Except George, of course. Dominic wondered at that. They were barely relations.
George followed him to the door of his cabin. Dominic threw his things onto his cot and knelt by his trunk.
“Will we practice again tomorrow?” the boy asked.
“If you want to.” Dominic glanced sideways at him. “Do you want to?”
The boy nodded, face still red from the exertion of their lesson.
“I will see you after forenoon watch.” George was enjoying it, then. That pleased Dominic. The lad was as quiet as ever, but now he regularly looked Dominic in the eye, and he had even told a joke.
Dominic opened the lid of his trunk. A flash of gray shot out and latched onto his shirt. He yelped and jumped back, but it didn’t fall.
A rat.
It clawed up the front of his shirt, racing toward his face. Dominic stumbled, an unintelligible scream spilling from his lips. George ran in and swatted the creature down. Its rough fur stuck out at odd angles. Those beady eyes set Dominic’s insides wriggling. The rat scrambled back toward the trunk, but the boy kicked it out of the cabin. It sailed into the wardroom, squeaking and writhing. When it landed under the table, the pest rolled to its feet and scurried away.
Dominic panted, wiping the front of his shirt to rid himself of the feeling of claws racing up his torso. Where had the little devil come from? He must have left the trunk open a crack that morning. Of all the stupid mistakes to make.
He gripped George’s shoulder. What a dolt, scared over a rat! Ships were rampant with them. “Thank you, George. I apologize for getting frightened like a little girl.” He shook his head ruefully.
George didn’t laugh as he expected. The boy fixed him with a flat look. Dominic couldn’t read the thoughts behind those bright eyes.
He pulled on his waistcoat, hands still shaking from the surprise visitor, then reached for his coat. A curse slipped from his lips at the sight of a hole the creature had eaten through between the line of buttons and the sleeve.
“What is it?” George asked.
Dominic showed him the gnawed hole. “I’ll be a shabby lieutenant until we get back to England.” Not that they wore their dress uniforms very often. But every Sunday the hole would be there for all to see.
“I can mend that.” George pulled the coat closer to survey the damage.
“You can?” Most men on board could do basic repairing, but their work was meant only to hold things together until a better solution could be found.
“I mend the captain’s coat often enough. You can only see the mending if you know it’s there.” There was no pride in his voice.
Dominic looked at the hole. Did he trust the boy to fix something so expensive? George had trusted him enough to come back for more lessons. What sort of friend would Dominic be if he didn’t offer trust in return? “Very well, I will bring it to the captain’s cabin after services.”
George nodded. “I’d best go see if the captain needs anything.” He saluted and left.
Dominic scowled one more time at the glaring hole. No doubt the boy thought him ridiculous now. He chuckled. One thing he could count on—George would not tell a soul about his unmanly display. He’d have to console himself in that.
Bells tolled the end of the watch as Georgana scrambled up the ladder to the upper deck, a telescope tucked under her arm. She wondered if she would miss the constant ringing if she ever found a place on land to belong to.
She moved out of the way of the hatch to let the men go below. Her gaze flicked across the deck. Lieutenant Peyton stood at the larboard rail near the bow. His eyes were closed, a peaceful smile on his face—the picture of a man who knew where he belonged. Perhaps she could capture that scene if she were better at drawing. If only Grandmother had allowed her to draw more than dull landscapes.
But Grandmother wasn’t here now, and the idea of drawing figures tickled Georgana’s mind.
Lieutenant Peyton spotted her and raised his hand in greeting. The memory of Sunday morning and the terror on the lieutenant’s face forced its way into her head. She kept her face passive, masking the giggle bubbling inside. What a world of trouble she would be in if she allowed such a feminine sound to escape.
The lieutenant walked toward her but didn’t stop when he reached her. He stuck out a hand and tousled her cap as he passed on his way to the quarterdeck.
The quarterdeck! Georgana remembered the telescope in her hands. Her father had sent her to the cabin to fetch it. She’d let herself get distracted by Lieutenant Peyton again. Georgana wheeled around and followed the lieutenant.
It wasn’t as though she’d never seen a handsome man on the Deborah. Lieutenant Hargood had been severely handsome. Lieutenant Moyle was nice to look at. Even Mr. Jordan, the sailing master, though nearly as old as her father, still had pleasing features. But something about Lieutenant Peyton’s hazel eyes, which twinkled as though holding in a laugh, and his firm jaw, offset by an easy smile, made Georgana hardly able to look away.
Tense voices carried across the quarterdeck as she climbed the steps up to the back of the ship. Most of the crew wasn’t allowed on the quarterdeck, which was reserved for officers, but she was. One more thing for the other boys to hold against her.
Her father and Lieutenant Jarvis stood at the far end of the deck. She couldn’t see her father’s face, but his shoulders hunched forward like a cat ready to pounce. Jarvis’s square face pulled into a snarl as he spoke.
“I am not the only one who feels we should have gone after the schooner we saw this morning,” the second lieutenant said. “Ask Peyton what he thinks.”
Lieutenant Peyton had positioned himself a little to the right of her father. “I love a good chase but defer to Captain Woodall’s judgement.”
“Are we to sit here and wait until corsairs start firing on one of the merchantmen before we do our duty to protect them?” Jarvis’s face flamed. “Must we wait until the fox is in the henhouse?”
Papa’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “I will not expend our resources and men running after neutral ships. The schooner did not make contact, and we will let it be.” He spoke through a clenched jaw.
Georgana crept forward, head down. She didn’t want to draw their anger to her by calling undue attention.
Jarvis threw up his hands. “But—”
“There is more to being an officer in His Majesty’s navy than lusting after combat, Mr. Jarvis. Every battle comes at a cost. As captain, it is my duty to determine whether a fight is worth the loss of life and ammunition. When you are captain, heaven forbid, you can take those chances with your men.”
Georgana flinched. Jarvis would not take that slight well. Indeed, she could practically see steam rolling up from his face.
“I have chosen not to risk lives today,” her father continued. “You would do well not to question my judgment, Lieutenant.” He turned toward Lieutenant Peyton, cutting off further conversation.
Jarvis did not move for a moment, eyes boring into the back of Papa’s head. His shoulders heaved. Then he snapped a brisk salute and stormed from the quarterdeck. Georgana scuttled out of the way to avoid getting trampled.
Lieutenant Peyton quietly gave his report and retreated.
“I will be finished with your coat tonight,” Georgana said as he passed. “Shall I bring it to the wardroom?”