of balancing on a deck as the rhythm of waves under the keel traveled from the soles of his shoes through his whole body.
He knew he would be even happier in a few hours when he enjoyed quiet time with Meri. He knew they would talk, laugh, maybe argue a little, tease each other, and make love. He knew he would never be lonely again.
When Meri turned her attention to Ben at the table, Able waited for his spectral busybodies to twit him about his emotions. They were not above amusing themselves at his expense, upon occasion. He waited, but nothing happened. He entertained the heretical notion that perhaps he did not need them as much, if at all. Had they been his champions and buffers when life was bleak? What was the meaning of all this? He took comfort in the knowledge that in this next crossing of the Channel, he might have time to think about the matter during the middle watch when the deck was his.
Dinner over, every subject discussed, Able felt a pang when his father gave his best bow to Mrs. Munro, the lady who would have been the count’s mother-in-law if the world were even slightly fair, then folded her into a gentle embrace. “Señora Munro, only think what good times we will have when this stupid war ends and you can be my guest in Spain.”
“I look forward to it…” She hesitated. “Son.”
Completely undone, the count bowed over her hand this time, then made his dignified way upstairs. Able took his turn, his hand in hers, as he and Meri walked her outside where Smitty and the carriage waited.
“I’ll see you in two weeks at the outside,” he said, and kissed her cheek. “My only task is to get my father to Spain. I am certain Meri will take Ben to Jasper Street for visits and crème buns.”
“We will visit,” she said, “crème buns or not. Ben is a grubby little trencherman.”
There it came, the inevitable scroll unwinding to remind Able of his bleak and desperate life at Ben’s age. No, he said to his mind. Stop. I don’t want to see what I ate and how poorly I was treated. I want to see Ben’s pleasure at food, and his delight in his Mama and Papa. Don’t trouble me with all my memories. Not tonight. In fact, how about never again?
To his astonishment, the scroll snapped shut and vanished. When he drew in his breath in surprise, Meri touched his hand, concerned. “No worries,” he whispered. “I am fine.” And he was.
He knew how late it was, and he had noticed Mrs. Munro yawning discreetly in the sitting room. Instead of joining Smitty by the carriage, Mrs. Munro took his hand and Meri’s.
“Yes, you and Ben visit me,” she said. “Grubby or not, Ben is most welcome.” She leaned toward Meri. “I might be inclined to supply crème buns, but that is the prerogative of a great grandmama, something I thought never to be.”
She squeezed their hands. “I do not command anything approaching a huge fortune. Let us say I am comfortable.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I also have no one to leave it to. May I please fix it upon you and your children?”
Trust Meri to say the right thing. “You are a dear to think of us, but we already want for nothing.” The smile she turned on Able could have guided ships at sea. “Able is an excellent provider.”
Bless you, Meri, he thought. “Mrs. Munro, The estimable Sir B who was married to Grace St. Anthony has already deeded our house to Meri,” Able said, after he raised Meri’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “On the event of my death at sea, she is to receive one thousand pounds a year. We are well enough off.”
He knew Mrs. Munro was a tenacious woman. Any lady with the courage to resume her maiden name after the death of her husband and not fret over the social consequences was not someone inclined to hang back. She did not surprise him.
“I should still like to fix five hundred pounds a year on your family,” she said firmly. “You speak of money after your death. That is well and good, grandson, but I am thinking of the niceties which all of you can enjoy after I am gone, and while you live. Kindly do not argue with me.”
He knew better; he was a Scot, too. “I won’t argue.