Jay said nothing for a moment, the only reaction to her outburst a tight clenching of the muscles in his jaw. "You, my dear lady, are the most confoundedly confusing woman I have ever met," he said, trying not to sound as exasperated as he felt. Nothing he said or did seemed to make her happy, and yet, that wasn't what she was paying him for. She was paying him to lead her to her father's remains and that was all. Everything else - good or bad - was extra. He had half a mind to take her over his knee, but that would be extremely improper and would probably make her cry. If there was one thing he didn't want, it was to see her tears. She was simply going to have to toughen up or she wasn't going to survive in the jungle. "However, confounded or not, breakfast awaits. Dare I assume you are hungry, because frankly, I am starving."

Eleanor's jaw clenched almost in an echo of his own subtle display of temper. "Perhaps if you were not such a confusing contradiction of a man, Captain Marshall, I would not confound you so," she shot back. "Breakfast, you say. Yes, I should eat. We couldn't possibly have me doing something so dreadfully feminine as fainting because you are too stubborn to be absolutely clear with me."

"Confusing contradiction?" he echoed, brows furrowing in irritation. He was not quite angry yet, but he was slowly working up to it. "I have been trying my damnedest to protect you, Lady Howard. I do not think I could be any more clear than that, but if you insist, I shall try. You hired me to lead this expedition into the jungle to find out what happened to your father because either you or Mr. Finley believes I am the best man for the job. The men I have hired to accompany us do not answer to you, they answer to me. I have agreed - reluctantly - that you accompany us on the journey, but you are not one of us. You are not one of my men. You are not trained for this. The dangers in the jungle are very real. There is no telling what we might encounter there. People die in the jungle, Lady Howard. I will do my damnedest to make sure that each and every member of our party gets out alive, but I will not have you undermining my authority or having a temper tantrum because things do not go your way. I do not think I need to remind you that we are not here on holiday. I have offered you my friendship. You can take it or leave it, as you will. Whatever you decide, you can be assured I will do everything in my power to find out what happened to your father. That is what you are paying me to do. I know you are hurting. I know you are worried about your father. I understand that you feel you are alone in the world, and I am trying to be polite and accommodating, but I can assure you, the jungle will not care who you are or what you are feeling. The jungle doesn't care if you are male or female, young or old, rich or poor. You are a woman in a man's world here, Lady Howard, and the sooner you understand that, the better."

For the first time, real anger flashed across Eleanor's face - anger and hurt. She had thought she was doing the right thing in attempting to integrate into his team, prepared to take orders and behave exactly as he wanted her to, but it seemed that, despite his words, she truly was nothing but an encumbrance, a burden he did not want and would not even have considered enduring if she was not paying him.

"Thank you for making yourself so clear, Captain Marshall," she said, each word clipped and harsh from her throat. "I may be a woman in a man's world, but I stepped here without being forced. I will shoulder my share of the burden, I will keep up with you all, I will not give you even a moment's hesitation in my conduct. And since you are so clear that I am not one of you - " She pushed the orange back into his hand. "Go and enjoy your breakfast with the other men, captain. I know when I am not welcome." She spun on her heel, already marching back toward her cabin, her cheeks bright more with hurt shame than with anger.

He didn't so much as flinch as she flung his words back into his face and stomped away like a spoiled child to lick her wounds in private. He didn't try to stop her either. If he had to hurt her feelings to make her understand that she wasn't one of them, then so be it. No, she wasn't one of them - she was so much better than them. A few tears and a little heartache were worth it if it kept her alive. He clenched his jaw again and turned away from her cabin to make his way to the First Class dining room to make sure they delivered breakfast to her cabin, the orange held tightly in his hand.

Alex Finley glanced up from the table where the rest of the group were beginning their meal. A concerned frown touched his expression. "Where's Ellie?" he asked, peering behind Jay as though expecting to find her there.

"In her room," he replied, tossing Finley the orange. He just barely stopped himself from telling him that she was probably having a good cry because of him. He'd probably find out sooner or later on his own anyway. He grabbed a cup and poured himself a cup of tea, though he'd have preferred a brandy or scotch at the moment.

The Scotsman caught the orange easily, glancing at it with a raised brow. "So you left her there after having words again, aye?" he said, disapproval in his voice. "On her own. While we're all here without her."

"Yes, on her own. What would you have me do' Carry her over my shoulder and force her to join us" I offered to escort her here. I even offered my friendship. I tried, Finley, but I honestly do not know what she wants from me," he said. "I assure you she won't go hungry. I'll have some breakfast sent to her cabin," he added as he claimed a seat across from Finley.

"She wants a friend in you, Jay," Finley pointed out, sipping his coffee before turning his attention to buttering his muffin. "She's not usually so sharp as to deny herself companionship without a little encouragement from others, though."

"Then perhaps she should not be so prickly," Jay replied, feeling as though it was the lady who rejected his offer this time. He had offered his friendship, and the only mistake he seemed to have made was in using her title instead of her name. What did she expect when she constantly called him captain" He was merely returning her cordiality in like.

Finley nodded to himself, aware that he would be hearing this from Eleanor's side in the not too distant future. "Somehow I find myself hoping our journey to Manaus will be shorter than expected," he commented. "I doubt either of you will notice your crossed wires until you're forced into daily contact."

"Perhaps it's better this way," Jay said, as he skewered a few slices of bacon and added them to his plate. "I need the men to respect my authority, and I need both of you to do the same. There can only be one leader, Mr. Finley. My goal is to get everyone out of there alive. That goal does not involve making friends." It was a lonely way to live, but making friends was too dangerous and sometimes too painful. "You were in the war. You know how it is," he added. "She does not."

"If I may ....what makes you so certain she's trying to undermine your leadership?" Finley asked carefully. He hadn't seen a woman trying to undermine a man last night; he'd seen a young woman attempting to make friends, only to second-guess herself and lose all confidence. He nodded at Jay's addendum. "Aye, I know it. And you're wrong there in thinking she does not. Her father was strict, a military man in his own home."

"She's not consciously doing it, but making wagers with the men. It's just ..." He shrugged, unsure what it was exactly or why he had objected to it. She was a proper lady, not a soldier in the trenches. "It's not proper."

"Ah." Finley finished his mouthful, washing it down with another gulp of coffee. "So you would prefer her to be ladylike. To be weak and feminine and everything that a woman of her rank was before the war. Yet if you accept that the war changed the world, Jay, you must accept that the women of the world changed with it."

Jay frowned as he picked up his cup of tea. "I'm afraid I haven't been home long enough to know how the world has changed, Finley." He took a sip of his tea, pausing a moment before continuing. "I'm not sure what she wants of me. I'm not even sure we can be friends." Being friends meant being equals, and as far as he was concerned, they weren't that.

"So you're holding the distance, are you?" Finley asked him curiously. "Look, I'm not saying she's in the right and you're in the wrong. I think you've crossed wires, the both of you, and you're not being clear. But I also think you need to know what you're prepared to handle in this wee relationship of yours before you can be clear with her."

"I have not looked," she admitted, but she gestured toward the sideboard, where covered dishes lay, along with a couple of bottles. "I apologize for Alex. He does not know when to leave well enough alone, it seems."

"He means well," Jay replied in response to her apology. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing toward the sideboard, as well, allowing her to take the lead. "I believe he is trying to play matchmaker," Jay said, curious to see what she'd say to that.

Her reaction was charmingly open, offering him a blush and shy eyes for a long moment before she recalled herself. "I asked him not to," she said in a timid tone. "I ....I would never force my company upon anyone, especially when ....if I-I liked him and he did not seem to like me."

"I never said I did not like you, Lady ..." He trailed off, frowning, suddenly at a loss as to how to go on. She did not seem to like his formal use of her title, but he did not know her well enough to call her by her given name. "I'm afraid I am not sure how to address you."

She hesitated, biting her lip. "I ....should like you to call me by my name, but I am aware that I cannot ask you to do that," she said quietly. "For your comfort, I would prefer to be Miss Howard. Lady Howard was always my mother; I am not at ease with the title."

"Very well, Miss Howard," he said, a slightly nervous smile on his face as he ushered her onward to the sideboard, where their dinner awaited. "I'm afraid I'm not very good at the social graces. My mother passed when I was still a boy, and my father was too busy trying to support us to spend much time teaching us manners," he said. Despite that claim, he seemed to have learned good manners somewhere along the way.

"Captain ..." She hesitated again, shaking her head. "I am sorry for the way I spoke to you this morning. It was childish and selfish to take offense so easily." She managed a faint smile as he ushered her to the sideboard. "How would you like me to address you, in future?"

"My given name is James, but no one calls me that anymore. I am Captain Marshall to my men, and Jay to my friends. I suppose for now, it would be best to call me Captain," he told her. It didn't seem right to have her call him by his given name, if he wasn't doing the same. He reached for the bottle that been left for them there, pausing a moment to examine the label. "I'm not sure where Finley came up with this, but it's a good vintage," he said, as he went about uncorking the bottle of wine in his hand.

"As you wish, captain." As he uncorked the bottle, she began to investigate the covered dishes. Tonight's First Class fare seemed to be roast beef and potatoes, with a mixed vegetable side, and still piping hot. "I am sorry, I must ask ....why are you so determined to keep me separate from your men and at arm's length' You must trust them, or you would not have hired them, so ....I do not understand why I must be isolated."

"Is that what you think I am trying to do?" he asked, just as he pried the cork from the bottle with a loud popping sound and moved to fill two glasses. The wine appeared to be a burgundy, though it was hard to say whether it was a good vintage or not.

"That is ....what it feels like," she said, choosing her words with care. Eleanor did not want another argument with him. "You were very ....explicit ....this morning in making it clear that I am not one of you and I cannot hope to be made welcome among you. It is very hard to be told that I cannot even hope to find a place in your ranks."

"There will be plenty of opportunity for that in the jungle," Jay said, though he knew he was at risk of confusing her further. He handed her one of the glasses. "Tell me what you think. It's a 1900 Bordeaux. Said to be a very good vintage," he said, changing the subject. "What shall we drink to?" he asked as he lifted his glass.

He certainly had confused her further, but she did not want further heated words. So, despite her bemused frown, she took the glass from him, sniffing the bouquet thoughtfully. "To friendship, perhaps?" she asked uncertainly.

"To friendship," he echoed, adding with a further smirk, "Perhaps." He touched his glass to hers before lifting it to his lips for a swallow. "Not bad. I usually prefer something with a little more of a kick, but it'll do."

Sipping her own wine, she smiled at his assessment of it. "I must confess, I am not a great admirer of wine," she admitted shyly. "You likely know more of it than I."

"I know what tastes good," he said, making no claims to be an expert of any kind. "We should probably eat while it's still warm," he added. "Why don't you have a seat and I'll bring the plates?" he asked, gesturing with a nod of his head toward the table.

"Oh! Thank you." This time the smile was warmer, more relaxed. Eleanor was glad they had managed to at least touch on the problem that was their oddly uneven relationship without anger, moving toward the table obediently at his suggestion.

He would have pulled out a chair for her, if he didn't have a plate in each hand, but if she was still standing by the time he set them on the table, he would do just that.

In actual fact, she was holding his chair for him as he approached the table, the first glimmer of her teasing smile showing in her eyes since the night before. "Your seat, captain."

"Uh," he murmured, gesturing toward the abandoned bottle and glass he'd left on the sideboard, clearly not expecting her to turn the tables - or chairs - on him, so to speak.

"I'll collect them, don't you worry," she assured him. Would he notice that this was the way he and others treated her, she wondered, gently maneuvering the chair under him until he sat before collecting the wine and glass.

Even if he noticed, it might not make him change his beliefs about the differing roles of men and women in society just yet. At the moment, he just thought she was trying to be nice, or maybe she was trying to make a point as to what a woman was expected to do in the presence of a man. "That's not really necessary," he told her, likely too late.

"Is it not?" Eleanor asked innocently. "Or is it only unnecessary because I am the woman in this room, and you are the man?" Her smile was gentle - she thought she'd found a way to make her point without making him angry. "I have hands and feet, and the ability to use them. Why should I not, when you are otherwise occupied?"

"You've made your point," he said, without any anger in his voice, though he hardly thought fetching a bottle of wine equated with what they could expect during their travels.

Her smile faded as she sat down, glancing toward the locked door. To be honest, she didn't believe Alex would unlock it until he was finished with his own meal at the very least, so perhaps she should push to make sense of the oddness in her relationship with Captain Marshall. "Why do you disapprove of me so much, captain?" she asked hesitantly. "It seems as though whenever I relax in your presence, I somehow fall short of your expectations."

"Disapprove?" he asked, taking up his fork and knife as he looked across the table at her. He was aware that he had somehow disappointed her again, but perhaps this was his chance to explain. "You misunderstand me, I think, Miss Howard," he said, careful to phrase his words so that she wouldn't get angry again. "I do not disapprove of you, and you most certainly do not fall short of my expectations. It is not that at all, but I am not sure I can help you understand."

"I should like you to try," she encouraged him softly. "I think we are misunderstanding each other, and if it continues, our journey will be fraught with anger and argument. I do not want to argue with you, captain. But neither do I wish to feel as though I am a disgrace or disappointment each time I say something that is not a perfect representation of upper class manners."

"Very well," he replied, while cutting into his roast. But where should his explanation begin" Should he start at the beginning or just tell her what she needed to know. "My father was a doctor," he started, sharing this mostly so that she would know where his knowledge of such manners came from. Though he wasn't titled gentry, he did come from an upper middle class background. "After my mother died, we were raised mostly by nannies and governesses, until I was old enough to be sent away to boarding school."

Eleanor hesitated before she answered, shy of admitting this. "No," she told him. "There are few men who are not already married or engaged, and ....Well, those who are not spoken for back home are the sort to remain bachelors for whatever reason. And ..." She hesitated again, blushing deeply as she looked down at her plate. "There is a great deal of competition for attention of any man these days. I am not inclined to humiliate myself in public on the off-chance that someone I may not even like might consider me pretty."

"Humiliate yourself in public?" he asked, looking confused. Why would she do that to catch the eye of a man she didn't even like" "I'm not sure I understand," he said, setting the bottle back down, now that their glasses had been refilled. He made no remark on her looks, though only an idiot wouldn't notice that she was pretty.

"There are fewer men of appropriate age than there were a few years ago," she said, trying not to draw the obvious parallel between the numbers and the war too clearly. "As a result, girls my age are behaving a little desperately in order to secure a proposal. Their forwardness is embarrassing to watch. It is not something that I would willingly engage in, just to have a ring on my finger."

"Oh, I see," he murmured with a frown, realizing the connection between the war and the smaller number of eligible bachelors. "I suppose I could have my pick then," he said, with a small attempt at humor. In truth, he didn't really think he was much of a catch.

She smiled, albeit a little sadly. "You could," she assured him. "You are handsome and gentle. Any woman would be privileged to garner your attention, I am sure."

"I'm not so sure about that," he said, picking up his glass and tipping it back for more than what could be considered a polite sip. "You, on the other hand, could have your pick of men," he said, gesturing toward her with the glass.

"I do not want to have my pick of men," she answered with a shrug of one shoulder. "I would rather be the mutual choice of one man who touched my heart. I am too much of a wallflower to be noticed enough by any man of my supposed class."

"Ah, you are a romantic, and you hope to wed for love. Now you sound like my sister," he said with a slightly amused smile, though it was hard to tell if he was amused by her romantic notions or by the fact that she seemed to have this in common with his sister.

Eleanor paused, her glass halfway to her lips. "Is it a foolish thing, then, to hope for love to begin a shared lifetime together?" she asked, more curious than offended by his smile.

"No, not foolish. Impractical, perhaps, but not foolish. One cannot live on love alone," he pointed out, though she did not seem to be hurting for money - or at least, she presumably wouldn't be if she inherited her father's estate. "I would think a woman of your standing would have no shortage of suitors. Have you found none of them even a little to your tastes?" he asked, demonstrating how little with his thumb and forefinger a mere inch apart.

"Not suitors, no," she told him, shaking her head. It was the truth - she had been courted by men she found repugnant in their own way, including her cousin. The only man she had felt even the first flicker of real interest in was sitting opposite her, and he seemed determined never to enter the description of "suitor" if he could possibly help it. "And what of you? You could have your pick - is there no woman in your sphere you might consider for a wife?"

"It is not so much finding a woman I might consider for a wife as one who might consider me for a husband," he admitted, hiding a frown behind another swig from his wine, which was not meant to be swigged. He managed to avoid her gaze, perhaps because he was uncomfortable with the question or perhaps because he might have considered her, if he wasn't so completely unsuitable for her.

"Even what little I know of you leads me to think you are being unnecessarily hard on yourself again, captain," she pointed out, setting her cutlery down on her empty plate.

"Am I?" he asked, though he didn't really expect an answer. "You see how I make my living, Miss Howard. This is not a good life for a woman and not a good place to raise a family. I do not know what I'd do were I to return home. I tried once, and it did not go well. Too much has happened."

"I think you set a little too much store on your perception of every woman in the world as being somehow delicate and in need of constant protection," she offered quietly. "I will concede that, yes, we may be weaker than men, and without the same training as men, we do need protecting in hostile environments. But women can be just as strong, and just as lonely."

His gaze flickered to meet hers, a briefly startled expression on his face at her admission, especially the mention of loneliness. "Are you lonely, Miss Howard?" he asked her point-blankly. Never mind himself; he was asking about her.

She had not been expecting him to ask such a question, nor quite so bluntly if he did, but the question was out there between them now. Eleanor found herself nodding, giving his query the honesty it demanded. "I am," she said simply. "When I say I am alone in the world, it is not simply a statement of fact. It is an accurate description, captain."

So, it seemed Finley's friendship was not enough to fulfill that loneliness, but why would it be if what she longed for was love and romance and marriage" Finley was a good man, but she was obviously no more in love with him than she was with her cousin. "If not for my sister ..." He shrugged, only just realizing how similarly alone they both were.

"If not for Alex," she agreed softly. Finley might not be her brother by blood, but he was the closest she had to family these days. She drew in a swift breath, shaking her head. "I am sorry, I have made the conversation very dull."

"Hardly," he assured her with a soft smile. "I would guess this is exactly what Finley wanted. We haven't shouted at each other since this morning," he said, that smile turning into a teasing smirk.

His smile drew a smile from her, a smile that parted into a quiet laugh as he teased her. "I suppose we should try harder then, if you truly wish to fight," she suggested just as teasingly.

"No, I was being honest when I said I want to be friends," he admitted, reminding her of something he'd said that morning, before they'd argued. "I think perhaps we are both too stubborn for our own good."

"You are probably right," she conceded, "though I do have a terrible habit of assuming that every ambiguous comment is a disguised negative assumption about myself. I suppose I am over-sensitive."

"Miss Howard, I can assure you that if I wish to insult you, you will know it," he said, that teasing smile on his face again. Maybe it was the wine, but he seemed to be more relaxed than she'd seen him, as yet.

"Ah, so you are deliberately ambiguous with everyone, then?" she asked innocently, leaning on the table in a flagrant display of bad manners but friendly companionship.

"Not everyone," he said, though he wasn't entirely sure. "I do not make friends easily," he admitted, though he and Finley seemed to have hit it off pretty quickly.

"Neither do I," she assured him. "It would appear I am in good company." She raised her glass to him, sipping the wine slowly.

"Likewise," he said, raising his glass in answer to hers and draining it. He leaned forward to take up the bottle again, offering her a refill, if she wanted it, with a questioning expression on his face.

She inclined her head, but stopped his pouring before the glass was filled again. At least she knew how much she could handle of the alcohol on hand. "You have mentioned several times that the jungle is dangerous," she said, gently changing the subject. "If I may ask ....what exactly were you referring to' I have read extensively about venomous spiders and snakes, tigers and jaguars and the like. Is it that sort of thing?"

She laughed softly. "I am sure I will be perfectly happy to smell awful so long as everyone else does," she assured him in amusement.

"Oh, I'm sure we will all smell awful," he said with a chuckle. "Perhaps when we're back, you'll let me take you out for a proper dinner," he said, though he quickly realized she'd likely be leaving for England as soon as they got back to Georgetown.

She blushed prettily, her smile almost shy but for the sweet look in her eyes as she held his gaze. "If you are not sick of the sight of me by that time, then yes," she agreed without needing to consider it further.

"How could I ever get sick of the sight of someone as lovely as you?" he asked, smiling. Was it the wine that was talking or was he sincere" He had never given her such a compliment before; at least, not in so many words.

The compliment had the effect of sweetening an already sweet smile, broadening her lips as she brightened in response. "I should hope it will never happen," she heard herself answer. "For I very much enjoy your company, even when you are scolding me."

He smiled back, looking either a little embarrassed or a little amused at her statement. "I'm sorry about the scolding. I promise I'm not always so grouchy. If it's any consolation, I'm only worried for your safety," he admitted, hoping she didn't take that the wrong way.

"I do know that, captain," she assured him. "But I should rather be with you and safe, than kept apart and safe, if that makes sense at all. A few coarse words are not going to do the harm that being put on a pedestal will."

He chuckled a little at something she'd said. "I am afraid you are bound to hear a lot of coarse words on this trip. Shall I bring along some cotton for your ears?" he asked, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

Still giggling softly, she wiped her lips on her napkin. "Or perhaps carbolic soap to wash out the mouths of those who use such language?" she suggested teasingly in return. He really was awfully handsome when he relaxed and smiled, she realized, quietly acknowledging that perhaps Alex might have been right when he'd suggested she had more than a passing interest in their guide.

"You'd have to catch them first," he remarked, doubting any of his men would willingly allow that, no matter how bad their language. She was going to be the only woman among a party made up of men for at least a few weeks to come. With any luck, they would not shock her too badly.

She smiled, moving to her feet to take the empty dishes back to the sideboard. "I am glad we have cleared the air, Captain Jay," she said warmly. "I think perhaps you need not worry about being blunt with me. I would rather know in simple detail than listen to my own assumptions."

He cringed a little at her choice of names for him. He was either Jay or James or Captain Marshall, but never Captain Jay. "James," he corrected. "My name is James. Or Jay, if you prefer. My men call me Captain, but you are not one of my men."

"James, then," she said, a small flicker of triumph in her eyes as she realized that he had given her the perfect excuse to insist on something else. "And you must call me Eleanor, or Ellie, if you wish."

"Eleanor," he repeated quietly, as if trying the name out to see how what it felt like to say it. He was still smiling as his eyes followed her movement, secretly admiring the view. "Do you think Finley will be satisfied now we've made friends?"

"Well, I think he'll shut up about it if I threaten to matchmake him with a particularly unsuitable mutual friend of our families back in England unless he does," Eleanor said, leaning one hand on the sideboard and the other on her own hip as she turned to look at Jay. "I'm fairly sure the thought of living with that laugh for the rest of his life will keep him from meddling."

He chuckled again. "I'd say he deserves it," he said, thinking the man deserved a little payback for his meddling in their personal lives, though things seemed to be working out well enough so far. Even if there was never anything but friendship between them, it was better than being at each other's throats the entire trip.

"So ....tell me a little about your men, James," she suggested, returning to the table with the second bottle of wine. Alex had provided it, they might as well enjoy their evening. After all, this was all his idea.

A second bottle of wine might loosen his tongue a little more, but it was unlikely to make him drunk, though it wouldn't help his headache any. Still, who was he to complain" Not only had he enjoyed a nice dinner, complete with wine and dessert, but the company of the loveliest women he had ever been had the pleasure to know. Though he might have a nasty headache come morning, tonight was worth it.