Runaway Wallflower (Matchmaking for Wallflowers Book 3) by Bianca Blythe

Author:Bianca Blythe [Blythe, Bianca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-01-03T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Rupert may never have considered himself prone to excessive amounts of smiling, but his lips seemed to veer permanently upward, as if they’d found a gravitational pull toward the sky.

Or Mr. Thornton.

He shook his head. He hadn’t thought of himself as lonely, but last night had amused him. Fish. Who studied fish? He smiled.

Mr. Thornton didn’t resemble the type of passenger to the West Indies he’d expected. He hadn’t once confided in Rupert his desire to make his fortune and to build a home in England that rivaled that of the other West Indian sugar tycoons, and he hadn’t disparaged those who did not express similar monetary and landowning ambition. He certainly hadn’t lamented the rising cost of slaves as more than one distinctly unpleasant landowner had in one of Barbados’s public houses.

No, Mr. Thornton was downright agreeable, even though the man was American. Rupert had braced himself for the typical smugness ex-colonialists tended to feel when faced with an Englishman, spouting sentiments about freedom and independence, when everyone knew that the English had simply not seen the colonies valuable enough to put up a proper fight for.

They’d never have let their sugar plantations in the West Indies go.

Rupert smiled. He already couldn’t wait for when they would have dinner later tonight.

Mr. Thornton had dragged a chair from his cabin and placed it on the quarterdeck. He seemed not to care that foamy water from waves slopped onto the vessel’s surface with regularity. He gazed at the horizon with an unabashed joy that made something in Rupert’s chest ache.

Thornton clutched a notebook, and his hand flew as he sketched the waves. He resembled no one Rupert had ever encountered.

The Americans he’d met had been brash and burly, eager to flaunt their successes in the past wars. The few scientists he’d encountered had been pale-faced fellows who blinked uncertainly, as if surprised to see the sun. And though he couldn’t deny Thornton’s definite awkwardness, or how at certain moments he’d caught the man jerking his head away from him, as if unpleased to see him, he’d never met a scientist who expressed such passion for his field.

“Didn’t know you whistled.” Fergus’s voice broke through his contemplation. “What do you think about the new passenger?”

Rupert jumped. “You startled me.”

“Oh.” Fergus chuckled. “Never done that before. Usually you’re always so quick, Cap’n.”

“Maybe I’m catching a cold,” Rupert said, and he averted his head before he could catch Fergus scrutinizing him again.

Or remarking that Rupert didn’t appear to have the least bit of a cold.

“If I’d known you had a passion for whistling, Cap’n, I would ‘ave suggested you join us when we all play together. Better than Ole Jeremiah’s singing, that’s for bloody sure.”

“I don’t have a passion for it,” Rupert insisted.

“Ah, just break into spontaneous song? Rather romantic like.” Fergus smirked.

“I’m not—” Rupert halted his bluster as Fergus’s smirk widened. His cheeks heated, even though, with this wind, he shouldn’t be feeling the least bit warm. “Never mind.”

The words were a faint rebuke, and Fergus’s smile did not disappear.

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