“You should ring for Simone,” he said, turning about as if he hadn’t seen Sophie hide her book. “We’ll be going ashore in a half-hour or so. John has been over in a row-boat and says there’s an old monastery where we can stay the night. I hope to God they have a decent bed, because it’ll be a little unsteady onboard the Lark tonight. I’d rather we weathered the storm in an eight-hundred-year-old building.”

Sophie searched his face. For a minute, when Patrick pointed out that she was sitting on her book, he had such a look on his face—as if he knew about her Turkish grammar and was secretly laughing at her. No, it couldn’t be. He looked perfectly normal now.

She rang the bell for Simone as Patrick pulled on his boots and left the cabin.

“Come above when you’re ready, darling.” With a kiss on her forehead, he left.

Sophie slowly pulled a warm gown from the built-in wardrobe along one wall. Patrick had taken to calling her “darling” the last few days. And there was something about the endearment, even though she knew it was casually given, that made her feel unsteady in the knees and near to tears.

Simone burst through the door. Her hair was blown out of its neat knot, and her cheeks were flushed.

“We must go, ma’am! There’s a nasty wind blowing up, that’s what John says. It’s a mickle sky, he says.”

“A mackerel sky,” Sophie corrected her. She hadn’t got any further than her second stocking.

“Whatever kind of sky,” Simone replied tartly, “there’s a nasty color to it, and John says we needs get off this boat right away!” Simone had struck up a flirtation with the first mate, and she was full of sealore and seamen’s slang.

With a sigh Sophie stood up as Simone threw a gown over her head with reckless haste.

“No time to do anything much with your hair.” Simone’s fingers were trembling as she bundled her mistress’s curls into a loose coil on top of her head. Simone had finally gotten over her seasickness, but she didn’t want to be on the ship when a storm hit, no indeed. Likely the Lark would just break free and toss its way across the waves. Across the waves and right to the bottom, Simone thought, her fingers moving even faster.

Before Sophie had time to think, Simone had bundled her into a plum-colored pelisse, thrust a fur muff over her hand, and pushed her out the door.

Up on deck there wasn’t nearly the frenzy there had been in the main cabin. Patrick was standing at the rail. The crew was pulling down the sails and lashing the masts in a calm and orderly fashion.