The Other Miss Bridgerton (Rokesbys #3)(58)

“Scurvy is more common on longer trips?”

“Very much so. The Infinity generally keeps to European waters, and we almost never see it.”

She thought about that for a moment. “What sort of journey would qualify as exceptionally long?”

“India could take a good four months. Parts of South America the same.”

Poppy shuddered. “That sounds awful.”

“I agree.” Andrew frequently thanked his maker (or more often his king) that he’d never been asked to carry out a mission outside Europe. He loved the sea, but he adored the moment of stepping onto dry land. And while he regularly marveled over just how much of the world was covered with water, he was very much aware that he had never experienced the true infinity of the ocean.

Ironic, really, that that was the name of his vessel.

“Ships often make stops along the way,” he told Poppy, “but not always. I heard of one recent voyage to India that took twenty-three weeks.”

She gasped. “Without a single stop?”

“That’s what I’m told. At any rate, I insist upon fruit on every voyage, even short ones such as this.”

“Fruit?”

“It seems to keep the disease at bay.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted. “I’m not sure anyone does, to be honest. But I’ll not argue with results.”

“Fruit,” she murmured. “How fascinating. I wonder how they figured it out.”

“Simple observation, I should think.”

She nodded absently, the way she did when she was lost in thought.

He enjoyed watching her; sometimes he would swear that he could almost see her thinking.

Andrew had never given much thought to the fact that women were not permitted a higher education, but it was a crime that Poppy Bridgerton had not been able to go to university. Her curiosity was endless. She asked questions about everything, and he had no doubt that she kept all the answers stored neatly away for later use.

Or for further examination. He often caught her just thinking . Poppy was as sharp a conversationalist as anyone, but she spent a great deal of time pondering great and deep questions.

Or at least he assumed they were great and deep questions. It was just as likely she’d been plotting his demise.

“Why are you smiling?” she asked suspiciously.

“Because I don’t have scurvy?” he quipped.

She elbowed him. She did that a lot too.

“If you must know, I was reflecting upon the fact that you seemed lost in thought, which led me to wonder just what it was you were thinking about. Which in turn led me to wonder if you were plotting my demise.”

“Oh, I haven’t done that for days,” she said blithely.

“I do improve upon association.”

She snorted.

“I’ll take that as an agreement,” he said. “But if I might ask, what were you thinking so deeply about?”

“Scurvy,” she said.

“Still?”

She shrugged. “There’s a lot to think about. Do any of your books mention it? I could read about it on the way back. It would be far more interesting than Ottoman engineering.”

Personally, Andrew found Ottoman engineering fascinating, but he was well aware that few shared this particular passion. “I don’t think so,” he said, “but now that you mention it, I probably should acquire a medical text.” There was no doctor on board the Infinity ; it was far too small a vessel for that. A guide to diseases would be helpful the next time someone fell ill.

“Can one buy English language books in Lisbon?” she asked.

“If so, I doubt you’d find something so specific.”

She made a gesture that seemed to say, It was worth a try , and then she was quiet, her thoughtful frown once again making twin furrows between her brows.

Thinking again. Or still. Andrew smiled. If he leaned toward her, would he hear the wheels and gears of her mind spinning away?

“I wonder . . .” she said slowly.

He waited. She did not finish the thought. “You wonder . . .” he finally urged.

She blinked, as if she’d forgotten that he might be listening to her. “I think the problem must be one of two kinds: either the body is lacking in some kind of nutrient—presumably something one doesn’t get on a long voyage but exists in fruit—or the disease is spread from one man to another, and there is something in fruit that acts as a cure.”

“Actually,” he told her, “the fruit seems to act as both a prevention and a cure.”

“Really?” She looked almost disappointed. “That’s too bad. I mean, of course it’s good that it does both, but from an investigative standpoint, it would be much easier to figure out why if it was just one or the other.”

“Not necessarily. If it’s a case of the body not getting a certain nutrient that is within the fruit, that would account for it being both the prevention and the cure.”

“Of course!” Her whole face lit up. “You’re brilliant!”

“Alas, I have finally convinced you.”

She didn’t even notice his quip. “I wonder what it is in the fruit, though. And is it all fruit? What about vegetables? Would a juice made of fruit do the trick?”