Deborah Hale

by The Bride Ship

  Jocelyn worried down her mouthful of muffin and seized upon his last question to answer first. “I have been sent by Mrs. Dorothea Beamish. Perhaps you have heard of her?”

  Recognition flickered in the governor’s cool, blue eyes. Her vast wealth and forceful personality had made Mrs. Beamish widely known.

  “I have a second letter of introduction from her,” Jocelyn hastened to add. “Alas, in all the confusion, I left it behind on the ship. I would be happy to retrieve it and present it to you at your earliest convenience.”

  Despite the mention of her sponsor, Sir Robert did not look anxious for a second interview. “And what business has Mrs. Beamish in sending a boatload of young women to my colony?”

  Had he not heard a word she’d said down on the wharf? Or had he been too busy jumping to his own offensive conclusions to listen?

  The words of her former governess ran through Jocelyn’s head. “Remember, my dear, you’ll catch more flies with sugar than with vinegar.” That was all very well, but Sir Robert Kerr did not appear partial to sweets!

  “You may have heard of the projects Mrs. Beamish has undertaken to prevent young women who find themselves without friends or resources from sinking into lives of vice?”

  The governor nodded. “Commendable work.” More to himself than to Jocelyn, he muttered, “I could use someone like her in this blighted town.”

  At last, a scrap of encouragement! Jocelyn seized upon it as eagerly as she had consumed the food. “I am heartened to hear you are in sympathy with our aims, Your Excellency! Mrs. Beamish has established a number of useful institutions for such unfortunate young women back in England. Alas, the need is beginning to outstrip even her resources.”

  Jocelyn warmed to a subject dear to her heart. “You may not realize, sir, that the late war robbed many of our country’s young women of the men who would have wed and provided for them.”

  The governor’s brow furrowed as he sipped his tea. Clearly he had not given any thought to the plight of his country’s women, and the price they continued to pay for Napoleon’s defeat.

  “It occurred to Mrs. Beamish that while there is a shortage of eligible men in Britain, there is an equal shortage of eligible women in the colonies. To that end, she has sponsored a bride ship to Nova Scotia. It is my responsibility to chaperone these young women and find suitable husbands for them before I return to London in the fall. If the project is successful, I may bring more brides to the colony next spring, and the scheme might be expanded to other British territories abroad.”

  She stopped to catch her breath, and to encourage some response from the governor, who had been listening to her with grave, silent concentration.

  He did not speak right away when she gave him the opportunity. Instead, he drained the last of his tea, then set the empty cup back upon the tray, his features creased in a thoughtful frown. His hesitation troubled Jocelyn. Surely, despite the inauspicious start to their acquaintance, he must see the mutual benefits of this venture?

  At last the governor broke his silence. “So it is your intention to spend the summer wedding these young women off to the men of my colony?”

  “Indeed it is, sir. To provide the bachelors of Nova Scotia with companions and helpmates, while offering my charges an opportunity to make good and useful lives for themselves.” What fool could fail to endorse such a worthwhile enterprise?

  The governor mulled her words for a few moments longer, then rose abruptly and strode back toward the marble mantelpiece.

  He was rather like that fine hearth, Jocelyn decided. Handsome in appearance, but hard and cold to the touch. While a cheerful blaze might be kindled within it, she doubted any such fire ever had, or would, warm the empty depths of his heart.

  For that reason, it came as a distressing disappointment but no great surprise when he announced, “Your idea sounds all very well, madam. In practice, I fear it would prove otherwise. This colony is not some frivolous marriage market. The men here have important work to do that requires their full concentration. You saw the idle mob that gathered at Power’s Wharf this afternoon. Halifax has no need of such distracting spectacles.”

  “That was not our fault!” Jocelyn surged to her feet and threw her napkin down on the tea tray. “Perhaps if more men in your colony had wives and families to occupy their interest, they would not need to seek diversion gawking at incoming ships.”

  The governor’s stance grew even more rigid and his frown deepened. “You do not know these people, madam. You do not know this colony. Nor are its peace and welfare your responsibility. They are mine.”

  “How can loving wives possibly be a threat to the peace and welfare of your settlers, sir?” Jocelyn longed to seize the breast of his coat and shake some sense into the man. “Have you a wife?”

  The instant the words left her mouth, she wished she could recall them. What if, like her, Sir Robert had been brutally bereaved—his heart chilled and hardened by grief?

  Her swift impulse of sympathy had no chance to take root.

  “Never,” declared the governor. “I have never desired such a distraction from my duties, nor the weight of additional responsibility that a family entails. The bachelors of Nova Scotia would do well to follow my example. I will see to it that your ship is reprovisioned so you may return to England or sail on to another colony where you might be more welcome.”

  Jocelyn could scarcely abide the prospect of another hour confined aboard ship, let alone days or weeks. She could not return to England and face Mrs. Beamish with her mission unfulfilled. And what manner of welcome were they likely to receive in another colony, having been turned away from the shores of Nova Scotia?

  “You cannot do this to me!” she cried. No man since her father had provoked her to such a rage.

  “Not only can I, madam. For the good of this colony, I must.” He headed out of the room, calling for his aide.

  Jocelyn nearly overturned the tea table in her haste to catch him.

  “Have you forgotten?” She clutched the sleeve of his coat. “I challenged you to a duel. Are you such a coward that you would bundle me out of town before I can defend my honor?”

  He stared down at her with undisguised aversion. “Madam, I have no intention of fighting a duel with anyone, least of all a woman. I made a mistake—a perfectly natural one under the circumstances, I believe. But I am willing to apologize for it in public. I will put a notice to that effect in the Halifax Gazette if you wish.”

  He turned to his aide, who had just arrived. “Remind me of that, will you, Duckworth? But, first, I would like you to escort Mrs. Finch back to her ship.”

  The governor detached her hand from his sleeve, then executed a curt bow. “I wish you a safe journey, madam.”

  Before Jocelyn could protest further, he strode from the drawing room.

  With a strangled shriek, she lunged for the tea tray and scooped up the blueberry jam pot, determined to hurl it at the governor’s pristine marble hearth…for lack of a more deserving target.

  Mr. Duckworth stepped in front of her. “Please don’t, ma’am. It’ll make the most frightful mess.”

  That was what she wanted. To leave His Excellency with a vivid purple stain to remember her by!

  His aide’s plea stayed her hand. After all, the governor himself would not be obliged to clean up the mess.

  She held the jam pot out to Mr. Duckworth. “I pity you with all my heart, sir, having to work for such a tyrant.”

  The young man relieved her of the crock before he replied, “There is no man in the colony I’d rather serve, ma’am.”

  Poor young fool, Jocelyn thought as she permitted him to escort her out of Government House and down toward the wharf. Every step of the way, she struggled to invent an excuse that would prevent her from getting back on that ship. Once aboard, she was certain Governor Kerr would never permit her to set foot off it again. How could she hope to plead her case if she could not communicate with anyone in town?

  As
they caught sight of the wharf, Mr. Duckworth sighed. “Not another crowd gathered? I hope we shan’t need to call out the militia to disperse these people.”

  The nearer they drew, the more evident it became that these curious onlookers were different from the first group. For they were mostly women.

  A number stood around the wharf in small clusters, talking together and pointing toward the ship. A few appeared to be chatting with the young soldier Governor Kerr had left on guard. From their garish dress and forward manner, Jocelyn took them to be the kind of women Sir Robert had accused her of bringing to his colony. Perhaps they had got word of the governor’s slander and hoped to catch a glimpse their rivals.

  Jocelyn could not recall seeing so many women of ill repute together at one time in London…at least not the parts of London she frequented. If Halifax had this great a problem with flesh-peddling, perhaps the governor had some small justification for jumping to the wrong conclusion about her bride ship. But that did not give him grounds for turning them away once he’d discovered their true purpose!

  Just then, a woman’s voice called from an open carriage parked nearby. “Oh, Mr. Duckling, a word, if you please?”

  Muttering “Duck-worth, damn it!” under his breath, the governor’s aide approached the carriage.

  It crossed Jocelyn’s mind to run off while his attention was diverted. Perhaps she could find a clergyman, or some other worthy citizen willing to plead her case with the governor. After an instant’s consideration, she discarded the idea. How could she hope to find someone to help her, when she did not know a single soul in town, nor how to locate them if she did?

  She hung back a bit as Mr. Duckworth approached the carriage. “Why, Mrs. Carmont, what a pleasant surprise. May I be of service, ma’am?”

  “Indeed you may,” replied the occupant of the carriage, whose voice sounded strangely familiar to Jocelyn. “With a bit of reliable information, if you’d be so kind. It is in very short supply presently. The most preposterous rumors have been circulating about town. Is it true that Barnabas Power imported a shipload of women to cater to the officers of the garrison?”

  Duckworth shook his head at the wild story. “A ship did arrive, ma’am, carrying a number of young ladies. But it is my understanding their business in the colony is entirely honorable. Nor have I heard of any connection with Mr. Power except that they have docked at his wharf.”

  He turned toward Jocelyn and beckoned. “Here is a lady who can tell you better than I. May I present Mrs. Jocelyn Finch. Mrs. Finch, may I present Mrs. Carmont, the wife of our—”

  Before he could finish, the woman cried, “Jocelyn? Lady Jocelyn DeLacey? My dear, it is I, Sally Hastings—Mrs. Carmont since my marriage. What a delightful surprise to find you here in Halifax, of all places on earth!”

  “Sally, of course! How good to see you!” Back in England, Jocelyn had hated chance encounters with her old acquaintances. But here and now, she had never been more grateful for the sight of a familiar face.

  Sally Carmont threw open the carriage door. “Do come dine with me this evening! We have so much to catch up with one another.”

  As Jocelyn moved to accept the invitation, the governor’s aide became quite agitated. “But, His Excellency entrusted me with seeing Mrs. Finch back to her ship!”

  “Think nothing more of it, Mr. Duckling.” Sally Carmont waved him on his way. “I promise you, I shall deliver her personally once we’ve dined. I can get my husband to provide us an armed escort, if necessary.”

  Clearly Sally was someone of consequence in Halifax, for Duckworth appeared torn between the governor’s orders and the lady’s wishes.

  “Please?” Jocelyn appealed to him, hoping she might tip the balance in her favor. “It would mean a great deal to me to spend an evening with an old friend. I give you my word, I will be back aboard ship before midnight. His Excellency need never know a thing about it.”

  “The governor’s instructions were very specific, ma’am.”

  “Please?”

  On the young man’s face, she could see the struggle between a kind desire to oblige her and the tyrannical dictates of duty to his master. “I don’t suppose a small detour would hurt.”

  “Not a particle!” Jocelyn pressed a swift kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, thank you!”

  “If there’s any fuss with Governor Kerr,” said Sally, “I shall take full responsibility.”

  Before Mr. Duckworth could change his mind, Jocelyn bounded into the carriage and Sally ordered her coachman to take them home…wherever that might be.

  As the carriage headed in the opposite direction from the governor’s mansion, Sally peered at Jocelyn in the waning light of early evening. “You look marvelous, my dear! Tell me, what brings you to Halifax?”

  The tiniest, most delicate bud of hope had begun to sprout inside Jocelyn. If her old friend was a person of consequence in the community, perhaps she could help. Didn’t Mrs. Beamish always say that when two women put their heads together they were more than a match for any number of men?

  She did not have any number of men to sway. Only one.

  But a very stubborn one.

  Chapter Three

  Bloody 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 unexpec
ted 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.