The Calhoun Chronicles Bundle: The Charm School

“You spoiled him, and no mistake,” Fayette muttered.

“I suppose I did. His father paid him so little attention. I was Jared’s second wife,” she explained to Isadora. “With his first, he had Hunter, and Ryan seemed almost an afterthought. Jared wore me as an ornament on his arm, but he hadn’t the first idea what to do with a boy like Ryan.” She bit her lip. “Oh, dear. I mustn’t speak ill of the dead.”

Fayette chuckled. “Sweetie, that ain’t nothing we ain’t all thought of.” She glanced up at Isadora. “Beware the man who values you for your pretty face.”

“It’s not a worry that plagues me,” Isadora said wryly, pushing her spectacles up the bridge of her nose. “And surely love grew with familiarity.”

“You are so very young, my dear,” said Lily. “As young as I was when I was raising Ryan. He grew up wild and free, and I fear I indulged his every whim, trying to make up for his father. Ryan was attractive, impulsive and charismatic, and he knew how to get what he wanted—from everyone but his father.”

“There’s always been a hole in that boy’s life,” Fayette said. “But it ain’t your place to patch it up. Let him find his own way, Miz Lily.”

Isadora felt a prickle of discomfort. People in her family never spoke of such intimate matters, particularly not with the servants.

“I think I shall go out on deck,” she said. “I don’t want to miss a thing.” She left the cabin and returned to deck, finding a spot beside an aft companion ladder where she seemed to be out of the way.

Captain Calhoun was in his stateroom with a shipping agent. She could hear them speaking, but couldn’t make out their words. She contented herself with watching the work go on, exchanging a word or two with the crewmen as they passed. She couldn’t believe how swiftly the hours had gone by as she made the acquaintance of the men who would be her only company for months on end.

Oddly, she didn’t feel as ill at ease with the sailors as she did in social situations on dry land. For the first time, Isadora started to believe that she might actually achieve something on this voyage. What it was, she couldn’t be certain, but she dared to hope that when Chad Easterbrook found out how well she had discharged her duties aboard the Silver Swan, he’d be very proud indeed.

Then, as if her fervent hope had conjured him, Chad Easterbrook boarded the ship along with his father.

Isadora bustled forward to greet them, nearly tripping over her hem in her haste.

“Mr. Easterbrook!” she said to Abel. And then to Chad: “Mr. Easterbrook!”

“How about that, they have the same name,” Ryan Calhoun observed, coming out of his stateroom. He still wore his shore clothes, and rather grand ones at that—kelly green breeches and a yellow silk waistcoat. He also still wore his insolent expression, his clear-eyed gaze promising a rough time for the clerk he didn’t want.

Isadora turned away from him, fixing a welcoming smile on her face for the newcomers. Together, Chad and Abel made a dazzling pair. Abel’s shock of white hair contrasted sharply with Chad’s dark Byronian curls, and they both wore long, caped coats of charcoal wool.

Like the hero of her favorite novel, Chad strode across the deck, his flinty gaze held aloft as he surveyed the final preparations. Sadly, the unfortunate movement of a yardarm tackle spoiled the effect. The large length of wood swung out on its way up the mast, catching him in the midsection—or perhaps lower.

Making a terrible oof sound, he doubled over, clutching his father’s shoulder.

“Have to watch your step on deck, son,” Abel said with gruff concern. “One eye for the ship, and one for yourself.”

Isadora came up short, almost quivering to stay the impulse of reaching for Chad, of actually touching him. “Oh, Mr. Easterbrook,” she said. “Are you all right?”

He straightened up and nodded, his nostrils pinching as he inhaled deeply. “Quite…quite,” he said with a decided lack of conviction.

She caught Ryan studying her with a discomfiting keenness. “Perhaps,” he drawled, “you should go ashore and visit your tender mercies upon him.”

She sniffed. “I’m needed here. I’ll not shirk my duties.”

“I shall remember that, Miss Peabody.”

The laconic promise in his eyes created an odd havoc in her. Flustered, she hoped the brim of her fanned silk bonnet concealed her blush. Dipping a brief, formal curtsy, she said, “How pleasant to have this chance to say farewell,” measuring each word and taking care to address the elder Easterbrook as well as the younger.

“We wish you fair winds and a safe voyage,” Abel said, his kindly face crinkling with good humor. He nudged Chad with his elbow. “Don’t we, son?”

“We do indeed.” Debonair as a fairy-tale prince, Chad bowed from the waist. “Safe winds and a fair voyage.”

Isadora savored the gentle warmth he inspired in her. “I shall write a letter daily, telling you of all my adventures.” She caught a merry, conspiratorial look from Abel; they had agreed that each letter would contain a private report on the conduct of the skipper and crew. She took an awkward step back, praying no yardarm would sweep her away. “I know you and Captain Calhoun have business to discuss, so if you’ll excuse me…” She took another step back. Kiss me goodbye, her heart begged him. Kiss me goodbye.

But of course, the mad fantasy had no place on a deck aswarm with sailors. She lifted her gloved hand and offered a lame wave. And then it happened. Chad looked at her, and he smiled a smile that promised so much more than a kiss…. Someday, please God, someday.

Awash with pleasure, she hurried away, getting her foot tangled in the hem of her dress, then almost stumbling. But she didn’t. She caught herself and stood leaning against the pinrail, thinking of Chad and how perhaps this voyage would transform her in his eyes.

Father and son finished their conference with Ryan and returned to the wharves. She watched them until they were mere specks in the distance, one light head, one dark, finally blending in with the crowd.

“And now,” said a voice behind her, “one question remains.”

Startled, Isadora turned, knocking her glasses askew with the abrupt motion.

The chief mate shouted orders, and the second mate repeated them. A rush of running feet pounded the decks.

“And what remains, Captain Calhoun?” Self-conscious, she straightened the spectacles.

“To assure myself that you aren’t having second thoughts.” He stepped toward her, took her hand and gave a gallant, mocking bow that made her insides churn with nervousness. A light breeze lifted the fringe of hair that showed beneath his cap, and the afternoon sunlight put a sparkle in his eyes.

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Why would I be having second thoughts?”

He stared straight into her eyes, and she had the strangest feeling that he could see inside her to the matters that whirled through her mind. “Most women do,” he said.

Seven

I must go

Where the fleet of stars is anchored and the

young

Star captains glow.

—Herman James Elroy Flecker,

The Dying Patriot

“You know what’s curious?” Ryan asked, standing back from the captain’s table and watching Journey expertly pour the claret.

“Your taste in neck cloths?” Journey ventured, looking askance at the hibiscus-and-lime paisley cravat Ryan had donned for supper.

Ryan ignored him. “When I was in school, I could no more remember a Latin declension than the table of the elements. Yet on this ship I can keep every fact and figure as keenly in my mind as if God himself whispered them into my ear. Why do you suppose that is?”

“Maybe because Latin declensions don’t help you deal with dishonest stevedores.”

Ryan vividly recalled the endless hours of stumbling through lessons at Albion. “Why can’t I learn something simply for learning’s sake?”

“You’re starting to sound like your daddy.”