Chapter 36

36

Nathaniel walkedinto Roxburgh and saw no one. It was strange, given he had instructed Joshua to make sure at least one footman watched the door at any moment.

There was no chatter of the twins as he walked through the hallway, which now looked beautiful, with a vase full of yellow irises and the contrasting navy blue paint over the plastered wall. Like the navy of his uniform against the gold of her dress.

With an unsettling feeling that something was very, very wrong, he passed through the hallway in just a few long strides and headed towards the stairway. He climbed up two steps at a time until he finally stood on the bedchamber floor. He rushed to Calliope’s door and opened it.

Empty.

Quick footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned around.

“Brother.” Violet beamed.

His heart shattered at the sight of the red scar on her forearm. He pulled her into his arms and engulfed her, wishing with every part of his being he could shield her from every single drop of harm.

“How are you feeling?” he murmured against her head.

“It still hurts,” she said. “But I’m feeling well otherwise. One more excuse to never have to wear fancy dresses.”

He leaned back and looked her over at arm’s length. “What are you talking about?”

She chuckled softly, sadness in her eyes. “Well, I don’t have to wear sleeveless dresses anymore, the ones that are so fashionable now. Therefore, I’ll be deemed unfashionable and won’t be invited to certain social events, or to dance at balls, or be called upon by gentlemen.”

He blinked, not ready to contemplate young bachelors pursuing any of his sisters. “Any young man would be lucky to call on you, love,” he said. “You’re a beautiful, intelligent, kind person, and I’m very fortunate to call you my sister. I’m very sorry I failed to protect you and shield you against this.”

“You didn’t,” she said softly. “And I never wanted to get married, anyway. My way will be in the world of intellect.”

“And I will support whatever you want to do,” he said, squeezing her small, warm hand.

He looked back at Calliope’s room.

“She’s at the docks,” said Violet.

His stomach lurched. “Where?”

“At the docks. About to board the ship to America.”

Nathaniel’s heart fell. She was going away—she and the child she carried. On board that ship, she would surely face seasickness, the danger of unwanted male advances, and the reality of heading to a battlefield.

But he loved her. And he understood now that if he loved someone, he had to let them choose their own path.

Danger was real, but he couldn’t control what happened. And in trying to do so, he’d alienated those he loved and kept them at a distance.

No one knew what might happen to cut their time short. But with the time that he had with his loved ones, he chose to support them and help them achieve their dreams rather than hold them back.

Even if it meant losing them.

Losing Calliope.

He wouldn’t try to stop her from going to America. Instead, he would go with her to support her. Not to control her. Not to limit her. But to help her and witness her brilliance.

Nathaniel’s mind raced quickly, calculating. He just needed to write a letter to the Admiralty. He was sure his rank would mean something on the ship, and in Quebec.

“I must go there, darling,” he said. “I must go with her.”

Violet’s eyes widened, but then she nodded with understanding.

“Good luck, brother,” she whispered. “And Godspeed.”

In thirty minutes, he was at the docks and pushing through dockworkers, passengers, and whores to get to the ship that was boarding.

The docks of London were a hive of frenetic energy, even under the scorching August sun. The heat created a shimmering mirage over the worn cobblestones, blurring the outlines of ships, large and small, bobbing in the Thames. The salty tang of the sea mixed with the musky scent of laboring bodies, barrels of fish, and tarred ropes. Men heaved crates onto wagons with sweat dripping down their foreheads, leaving their shirts darkened with dampness. Seagulls cawed overhead, swooping down to grab scraps of food discarded by dockside vendors who shouted their wares, their voices echoing above the constant drone of bustling activity.

Children darted in and out of the crowds, playing tag with one another, while pickpockets saw an opportunity in every unsuspecting traveler. Women with colorful shawls draped around them touted their services or goods, and the hum of negotiations permeated the air.

Suddenly, there she was. Calliope.

He could die at that moment, and he would know he’d lived a worthy life and would have no regrets but one—being apart from her for even a single day.

Her blue eyes were two oceans, so bright and beautiful, his breath caught in his throat.

She stood upright, but something was wrong. She was thinner than he remembered, her hand clutching at her stomach. Her shoulders weren’t squared like usual, and her back wasn’t straight. She was breathing too hard.

And then she swayed.

Her knees buckled, and she was crumpling to the ground.

Nathaniel’s own heart dropped like a boulder. He dashed forward and caught her before her head would connect with the cobblestones.

With his whole being screaming from inner terror, he stared into her pale face, her eyes closed and unmoving.

* * *

Calliope was in heaven…or in a dream. She was sure the strong arms that held her were Nathaniel’s. She could smell him; she’d know his scent anywhere.

She opened her eyes, so weak she didn’t feel like she had strength to lift a single finger.

And there he was, his turquoise eyes luminous against the blindingly blue summer sky.

“I love you, Calliope,” he murmured, tears welling in his eyes. “How I missed you. Holding you. Smelling you. The feel of you against me.”

He gave her that smile…that Nathaniel smile that was just for her, not for his sisters or his dogs or his mates.

No one but her.

“Did you just say you love me?” she asked.

“I did,” he said, his voice rasping. “I should have told you I loved you the moment I felt it in my heart. I love you, Calliope.”

He kissed her then, a gentle, loving peck on her lips, but she was already melting.

And then she knew it. She didn’t need to go to America to run away from pain and from vulnerability. There she was, weak and incapable of moving, completely dependent on him.

And she didn’t want to run, to fight it, to close herself off. She wanted to dissolve in his embrace and let him hold her. There was something so oddly reassuring and even freeing, knowing if she fell, he’d catch her.

And then it was so easy to say the truth that had been in her heart for a while now.

“I love you, Nathaniel,” she whispered against his lips.

“I never want you to change who you are.” He leaned back and looked at her. “You. Fierce and courageous. Smart and resilient. Gorgeous and…so independent you don’t need me at all.”

She let out a long puff of air. “Except that I do. I need you.” She chuckled as she looked at her body, which he still held in his arms. “Clearly.”

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Better now.” She smiled. “I think I was too self-confident. It is, perhaps, too warm today for a pregnant lady to be outside. I thought I’d shake this nausea off and would soon be able to eat and drink properly. But, I suppose, I am wrong. My body is telling me to slow down…for the baby I’m carrying.”

The grin that bloomed on his face had her melt all over, excitement dancing in her stomach…not nausea.

“The baby you’re carrying…” he murmured. “Is this for certain?”

“No,” she said, unable to stop her own grin. “But all of the signs are there.”

“I am sorry for calling your dream lunacy,” he said. “I certainly do not think you’re a lunatic. I will support whatever you want to do, love. Even if I will worry every minute of every day while you keep doing whatever sleuths do. I will also trust you to be able to protect yourself. To use your intuition. To be smarter than anyone who’s against you. I’ve seen you do it. I trust you.”

The words created a warm, sizzling effect in the middle of her chest.

“I want to come back to you,” he said. “To love you. To love our baby. To help you set up your agency when the time comes. To be the first one to tell you how proud of you I am. Proud enough to be your husband. To be your loved one. To be in your life at all.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she kissed him with such vigor, she almost knocked her teeth against his.

“Yes,” she whispered against his lips. “Come back to me… I love you so much…”

“I’ve craved you for weeks, love,” he murmured between gentle, but insistent kisses.

“We should go, Nathaniel.”

He frowned. “I thought you didn’t want to go anymore.”

“I don’t. But I do want to say goodbye to Richard. He is going to look for Spencer.”

He smiled. “Of course. Are you able to walk?”

“I think so.”

He lifted her and set her feet on the ground, holding her for a moment to make sure she was steady.

“Good. Then let us go and say goodbye to Richard. And then I’ll take you home and spoil you rotten.”

Calliope walked by Nathaniel’s side through the throng. She felt much better now, though her head was still spinning, and her legs felt weak. Even though part of her felt saddened to not be able to help Richard and not be an active part in the search for Spencer, deep down she felt right and she felt complete.

She felt like she had just shed the last of her old skin, that now unnecessary and unwanted barrier that had protected her heart. She was someone else now. The person, perhaps, who she was always meant to be. A woman who was both strong and vulnerable. Independent and yet relying on her partner.

One part of a whole. A whole that had three parts now.

HMS Ares, the thirty-six-gun Apollo-class frigate, was swaying gently at the end of the dock that protruded several feet into the River Thames.

In the midst of the Thames, she saw another navy frigate with the Union Jack flag flapping in the wind, its bold red, white, and blue colors stark against the backdrop of a clear sky. The sun’s rays caught the gleam of the polished cannons on the frigate, signaling its might and the empire’s far-reaching grasp. A tender, bearing the same emblem, cut through the waves, making its way towards the coast.

There were so many people on the dock, Calliope grasped Nathaniel’s hand to make sure they weren’t separated from each other. Somewhere among this crowd was Richard, no doubt, as well as Preston and their wives.

They walked through the crowd and closer to the ship. Her hand clenched around Nathaniel’s when she saw her grandmama’s straight back, Preston’s square shoulders, Penelope’s blond head, and Jane’s dark locks shining in the fierce sun. Now that they were even closer, the stench of the Thames, reeking of excrement and offal, was almost unbearable.

“Here they are.” She released a long, deep breath, wishing she didn’t have to inhale again. Her nausea was back, and she swallowed hard against it.

She reached her family and poked Richard’s broad shoulder gingerly.

He turned. So did Preston and Grandmama.

And their gazes fell on her.

“Ah, sister.” Richard beamed. “Came to say goodbye. Thank you. I didn’t think you’d make it.”

His eyes landed on Nathaniel, and he nodded, as if in some secret understanding between men.

“Yes, dear brother,” said Calliope. “And wishing you best of luck there. Get Spencer back home.”

Richard nodded, smiling warmly to Calliope and to Nathaniel.

“Any word of advice from you, Kelford?” he asked. “As a navy man.”

As Nathaniel talked, Calliope inhaled the sickening air, marveling at the new sensation that everything was right inside of her for the first time since she was a little girl. It would take some time for her to get used to, but she was looking forward to it.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the tender full of sailors and officers in navy uniforms finally dock at the jetty. Most of them were wounded, and several others were helping them get out to the boat.

One of the figures that had stood up and climbed out of the tender was taller and more broad-shouldered than any of his counterparts. Even from her side vision she felt there was something familiar about the man, and her head turned fully in his direction.

Twenty feet away, he walked towards them in a navy uniform, his dark hair tied at the back like Nathaniel’s, the sharp, chiseled features of his face straight and familiar…the ones she’d known her whole life.

Her stomach dropped, tears welling in her eyes with every step he took towards them.

The hubbub of the people around her died out, and all she could hear was a loud beating of her heart.

“Is that—?” asked Richard.

“Spencer?” finished Preston.

Grandmama wrapped her arms around herself, her handkerchief at her mouth. “My vinaigrette,” she demanded. “I need my salts.”

While Jane searched in Grandmama’s reticule for the vinaigrette, Calliope, Preston, and Richard all hurried towards their brother.

“Spencer!” cried Calliope, her chest aching, her eyes burning from tears. “Oh Lord, it’s Spencer!”

Her brother’s dark eyes widened and searched for the source of the voice, finally landing on her.

She couldn’t really see the expression on his face, the detail of him—if he had any scars, if he was in pain, if he was all right…

All she knew was that he was finally here.

She ran towards him, pushing aside everyone who was in her way, until she finally reached him and fell into his hard embrace, the sheltering arms of her older brother she’d loved her whole life.

“Spencer…” she whispered as she looked up into his face, wiping her tears away, finally able to see every detail of him. He had scars. New wrinkles. A beard of several days. He smelled like brine and the sea and the ship.

Her brothers now found him, too, and she and Spencer were both enveloped in their strong embrace, finally the family they were supposed to be.

Preston and Richard clapped him on the back, on the shoulders, shook his hand. She wondered what Preston thought now that Spencer, who had loved Penelope, was back. What would Penelope think?

And as she looked into his eyes, she knew this was no longer the brother she had known. She saw hardness as well as sadness and pain. This was a different Spencer, and she needed to get to know him once again. Anew. But he would need time to open up.

For now, he was safe. He was alive. He was back home. But the mystery of who had gotten him press-ganged was still unresolved. Did he have any idea who was responsible? Was the danger to him still present? Had he been safer fighting a war than he would be walking the streets of London?

She looked up at him. “You must tell me everything!”

“Of course,” he mumbled.

But he wasn’t looking at her.

With a gaze full of surprise, ache, and hope, he was staring at Penelope.