wane in your absence.’
He shook his head, grasped her hand. ‘This has nothing to do with her. I know you are nothing like her.’ Was that what this was about? Was he worried history might repeat itself? That she might regret shackling herself to him, too, and think better of it? Philosophically, everything he had had with Miranda had begun to unravel the moment he had sailed away.
He cast his mind back to that fateful day in Portsmouth. Saw Miranda on the dock next to his sister. Saw the charts and orders on his desk in the cabin. His crew nudging him and congratulating him on such a bonny catch. Saw the vast horizon that had always called to him and it all became very clear. He suddenly remembered how eager he had been to be gone and on to the next adventure. The adventure had always been more important then. More important than anything or anyone else.
And it wasn’t now.
He’d been a fool not to have seen it before.
‘I shall be waiting for you when you get back, Max... I promise.’
‘Which is exactly the problem! I don’t want you waiting for me, I want you with me, woman! Sailing away from you wouldn’t be like sailing away from Miranda. I was ready to go then. In fact, I was eager to go. I’d been on land too long and the ocean was calling me.’
‘It’s still calling you.’
‘It is... But my heart is calling louder. Sailing away from you would be like cutting off my arm. I couldn’t bear it.’
‘I don’t want you giving up your dreams for me, Max. We’ll find a compromise to make it work.’ She smiled in reassurance but he saw the sadness in her eyes. ‘Perhaps I could take an active part in the business? Run your offices at the port? Be closer for when you get home...’ The compromise would be all hers and he couldn’t bear that. Effie would drive herself mad not exercising her mind with complicated purpose. She could balance the books and whatever else needed doing in her sleep. Then what? Embroidery? Knitting bonnets for their babies? A lifetime of only being his wife? His chattel? He wouldn’t do that to her either. She was never made to fit in a traditional mould.
‘I don’t expect you to give up your dreams either, Effie, to traipse around following me and mine. That’s hardly fair either. I’d much rather stay here and be part of your life. Digging is your calling and I make an excellent assistant...’
‘Having you and our family is more important.’ She seemed sincere—yet she still deserved more.
‘But it is your dream to have your work published.’
‘As validation, Max. To prove to myself there was some reason I was given this odd brain which the world tries to continually prevent me from using. At some point, I will have exhausted all of Rivenhall’s secrets and I shall have to find something new to occupy my mind. I’ve always known that. Digging is the latest of many obsessions. How do you think I came to be fluent in Greek or Norse or Saxon? I pick up a new distraction and completely exhaust it. Digging was the one that helped me to get over my bereavements and cope with the prospect of eternal spinsterhood. I made it my dream. I can find another, Max. One that doesn’t impede on our future...’ Her lovely eyes clouded. ‘I would feel awful knowing you had given up your lifelong dream of the sea for me. You are worth more than just swinging a pickaxe—no matter how much I might enjoy watching you swing one.’
‘I don’t want you to be the one who has to make all the sacrifices and I certainly do not want to have to keep saying goodbye! I could still buy ships—just not sail in them.’
Something which would leave an empty hole inside. He knew that, just as he knew Effie would always have a part of her missing if she gave up uncovering the past and digging up treasure. They were both free spirits. It was who they were. Both adventurers in their own way.
‘You’d hate that. I’d hate it, too. Unless