Sattler, Veronica (67 page)

His
mind suddenly switched to a picture of Maria and the last time they'd seen each
other, and he felt he was getting closer to the truth. Maria, Mary, was his
mother, and she
loved
him, had never stopped loving him. But how did his
discoveries about her relate to the way he now felt about Ashleigh? How did—

And
then suddenly he knew. It wasn't the changes in these women in his life that
allowed him to love—it was the change in
him!

He,
by admitting this love, by coming to terms with his own blindness, had made the
difference!

Suddenly
Brett threw back his head and laughed, a deep, joyful laughter from the heart,
from his soul; and as it echoed across the deck and across the water, he knew
that a great, aching hole that had been at his center all his life had been
filled and would never be empty again.

"Oh,
Grandfather!" he said as he looked once more at the stars. "I loved
you, too, and I'll always carry part of you with me. But the hatred you taught
me was wrong. As long as I lived by it, I could never really live. But now I'm
done with it. Now, watch me live, Grandfather.
Watch me live!"

* * * * *

The
next morning the
Ashleigh Anne
pulled near the
Ravenscrest,
and a
dinghy was used to transfer Patrick and Maria to Brett's ship. Geordie Scott
met them on deck.

"What
is it?" asked Patrick. "We received your signal to board and—"

"Nothing
to trouble yourself about, Sir Patrick," the first mate told him.
"But for the details, I've only my orders, which are to take you below. If
you'll follow me, please, your ladyship... sir...?"

Casting
Maria a worried look, Patrick allowed the mate to guide them below deck. He
felt it had to be news of Ashleigh and the child, but he half feared to
speculate on what the developments were; it had already been an overly long
labor.

"Here
we are, sir, your ladyship." Scott knocked on the door to Brett's cabin.
"Party boarded and ready to see you, Your Grace."

The
door opened, and Brett stood before them, smiling. "Come in, both of
you!"

As
he stepped aside, they saw Ashleigh propped up against several pillows in the
center of the large captain's bed. Her hair had been combed and brushed until
it shone, and she wore a blue ribbon in it that matched the blue of her night
rail. At her breast she suckled her infant. She looked tired, Maria thought,
but also radiant... happy.

"Hello,
you two," Ashleigh smiled. "Do come closer. There's someone we'd like
you to meet."

"Someone
brand-new and beautifully female," added Brett as he came by his wife's
side.

Maria
noticed him touch Ashleigh's hair ever so softly, then gaze at her warmly as
her eyes met his and held for a moment, until a soft blush forced her to glance
away.

"Sir
Patrick, henceforth also to be known as Uncle Patrick," Brett grinned,
"we'd like you to meet Marileigh Megan Westmont, Viscountess Westmont, if
you please."

"Marileigh
Megan?" Patrick questioned softly as he looked down at his new niece with
wonder in his eyes.

"We
named her after three important women in her life," said Ashleigh, lifting
the contented infant to her shoulder.

"Here,
let me," said Brett. He took his daughter gently from her, then turned
toward Maria.

"Yes,
the three most important women in her life—and in mine," he added.
"Her mother, her aunt and future godmother, and her grandmother." His
eyes looked solemnly into Maria's. "Would you like to hold your
granddaughter... Mother?"

Hot
tears stung Maria's eyes as she realized what he'd said, but she blinked them
away and reached for her grandchild.

"Yes,
yes, I would... Son."

They
took a leisurely twelve days to make the voyage to England. The seas remained
calm, the weather friendly, and neither Brett nor Patrick wished to take any
chances with their precious cargoes by pushing for speed. They'd determined
that, after Trafalgar, French naval power was largely nonexistent, as was that
of the Spanish, leaving Britain supreme on the high seas. If Bonaparte were
making any headway at all with a comeback, it could only be by land; Brett's
and Patrick's ships, both flying the Union Jack now, were very likely safe.

Ashleigh
spent most of this time in bed, recovering slowly, but steadily, from the birth
of Marileigh. Maria and Brett were in constant attendance, for her
mother-in-law had traded places with Megan in deference to Patrick's grumbling
that he'd been missing his wife lately. One by one, Maria brought the children
into the cabin to see the now thriving Marileigh and to visit with the new
mother.

Brett
continued sleeping in a hammock in Geordie Scott's cabin, but took all his
meals with his wife and daughter, and when he saw, after a few days, that
Ashleigh grew restless with her confinement, he made it his business to free
himself from enough of his duties to spend additional time with her.

He
sometimes read to her from the array of books he kept in his cabin—the poetry
of Shelley and Byron quickly became her favorites as well as his. Often they
merely talked, but Ashleigh noted that Brett seemed to direct their
conversation to impersonal subjects: the politics of Shelley, the implications
of Napoleon's escape, the problems they might encounter in arranging things at
the house on King Street to accommodate all the children and extra servants.

She
wondered at this, for, just as she had back at the villa, she felt a need for
them to talk about the past—
and
the future—and she couldn't understand
why Brett seemed in no hurry to do the same.

On
the other hand, he was, in every way, at his kindest and most considerate, and
she had no wish to alter that! Was it the birth of their child that had made
the difference? The reconciliation with his mother? These things had
undoubtedly lightened his spirits, but...

But
though it was tied into those other fortunate events, it was something
more—something she couldn't put her finger on, something that went deeper.

He
laughed a lot these days. And patience no longer seemed alien to his nature; he
had an abundance of it, which he lavishly expended with ready smiles and
thoughtful acts. It was as if he looked at the world in a new way... with an
acceptance, a contentment, even a touch of the thing the French call joie de
vivre, and none of this had been there before.

Also,
when at certain times she caught him looking at her, she sensed there was some
unspoken question on his mind. What was it? Was he, too, hoping for a way to
open up the past and sort it out between them without upsetting this suddenly
peaceful, domestic apple cart? Was he waiting for her to make a move?

These
and similar thoughts were on her mind one evening when she was sitting alone in
the cabin. She had just finished nursing Marileigh, and Maria had offered to
take the infant to nap with her so that Ashleigh might have some undisturbed
rest.

But
rest was the furthest thing from Ashleigh's mind. She'd had enough bed rest to
last her until doomsday, thank you! And suddenly a thought struck her. She had
told Brett in the garden in Livorno that she had come to a turning point in her
life when she decided to stop being a passive being, waiting for things to
happen to her, when she had begun to exert a more active control over her own
life.
So, what,
she asked herself now,
am I doing, sitting here in
this cabin, waiting for my husband to come to me to discuss the things I have
on my mind concerning the situation between us? Falling into my old,
unwanted
pattern, that's what! And that, Ashleigh, my girl, will never do!

All
at once she was a figure in rapid motion as she flung back the covers and slid
out of bed. There was a moment of feeling wobbly at the knees from having lain
abed for so long, but she forced herself to take a few careful steps toward the
stand that held the pitcher and wash basin, and it passed.

She
flew through her ablutions and then went to a trunk they had brought aboard
from the villa before sailing; it contained some clothes Patrick had had made
by Madame Gautier and sent to the
Ashleigh Anne
before they left London.

Soon
she was dressed in a rose velvet gown trimmed with cream-colored lace at its
square-cut neckline and at the wrists of its long, tight-fitting sleeves. A
glance in the glass above the washstand told her she'd do well to don the
matching velvet pelisse, and not just for its added warmth; her breasts, since
the birth of Marileigh, had grown much fuller, and the twin mounds pushing
upward above the low neckline were somewhat beyond what decency would allow for
an appearance above deck.

And,
of course, going topside was exactly what she had in mind. Brett was up there,
and it was time she took the proverbial bull by the horns!

She
found him at the wheel, the brisk breeze that was causing the sails to flutter
and snap ruffling his hair as he stood with his back to her. It was a stance
that accentuated the breadth of his shoulders under his seaman's coat, the
strength of the muscular thighs of his long legs that were slightly spread and
braced to maintain an easy balance.

A
young crewman appeared as she made her way toward the bridge. He smiled shyly
and doffed his cap, then glanced at the bridge and back at her with a question
in his eyes.

Ashleigh
smiled and raised a finger to her lips, indicating she would surprise her
husband. After another quick glance at his captain, the seaman gave her a
tentative smile, bowed and disappeared from sight.

The
sea was fairly calm, nevertheless Ashleigh had a bit of trouble resurrecting
her "sea legs," as Patrick had called them when they sailed from
England, and it took some doing to keep her balance as she made her way to the
bridge, but at last she reached it.

Brett
caught a movement in the semidarkness—for there was a half-moon and myriad
stars to augment the light from the lantern that swung nearby.

"Mr.
Carter, I thought I told you to— Ashleigh! How—"

"Oh,
please, Brett! Do not be angry. I just had to get out of that cabin tonight! I
was beginning to feel I'd become permanently attached to the bed."

"But
your health! The doctor said—"

"Oh,
piffle!" she exclaimed with a small gesture of annoyance. "I feel
fine. And the air up here is so lovely, I'm sure it can do me no harm."
She finished with a wide smile and blue eyes focused directly on his.

Brett
met her look and couldn't help smiling back. She looked so incredibly beautiful
with the wind ruffling her long curls about her face and shoulders, her huge
eyes bright and shining as she faced him with a look of expectancy.

"Very
well," he said as his eyes swept over her diminutive form. "You have
escaped from the beastly confinement I've been well aware you were beginning to
abhor, and you don't appear any the worse for it. But it would be foolish to
overdo it, Ashleigh. You'll stay for a few minutes, and then I'll take you
back. Agreed?"

"But,
Brett—"

"I
won't have you endangering your health, Ashleigh." Brett's expression grew
somber. "My God; when I think that we nearly lost you
twice
in—"

Moved
by the concern in his eyes, Ashleigh reached out to touch his arm. "I
understand," she told him, "and a few minutes it will be."
And
I'd better use them profitably,
she added to herself.

He
smiled his gratitude for her show of good sense, then asked, "Ever handle
a ship's wheel?"

Her
eyes widened, then smiled their delight. "Oh, Brett, may I?"

"Of
course." He grinned, then motioned for her to slip in front of him.

She
stepped into place, then felt his arms come around her from behind as he
positioned her hands at the wheel. It was the closest bodily contact they'd had
since before the baby's birth, and she suddenly found herself overwhelmed by
his nearness. Sensory memories flooded her brain—memories of other times when
they had touched, when she'd breathed in the clean male scent of him as she was
now, when—

"Hold
her steady," he murmured from somewhere above her right ear. "That's
it, steady now."

As
he spoke, Brett had to force himself to concentrate on the dark sea ahead of
them, for he, too, was well aware of their closeness. As she'd moved into
position before him, he caught the faint scent of violets from the perfume she
wore, and his senses danced with the memories it evoked. Several silken strands
of her long hair, whipped by the wind, passed across his chin and mouth, and it
suddenly became all he could do not to press his lips against her temple and
savor her more fully. He perceived her body's return to its former slenderness
as the wind molded her clothes to her, and he was a man in frustrated agony.

What
in hell was he to do? He stood grinding his teeth as he reminded himself it was
out of the realm of possibility to take a woman this soon after childbirth, and
this wasn't just some woman—this was Ashleigh, his wife!