Author's Note: For the record, I had three different (totally different) ideas on how to write the next portion of the story. The original eventually won out, after much internal debate over which one was the most "in character". I liked this one best and it cut out a lot of boring fillers, which would include the boring, rational advice of Mr. Harvey and a more sedate story line. Colin has always struck me as hot-headed and determined, after all. Despite that, I'm always afraid I'm going to upset my devote readers if I take a direction they dislike, so I do hope the twisting plot will still be enjoyed.

~BD


Aftermath ~ where my heart will take me

Through the early morning fog, the liner's whistle sounds long and sharp, and she gazes out across the wharves of Boston with a surge of familiarity.

When she was a little girl, her father would sometimes bring her to the wharves to watch the ships coming and going, and would point out the merchant ships versus the little fishing boats versus the huge liners. She had always loved the big liners in particular; the way they dominated the horizon and the long piers with their smokestacks and massive outlines.

"You know, I do believe it still smells of tea," her companion complains.

She laughs, for she cannot help it; then she tosses her head and says proudly, "Of course it does. Boston Harbor will always smell of tea."

A ludicrous statement, yes. Because Boston Harbor does not smell of tea and they will never stop teasing each other, even if they live to be a hundred. She suddenly and anxiously wonders, yet again, what the Harveys will say when they discover the note the two of them left on the dining table. It isn't even dawn, yet. By the time the Harveys discover the little piece of paper, it will be far too late.

Perhaps her companion notices the way her hands clenched on the railing, or the way her smile has slowly faded, for he touches her shoulder and says quietly, "Do you want to go back? We still have time."

The whistle sounds again, cutting him off, and she shakes her head. He has misgivings about this decision, just as she does, but the overwhelming desire to be together seems to cancel out all the anxiety in the end. It will all work out eventually, after all. The Harveys won't be angry – probably just shocked – and even that will only last a little while before they calm down and rationalize their charges' decision.

"We've come this far, haven't we?" she reminds him softly, holding her left hand up. Two rings – one a plain gold band and the other set with a large diamond – glitter even in the darkness of early morning.

He wraps his fingers around hers and kisses her wrist. "Mr. Harvey's going to kill me," he sighs, his breath tingling against her cold skin.

Her smile fades a second time. "He has enough to worry about. Besides, it was partly his idea. And partly mine. So he can't blame you at all."

That is true enough. It was Mr. Harvey who mused that it would probably be best if she were removed from Boston for a couple of months, while he handled the probation of the will in her place. Randolph's odd appearance at her father's funeral two days before left them all with an unpleasant aftertaste, and if he was daring enough to show his face in public, despite the fact that he's supposedly engaged to another woman, then there is no telling what he will do next. And she doesn't want to be around when he reappears.

There is a sudden, slight lurch as the tugs begin to drag the liner away from the docks, and she relishes the whip of stinging air on her face. It takes her mind off Randolph and how sick he makes her feel.

"Where are we going?" she asks, ready to think of something else. Strange that she doesn't know where they are going, but then again, she let her companion buy the tickets and the rings, while she was packing their collective trunks the day before. Their wedding had been nothing short of a complete secret; they'd left under the pretense of seeing a motion picture the previous evening, and instead went to the nearby parish and explained everything to the middle-aged, Methodist pastor. He had been hesitant at first, but finally agreed to perform the ceremony with his wife as their witness, and they'd returned to home only to hurry off to bed in separate bedrooms (feigning tiredness and promising to tell everyone about the motion picture the next morning), having previously agreed that to try and consummate their marriage with the Harveys and Jamison and Mrs. Opal in the same house would likely result in chaos. They'd even taken their rings off before they entered to house, to avoid detection. Then, at five o'clock in the morning, they'd woken and silently slipped out the back way into the darkness, their trucks having already been sent on to the docks the afternoon before. A hired cab met them at the corner to take them to their destination.

His smile becomes mischievous. "I thought I'd wait and let you find out when we get there."

She turns and gapes at him, before lightly pushing his shoulder. "Oh, but that would be just like you!" she cries, incredibly frustrated and yet incredibly excited at the same time. "England?" She knows she must sound hopeful; she has wanted to see Misselthwaite for some time now, and to meet his father and two closest friends.

"Actually, no." The smile deepens in his eyes. "Don't try to guess, you never will."

When she huffs, he laughs and adds, "Honestly, Cin. You told me a night ago that you wanted to leave straightaway, and I was sort of at the mercy of the timetables! I had to pick whatever sounded best, and there wasn't a lot to choose from! The next liner leaving for England was tomorrow, so we're on this one instead, since you insisted on leaving today. I do hope you like the destination. I know I do, I've been there before."

She shakes her head and sighs, before slipping her arm into his. "I suppose it's just as well," she remarks. "And it wasn't as though I didn't know what I was getting myself in to."

The docks are receding, the tugs have almost reached the point where the ropes will be removed and they will be sailing under their own power. The Atlantic spreads out before them, a vast expanse of gray-black water and fog, and she is glad of it. She wants to feel light, again. She wants to feel like her father's daughter, again. She wants to forget the sadness and anxiety of the past few months. She wants to be Cindy Chloe Castor Craven, traveling and expanding her mind. Her father would want that.

After a few moments, her husband says, "I'm starving. Do you want breakfast?"

And she laughs at such a blasé statement, grateful that she can laugh. Perhaps breakfast is the most important of their worries, and that makes her feel wonderful. She leans her head on his shoulder.

"Yes! Breakfast does sound good."

They make their way back inside the ship, and when they reach a deserted corridor, she takes the opportunity to rise to her toes and kiss him pliantly on the mouth. Their last kiss was lightening-fast in the church, for they had both been nervous and worried and neither had wanted to act too eager in front of a man of the clergy and his tight-lipped, narrow-eyed wife.

Almost immediately, he melts eagerly into her, his arms snaking around her waist and his mouth opening to hers. Her clothing suddenly feels overly warm and she realizes she's tugging at his cravat, and she can feel his hands opening her coat and slipping inside.

Just as his fingers brush her ribs, she manages to break the kiss before things go any further, and asks suspiciously, "You did just book one room, didn't you?"

His forehead rests against hers and his hands fall to her hips. "Why on earth would I book two? Bloody waste of money, that'd be."

She can see the unfiltered lust in his eyes, because she feels it within her chest and knows what it's like. Still, there is a time and a place for such things, and she says in a resigned sort of voice, "Well, after breakfast, I think we both need to get some sleep, first."

His expression changes slightly, becoming one of disappointment. She can tell he has other ideas. Gently, she reminds him, "I didn't sleep well last night, Colin."

"Neither did I," he admits. As though it wouldn't stop him in the least, the second they reach their room and lock the door behind them.

"Oh, do come on." She links her arm into his again. "We can discuss it after breakfast."

And as they make their way to the dining room, she can't help but glance down at his left hand, and she smiles as his own ring glints in the lights in the corridor.