Castaway Dreams Read Free

of young ladies, Doctor? Must they be as useful as," she swallowed, "maggots?"
    He stepped closer to her, intrigued now. She smelled of lavender, and the part of his brain connected to certain anatomical functions registered this and woke up. It had been a long time since he'd relaxed in port with hired companionship. Then he remembered young ladies were not in a class of women where one could dally without consequences, even young ladies of questionable reputation.
    But he was still intrigued.
    "I do not deal much with young ladies, Miss Farnham. I can tell you though all the women I do know have been, in one fashion or another, useful." He thought back to a certain young woman who ran off with an American and added, "Some are extremely useful, and competent in a crisis, and yes, that is how I judge people."
    Her eyelashes lowered, shading her thoughts from him. She wore something ruffled and pink, of course, and he noted that women's gowns were now so high-waisted it brought their bosoms into pronounced prominence. She had a shawl of flowered silk wrapped about her against the evening breeze and the light wind whipped strands of hair out from under the frilly and completely non-utilitarian bit of lace atop her head.
    "Dr. Murray! Such a harsh assessment of the ladies! La, sir, you would find yourself shunned from the most entertaining drawing rooms for such a puritanical outlook."
    "Since it has never been my desire to be a success in entertaining, I will not fret over it, Miss Farnham."
    She seemed to be mulling over his words, then her face brightened.
    "I do have a useful skill, Dr. Murray."
    He looked at her.
    "I am quite talented at picking out just the right hat or gloves to complement an ensemble."
    She smiled, waiting for his praise.
    "Miss Farnham, I would hardly term that a useful skill."
    "Oh, but I beg to differ, sir. Knowing which accessories make an outfit complete is what makes us civilized, and attractive to look upon."
    He found his mouth opening to argue this and then shut it. What was the point? But now, with her mind engaged, she was prepared to defend her claim. She came closer then and lightly laid her lilac-gloved hand on his arm.
    "What is life without some color, some entertainment, Doctor? Should our days only be filled with work and useful functions? What of..." She thought for a moment, and since he suspected this was a rare event, he did not interrupt her. "Butterflies! Butterflies spend their days flitting from flower to flower, Doctor. They live to entertain."
    "You are mistaken, Miss Farnham. Butterflies are useful creatures, as are other members of the Lepidoptera family. Butterflies and moths spread pollen amongst plants. Even the ugliest and plainest moth can do that job, just as a butterfly does. They also make a meal for birds."
    "My dear Dr. Murray! Do you see butterflies floating through a meadow on a summer morning and only think of them as food for larger creatures?"
    He would have told her how long it had been since he'd seen a summer meadow, with or without butterflies adorning it, but he was too aware of the feel of her hand on his arm. She was not applying any pressure at all, but it drew his senses. That butterfly touch, even muted by her gloves and his coat, made him aware of how alien she truly was, how soft and clean and fragrant, so different from the men with whom he spent his days and his nights.
    "Miss Daphne Farnham!"
    Mrs. Cowper's grating voice broke his concentration, and he looked up from the soft lips of his interlocutor to see her chaperone bearing down on them like a ship of the line. Even in the near dark he saw how pale the older woman's face was. She was also short of breath, but given her size that was to be expected. One could not haul that much weight up and down between decks without strain.
    "Mrs. Cowper, are you well?"
    She looked at him disdainfully.
    "I am well enough, Mr. Murray! I just need to sit down and drink my cordial to feel tip-top again. As for