Ellen closed her mouth and stared at him, eyes bright with some unknown emotion.
Mark shifted in his chair, staring right back. Had he ruined everything? Had he forced a conversation that she should’ve broached instead? But he was sotiredof the polite awkwardness in the mornings. Sotiredof pretending they were acquaintances when the history festered between them like a boil that needed to be lanced.
Ellen’s brow furrowed as she clearly thought through his words. And then her forehead smoothed and she picked up her knife and fork and turned back to her plate.
Mark’s heart sank. He’d ruined it. He’d gambled and lost everything, and there would be no third chance. His vision swam and the back of his throat burned.
“It occurs to me,” Ellen said suddenly, not looking up from her plate, “that we have discussed my occupation at length. But I haven’t asked you anything about yours.” She glanced up, and Mark caught a glimpse of her wide, vulnerable eyes. “I confess I don’t know anything about the Navy.” Ellen wrinkled her nose. “I heard someone call you a captain. Did you command your own ship?”
Hope fluttered in his veins. He straightened in his chair, threading his fingers together in his lap to hide his trembling hands. “You…you want to know?”
She speared a sausage. “Yes.”
Mark cleared his throat as the hope grew a little larger, blowing into his chest. “I was going to command my own ship. My commodore had an unrated vessel, a small brig, chosen and I was going to take charge in a few weeks. Instead, I left.”
“Did you go in as an officer?” Ellen inquired.
“No one goes in as an officer,” Mark explained, butterflies in his stomach. Here was his chance to reconnect with her, and hecouldn’t break it. “But there are…hmm, officer-in-training tracks, and I was put on that.”
“Due to your age?”
Mark smiled. “No. Due to the fact that my father was a lord.”
“So how does it work, exactly?”
“At the bottom are the seamen, men from the lower classes, often without education. After several years of service and gaining technical skills, a captain can promote some of them to petty officers: the quartermaster, the sailmaker. Then there are the cockpit mates, the low positions for the officer-track. I joined as a midshipman, the oldest of my rank on the ship by nearly five years. We were all young gentlemen, and we ate, slept, and drank in the cockpit, separate from the main sailors’ berth. Eventually, after six years in the Navy, you can take the lieutenant exam to become a commissioned officer.”
“And did you?”
“After a year as midshipman, my captain realized I was older and more educated than most of the other gentlemen around me, and unofficially promoted me to acting lieutenant. It was far more interesting, anyway—I quickly took over the ship signaling as foremost midshipman.” He flashed a smile as he became more confident, steady on the history of his own life. “And as soon as six years came, I took my exam and mailed it to the Admiralty. I was doing the duties of a second lieutenant already, anyway: if the captain and first lieutenant were indisposed, I was in charge. I also had responsibility for the discipline and welfare of the petty officers, and sometimes I oversaw taking in stores. So my captain promoted me to first lieutenant as soon as my exam results came back.”
“What about the other first lieutenant? Wasn’t he put out?”
Mark shook his head. “He got to captain a small cutter, so he was happy. It was a promotion for the both of us.”
“Did you…like it?” Ellen asked, as if not sure she wanted to know the answer.
Mark hesitated, thinking. “Parts of it, yes. While I got used tothe small quarters, I hated the iron and steam. Never got used to it. The order and logic was comforting, as was a clear path to success: take an exam, do your duty, become a commissioned officer. But…it was never my passion. I never fell in love with the sea or the sails like some men do. I think I always knew I didn’t want to spend my whole life doing it. I was also proud to become not only a first lieutenant, but a lieutenant good enough to command my own tiny ship.” What he’d loved the most, he realized, was telling Greek myths to the ship’s boys. Not the cockpit ones, but the orphans who’d enlisted at twelve years old. Mark had been surprised to discover they knew a few stories—apparently the lower orders could understand the Classics, if they just had a chance to learn, despite what Duncap had said. Vulcan, the blacksmith god, was their favorite: a true working man’s symbol. Dock workers specifically loved Herakles.
Ellen gave a tiny smile as she finished her plate.
“It was good for me, I think,” Mark continued. “I think we’d both agree I was arrogant and entitled back then. The Navy knocked some sense into me.” He gave her a self-deprecating smirk. “But am I sorry to leave it? No, I don’t think so. I learned, made some friends. Now I’m content to be here.” His hand reached out of its own accord and rested across the table, near her. Not enough to be demanding, close enough she could see it for the invitation it was.
She glanced at it, clearly uncertain whether she should cover his hand in hers or ignore it. Her cheeks tinged pink, and she poured herself another cup of tea.
“I joined on a whim,” Mark said softly. “I myself had three days of warning. And I honestly thought it wouldn’t matter to you. I convinced myself you liked being a married lady in Society more than being married to me.”
Ellen gulped her tea.
“Not that it makes it any better,” he added, withdrawing his hand. “But I want you to know I didn’t try to come up with ways to hurt you. I thought this would be a solution to please us both.”He waited for Ellen to ask the obvious question.Why? Why were you unhappy with me?
But she didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer up the answer.
“Regardless,” he said. “You shouldn’t have found out by seeing my valet put my bags at the front door.”
She poured more cream in her tea, turning it nearly a frothy white. More than he’d ever seen her drink.
“And when you demanded to know what was happening, I should’ve given you a better explanation than that I’d joined the Navy for four years and would see you after.” His voice softened. “You’re incredible. You always were. And I look at you now, and I wish I could strangle past me. How could I have passed up eight years in your company? With your wit and beauty, and?—”