The Winter Sea

‘She is that, yes. And it is clear she has been teaching you the way of it. You’ve changed, these past few months.’

She could have told him that she had changed more than he could know, and that it had not been the countess’s achievement, but she only said politely, ‘For the better, I do hope.’

‘Indeed.’ He turned his head to smile down at her. He had not moved to offer her his arm, but walked beside her at his ease. ‘You will forgive me if I say that you seemed yet a girl when you arrived, and now in this short time you have matured into a woman. ’Tis a stunning transformation.’

He was charming her deliberately, and might have said as much to any girl who struck his fancy, but Sophia had to steel herself to keep from laying one protective hand across her belly, as though fearing he could truly see the secret that had altered her. She told him, ‘You do flatter me.’

‘I tell the truth.’

Beyond his shoulder, Billy Wick was watching them in furtive silence, busy with his shears. And of a sudden it was more than she could bear to see him hacking at the lilac tree, to see the leafless branches fall to lie upon the barren ground, defiled. She looked to Gordon. ‘Shall we try another path? The sun is in my eyes.’

‘Of course.’ He chose the path that ran between the roses, with their spent blooms scattered pale beneath the thorny shrubs. Reaching in his coat, he drew a flat and narrow parcel out and held it lightly in his hand. ‘When I was in London, waiting for the Edinburgh to be refitted, I did chance to see these in the window of a shop. They made me think of you.’

He would have passed the parcel to her but she hesitated. ‘Captain Gordon…’

‘Please.’ He stopped walking on the path and smiled his most persuasive smile. ‘’Tis but a trifle.’

With reluctant hands, Sophia took the gift. The paper wrapping came away to show a pair of dainty gloves worked in white leather, with embroidered knots of gold. She held them dumbly, thinking back to when he’d last been here—when she had sat on Moray’s gloves to hide them, in the drawing room; to hide the fact that she had just been wearing them.

He said, ‘I do believe I told you that your hands deserved to have a softer covering than Mr Moray’s gauntlets.’

She remembered. ‘Yes, you did.’ She felt the lovely gloves a moment longer in her hand, then held them out towards him. ‘I cannot accept them. It would not be right.’

‘How so?’ He stood his ground, amused. This was a different sort of dance, Sophia realized, than the one that she’d been led through by the cunning Duke of Hamilton— the steps were more straightforward, but she still could not afford to put a foot wrong. Captain Gordon was a man whose handsome face and charm had doubtless gained him much, and he was clearly seeking now to add Sophia to his winnings.

She could choose to simply go along and play for time, till Moray could return…but she knew that would cost her conscience dearly. So she tried, without revealing all, to make him understand.

‘You are a kind man, Captain, and your gift is very thoughtful, but I feel it has been offered with a certain understanding, and I would not so insult you by receiving an affection I cannot return.’

His eyebrow lifted slightly, as though it had never crossed his mind that he might be refused. Sophia thought, for one long minute, that she had offended him. But finally he reclaimed the gloves, and slowly said, ‘I see.’

And she felt certain that he did see, from the way his gaze passed over her, returning with the faintest smile, conceding his defeat. ‘Perhaps I was mistaken to presume you were in need of these. It seems that Mr Moray’s gloves did fit you well enough.’

Her eyes betrayed her, gave him confirmation, and she knew it.

‘So,’ he said, quite softly. ‘Does the countess know?’

Sophia shook her head. The sudden danger of his knowing struck her cold, and she looked up at him imploringly. ‘You will not tell her?’

He was silent for so long she was not sure how he would answer. Then he gently tucked the fine embroidered gloves beneath his coat and brought his gaze to hers again with all his former gallantry. ‘You have my word,’ he promised her, and offering his arm said, ‘Now, come walk me back. My ship and crew are waiting, and I do perceive that it is past the time I should be gone.’

It was the countess’s reaction that Sophia dreaded most, but when the Edinburgh had once again sailed northward all the older woman said was, ‘Captain Gordon is a charming man.’

Her head was bent with care above her needlework, her comment almost absent as though she were loathe to break her concentration. But Sophia felt the pause that followed, and she knew that she was meant to answer.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘A very charming man.’

‘Were I younger, I myself would likely be in love with him. But such a man,’ the countess said, ‘is not for every woman.’

She glanced up at that, and in her smiling eyes Sophia read an understanding, a forgiveness. And although they never spoke of it directly, she was sure the countess somehow knew the core of what had passed between herself and Captain Gordon on the garden path, and that whatever hopes the countess might have had were laid to rest without regret, and would no more be mentioned.

I didn’t need to look into the Old Scots Navy book to know that what I’d written was the truth, but I looked anyway. It was all there, as I had known it would be: the renaming of Captain Gordon’s ship, the Royal William, to the Edinburgh; his journey northwards in October, and the mutiny among his men at Leith.