With trepidation, she opened the response and unfolded the page.
My dearest Amelia,
Between the lines of your letter, I am hearing a very different story. Sleepless nights thinking of soulless code, scarcely eating, making little progress… I can see you are putting a good face on it, but there’s no need to do so with me.
She frowned at those words. She had tried so hard to be unflinchingly honest. Had she failed once again?
You and I both know that you’re not suited to this sort of thing. Come home. I will never say a word of this endeavor again; I am sure we can still find someone to marry you if you like.
The letter was puzzling. Exceedingly puzzling. Had Amelia not been clear that she was happy? That for every step back, she took more forward? Did she need to be more clear?
She stared at her mother’s words for half an hour, trying to bring to mind the letter she had sent. She’d struggled over it for long enough that she could recall large portions. There was no point in that letter in which she’d expressed unhappiness. Not one.
Where had she gone wrong? She could remember Captain Hunter telling her not to tell him it was fine if it wasn’t fine. She could remember the shame that had filled her at those words. She could remember the list she’d made of the untruths she’d used to tell.
She had forgotten to ask herself one very important question.
What would have happened if she had said she wasn’t willing to meet Mrs. Flappert?
She held her mother’s letter in her hands and imagined it now. Not good. It would have been…not good.
Amelia stared at the letter a while longer before shutting her eyes. “Oh.”
It was late at night when Lightfoot knocked on Grayson’s door. Grayson had not yet gone to sleep, but he’d changed into loose trousers. Lightfoot had an entire sheet of paper in his hand.
“Captain Hunter.” Lightfoot nodded in greeting.
“What is it, Lightfoot?”
“This one’s quite long. Also, none of it was in cipher. It’s…” Lightfoot held out the paper. “Sorry to be intruding on personal matters.”
“Personal matters?” His mind jumped to the sorts of things that might be so urgent as to warrant a personal telegram across the ocean.
Some of his alarm must have shown because Lightfoot shook his head urgently. “No, nothing like that. Just a little something from your sweetheart.”
“My what?”
By way of answer, Lightfoot set the page in his hand.
Captain Hunter. I never did apologize to you for lying. I said it was fine and it wasn’t. My mother told me to always tell the truth, and it pains me to realize I have fallen short. I have just realized that I was told to tell the truth, but when I did, my truth was not wanted. It has left my mind somewhat muddled. I am working to correct this flaw. Amelia Smith.
Grayson stared at this in bemusement. It was dark. He could hear the sound of waves around them. From his cabin, there was no chance of hearing the sound of cable slowly paying out, but he could imagine it, every click taking him farther from her, yet still staying this connected.
“My sweetheart?” he repeated.
“Are you questioning the first word or the second?”
Grayson thought about this. “Yes.” His nose wrinkled. “Both. You spent more time with her aboard the Celerity than I did. Why is she my sweetheart?”
“Hmm.” Lightfoot had a too-innocent look in his eyes. “Are you saying that she could be my sweetheart instead? I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m in Shanghai.”
His immediate response—that wash of jealous indignation—must have shown. He made himself unclench the fists he’d made at his side, relax his eyebrows, and let out a deep breath.
Lightfoot just laughed. “That’s why, sir.”
Gray shook his head. “I just want a worldwide telegraphic network. Is that so much to ask for?”
Lightfoot gestured to Amelia’s telegram in Grayson’s hand. “And look what it will be like once we get there.”
Amelia had already regretted the lengthy, abject missive she’d sent to Captain Hunter. She wanted to send another: Just forget I said anything.
But while she was stewing over how to word that, a reply arrived.
46.
This would be the “no, you fool” envelope. Or the “hold your tongue for important matters” envelope. She was certain of it. She opened the paper with shaking hands.
Don’t blame yourself for the failure of others. I am satisfied with what you are doing.
Chapter Seventeen
In bed that night, Amelia tried to make sense of Captain Hunter’s last message. She’d gone back through her record of the letter she had sent to him. She had cross-checked the reply number. But Captain Hunter’s don’t blame yourself for the failure of others had definitely been sent in response to her missive about saying she was fine. She traced the words she had sent: I was told to tell the truth, but when I did, my truth was not wanted.
She had told Captain Hunter the truth. Embarrassingly so. On multiple occasions. She could remember standing on a deck in Fuzhou harbor and blurting out that she was attracted to him.
She could remember the look he’d given her. The way he’d smiled and said that she had good taste, that yes, he was very attractive.
It had been arrogant. It had been conceited.
But it hadn’t made her feel ashamed. He’d not poked fun at her for daring to think she might like him. As outrageous as he’d been at the time, he had actually been very kind about it.
It felt particularly kind in comparison with what Amelia was used to. Those two things went hand-in-hand, she realized. The expectation that she would give him the truth depended on his not making her feel like a fool for doing so.
It felt like a very honest sort of connection. The sort of relationship she’d had with Leland, but without any of the fraternal companionship.
He never would, but if Captain Hunter ever blurted out an embarrassing truth about himself, Amelia would want to treat it kindly, rather than making him feel as if he had to hide away.
Thoughts of one kind of intimacy, indulged at night in her bed, led to thoughts of another. Captain Hunter’s kiss…
It wasn’t the first time she’d thought of it at night. It wouldn’t be the last. She clung to the memory of contradictory pieces of it—the softness of his lips, but the firmness of his hold on her. The way her thoughts had all seemed to come to a standstill, compared to the way they fluttered about her now.
Someone like him, someone who valued honesty… He would be very different than her husband had been. He wouldn’t want her lying in bed calculating how long he would take, hoping he would finish soon, wishing he hadn’t interrupted her in the middle of a book.
Someone like him would see to her. He’d care about what she thought. He’d want to know if his touch was too rough or too gentle.
As she thought, her hand crept between her legs.
It wasn’t the first time for that, either. Touching herself left Amelia confused and frustrated, as if there were something she were missing, but didn’t know to look for and couldn’t remember how to find. It felt like a name on the tip of her tongue, as if the introductions had been made once but she’d long forgotten what to call out.