Brownies! Yum! Thanks, Bean02 . Puppies and brownies, such wonderful things!

Legrace: were you judging at the Mithril Awards this year? One of the gals there told me you've got your own "string quartet" at home.
I usually write on loose leaf paper when I should be doing something else! I write one or two chapter at a time and only have a vague idea of what's going to happen. The only thing that's set in stone is what happened in the past (what Rose tells them of her past)

Flossy: I know you like rogues! I used to, but then I knew one in real life, and I've had enough. :-( (To tell you the truth, if I wanted a rogue, I would have picked Jack! He's rascal enough for any woman.) But I'd rather have a rough, sweaty man than a perfect, perfumed model in an Italian suit!
Actually, I looked up the Most Roguish Thing I ever recall Tom Pullings doing….

'Who is Annie?' asked Jack.
'Oh, sir,' cried Pullings, blushing crimson, 'she is only a young person where I go to have a cup of coffee sometimes – a very small cup of coffee – and to learn a little of the language – the customs of the country.'
(The Ionian Mission)
That said, maybe this will make you smile: when Rose told him about swimming with dolphins, he was probably imagining her naked in the warm water... he he he he he

I have to say, I borrowed & watched the M&C DVD, and I had forgotten the whole Hollum storyline! Also, Jack and Stephen are just like an old married couple. Not meaning slash or anything sexual, but they are settled comfortably together despite their differences.

Gossip and Speculation

The weather held on the westward leg of their journey, and now Stephen heard talk, still growing among the men, about the lady and the first officer. There was no way to know exactly what had prompted the gossip, for as was always true with such things, a small kernel of truth had reached ridiculous proportions. Sometimes he wondered if he should classify the hands' talk as a new species since it grew and changed on its own, like any organism. There were knowing grins and ribald jokes that Stephen thought were rather unfortunate, being at the lady's expense. On the other hand, the man had great respect and affection for Mr. Pullings and were genuinely glad for him in his reported success with the lady.

Such a liaison had not occurred, Stephen knew, for his own cabin was off the gunroom along with both of theirs. The only place on the ship for any real privacy was the captain's cabin, and there was certainly no opportunity for the alleged lovers to be alone there. Rose Stirling was mercifully oblivious to all that was being said, and her behavior remained friendly, warm, and unchanged. Some very slight discomfort in the gunroom alerted Stephen to the fact that the other officers had also heard the talk. Of course, Jack was always the last to know such things, and since the responsibility of keeping him informed fell to his lieutenant, it was hard for Stephen to judge what he knew. Too well-bred to speak of either the crew's gossip or the possible amorous attachments of the officers, there was no way to be sure; however, Stephen noticed Jack watching them with a thoughtful expression sometimes. So, even Jack had heard something.

As for Tom Pullings himself, Stephen could not make out how much he had heard. He rather thought that Tom had heard a little but did not know for sure. He was not the kind of man who would eavesdrop or listen at doors, so he probably knew nothing for certain. On the other hand, the running of the ship was largely his responsibility and an officer of his experience would be able to ascertain the mood of the men as easily (and as magically, to Stephen's perception) as he rated the weather.

The turn southward around Cuba brought squalls, but nothing like the gales of the Atlantic. Rose simply put on her canvas hat and boat cloak and went up on deck. Stephen found that he preferred to sit below decks most of the time, so he was usually alone or tending to his patients. At first, it had seemed odd to him that she enjoyed the inclement weather so much. After some time, however, it became clear to him that it was not the weather itself that she welcomed but rather the opportunity to be of use that it presented. On rough seas, they were often shorthanded when landsmen who hadn't yet got their sea legs took ill or when able seamen suffered sprains and bruises in the wild lurching of the ship. Stephen discovered that when the captain was not on deck, Pullings, Mowett, and Allen allowed Mrs. Stirling to lend a hand with some simple tasks, which pleased her and amused them.

Once, he had asked her if she did not fear the storms and the possibility of being swept out to sea. She replied without really thinking. "When the time comes for me to go to the sea, I should like to do so on deck, with my eyes open and in complete awareness. Not huddled below like a rat in cramped quarters."

Those days when she was one of them, lending a hand, she was most alive, incandescent with her life force and the devil himself dancing in her eyes. Dangerous, Stephen knew, as he saw the way some of the others looked at her, including her reputed lover. They couldn't be blamed, of course, for her vibrancy and smoldering sensuality were powerfully provocative in the closed society of the ship. Stephen himself was not immune to her when she was like this. He wondered if anyone was.

While Mrs. Stirling was absent from his little office, he decided to do a little research and laid his snare carefully. Captain Howard and the marines were quite independent from the running of the ship, and during the foul weather, he sometimes sat in the gunroom when the other officers were all on deck or elsewhere. Stephen eventually caught him there alone, and although there had never been strong regard between them, their being so different, he decided to approach the captain to determine if he knew anything useful about the mysterious Colonel Pitt. Knowing Mr. Howard, however, he decided that frankness would be more effective than any attempt at deception.

"It is a curious thing, to be sure, captain," he said once they were settled together with a mug of spiced ale, "that Mrs. Stirling seems to dislike her husband's brother-in-law so intensely. Wouldn't you say?"

Captain Howard sipped his ale and considered the question. "No, doctor," he finally said. "I can't quite agree with you. I think it has less to do with the man himself that with what he represents."

"I don't quite follow."

"The lady's father was a Yank, was he not?" he began.

"What makes you say that?" Stephen was generally puzzled, for he knew very well that Flint had been English and his wife had been a high-born lady.

"His house is in Savannah. If he were an Englishman, it is difficult to imagine him dwelling in such a place."

"Yes, I see what you mean."

"Well, it is no secret that the sight of a red coat can have a peculiar effect on people. On the one hand, there are many young ladies who have an eye for an officer in his regimentals." Howard grinned and shook his head. "It was quite a heady thing in the days of my youth, I assure you. Those days are past for me, but the lads are enjoying the attention these days.

"The reverse can be true, as well. The Yanks hate the sight of us." He sighed a little and then smiled. "I don't blame the lady. Such things are taught by the parents, and she simply can't abide the uniform. In fact, I feel a bit sorry that an otherwise fine lady could hold such prejudice."

The words were not at all what Stephen had expected. "I believe I was once introduced to the Colonel. He is a handsome man, I seem to recall, quite young and dashing."

Captain Howard's eyes grew wide. "Colonel Jeremy Pitt?" he asked. Then, he laughed. "Not by a long sea mile, doctor! He is a rather portly fellow, very bald. A popular man among his fellow officers, but not among the young ladies, I fear."

"I see. I must have been mistaken." Despite his polite reply, Stephen's mind was racing.

Would Rose have cuckolded Richard Stirling, for whom she seemed to have genuinely cared, and who was, by all accounts, a good-looking man, for this Colonel Pitt? In everything he had learned about her, it seemed impossible. Had Pitt forced himself upon her? It seemed the most likely explanation, but something did not quite feel right about it. The gentle lady who sat with him in the afternoons was no victim, and the fiery woman that made all of them feel like virile men, the woman who had admitted to killing four men with the help of her small children, that woman would have not allowed a man to live after such a violation.

The tangle was unraveling slowly. Only a few pieces of the puzzle were missing, and the ones he had all fit into place.