Читать книгу The Bride Ship - Deborah Hale - Страница 10

B loody stubborn woman!

Sir Robert bolted his breakfast, irritated to be running behind schedule on account of Jocelyn Finch. The little minx had invaded his dreams, challenging him to duel. Not upon a field of honor, but on the dance floor, in the drawing room…and in the bedchamber!

He could have sworn he’d felt her body beneath him, soft and willing. Her unbound hair had whispered against his cheek. Her scent had filled his nostrils. And when she’d made those sweet little sounds of pleasure and yearning, it had been more than he could bear.

The rest of the night, he’d tossed and turned, half-afraid to go back to sleep in case he should have more such dreams—half desperately wishing he could recapture those tantalizing sensations. At last he had fallen into a barren, dreamless slumber so deep he had not heard the bells of nearby Saint Peter’s chiming seven.

As a consequence, he’d risen late to tackle the work on which he’d already fallen behind. The sooner he got that infernal woman and her bride ship out of his colony, the better off he’d be!

Perhaps he ought to go down to Power’s Wharf and make certain the Hestia weighed anchor the moment it had been reprovisioned? To his horror, Sir Robert found himself anxious to catch a final glimpse of Jocelyn Finch.

Just then, Duckworth entered through the side door from the service hall, looking almost as agitated as he had the previous day when he’d summoned Sir Robert to Power’s Wharf. The governor tried not to scowl as he glanced up from his porridge. After all, his young aide had acquitted himself well in this sorry business. Rather better than his master, if truth be told.

“What is it, Duckworth? I’ll be done in a moment.”

“His Grace the Bishop to see you, Your Excellency.”

“The Bishop?” Sir Robert glanced toward the pedestal clock that stood beside the door to the service hall. “At this hour?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We did not have an appointment scheduled, did we?”

“Ah…no, sir. I don’t believe so.”

One more interruption to put him further behind in his work. Sir Robert sighed. No help for it, he supposed, if the spiritual lord of the colony wished to speak with him.

“Show his Grace into my study, Duckworth, and offer him some refreshment. Tell him I shall be along directly.”

Once his secretary had gone, Sir Robert hurried through the rest of his porridge, though he had scant appetite for it. His habit of not wasting food was too deeply ingrained to be abandoned, even on account of a call from the bishop.

Once he’d cleaned the bowl, he washed his porridge down with a strong brew of West Indies coffee. Then he strode off to his study.

“Your Grace.” He bowed to the bishop, a tall, austere man with a long, aristocratic face. “To what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit…at this hour?”

“Too early for you, am I, Governor?” The bishop resumed his seat as Sir Robert settled behind the desk. “I’d heard you were a notorious early riser. I wanted to catch you before your day was half-done.”

Sir Robert gritted his teeth. “I am running a trifle late this morning, as it happens. What can I do for you?”

The bishop fixed him with the sort of solemn look to which his patrician features were so well suited. “I’ve come to talk to you about this bride-ship business, and urge you to give the matter your prayerful consideration.”

Sir Robert barely stifled a groan.

The bishop’s private sermon on the virtues of matrimony lasted the better part of an hour. Sir Robert scarcely had a chance to get a word in. Not that it mattered, for his protests seemed to fall on deaf ears.

He had finally bid the bishop farewell, promising nothing more than to seek divine guidance in the matter, when Duckworth announced three members of the Privy Council were waiting in the reception room to speak with him.

“Will you see them separately, sir, or together?”

“Together, I suppose.” The quicker to get it over with. At this rate, Mrs. Finch and her troublesome charges would cost him another day’s work. “I can’t think how the bishop came to know so much about the whole business. He was one of the few men I did not see milling about Power’s Wharf, yesterday.”

“You know how gossip travels in a town this size, sir.” Poor Duckworth looked as if the whole business were his fault.

“Don’t fret,” Sir Robert tried to reassure him. “We’ll let them all have their squawk, then we’ll send Mrs. Finch’s bride ship packing and get back to work.”

“Indeed, sir.” Duckworth did not appear very hopeful as he hurried off to the reception room to fetch the council members.

By the time they left his office, Sir Robert was in need of a strong drink, though it was not yet noon. The gentlemen, all leading citizens of the colony, had made their views on the bride ship fully known. Since two of the three were magistrates, Sir Robert had to admit, they put forward a number of convincing arguments. They might have swayed him if he had been in the frame of mind to be convinced…which he was not.

The whole tempest this business had stirred up, and the time it had stolen from more important matters, convinced him more firmly than ever that Halifax would be well rid of Mrs. Finch and her fool ship!

“Your Excellency,” ventured Duckworth with an anxious apologetic air, “Mr. Barnabas Power begs the courtesy of a short interview.”

No doubt Duckworth had rephrased Power’s request in more mannerly terms. To Sir Robert’s knowledge, the former privateer, now rumored to be the richest man in British North America, never begged anything of anyone.

“Oh, very well.” He threw up his hands in temporary defeat. “Might as well waste the whole day. Show Mr. Power in.”

Unlike the bishop and the privy councillors, Barnabas Power wasted no time or excessive civility in coming to the point of his call. “Don’t be an ass, Kerr. What’s the harm in welcoming these women to the colony?”

“Surely I don’t need to tell you, sir.” The bishop and the privy councillors were all married men, but Barnabas Power, though a good ten years the governor’s senior, remained a bachelor with no sign of altering his marital state. “Would you have risen so far and so fast in the world with the cumbrance of a wife and family?”

The merchant considered Sir Robert’s words, which was more than the bishop had done. But then he shook his head. “That’s different. I’m not some simple farmer or lumberman scratching out a living. Mark me, they’ll scratch a lot harder and better when they’ve got families to feed and help them out with the chores.”

That made a kind of sense, much as Sir Robert hated to admit it.

“I don’t need to tell you,” Mr. Power continued without waiting for a reply from the governor, “business has gone from bad to worse in the colony since the good times of the war. This may be just the nudge it needs to pick up again. Ladies buying dress goods, folks purchasing wedding gifts.”

“I shall certainly give your advice in the matter my most careful consideration, Mr. Power.” Consider it, then discard it. Sir Robert was not about to be bullied into changing his mind, now. Otherwise Power and his merchant cronies would run roughshod over him for the rest of his tenure in office.

“You do that, Kerr. A canny captain knows when to trim his sails to suit the wind. And just between us, I have nothing against marriage. Now that I’ve made my pile, I’ve got my eye out for the right sort of wife. I don’t know but that pretty Mrs. Finch might suit me. Have you heard her father’s the Marquess of Breckland?”

It was difficult to say which of those revelations unsettled the governor worse—that Jocelyn Finch was the daughter of a nobleman, or that Barnabas Power had his eye on the lady.

The merchant gave a derisive chuckle. “To think you as good as called her a whore out on my wharf yesterday! When is that duel between you to take place, by the way? I’d like to make a wager on the outcome.”

His tone left no doubt which combatant he intended to back.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Power. There will be no duel. I have assured Mrs. Finch I will have a full apology for my mistake printed in the Gazette. Good day to you, sir.”

Mr. Power ignored this pointed invitation to be on his way. “You’d do well to look for a wife, yourself, Kerr. The right sort of woman could be an asset to a man in your position.”

“I appreciate your interest in my welfare.” Sir Robert sauntered toward the door, hoping Power would take the hint and go. “I shall give your advice my—”

“Careful consideration.” The merchant finished his sentence in a mocking tone. “You know, Kerr, there comes a time when a man’s got to quit considering, and act.”

Without any bow or other civility of leave-taking, he departed.

Sir Robert returned to his desk, clenching and unclenching his fists. He could not recall when he’d spent such a disagreeable morning. All over some trifle when there were many crucial matters that required his attention.

“Who’s next, Duckworth?” he growled when he noticed his aide skulking outside the door.

“No one else, sir.”

“Thank heaven for small mercies!” Sir Robert sank onto his chair then picked up his pen and unstopped his inkwell.

Duckworth cleared his throat. “There is one small matter I’d like to broach with you, if I may, sir.”

“Very well.” Sir Robert looked up from his papers. “But make it quick, like a good fellow. I can’t afford to fall further behind.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. You see it’s about—”

Whatever it was about, Sir Robert did not learn, for Colonel William Carmont marched in past Duckworth and tossed a copy of the Halifax Gazette onto the governor’s desk. “Have you seen this?”

Will Carmont was the one man in the colony Sir Robert did not expect or desire to stand on ceremony. They had served together under General Wellington in the Peninsular War, becoming firm friends in spite of their differences in temperament.

“Seen what?” Sir Robert picked up the newspaper and opened it. “What has Mr. Wye got a bee in his bonnet about now?”

Considering how the morning had gone so far, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“You can guess, can’t you?” Will pushed a few documents aside to perch on the corner of the governor’s desk, while Duckworth withdrew from the room. “It’s the same thing everyone in town is talking about.”

Sir Robert read a few lines of the editorial—an overwrought diatribe about some fancied Colonial Office conspiracy to keep the citizens of Nova Scotia in bondage to the motherland, by neglecting to foster their long-term interests. He could make nothing of it until he spotted the name “Mrs. Jocelyn Finch, née Lady Jocelyn DeLacey” halfway down the page.

“Of all the ridiculous…!” He threw down the paper. “I tell you, Will, this town would be a good deal better off if people were less preoccupied with such trivialities!”

The colonel shook his head. “To a man who’s sick to death of his own cooking and his own company, this isn’t trivial. And in case you haven’t noticed, the colony’s full of men like that.”

“Don’t start in on me, too, Will. I’ve heard nothing all morning but what sound spiritual, social and business sense it makes to turn these young women loose upon Nova Scotia.”

“You won’t hear a word from me on any of those subjects.”

“That’s relief.”

“No, indeed.” Will picked up the newspaper. “I have come to warn you of the trouble that may befall if you don’t reconsider. Dorothea Beamish is a woman of considerable influence. When all this gets back to her, she could make things damned sticky for you with the Colonial Office.”

Sir Robert cursed under his breath. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

The colonel treated him to a look of exasperated pity. “I don’t believe you’re thinking with a very level head about this whole business. And that’s not like you at all. You seem to have taken some daft prejudice against it, based on an unfavorable first impression. A false first impression, let me remind you. If you just give Mrs. Finch a chance, you’ll soon find what a charming, capable woman she is. She hasn’t had an easy time of it these past few years. You of all people should be able to sympathize with her situation.”

Sir Robert sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “How do you come to know so much about the lady’s qualities and situation, pray?”

Will looked a trifle surprised by the question. “You haven’t heard?”

Sir Robert did not like the sound of that. “Perhaps you had better tell me.”

And perhaps he had better face the distasteful possibility that he might be wrong.

“This is a much tastier breakfast than we’ve enjoyed in a good while.” At a table in the ship’s crowded galley, Jocelyn savored the modest luxury of a fresh egg. “I don’t mind that we’ve had to wait until past noon to get it.”

Lily Winslow concentrated on her eager consumption of plump, crisp sausages. “I heard the men who brought these provisions say they were compliments of His Excellency, the governor, from his very own farm. Imagine, the governor of the colony taking such an interest in our welfare! He must be a very kind man.”

Sir Robert Kerr—kind? The good reports Colonel Carmont had given her of the man last night over dinner could not keep a bitter chuckle from rising in Jocelyn’s throat.

“If he’s taking such an interest in our welfare,” said Hetty Jenkins, “why don’t he let us off this stinking boat before we all go barmy?”

Several more of Jocelyn’s charges took up the question.

“Why won’t they let us disembark?”

“When can we go ashore, Mrs. Finch?”

“Yes, Mrs. Finch—when?”

Jocelyn glanced around the dimly lit galley at their anxious faces. She did not have the heart to tell them upon how slender a thread their hopes hung. “Now, my dears, we must exercise a little patience. I fear the ship carrying our letter of introduction must have been lost at sea. So our arrival in Halifax was quite unexpected.”

From what little she had seen of the town, last evening on the way to the Carmonts’, Halifax had not appeared very large. Finding suitable accommodations for so numerous a party might prove difficult. Against her will, she felt a glimmer of sympathy for Governor Kerr.

“But they are happy to see us, aren’t they?” asked Lily, the orphan daughter of a country parson. Her calm manner during the rigors of the voyage had won Jocelyn’s respect and trust. “Such a great crowd came out yesterday to bid us welcome.”

“Yes, indeed,” replied Jocelyn, referring to the size of the crowd, not the sentiments that had motivated it.

She sensed that curiosity, not goodwill, had drawn most of yesterday’s onlookers. If only she and her charges were given a fair chance, she believed they could win a sincere welcome from the colonists. Certainly the gentlemen to whom Sally Carmont had introduced her last night seemed well disposed toward her mission. But would their support prove strong enough to sway their stubborn governor?

The ship had not been ordered out of port—yet. Jocelyn seized upon that as a hopeful sign. “I’m certain everything will be arranged soon, and we will be at liberty to disembark.”

She prayed so, at least. These fresh provisions from the governor’s farm were a great boon, to be sure. But the strain of forty women crowded together for weeks on end was beginning to take its toll on everyone’s temper. After returning from her lovely dinner with the Carmonts, Jocelyn had been called to settle no less than a dozen quarrels among her charges.

“The first thing I mean to do when I get ashore,” said Louisa Newton, a pale girl who had suffered from violent seasickness for much of the voyage, “is kneel down and kiss dry land!”

Some of the others laughed and nodded their agreement.

“I shan’t waste my kisses on the ground,” announced Vita Sykes, a saucy little minx who had caused Jocelyn no end of trouble since they’d set sail. “I mean to kiss the first man I see. There were a few fine-looking ones on the dock yesterday. That governor fellow you went off with wasn’t half-bad, Mrs. Finch. Is he married?”

The bold question brought a stinging blush to Jocelyn’s cheeks.

Before she could find her voice to answer, Hetty Jenkins cried, “A fine governor’s wife you’d make, Vita, with no more morals than a cat. I saw you, last night, pawing at that soldier who was guarding the gangway!”

“You’ve got sharp eyes, carrothead!” Vita grabbed a large fistful of Hetty’s bright red hair. “How’d you like them scratched out, eh?”

Hetty’s fist flew but missed Vita to box one of the other girls on the ear. By the time Jocelyn threw herself into the fray it had escalated to a full-scale brawl.

“Enough!” she cried. “Stop this at once!”

She squealed when grasping fingers found her hair and pulled.

“If this does not stop…” Sharp fingernails scored her cheek. “I shall send everyone involved straight back to England!”

Her threat calmed the mayhem a little, but she wasn’t sure they could all hear her above the racket.

“Mrs. Finch!” The first mate’s resonant bellow accomplished what she had been unable to, freezing the galley in a silent, violent tableau.

Into the stunned hush, he announced, “Visitors to see you up on deck, ma’am.”

Visitors? “Tell them I’ll be along, directly,” Jocelyn answered in a tone of false brightness.

Once the crewman was out of earshot, she ordered Vita and Hetty confined to their cabins.

“As for the rest of you,” she announced in a harsh whisper, “I did not want to tell you this, but not everyone is anxious to welcome us to the colony. If word of this kind of behavior gets out I fear we will be sent packing!”

She glared at every young woman brave enough to meet her eyes. “Now remember what is at stake and conduct yourselves accordingly.”

She swept out of the galley amid a subdued chorus of “Yes, Mrs. Finch.”

As Jocelyn hurried up the steep stairs to the main deck, fear and hope warred within her. Had she been summoned to witness their departure from Halifax…or for some eleventh-hour reprieve? Hope gained the upper hand when she found Colonel and Mrs. Carmont waiting for her, along with Governor Kerr.

Sally’s smile twisted into a grimace when she caught sight of Jocelyn. “My dear! Whatever happened? Are you all right?”

For an instant, Jocelyn puzzled what her friend meant. Then, a gust of salty sea air made her cheek sting.

The fight! Her summons to the deck had driven it from her mind entirely. With one hand she reached up in a futile effort to tidy her hair. The other flew to her face to cover the scratches. Dear heaven, she must look like the worst type of woman Governor Kerr had accused her of being!

She braced herself to confront his disdainful stare. Instead, his stern countenance had softened in a look of concern. That unsettled her further.

“I’m fine, truly! I just had a little tumble below deck.”

The moment the words left her lips, she wished she’d swallowed them. For tumble had another meaning…

Was it just her fancy, or did the governor’s firm mouth twitch from a suppressed grin?

When he spoke, however, he sounded serious as ever. “Ships can be tricky places to keep one’s footing. You must take care, Mrs. Finch.”

His feigned concern for her well-being goaded Jocelyn. “May I remind Your Excellency that I would prefer to be ashore where I would not have to be so careful of my footing. What brings you here, sir? Have you come to see us off in person? Bid us a safe voyage?”

If that were the case, there could be no advantage to holding her tongue. She’d give Governor Kerr a piece of her mind before he evicted her from his colony.

The governor shook his head. “As a matter of fact, I have come on a rather different errand.”

“Pray, what might that be?” Though she warned herself to keep her hopes in check, Jocelyn could not suppress them altogether.

“Upon reflection,” said the governor, “I see I may have acted rather hastily yesterday.”

Yes! Yes!

When he hesitated, she prompted him. “And…?”

The smile of triumph froze on her lips when he replied, “I have decided to accept your challenge to a duel, after all.”