa..." she swallowed and tried to speak again. "Papa arranged a marriage for me, a marriage I did not want."

She looked at him, and there was confusion furrowing her smooth brow.

"I told Papa over and over again that I could not marry Lord Bernard, that he was too old, and his breath smelled rank, but Papa would not listen. I knew I could not be happy with this man, but Papa said he knew what was best for me, and it was for my own good. I would be a countess, and I needed someone to take care of me, and that was what mattered.

"When George suggested we run off together, it seemed like the best idea. And it was fun," she said wistfully, "Until he realized my father was not going to give us any money and we were stuck in Jamaica, and then George became ill. My father sent Mrs. Cowper after me and you know the rest, Dr. Murray."

"Miss Farnham, were you actually married to George Tyndale?"

"Why do you ask?"

"It seems a reasonable question, since everyone calls you 'Miss Farnham.'"

She cleared her throat, and clasped her hands tighter around her knees.

"George said the captain on the ship would marry us, and he had with him what he said was a special license. It looked impressive, full of Latin and flourishes, and I saw both our names on it, and I believed him.

"Do you know what, Dr. Murray? It turned out that it was not a special license at all. It was a ruse! George was in such a hurry to hustle me away before my father married me off he was willing to lie for me! He must have really, really wanted to marry me."

Alexander thought it more probably he really, really wanted access to Miss Farnham's fortune. But Tyndale was dead and unable to defend himself, and Miss Farnham had had enough of her illusions about the good nature of people quashed like a butterfly beneath a boot. He did not need to add to the list.

She continued, "And I know now George had no funds for a special license. Then the captain said he would not marry us, that it would not be a legal marriage. By then I was with George in the middle of the ocean. George told me we were as good as married and we would make it legal in Jamaica."

She sighed.

"You must think me a complete hussy, Dr. Murray."

Alexander opened his mouth, and closed it, and held back his first response.

"I think you are a young woman who feels emotions strongly, Miss Farnham. And you are trusting."

And naive and credulous and gullible...

"Yes, that is it, Dr. Murray. You know me so well. I like people! What is wrong with that?"

He did not need to interfere, but he felt compelled to say something. It was too easy to lead Daphne Farnham astray. Wave something bright and shiny in front of her, or tell her lies, and she would give you one of those heartfelt smiles and do whatever you asked.

"Miss Farnham, I suppose it is not a bad thing to like people. It has never appealed to me, so I cannot say for certain. However, it might keep you out of difficult situations if you learned how to be somewhat less trusting. Sadly, not everyone has your best interests at heart."

"I know that, Dr. Murray! I am not a complete ninny, you know."

There must have been something showing on his face--like utter disbelief--for she continued.

"No, really, I am not. But I worry..."

She looked around to make sure no one was listening, oblivious to the fact that they were on a deserted island. He took a drink while he waited to hear what worried her.

"I worry, Dr. Murray, that I have unnatural desires."

Alexander sprayed out his drink as he choked. Daphne Farnham pounded on his back until the wheezing subsided. She watched him anxiously.

"I shocked you. I was afraid that would happen, but I also thought..." She looked down at her hands, twisting together in her lap. "I thought since you are a surgeon I could talk to you. Remember on the boat when you said my parts were no different from any other woman's? I thought since you knew all about women's parts, you could talk with me about this."

He wiped his face with his hand, trying to collect thoughts which had blown up like a Congreve rocket.

"Have you had a conversation like this with your physician?"

"Oh, heavens, no! Talk about this with Dr. Drummond? I could never!"

Alexander almost said, "Then why am I being blessed this way?" but after all, Miss Farnham trusted him. She was not the first person who had asked him to keep a confidence, though he was not yet sure her issue was a medical one or a moral one. But a surgeon heard all sorts of information in the course of his work and he could deal with this professionally. He hoped.

She couldn't know that
all
he knew about women were their
parts
, that the last woman he'd spent any real time with had died tragically, that since then his relations were only with women who wanted his silver, not his opinion?

"I worry I am not normal, Dr. Murray. You know how women say they do not like 'that part' of being married?
I
liked it. I liked it a lot! I liked it in the morning, I liked it late at night, I liked it in the afternoon, after luncheon." She frowned. "I did not like it during luncheon, that was messy."

Sweat broke out on Alexander's brow as he tried hard not to think about Miss Farnham on the luncheon table, her skirts tossed up and honey drizzled across a belly as delectable as Devonshire's finest cream.

"Do you think I am normal to have these strong feelings, Doctor?"

He cleared his throat, took a sip of water, and looked at her. She was gazing at him with anticipation, and he chose his words as carefully as he'd ever felt his way around a wound.

"Normal--" he started, then stopped. Did he have even the vaguest idea of what was normal, or was he going off half-cocked, without having evidence to back up his pronouncements? Hadn't he spent his entire life looking at symptoms and vital signs before making a diagnosis?

"Here is what I think," he said slowly, trying to sound like he knew what he was talking about. "You are a young healthy adult who was married. More or less. The amount--and types--of activity you engage in would depend on the abilities and desires of the two people involved, and based on what you told me, I cannot find anything abnormal in your behavior."

She leaned over and put her hand on his arm.

"Thank you. I know you find me a sad trial, Dr. Murray, but I do enjoy talking with you. I will always remember these days and this island."

"Perhaps we should leave the island first before we wax nostalgic for it. I will build that signal fire in the morning."

"I have another favor to ask, Doctor. Would you show me how to start a fire?"

"You never started a fire for yourself?"

She looked at him as if he was the one who was not very bright.

"Why should I? Every morning of my life, when I woke up a maid had lit the fire in my room. If I needed to light a candle or lamp, a footman would do it for me, or I could light a taper from an existing flame. I had no need to do it for myself."

Alexander was stunned that this woman in front of him, who came from the most civilized and privileged society, was incapable of performing one of the most basic of human tasks.

But as she said, why would she learn?

"Yes. I will teach you in the morning how to start a fire. It is something everyone should know, and it is important for you to learn it here and now. Something could happen to me, and you need to know how to light a fire to warm yourself and cook your food."

Daphne drew back in shock.

"Something happen? What would happen to you?"

"Anything could happen, Miss Farnham. That is the nature of life...and death. I could be hit on the head by a tree branch, or choke to death on a fish bone, or be punctured by a sharp stone and become septic."

"But...then I would be all alone!"

"Yes, you would. I am going to do my best to ensure, Miss Farnham, that if anything happens you can care for yourself. You already learned some skills in food gathering. You would survive, with or without me."

"Oh, please, do not tell me that!" She clutched his arm, her eyes round in terror. "I do not want to think about being here alone! I would die! You need to stay alive, to take care of me!"

He knew he was being brutal with her, but it was better than giving her silly platitudes or making promises he could not keep. He leaned forward and put his hand on her other arm and felt her fingers digging into him, their contact a circle of comfort in the darkness.

"Miss Farnham--Daphne--listen to me. I do not expect any further disasters. Remember when I told you to pack your valise aboard the
Magpie
? It was a precaution, but you were ready when the ship went down. The officers of the
Magpie
prepared the boat by putting water in it. We might not have survived in the ocean had they not done that. This is just more preparation, and preparation and knowledge is always better than not knowing how to deal with a situation."

"You won't leave me here alone?"

"I will do my best not to," he said gently.

Daphne Farnham threw herself into his arms and clamped herself to him like a limpet, just as he'd done with her earlier in the day.

It was fear, he told himself, fear of being alone, fear of him not taking care of her, just as his response this morning had been the unreasonable fear of his boyhood tragedy repeated.

But his mind was telling him one thing and his body another. His hand hovered above her head, ready to burrow into that silken hair and clasp her to him. She was warm in his arms, and soft, and smelled of wood smoke and woman. It was all he could do to control himself, to not take hold of her and lay her down on the soft ground and bury himself within her welcoming heat. To forget his own fears for a handful of blissful hours.

Someone was going to have to be cool-headed and rational, and he was going to have to be that someone. Again.

He disengaged her arms from around his neck, and held her hands a moment so she would not be hurt by his rejection. Though why he cared about whether her feelings were hurt was a mystery to be solved another day.

"Why don't you find your hairbrush, Miss Farnham, and I will brush out your hair for--for you. We will deal with the rest in the morning."

He did not want to say "for bed" because the intimacy implied by that was more than either of them needed to be contemplating this second. She rose and fetched her hairbrush from the cabin, then settled between his legs.