"yip" at Alexander, then settled into a pile of cloaks, watching him with its beady eyes.
"Miss Farnham, I just came from a meeting with Captain Franklin."
"Was it a pleasant meeting?"
He stared at her.
"No. No, it was not a pleasant meeting. It concerned you, Miss Farnham."
The animation drained from her face and she looked down at the deck. Alex clasped his hands behind his back, forcing himself into stillness. He refused to feel sorry for her. He was feeling sorry enough for himself. But looming over her probably wasn't helping the situation.
This time Alex swept the fabrics off of Mrs. Cowper's bunk onto the deck, and while Miss Farnham stirred, she did not protest.
"Here is the situation, Miss Farnham," Alex said bluntly. "Captain Franklin made me responsible for your welfare for the remainder of this voyage. I need not tell you that your situation is precarious, a single woman aboard a ship full of sailors. The captain believes this is the best possible solution. If you cooperate, then nothing more will be said of this when we reach England."
"Do you really believe that, Doctor?" she asked, raising her eyes from her tightly clasped hands.
"Do you have another choice, Miss Farnham? Because if you do, I would like to hear it."
Miss Farnham made a noise that in a less elegant person might be termed a snort.
"Choices. No, I do not have a choice, do I?"
There was something about her that struck him then, but the moment was lost when she looked around her at the fabric filling the small cabin and said, "Then you will need to help me out of my clothes, Dr. Murray."
All those years of listening to the ship's guns pound out their charges must have affected his hearing.
"I beg your pardon?"
She looked at him, a vapid smile on her face.
"My clothes, Doctor. They fasten in back. Ladies are dressed by their maids."
"You do not have a maid," he said stupidly.
"No. I only have you, Dr. Murray."
He realized his mouth was hanging open, and he closed it with a snap.
"That is ridicul--"
"And you must help dress my hair," she said, waving at the mess atop her head.
"See here, Miss Farnham, I cannot spend my day being your maid."
"Oh, I do not expect you to do everything , Doctor. I can do my own mending."
Alex wanted to refuse, but he knew enough about women's clothing to acknowledge the dress fastenings might be a problem.
"Your hair, Miss Farnham. You cannot dress it yourself?"
"We come from different worlds, Dr. Murray. All my life I have had maidservants. It was their job to be useful. I never brushed my own hair, nor have I pinned it. That was always someone else's task."
Alex knew his interaction with ladies was limited, but this woman was nothing more than a pretty parasite, living off of the efforts of others.
"Then the first thing I shall do, Miss Farnham, is teach you how to be more self-sufficient. Give me your hairbrush."
Miss Farnham was not put off by his brusque tone. She rose unhurriedly and Alex stood as well. She smoothed down her skirts and, brushing past him, located a silver-backed brush beneath a pile of hats.
"And a ribbon, Miss Farnham. Something sturdy."
"La, Doctor, I do not believe 'sturdy' and 'ribbons' are two words that go together," she simpered, but she located a pink satin length beneath some shoes and passed it to him, along with the hairbrush.
"Sit!" he ordered, and the dog barked.
"No, Pompom, I believe the nice surgeon meant me," Miss Farnham said, seating herself again.
Alex seethed as he stood behind her chair and pulled the wandering pins from her messy coiffure. This was not part of his arrangement with Captain Franklin, and he was tempted to storm back to the captain and allow him to manacle Alex for the duration of the voyage.
But even as he was thinking this, his mind registered the feel of the silken strands gliding between his fingers. So much of his day was spent with his hands in unpleasant or noxious substances, it was a tactile awakening, feeling the curls
"Miss Farnham, I just came from a meeting with Captain Franklin."
"Was it a pleasant meeting?"
He stared at her.
"No. No, it was not a pleasant meeting. It concerned you, Miss Farnham."
The animation drained from her face and she looked down at the deck. Alex clasped his hands behind his back, forcing himself into stillness. He refused to feel sorry for her. He was feeling sorry enough for himself. But looming over her probably wasn't helping the situation.
This time Alex swept the fabrics off of Mrs. Cowper's bunk onto the deck, and while Miss Farnham stirred, she did not protest.
"Here is the situation, Miss Farnham," Alex said bluntly. "Captain Franklin made me responsible for your welfare for the remainder of this voyage. I need not tell you that your situation is precarious, a single woman aboard a ship full of sailors. The captain believes this is the best possible solution. If you cooperate, then nothing more will be said of this when we reach England."
"Do you really believe that, Doctor?" she asked, raising her eyes from her tightly clasped hands.
"Do you have another choice, Miss Farnham? Because if you do, I would like to hear it."
Miss Farnham made a noise that in a less elegant person might be termed a snort.
"Choices. No, I do not have a choice, do I?"
There was something about her that struck him then, but the moment was lost when she looked around her at the fabric filling the small cabin and said, "Then you will need to help me out of my clothes, Dr. Murray."
All those years of listening to the ship's guns pound out their charges must have affected his hearing.
"I beg your pardon?"
She looked at him, a vapid smile on her face.
"My clothes, Doctor. They fasten in back. Ladies are dressed by their maids."
"You do not have a maid," he said stupidly.
"No. I only have you, Dr. Murray."
He realized his mouth was hanging open, and he closed it with a snap.
"That is ridicul--"
"And you must help dress my hair," she said, waving at the mess atop her head.
"See here, Miss Farnham, I cannot spend my day being your maid."
"Oh, I do not expect you to do everything , Doctor. I can do my own mending."
Alex wanted to refuse, but he knew enough about women's clothing to acknowledge the dress fastenings might be a problem.
"Your hair, Miss Farnham. You cannot dress it yourself?"
"We come from different worlds, Dr. Murray. All my life I have had maidservants. It was their job to be useful. I never brushed my own hair, nor have I pinned it. That was always someone else's task."
Alex knew his interaction with ladies was limited, but this woman was nothing more than a pretty parasite, living off of the efforts of others.
"Then the first thing I shall do, Miss Farnham, is teach you how to be more self-sufficient. Give me your hairbrush."
Miss Farnham was not put off by his brusque tone. She rose unhurriedly and Alex stood as well. She smoothed down her skirts and, brushing past him, located a silver-backed brush beneath a pile of hats.
"And a ribbon, Miss Farnham. Something sturdy."
"La, Doctor, I do not believe 'sturdy' and 'ribbons' are two words that go together," she simpered, but she located a pink satin length beneath some shoes and passed it to him, along with the hairbrush.
"Sit!" he ordered, and the dog barked.
"No, Pompom, I believe the nice surgeon meant me," Miss Farnham said, seating herself again.
Alex seethed as he stood behind her chair and pulled the wandering pins from her messy coiffure. This was not part of his arrangement with Captain Franklin, and he was tempted to storm back to the captain and allow him to manacle Alex for the duration of the voyage.
But even as he was thinking this, his mind registered the feel of the silken strands gliding between his fingers. So much of his day was spent with his hands in unpleasant or noxious substances, it was a tactile awakening, feeling the curls
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