by Lenora Bell
“Why’d you never marry, Griff?”
His friend tied a bowline knot. “Never met the woman who could tie the Griffster down, though many have tried. Had a sweetheart once, a feisty little brunette in Bristol with the roundest, bounciest bum you ever did see.”
“What happened to her?”
“Married my best friend while I was at sea.”
“Oof.” Ford bent back to his task of sanding the splinters from the deck. The monotonous chore used the strength of his arms but left his mind free to worry over events from his past.
“What’d they die for, Griff? Young Sal. Bent-nose Billy. Pretty Tom. I can still hear Tom singing ‘The Foggy, Foggy Dew’ sometimes.”
“You heard them read the vice admiral’s letter. ‘They died in the service of their country, and in the cause of suffering humanity.’ There you have it. King and country. Bloody honor and glory.”
He’d seen their coffins, perforated with holes and filled with bags of wet sand to make them sink, laid into the water covered by the Union Jack.
He’d watched the sea swallow them.
Their man-of-war had limped from Greece to Malta, no longer proud and gallant, but battered and torn with shot. He’d patched her as best he could with lead and pieces of plank.
Once Ford had been as gallant as that man-of-war, filled with a righteous sense of destiny, but after that brutal, bloody battle there’d been a hole shot through his heart for every one of the friends he’d lost.
He felt the weight of their deaths as bags of sand tied to his soul until the balance shifted, dragged him down, until his soul was sodden with death, consumed by it.
“The action in Greece was bad. I’m not saying you’re not right to think about it,” said Griff. “I’m only saying there’s no use dwelling on it—that only leads to the madhouse. You’re still young, and now you’re moving up in the ranks. Likely the last time I’ll have you on my boat, eh? Once you’re an officer you won’t have time for the likes of me. You’ll turn up your nose and look the other way.”
“That’ll never happen and you know it.”
“You’re a bloody war hero, Ford. You saved lives.”
“I can’t even remember it.”
It was all a blur when he looked back. The booming of cannons. Smell of scorched flesh.
Screams of his friends.
Staunching the leaks. Staunching the blood.
“Well, I remember it.” Griff finished another knot. “You damn well saved my tough old hide.”
Ford ducked his head back to his work. He should be proud of what he’d done, but all he felt was emptiness, a sense of being lost at sea, adrift without an anchor.
For some reason he thought about Lady Beatrice crooning to her beloved books, telling them she’d patch the roof and give them a nice safe home. He’d been serious about helping her battle his grandfather and keep the bookshop. But it was for the best that she’d turned him down. His dreams had been filled with her again last night.
She’d been expanding his vocabulary, and he’d been instructing her in the pleasures of—
“Look lively, mate,” Griff said, shading his eyes with his hand. “There’s a lady here to see you.”
“A laddie?”
“A lady. She’s got one of ’em big shiny carriages waiting, and she’s wearing one of ’em big showy bonnets with ribbons and feathers flying in the breeze. She’s waving at me.”
He knew only one lady who wore big bonnets trimmed with ribbons and feathers.
Lady Beatrice Bentley.
Ford clambered up from his knees. Sure enough, there she was, wearing an enormous straw bonnet with red ribbons flapping in the breeze and copper curls coiling down her neck.
His dream made flesh.
She was out of place on the docks, her rich satin cloak gleaming in the afternoon sun, proclaiming here be pockets for the picking to all and sundry.
When she caught sight of him she waved, her white glove like a seagull flying against the sky.
He waved back.
“Already keeping fancy company, I see.” Griff elbowed him in the ribs.
“Shut up.” Ford brushed off the knees of his trousers, grabbed his coat, and ran a hand through his hair.
“Going to leave me high and dry?”
“Possibly. The lady’s in quite a predicament. She inherited an old bookshop and she needs a carpenter in the worst way.”
“Needs rescuing, does she?”
“She’s Thorndon’s sister, so she can afford to pay me a lot more than you, you old salt.”
“Oh ho—the duke’s sister. Isn’t he your father’s employer? Never a good idea to mix business with pleasure.”
“That’s not it at all. It’s a job, nothing more.”
Griff shrugged. “I see the way you’re looking at her. Like you want to find out what’s under that cloak.”
“She’s not my type. Too snobbish. Always lecturing me about something. It’s her coin I’m after, nothing more.”
Another shrug. “If you say so, my lad. If you say so.”
Beatrice hiked the hem of her bell skirts (her mother would surely wonder if she arrived home smelling of rotting fish—which was not a pleasant smell she was discovering) and picked her way across the docks.
She’d wasted two precious days trying to find a carpenter but to no avail. She’d enlisted the help of Hobbs.
“It’s the strangest thing, Lady Beatrice,” Hobbs had told her. “When I mention Castle’s Bookshop, every carpenter quickly offers excuses for why they’re too busy to take the job.”
Foxton had made good on his threats.
Beatrice was here to eat humble pie.
As loath as she was to admit it, Wright was her best, and possibly only, hope. He’d seen her waving and was disembarking the ship, heading across the dock.
The sky today had decided to be a cheerful blue after weeks of rain. Freshly laundered white clouds drifted happily over the boat masts. The cries of gulls mingled with shouts from sailors, shipwrights, and other tradespeople.
“Watch yourself, missus,” a man pushing a cart piled high with crates shouted as he nearly collided with her.
The sonnet bonnet, while helpful in maintaining distance from passersby, sadly limited her scope of vision.
Her gray silk cloak had seemed a prudent choice for visiting ship’s carpenters, the most subtle of the clothing her mother had insisted on ordering for her this Season, but here its richness was out of place, the fabric shimmering and calling attention to her.
Wright strode toward her, confident and imposing. His hair was tousled by the sea breeze, and there was an uneven line of dark whiskers accentuating his angular jaw that gave him an even more forceful air. Did he steal everyone’s breath away, or just hers? She looked around the bustling docks. There weren’t many females here. She was the only one, and she was drawing everyone’s attention.
“Good day, Lady Beatrice. These workman’s docks don’t see the likes of you very often. You’re today’s entertainment. We could put that gigantic bonnet on the ground and collect a coin for every stare.”
She swiveled her head. Several shipwrights had stopped working to ogle her. When he saw her watching him, one of the men waggled his eyebrows at her.
“That’s quite some headgear,” said Wright. “How do you make your way forward if you can’t see what’s coming on the sides?”
“I’m supposed to have someone at my elbow at all times guiding the way. A governess, a maid, a footman, a family member.”
“And yet you’re here all alone.”
“My carriage is waiting. Will you come for a ride with me?” The fewer people who saw her here, the better. She was going far outside her mother’s sphere of what was allowable conduct for a lady.
“Right now?”
“Yes, right now. We need to speak in private. There’s not a moment to lose.”
A hopeful expression filled his eyes. “Have you heard from the duke?”
“No, not yet. I came to say that you were right.”
“What was that?” He cupped his hand over his ear. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I said that you were right. My brother may be a duke, but Foxton’s reach is wide and his pockets deep. He owns law officers, judges, fire and safety inspectors, and he helps govern the Worshipful Company of Carpenters. I’ve no idea how he spread the word so swiftly. I had my butler inquire with several carpenters, and when the bookshop was mentioned they slammed the door in his face.”
“So you’re in need of rescuing, is that what you’re saying?”
He was going to make this difficult for her.
“I could use your help,” she admitted through gritted teeth. “No carpenter, joiner, or builder in London, even the apprentices, is willing to risk angering Foxton. He’s too powerful. Are you still brave enough to take him on?”
He cocked his head. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“The prize money. I collect prize money for every enemy ship captured—and every bookshop renovated into a clubhouse for lady knitters.”
“We’ll discuss terms on the way to the shop.”
For the first time, Beatrice realized that they would be alone in the carriage. No matter. There would be no kissing—imaginary or otherwise—while she was wearing such a wide-brimmed rogue-deflecting bonnet.
“My mate on the Angela—”
“Will be handsomely remunerated. Get in the carriage, Wright. There are too many people staring at me.”
“It’s the bonnet.”
“Just get in the blasted carriage!”
“Tut-tut, Lady Beatrice. Such language.” His grin was filled with devilry. “I never enter carriages with strange ladies.”
She glared at him. “You’ll want to hear my offer, I assure you. I can’t force you into the carriage but my footmen could.”
“Am I being kidnapped?”
“Get. In. The. Carriage.”
He laughed. “All right, all right. You win, princess.”
Chapter Ten
Ford climbed into the carriage after Lady Beatrice. “I’m not sure there’s room enough for me and that bonnet.”
“It’s ridiculous, I know.”
He settled onto the seat, and a servant closed the door behind him. The carriage had luxurious red leather upholstery.
He was facing Lady Beatrice, but he couldn’t see much of her expression under the brim of her bonnet, especially when she had her head turned. She appeared to be studying a spot on the wall several inches above his head.
Ford made himself comfortable and spread his arm over the back of the seat as the carriage rolled away from the docks. “Let me guess, your mother made you wear that bonnet.”
“She threw out all of my more sensible millinery when I was away from the house yesterday, leaving me only the fashionable ones.”
“I don’t like it. I can’t see your eyes when I’m talking to you.”
“I think that’s the point. My mother wants to hide as much of my face as possible.”
He leaned in, squinting at the large white and gray roses adorning the bonnet. “Are there words printed on those roses?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
He bent forward and touched one of the paper roses, flattening it enough to read the words. “‘Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.’”
“It’s trimmed with Mr. Shakespeare’s sonnets. A desecration I did not condone.”
“Live a little. Spread your wings. Take a risk. Defy your mother and refuse to wear the bonnet.”
“Spoken like a man who does as he pleases. You don’t know my mother. It’s easier to go along with the flow than to attempt a barricade against the tidal wave of her maternal ambitions. I allow her to dress me, make my social engagements, bring me to balls, but I don’t give her the things that matter most to me. My work. My ambitions. My future.”
“Does your mother know you’re alone in a carriage with me, Lady Beatrice?”
A slight tremor of her lower lip. “Not specifically. She does know that I’m visiting the bookshop. And that there will be a carpenter hired to perform the repairs necessary for the property to become a clubhouse.”
“So you found a way to gain her permission. Well done.”
“I struck a bargain with her—two hours a day at the bookshop in exchange for following her social schedule and being docile, decorous, and congenial to every titled gentleman who deigns to speak with me. The bookshop will be a small taste of freedom. I plan to make the most of it.”
“You know that if I’m working in the shop there will be noise, and debris, and all of the other items on your list of my sins.”
“I know. But you said there was little damage to the upper floors. I will have the crates of books moved to the reading room.”
“Did you tell your mother that you were engaging the services of the most good-looking carpenter in all of London?”
“I may have neglected to tell her that I was hiring the most conceited rogue in all the world.”
“We haven’t discussed the terms yet. I’m not sure you can afford me.”
She made a little incredulous huffing noise. “I’m quite sure that I can.”
“And how will you obtain the funds?”
“Name your price.”
“A word to wise ladies—never tell a rogue to name his own price.”
“I can afford to pay you handsomely.”
“A rogue might ask for something other than money.”
She must be blushing by now, though the damned bonnet hid half her face from him.
“If you’re insinuating that you would ask for favors of an . . . an amorous nature, let’s just nip that idea in the bud and never let it flower again. We both know that you would never do that so you can stop teasing.”
“Those rumors of my honorable nature could have been exaggerated.”
“I’m willing to take a gamble. I have firsthand knowledge of your skills and the speed with which you complete difficult renovations. You know me to be the sister of a duke, and therefore solvent enough to satisfy your most outrageous salary request. Which is . . . ?”
The lady wanted a business arrangement. Very well, he could keep things strictly professional, and profitable in the bargain. He named an outrageous sum of money, more than he would earn in two years at sea.
She swallowed. “That is acceptable.” She didn’t even try to bargain lower.
“You’d pay me that much?”
“It’s a high salary, but there was a small inheritance included with the property, and I intend to sell the collection of bawdy books, anonymously of course. You’ll be paid half up front, and the rest after you complete the work. That is if you’re able to do so. You have less than a fortnight now.”
The sum would put his dream of owning property within reach. There was nothing else to hesitate about. Save enough money to buy his own plot of land and become a thorn in his grandfather’s side at the same time. It was irresistible. He’d always enjoyed a challenge, and working long and hard was nothing new.
“I accept.”
“Very good. I would ask that you follow a few simple rules, the first being that you will refrain from calling me princess.”
“Whatever you say, pr—Your Ladyship.”
“And I would ask that we keep our working relationship dispassionate and professional.”
“That’s not a problem for me, if it’s no problem for you.”
“No mention of kisses, unforgettable or otherwise.”
“I can control my lips if you can control yours, Your Ladyship.”
“And you’re to wear a coat at all times.”
“Can’t do that last one. Carpenters don’t wear coats. We’d split the seams out of all of them.”
“I want you to remain respectable if you’re in my employ. My mother might decide to visit the shop.”
“Most ladies enjoy the view.”
�
��Will you listen to yourself?”
“I’m only speaking an established truth.”
“This is serious, Wright. Foxton wants this property, and I have a feeling he’ll stop at nothing to attempt to purchase, or steal it, away from me. I will rely on you to function as a sort of guard, as well. Will you move into the premises?”
“Happy to. It will be far more comfortable than the room I’m sharing with Tiny right now. The giant doesn’t leave much space for me.”
“You may use Aunt Matilda’s room. It’s the largest and most well-appointed.”
“Those pink velvet bed hangings will have to go. Not very manly.”
“Remove any furnishings you please, the décor will have to be completely redone when the property becomes a clubhouse. I’m determined to save the shop from Foxton’s avaricious clutches, Mr. Wright. I believe that the world needs a clubhouse to support the goals of ladies far more than it requires another polluting factory.”
“Hear, hear.”
“I view Foxton as a symbol of every man who has ever stood in the way of female goals and ambitions. Every man who attempts to control us, cut us down to size, and take our property and our very freedom.”
He couldn’t argue with that. Foxton was a symbol to him, as well. The villain who had exiled his parents to the countryside and stolen their futures away.
Ford and his grandfather shared a name, and they shared a blood connection, but that was where any similarities ended. Foxton was obsessed with money and power to the exclusion of all else. He was a monster who valued gold more than his own family.
This was Ford’s chance to set up a blockade in the path of his grandfather’s ruthless ambitions. And he’d be helping freethinking lady knitters in the process.
And he’d be spending more time with Lady Beatrice. Just like he’d dreamed about.
The dreaming stopped now.
“I swear to you that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Foxton from stealing the bookshop from you,” he promised.
He’d sworn to his mother that he’d never reveal his blood connection to Foxton and therefore he couldn’t tell the lady that he also had a personal motive for accepting her offer. Let her think he’d taken it solely for profit, and for the good report she would give her brother of his work.
