But Theo had neither blushed nor cried. Since the ceremony she had not spoken to him at all—until now, to express pleasure over the transformed cabin, with which he had had nothing to do. Neither did he like the transformation. A ship's cabin should be a ship's cabin. This looked like a stage-setting, specious and theatrical. It made him uncomfortable.

Theo continued to warm her hands at the stove; her back, under the cape which she had not removed, was both remote and rigid. She seemed totally unapproachable: a polite little stranger.

From the deck above their heads he could hear the trampling of sailors' feet. Six bells rang from somewhere, there came a musical shout, 'Heave away,' followed by the flapping of the mainsail. The vessel creaked.

He cleared his throat. 'We—we're getting under way.'

'Why, yes, I believe we are,' she answered, not moving.

He walked over beside her. 'Won't you take off your bonnet and cape? It's warm in here.'

She obediently untied the ribbons beneath her chin. He took the cape from her, hung it on a bracket near the door, taking as much time as possible to do so. He was increasingly uncomfortable. Damn it all, they were married, she was extremely pretty, she was his wife. He had dreamed of this moment. There had been nights in Carolina when he had tossed sweating on his bed, consumed with desire for her. For love of her he had refused to go to the brothels with his friends in Charleston.

But now he felt no desire. Her pale fixed little face, with its great staring eyes like—like a sleepwalker's almost frightened him. He could no more imagine embracing her than he could one of the cold marble statues in his plantation garden.

Yet this was a bridal night. On bridal nights a man must be masterful, vigorous, no matter the unresponsiveness of the bride.

Joseph paced a few uneasy steps across the cabin and made a pretense of peering through the porthole into the blackness outside. A light or two pricked out from the shore; the leaping flames of a huge bonfire moved slowly past, and out of sight. The packet glided downstream with velvet quietness. There was almost no motion. The inner uncertainty and fear of being inadequate, which had bedeviled him from childhood, now gnawed at Joseph's heart. He took refuge in the brusque, arrogant manner that was half-temperamental and half-concealment.

'I'm going to have a dram of negus,' he said abruptly, scowling at Theo as though she had forbidden it, 'if I can find a servant to make it for me on this damned boat.'

Theodosia turned her small head, her eyebrows raised in cool surprise.

'Alexis is waiting out by the saloon, you know. You have but to call him. He makes excellent negus.'