to one’s mirror image.’
Miss Tilson fluttered her lashes shyly. ‘If you desire it... Rebecca. Then I am Claire to you.’
‘Claire!’ Rebecca felt as if she were conversing with a sister.
Miss Tilson—Claire—must have felt a similar ease. ‘Might you tell me now why you do not wish to be married?’ She gave Rebecca a daring look. ‘Now that we are no longer formal?’
Rebecca stared into her tankard of ale which she held with both hands to keep it from spilling.
How could she explain?
‘A woman gives up everything by marrying,’ she said. ‘Any wealth or property she might have. Any right to decide for herself what she wishes to do. If I am to give up everything, it should be to a man who loves me and respects me and will not confine me.’
Claire’s brows rose. ‘And this man?’
Rebecca grimaced. ‘I met him only once. He merely wished to ensure himself I could produce an heir.’
Claire did not look the least dismayed by this information. ‘But of course he would want an heir. Especially if he has a title and property.’
‘He does.’ Rebecca tapped her pewter tankard with her fingernail.
‘Is the gentleman wealthy enough to provide for you?’ Claire asked.
‘He is said to be prosperous,’ she replied. ‘He must be, because he is willing to marry me with a mere pittance for a dowry.’
Claire nodded approvingly. ‘Will you tell me who he is?’
Rebecca could see no reason not to. ‘Lord Stonecroft.’
Claire gave her an enquiring look.
‘Baron Stonecroft of Gillford.’
‘Ah.’ A look of understanding came over Claire’s face. ‘You were hoping for a higher title than baron. I mean, you said you are the daughter of an earl.’
Rebecca sniffed. ‘I care nothing for that.’
Claire looked surprised. ‘Did he seem like a cruel man, then? Is that your objection?’
Not cruel.
Indifferent.
Rebecca sighed. ‘I do not believe there is precisely anything to object to in him. I simply do not wish to marry him.’
‘Refuse, then.’ Claire spoke this like a dare.
Oh, Rebecca would love to refuse. ‘My brother—my half-brother—says I am too much of a burden for him to wait for me to find a husband I would like. I’ve refused every offer he’s arranged for me. He has made certain I will be turned out without a penny if I do not marry Lord Stonecroft.’ Her face heated at the memory of her brother railing at her. ‘I’ve no doubt he means what he says.’ Still, her mind whirled with ways she might avoid this marriage without being turned out into the streets.
None were viable, however.
Claire looked sympathetic. ‘How sad. One would hope a brother would understand. Family should understand, should they not?’
Rebecca regarded her curiously. ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters? Any family at all?’
Claire shook her head. ‘I am alone in the world. Any relations are too distant to be concerned with me.’
More reason to feel a kinship towards her. ‘My parents are gone,’ Rebecca confided. ‘And my brother might as well be dead. He said he never wishes to see me again. Ever. Even if he visits England. He made that very clear.’
Her brother had always resented her. He’d resented her mother, as well. Possibly because their father had loved her mother better than either his son or daughter.
They fell silent.
Claire finally spoke and with a resolved tone. ‘I think you are fortunate to marry, Lady Rebecca—Rebecca. You have little money or property, correct? You can only gain by marrying. You’ll gain a home of your own to manage. Children of your own. Comfort and security. Even status and a respectable position in society.’
Rebecca glanced away.
All that was true. But Lord Stonecroft had only cared that she was young and healthy enough to breed and apparently tolerable to look at. He’d made no effort to know her. How was she to endure that sort of emotional wasteland? How was she to tolerate life with such a man?
Claire must have sensed Rebecca’s desolation. Her expression turned consoling. ‘Perhaps it will not be so onerous to be Lady Stonecroft.’
Rebecca managed a polite smile. ‘Perhaps not.’
As if by mutual agreement she and Claire began talking of other things. Books. Plays. Art. Music. From time to time Claire, pretending to be Rebecca, checked on Nolan, who never seemed to question who she was, to Rebecca’s delight.
Rebecca and Claire talked until night fell, turning the churning sea inky black.
Claire stood. ‘I should return to my cabin so you might get some sleep. I’ll help you out of your dress, if you help me out of this lovely gown.’
Rebecca rose and let her lookalike untie and loosen the laces at the back of the plain dress she’d worn most of the voyage. What a shame. She’d quite enjoyed not being herself, playing a woman whose life seemed so much simpler, so much within her own control.
She turned to face Claire. ‘Let us see how far we can carry this masquerade. You be me tonight. Sleep in my nightclothes, in this bed. And I will continue being you.’
The young woman looked stricken. ‘I cannot allow you to be closeted in that tiny berth they gave me!’
‘Why not?’ Rebecca countered. ‘It will be an adventure for me. And you will have the comfort of this cabin as a treat. When Nolan enters in the morning, we shall discover if she still believes you are me.’
Rebecca pulled out her nightdress, made of the softest of muslin. ‘Here.’
Miss Tilson fingered the fine cloth of the nightdress. ‘Perhaps. If you desire this.’
‘I do desire it,’ Rebecca insisted, helping Miss Tilson out of her dress. ‘I desire it very much.’
* * *
In the morning the sea became even more restless. The sky turned even more ominous shades of grey. Rebecca convinced Claire to continue to wear her clothes and impersonate her. Nolan, who remained abed, sick as ever, and the few seamen who attended them still did not guess that Claire masqueraded as Rebecca. Even with the two ladies together, the seamen never seemed to notice how alike they were.
The seamen were rushed and worried, however. There was a storm brewing, the seamen said. The ladies must remain below.
As the day progressed, Rebecca and Claire talked more about the weather than about their lives. They left the cabin rarely only to check on Nolan, who suffered so much she did not even react when Rebecca, dressed as the governess, attended her.
In the late afternoon, the storm broke, tossing the packet boat even more violently than before.
‘We should be nearing the coast,’ Rebecca said.
‘If the ship can even sail in this.’ Claire’s face—her identical face—paled in fear.
Suddenly shouts and pounding feet sounded from above them, then a loud crack and a thud that shook the boards over their heads. The two women grasped each other’s hands. Their masquerade became unimportant as the wind and sea pitched the ship so constantly that they could not change back into their own clothing.
The gentleman who’d passed them the day before opened the door without knocking. ‘Come above,’ he demanded in a voice they didn’t dare disobey. ‘We must abandon ship. Bring nothing.’