The Maiden's Voyage

Miranda was grateful for the books and for the first and only true friendship of her life. With Miranda, Charlotte did not pretend to be someone she was not or act as if satisfying her womanly desires were beneath her. Parting from Charlotte had been painful, almost as painful as her parents' betrayal. She had even spoken to Charlotte about going with her to Ceylon. But Charlotte couldn't leave her mother who was ill and needed her care.

Miranda would have confided in Charlotte her fantasy about the captain and how she had entertained it. A pleasant, languid relaxation settled through her body in the aftermath of her climax and she grew sleepy, still imagining the captain stretched out alongside her, holding her in his arms, placing small soft kisses on the nape of her neck. Just before they fall asleep...

CHAPTER THREE

Miranda was jolted from her sleep by the knocking on her cabin door. She sat bolt upright, looking wildly about her, not remembering where she was.

"Miss Reddington?" a voice called from the other side of the door. "Are you in there?"

Miranda did not recognize the voice that belonged to a lad, perhaps of no more than twelve or thirteen. "Who...who's there?" she answered as she began to remember where she was.

"The name's Briggs, Miss. Cabin boy. The cap'n ordered me to bring you water to wash afore supper.

Miranda brightened at the thought of a bath. "Yes, of course," she called out. "Just a moment." Quickly she jumped up from the bunk and threw on her traveling dress before opening the door. Before her stood a tow-headed boy of the age she had guessed. He had beside him a bucket of steaming water and an armload of clean towels and a cake of soap. He tipped his cap to her before picking up the bucket and bringing it in for her.

"Compliments of Cap'n Harris, Miss," he said as he set the bucket down in the middle of the floor and the towels and soap on the chest of drawers.

"That was very kind of him," Miranda said. "Please thank him for me."

The boy tipped his cap again. "Charlie, Miss. And I shall tell 'im."

Miranda smiled at him. "Thank you."

Charlie grinned back at her and with a small bow, turned and left Miranda to her bath.

The water was salty, but Miranda was glad for it. She pulled off her dress and chemise, wet a washrag, soaped it and ran the warm soapy cloth underneath her breasts, around her neck and between her legs. Over and over she washed and rinsed until she felt as clean as she would have had she soaked in a tub at home. Then she dried herself and opened one of her trunks for a clean dress. She could not ignore the sudden impulse that passed through her of wanting the captain to notice her. The dress she chose was her favorite, of dark blue in a smooth taffeta that caught the light and shimmered. The neckline, too scooped down just enough to expose some flesh and hint at the soft roundness of her breasts underneath. And, she thought triumphantly, the dress was one that Sir Edward had not bought for her.

Miranda slipped on her drawers and did up the ribbons, then replaced her chemise, the lace of which would peek out subtly from the neckline of the dress. The she put on the bustle. However, when it came time to put on the corset she hesitated, holding it to her and staring at her reflection in the dressing mirror. "Would anyone truly notice if I didn't put it on?" she asked her reflection out loud. Speaking to herself was something she had done since she was a child; perhaps, she had often mused over the years, the result of growing up without brothers or sisters. "You're no lady anyhow," she said, thinking of all the illicit reading she had done in the last four years and all the time she had spent pleasuring herself alone in the darkness of her bedchamber. Anyway, her mother wasn't there to dismiss her complaints and force her to wear the horrible contraption. "If she wanted to make certain I wore the bloody thing," Miranda said, "She should have come with me." And with that, she tossed the cursed article of women's underclothing onto the bunk and finished dressing.

*

Shortly after she'd finished her hair, Charlie returned and escorted Miranda to the dining room where she had supper with the captain, officers, and the ship's surgeon, Dr. Brimley. Her entrance was enthusiastically received by the roomful of men. Miranda felt her cheeks flush at the shower of male attention, and was grateful for the candlelight of the room which shadowed her pale skin enough to conceal the blush.

Captain Harris reached for Miranda's hand as she approached the table. He smiled at her as he raised her gloved hand to his lips in greeting, then drew her to the table, to a seat next to his. Miranda was glad for her careful choice of dress and for the way she'd done her hair, pulled back high off her forehead and pinned, the fall of it cascading in golden waves over her shoulders and down her back, for Captain Harris turned to her often during the meal, his dark eyes glowing almost obsidian in the candlelight. He sat quite close to her and their elbows bumped a couple of times in picking up their wine glasses, gallantly making certain that the supper conversation did not consist only of ship's business and engaged her as much as possible. Miranda found comfort in his nearness, though it also made her nervous as it had in his study earlier, and she worked to steady her hand when she held her glass.

At the end of the meal, over coffee, Mr. Hobson suggested that they engage Miss Reddington in a game of whist. But Captain Harris broke in before Miranda could answer.

"Miss Reddington has had a trying day," he said. "And I imagine she could benefit from some peace and quiet. I was going to suggest she join me in a turn about the deck before retiring." He turned to Miranda. "Whatever you would like, Miss Reddington."

Miranda smiled, though her response belied the fire that ignited in her belly at the captain's invitation. "A walk would be quite welcome, actually," she said.

The other men in the room were visibly disappointed, but they rose politely from their seats and bowed to Miranda as she left the room.

Outside, a cool salty breeze blew around them and Miranda pulled her shawl more tightly to her. Up above, the giant sails of the tea clipper flapped wildly.

"If you're cold, Miss Reddington, we could go in," Captain Harris said.

Miranda looked up at him, struck by how handsome his face was in the moonlight. "No," she answered. "I'm comfortable."

Along the deck they walked in the moonlight. Miranda could hear the rushing and churning of the bow waves as the Gallant cut swiftly through the dark waters. "Captain Harris," she began, "I'm terribly sorry for the way my parents quizzed you this afternoon. I felt they were being unfair."

Her host chuckled. "Think nothing of it, Miss Reddington," he answered. "I know they were merely concerned for you and wanted to make sure you were left in good hands."

Miranda looked down, remembering the way her parents had merely announced her engagement at a dinner party before even telling her privately. In the carriage on the way home, she reminded her father that he had once agreed to let her find her own husband. But he had conveniently forgotten. "I've had enough of that independence nonsense, Miranda," he had answered. "You've had several suitors now, real gentlemen I might add, and you have not chosen as you should."

"But I didn't want any of them, Father! They were superficial and weak men I couldn't love! When I do love, I'll marry. I promise!"

"You're too old now to indulge in such idealistic twaddle!" Mr. Reddington had retorted.

In desperation, Miranda turned to her mother. But she'd been no help, having already been completely seduced by the prospect of having such a wealthy and prestigious son-in-law. Her only response to the matter was: "Your father is right, Mira." And then sadness had briefly crossed her mother's face, like a shadow over a cloud. "Love is a luxury few can afford."

Since that evening and that conversation, she knew her parents weren't truly concerned for her. But she didn't feel free to say this to someone she'd just met. "Yes," she said quietly to the captain. "I suppose so."

Captain Harris stopped walking suddenly and turned to her. He had removed his hat to save it from the strong breezes and his soft dark hair blew about. He had the look of the cultured gentlemen in his starched white collar and shirt, and dark evening jacket and trousers, yet there was the air of untamed man about him as well that Miranda found intoxicating. "I feel I've said something very wrong," he said. He paused and took a deep breath. "May I speak frankly with you, Miss Reddington?"

Miranda looked up at him, her heart feeling as though the winds were beating it about like the sails. "Yes, please," she said.

"Today, in my study, I couldn't help but notice you looked quite sad, and deeply troubled. I don't have the sense you truly want to make this journey."

Miranda gave a small gasp as she realized what she had seen in his eyes earlier that day had been real. She found herself deeply moved that he had seen her true feelings coming through and had been concerned enough to express them. She fought the urge to fall against him and cry like a little girl. Instead, she turned and gripped the rail, squeezing her eyes shut as she composed herself. She then felt the captain's presence close beside her. She opened her eyes again and looked at him. "I thank you for your sensitivity and forthrightness, Captain Harris," she said. "You're correct. When my parents arranged this marriage, I held a funeral for my heart and future."

The captain regarded her with a grave expression. "You speak very poetically of your grief," he said. "And I am truly sorry."

In spite of her efforts, Miranda felt tears threaten to spill from her eyes. This time, she held them down with self-criticism. "You needn't be," she said. "I should be grateful, really. Most Englishwomen would give anything to be in my place, wouldn't they? My duties as Sir Edward's wife will include strolling the grounds with a parasol, having breakfast in bed and tea in the gardens."

"Among other things," the captain added softly.

Miranda felt her cheeks burn. She couldn't believe she was discussing her life so intimately with this man she'd just met. But strangely, speaking with the captain felt natural, and not at all the breach of etiquette society would call it. She was so relieved to speak openly about her dread of marriage to Sir Edward, especially the part about having to share her body with him whether she wanted to or not. "Yes," she said. "I feel like I'm to be a slave."

The captain stood quietly for a few moments before he spoke again. "I would wish better for you," he said softly. "It troubles me to see a woman forced into misery," he added. "Women are beautiful souls. They should have choices. I've always believed that."

Miranda turned and stared at him in disbelief. For one brief moment she caught herself wondering if he could possibly have meant all he'd just said or if he was simply trying to charm her.

Her doubt must have shown on her face for the captain chuckled. "Yes, it's true," he said. "I do feel that way. There are men who do, as few as we seem to be."

Miranda felt herself blush again. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean..."

"It's quite all right," he assured her. "I can't blame you for being surprised."

Miranda looked quickly back out at the sea, still embarrassed. A lesser man than the captain might have been quite offended by her reaction. "It's very heartening to meet someone who feels as I do," she said. "Your wife must feel herself fortunate to have a husband who thinks so progressively."

"Well, I think my wife would have been happier with a husband who spent less time at sea, regardless of his views," he answered. "She passed away several years ago of illness."

Miranda grew horrified and gasped. Her hand flew unconsciously to the captain's arm. "Oh dear!" she cried out. "I've done it again! I'm so sorry, Captain Harris! Will you ever forgive me?"

The captain put his hand over hers. "Please, Miss Reddington," he said, "Don't be so distressed. You've done nothing wrong that you should feel this way." He squeezed her hand gently, but Miranda was too upset to notice. She dabbed, in an unladylike fashion, at her sudden tears with the corner of her shawl.

The captain waited for Miranda to calm down. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a clean handkerchief, which he gave to her.

Miranda accepted it gratefully and dabbed again at her eyes.

"Miss Reddington," Captain Harris began, "There are things in this life to be sorry for. Forcing a woman into the bonds of marriage where she doesn't love, for example."

Miranda nodded and took a deep breath. The captain's gentle, even-timbered voice was having a calming effect on her.

"But," he continued, "What you said was innocent. You couldn't have known. It's not the same. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Captain Harris," Miranda answered. "But I feel I should make it up to you all the same."

He smiled at her, causing her heart to quicken suddenly. In the moonlight, there appeared a gleam of playfulness in his eyes. "All right, Miss Reddington," he said. "There are two things that will set everything right."

"What are they?"

"The first is you must call me William and let me call you Miranda."

Miranda smiled. "And the second?"

"That you stop apologizing for everything you say and think. I don't know who taught you to do that, but apologies should be reserved only for true offenses."

At these words, Miranda surprised herself by laughing, a full rich laugh that emanated from deep within her uncorseted midriff. William laughed along with her, their merriment broken only when they both realized that their hands were still touching. Miranda's gloved hand rested on William's arm, and his hand still covered hers. Softly, he caressed her hand with his fingertips just before releasing it. He, too, fell quiet and his breathing grew slightly heavier. "I think you must be quite tired," he said. "Perhaps I should see you to your cabin."

Miranda nodded, unable to speak, not because she was shocked, but because his touch had weakened her and she was disappointed that he had let go of her hand. She had enjoyed his touch, which had been at once comforting and sensuous. She hadn't wanted the evening to end. "Yes," she said. "I am." Quietly, she let him lead her back inside, back to the dimly lit companionway that led to their quarters.

In front of her door, William turned to her. "You should rest as long as you need," he told her. "Don't feel obligated to rise early for breakfast. I'll see to it that there is something for you."

"Thank you, William," Miranda said. She found she couldn't look him in the eye, for fear he would see how much she didn't want him to leave. She felt frightened and alone, and he was the closest she had to a friend in the entire world. Had she been someone who was free to choose her own suitor, she might have spoken up. But she wasn't. So she resigned herself to silence. "And thank you also for the water earlier, and the towels and soap."

William smiled down at her. "You're quite welcome," he said. "And as for tomorrow, I would be honored if you'd join me for tea in my study around four o'clock. I'm afraid my duties keep me very busy until then."

"I would be happy to," Miranda answered. "Thank you." She smiled back at him, though she found herself, once again, fighting back tears.

William reached out and picked up her hand. He squeezed it gently at first in a comforting way, as if to tell her that he sensed her distress. But then he brought her hand to his lips, pressing them into the soft material of her glove.

At his touch, Miranda felt her body weakening again. For that moment, she forgot all about Sir Edward and her unhappiness. Here, in the present, she felt suddenly alive, as something sweet and wild released itself from her depths, the desire to love and be loved. Sir Edward could never take that from her. No one could. It was hers alone to give.

William lingered over the kiss, and Miranda sensed his own reluctance to leave. Finally, he straightened and gently released her hand. "Until tomorrow," he said softly.

Miranda smiled shyly and cast her eyes toward her cabin door. "Yes," she replied in equally as soft a voice. "Until tomorrow."

William waited until she was safely in her cabin with the door bolted. Once inside, Miranda stood quietly by the door, listening to his boot steps fade down the companionway. When he was gone, she turned and began to undress, smiling and looking forward to the next day at four o'clock.

Her mind was still alive with thoughts of William when she climbed into her bunk and tried to fall asleep. He made me laugh tonight. She hadn't laughed in a very long time, since that fateful dinner party, at least.

But before long, her true exhaustion began to overtake her and she let the rocking motions of the ship and the creak of the rigging above her lull her into a dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER FOUR

Miranda took William at his word about her rest. When she finally woke, dressed and ventured out onto the deck the next day, the sun was high overhead, and she could only guess it was almost time for the midday meal.

Charlie the cabin boy found Miranda at the railing, enjoying the sun and salty wind passing over her face, and escorted her to the dining room where he served her tea and a full breakfast. When she had finished, she still had several hours to pass until her meeting with William at four o'clock. She spent the time sitting in a shaded area of the deck, out of the way of working crew members, reading one of the delicious novels Charlotte had given her as a parting gift. However, after a little while, she was forced to finish her reading in her cabin where she could satisfy the desire that those novels always provoked. Afterward, however, she changed her dress, choosing another of her own in soft yellow with the lace of her chemise peeking out. Her hair she fixed in the same fashion as the evening before, remembering how she had successfully captured William's attention.

At a couple of minutes past four (she didn't want to her anxiousness to show by being precisely on time), she knocked on the door of William's study. When he opened it and saw her, his face broke into a grin, like a little boy happy to see a playmate. Miranda smiled back, finding that her heart had lightened at the sight of him. Warmly, he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. This time, however, Miranda had taken care to wear her crocheted gloves, through which the warm touch of William's lips reached her skin, sending waves of warm pleasure up her entire arm.

"How nice to see you, Miranda," William said. With a light touch on her elbow, he guided her to the seating area where Charlie had already placed the tea service. He poured her a cup of tea, apologizing for the absence of milk.

"It's nice to see you, too," Miranda said as she accepted her tea and a biscuit. Her stomach was too tight with nervousness to accept food, but she nibbled the hard biscuit to be polite.

William sat down on the opposite end of the settee. He held his cup and saucer on one knee as he leaned slightly toward her. "Did you have enough rest?" he asked.

Miranda smiled, a bit sheepishly at her laziness. Even at home, she had never slept much past sunrise. "Oh yes," she said. "I awoke at noon I'm embarrassed to say."

William chuckled. "No need for embarrassment," he said. "You were exhausted. It's not every day that you leave your home, family and the only life you've ever known for a long voyage on a ship to a strange land."