Chapter 2

Chapter Two

A lexander Westcott examined the empty bottle in his hand, rotating it every which way to ensure he had calculated correctly. Everything had been prepared just so, with a delicate hand and concise measurements. Now he had only the final step left. The miniature masts and sails had been readied and made to lie down flat, so rolling up his shirt sleeves, he secured the bottle on the table with one hand and picked up the ship's hull with the other. With precision and command he hoped his grandfather would be proud of, Alex held his breath and carefully inserted the ship inside the nozzle. It required a bit of gentle twisting in order to not damage the rigging, but once the hull had settled in the paste at the bottom, Alex let go of the bottle, releasing his breath as he sat back in his seat.

Once the ship was secure in the bottle, he could again use his tools to right the masts and sails, tighten the strings, and trim off the edges before corking the bottle, finalizing the project as complete. Every time he finished, he felt an extreme sense of satisfaction and gratitude. At times, such goals of creating ships in a bottle seemed impossible, but the patience and attention to detail always paid off in the end. And he never finished without offering a prayer of thanks that his dearly departed grandfather had taught him the art. The man had been a retired general in the Royal Navy before he died, and though he bore the scars and carried the ghosts of his profession, he was not hardened by them. He remained a gentle and kind man, and some of Alex's most treasured memories growing up, the most meaningful lessons about how to be a real gentleman, he learned at his grandfather's side, as they painstakingly created one ship after another.

Alex could not offer up the same thanks for what he had learned from his deceased father, for those lessons were nonexistent. Unless it included examples of how to drink oneself into oblivion or the easiest way to degrade a person with a single shouted word. The man was no more a saint than Alex was a seaman.

The softest snap broke Alex from his thoughts, and his stomach sank as he leaned in to examine the bottle: one of the mast ends had broken and now one string sat atop the paste, sinking to the bottom.

"Oh, damn it all," Alex growled through gritted teeth. Rushing for his tweezers, he gently pulled the broken piece out of the paste and attempted to reattach it, but there was no wedge in which to place it. It would have to be repaired, which was the worst sort of problem in this scenario. Fixing it outside the bottle was difficult, but trying to fix it inside the bottle was nearly hopeless.

A knock sounded at the door, and Alex sighed. "Come in."

His mother appeared in the doorway, dressed in warm traveling clothes. "I'm off, my love."

Instantly, the ship and tools were forgotten, and he turned. "So early?"

She moved through the room to his side, patting him on the shoulder. "Still at this, are you?" she asked with a smile.

"Yes, well, I still have some improving to do," he said, motioning to the fallen mast.

"Do not fret. I know you will find a way." She sighed wistfully. "I do love that you took up this interest at such a young age. It is a lovely tribute to your grandfather, and the good man he was."

Alex nodded and returned the pat to her hand softly as she straightened.

"Well, come and see me off, then. I would like an early start."

"Must you be off already?" Alex asked. "I thought for certain you would linger after you arrived."

She shook her head. "I only came to assess the mood for the season, to see if sentiments have changed for Edwina's sake, but they appear to be very much the same, so we will remain in Bath for the time being." She raised her eyes to him. "And do not fret, for I know you are doing all you can. Though I had also hoped to meet this mysterious young miss you've hinted at, but she's conveniently nowhere to be seen."

Alex chuckled. "That was not my doing. She had already left for the country to visit some family by the time you had arrived."

"It's just as well." Mother linked her arm in his. "You will write to me immediately the moment you have news from her."

"Of course," Alex obliged, escorting her to the door. "You're certain you have everything packed and prepared?"

The private carriage, sent by her dutiful new husband, waited for her in the chilly morning light as the footmen packed her trunks and bags. Alex was pleased they could afford such a luxury. After all his mother had suffered, he was grateful she did not have to worry over the troubles of traveling on the mail coach .

"There is no need to concern yourself, my boy."

Alex handed her up into the carriage. "But you don't need me to travel with you?" He sincerely offered his assistance, although knowing she would refuse him.

She waved a dainty gloved hand at him. "I have my maid, and that is more than enough. My home and husband await me on the other end. Besides, I would not dream of taking you away from the season, not for a moment."

"You will not even wait one day more for Lady Hartfield's ball? She will be quite put out if you miss it."

"Well, if her daughter ever marries and is in the final days of her confinement, then perhaps Lady Hartfield will not judge me so harshly."

Alex rolled his eyes playfully, then reached for her hand through the window. "Do give the girls my love, and offer my solemn promise to Edwina, that I will do all I can to mend the broken trust with the Grishams."

Mother's lips pursed before she sighed, not immediately releasing his hand. "You do dote on your sisters, however, that may be one bridge you're unable to mend. Edwina may have to give up on that front, but I know you will not give up for her sake. Only do not let that pursuit ruin your time this season. You must do what you can to secure your own match as well."

He squeezed her hand in return. "I will, Mother."

"I look forward to meeting her, the woman who has captured your heart."

Alex chuckled again. "Hopefully someday soon."

"And I want you to send me word of every detail, no matter the development."

"Won't the gossip rags in Bath keep you busy enough? Must I provide you with more?" Alex closed the carriage door and gave her a wink through the window.

"Only when it's my boy they're talking about. "

He shook his head with a smile and gave her a wave. "Safe travels, Mother."

"Write to me the moment Lady Hartfield's ball has ended!" she called as the driver clicked the horses into action and carried her away.

Alex waved until the carriage was out of sight, knowing his mother would be looking for him until then at least. She loved her daughters, but she favored him as her only son and eldest child. They had experienced much together at the hands of his father, though Alex was loathe to ever refer to him as such. Now that the tyrant was gone, it filled Alex full of pride and relief to see his mother so peacefully occupied with her new husband and time with her daughters.

Returning to his townhome, Alex closed the front door and tugged off his cravat. "Radcliff, I'll take my breakfast in the study," he announced, then hurried back to the broken mast waiting for him in the bottle.

But as he took his seat again, Alex had a harder time focusing. He would see the ship in the bottle repaired and completed, but he had been reminded of what the following night held in store: Lady Hartfield's ball. He had no desire to prance around in public with the marriage-minded mamas. He'd endured enough of society over the years seeing his sister Dorothea married off, and unexpectedly had a hand in his mother's second marriage. Alex had not intended to find himself a wife until Edwina was happily settled as well, but one young miss had caught his particular attention, and their attraction had been mutual and swift. He had counted the days she had been away from London, but if she would attend the ball, perhaps he could finally secure her understanding. If everything went according to plan, he could end the evening with an engagement.