Page 56 of Better Love Next Time
“Better than nothing,” Georgiana said and breezed away with her horse.
“Optimist,” he muttered, peeling open the teeny missive. He read it, stepping into the light from a gable to be sure.
I wish to hear more about your exercises.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Present Day
Bere House Tavern
Southampton, England
Outside,the boisterous sound of sailors and working men called from the quay. Inside the Bere House, under the low-timbered ceiling, Julian sat with Sam Worthing, his chair tilted against a plastered wall. Rough men in worn clothes hunched and lolled and drove home their points with fingers and fists, ready to thrash, laugh, and drink. Sometimes, all at once. This world, always on the cusp of violence, Julian understood as much as the noble one he’d been born into. The hard day-to-day living, the pride of a job well done, the need to forget one’s troubles in drink and a brawl. And he felt more at ease with those who worked than those who lived on the work of others. Much to his father’s dismay.
Julian dipped into his fourth ale.
The three previous had gone down easily in light of his failure to recruit men to his yard after two months of trying.
Jack Johnson, a carpenter who had taught Julian how to shape a keel and given him a blackened eye twice for his mistakes, hunkered down at the table. They shared conversation on their work, their families, but mostly on the red-haired serving wench, Angel. Jack, married with five children, had known Angel’s bosom and buttocks and quim on numerous occasions. Which he described in ribald detail.
“Lots of cushion for the pushin’,” Jack said with a wink.
This reminded Julian he should be getting on with his adultery. Not adultery, since Kitty sanctioned it. But still. It was adultery.
Julian rubbed his unshaven jaw. He no longer worried about looking pretty. His face required a daily shave, and if circumstances required a clean face for evening, one then. He queued his hair, barely. At six and twenty, there were the beginning of lines about his eyes, from worrying and lack of sleep.
“If you’re interested,” Julian said to Jack, affecting a take-it-or-leave-it demeanor, “we might have a position for you at my yard.”
“Wish I could,” Jack replied. “Yer a good ’un, St. Clair. Not like the rest of them toffs. But I got five children and a wife who touches me ballocks only to twist ’em. Not like Angel, you follow.”
Julian grinned. “Mind your ballocks, man. I’ll not have making you a eunuch on my conscience.”
He watched Jack return to his friends.
Southampton had a long memory. Julian had walked away from his yard, and though he had paid the men out as if the boats had been completed, all of them remembered. No man would risk leaving steady employment to be left without a living again.
TheValiant, which Julian had left to rot in the slipway three years ago, had been good for nothing but firewood. Theyhad been forced to start over again with a cutter and no commissions. St. Clair Shipwrights’ only source of labor? Sam Worthing, his three sons, and two boys from the workhouse. And Jim, a drunkard who showed up half the time.
He needed joiners, carpenters, and more laborers. Soon would come the additional need for caulkers, riggers, and sailmakers. And when their next boat was started—it should have been already—he would need all of them. More than a hundred men.
Instead, he had two men, five boys, Miss Althea Dixley with her prayers, and Kitty.
Each day, when not laboring, there were Kitty’s questions on the business. Each night, when returning from the inns and publics, there were Kitty’s hopeful inquiries.How many men did you hire? Surely, once they ponder our offer further, they will join us.Maybe if she ever truly smiled—not that tight-lipped affair one might call a smile—he might not see the disappointment in her eyes. Every night, before dropping alone to his bed, he told her he would be successful. The next time.
Was he desperate? He would never show it. Would he surrender? He had stared down death hanging headfirst 150 feet above a ship’s deck. He had two working legs, one he’d had to fight from being sawed off. And he didn’t even walk with a limp. Kitty had said their ability was only limited by their doubts. But he had doubts. Which he would never show, especially to his wife.
With Sam Worthing, Julian didn’t have to feign confidence and look Kitty in the eye, flash a careless smile, and tell her that it was just a matter of days before they had more men clamoring for a job than they needed. Every day he assured her she would have her success. But what he really meant was he might give her the yard regardless.
Julian drained his ale. Angel refilled his cup, and when she perched her round bottom on his lap, he hadn’t the energy to stop her.
“Been wondering when you’d be back,” she said. “My name’s Angel, in case you forgot.”
In the timeless way of men, Sam turned to a sailor at his right and gave Julian leave to have his adulterous fun. Truth was, Julian didn’t want fun and didn’t like anyone giving him leave. And if he were interested in breaking his vows with Angel, he wasn’t sure he could. His muscles ached from working in the yard every day with his scant crew, and his pride was raw from the endless days he had spent failing.
Julian and Sam had repaired one ship for the sum of fifteen pounds. Julian had visited shipping offices and merchants from Southampton to Portsmouth. No ship commissions were to be had. Not even discussions.
Julian shifted under Angel’s wiggling bottom. She turned and presented her freckled, overflowing bosom for inspection. “Poor love, I got just the thing to put a smile on yer face. A fine smile it is too. You got all yer teeth and speak like a lord, you do.”
