by Anne Gracie
Daisy followed him and looked down. There bobbing away in the fog was a small rowboat with a man seated in it. “Go out in that little thing?” she exclaimed. “Not on your life!”
“It’s perfectly safe,” Flynn assured her.
“It bloody well isn’t!” Daisy backed away. She’d nearly drowned once. Every time she smelled that stinky dank river smell, she remembered that panic, the sense of the waters closing over her head, of choking on the filthy stuff . . .
Flynn smiled, as if amused. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall in.”
“You won’t get the chance!”
“I thought you wanted first pick of the goods. If you don’t . . .” He shrugged.
Daisy thought of all those gorgeous things hidden away in that big boat. First pick . . . She swallowed. “All right, but I’m warnin’ you, Flynn, if that thing tips over—”
“It won’t, and even if it did, I wouldn’t let you drown. Unlike most seamen, I can swim like a fish, so you’re perfectly safe with me.” He held out his hand. With a deep breath, and hoping he couldn’t feel how much she was shaking, Daisy took it. It was warm and strong.
The only way to get into the nasty little boat was by climbing down a wooden ladder built into the wharf.
“A gentleman would let you go first,” Flynn said.
“Don’t even think of it,” Daisy told him. Modesty be buggered. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere unless you’re there to break me fall.”
With a soft chuckle, Flynn disappeared over the side, landing with a small thud in the boat. “Your turn, Miss Daisy.” The little rowboat rocked and bobbed around madly. Flynn stood looking up at her, as calm as if he was on solid ground.
First pick of the goods . . . Taking a deep breath, Daisy turned her back on the river, hooked her skirts up a bit, and started down the ladder, one careful step at a time, hanging on for dear life.
Fog swirled around her, waves slapped nastily against the flimsy little boat and the weed-ridden piles of the wharf. Overhead, river birds shrieked like lost spirits. Daisy took a breath to settle her nerves . . . and the scent of the river closed over her.
She froze.
“Daisy?” Flynn’s deep voice came from somewhere far away.
Daisy didn’t move—couldn’t move.
A pair of strong hands seized her by the waist. “Let go, I’ve got you.”
But she couldn’t.
He wrapped one brawny arm around her and with his other hand unclenched her frozen fingers, and thud! They landed in the little boat. It rocked wildly and she clutched at Flynn in fright.
“You’re fine, lass.” His voice was calm and deep and soothing. “Just sit down and be still now.” He pressed her down onto a plank.
He said something to the man, then did something with a rope and pushed. The little boat left the wharf with a swish, and the man started rowing.
Flynn sat down beside Daisy. “It won’t take but a moment to get to the ship.” It was a bit of a squash, but the feel of his strong body beside her was a comfort. He’d said he could swim.
Shamed by her stupid panic, Daisy sat as still as she could, her back straight, her head held high. She held on tightly and, she hoped, inconspicuously. She was shaking like a leaf.
The oars splashed, the sailor pulled in a steady rhythm.
After a moment, Flynn said quietly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you really were frightened of the water.”
Mortified by his quiet sympathy, Daisy mumbled, “It’s nuffin’.” She hated being such a coward.
And then because he seemed to be waiting, and because she felt so foolish, and because the salt-sour acrid smell of the river was half suffocating her she found herself muttering, “It’s just . . . I nearly drowned once.”
“What happened?”
“Bloke pushed me in. Thought it was funny, stupid bast—” Remembering she was trying to clean up her language, she broke off. “I can’t swim. Lucky for me a riverman saw me go under. He pulled me out with a ruddy great hook, ripped me dress to bits.” She grimaced. “He thought it was pretty funny too—said most of his catches were dead uns, but I was still wriggling.” A shudder rippled through her as she remembered.
Flynn slid an arm around her waist. “Well, you’re perfectly safe with me.”
Daisy tried not to lean into him. Normally she would have shaken him off—she didn’t need the temptation—but she was too grateful for the secure, solid feel of him. In any case, temptation was the last thing on her mind—she was too bloody scared.
As they slid smoothly through the water, the shape of the big ship slowly coalesced out of the fog. They traveled in silence, the sounds of the river echoing around them, made eerie by the fog and their lack of context. It was taking forever.
Beside her Flynn let out a little huff of amusement.
She turned her head and eyed him suspiciously. “What?”
“I’m thinkin’ even if you did go in, you’d be in no danger of drowning.” He added, “Wood floats.”
“What?”
“You’re as stiff as a board. Likely if you hit the water you’d float.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. Then she elbowed him in the ribs. Hard.
“Ooff!” But he was laughing too. “That’s better,” he said. “And here we are at the ship.”
The little boat bumped gently against the side of the ship. Overhead she could see the prow, with the figurehead of a carved and painted bare-breasted woman pointing from it. The name Derry Lass was painted in crisp gold-edged black letters.
A rope ladder hung down from the side of the ship. Daisy eyed it. Her stomach clenched. Climbing a fixed wooden ladder had been hard enough, but a rope one that would twist and swing, with the river beneath her . . .
“I can’t—” she began.
“Ahoy there, Derry Lass!” Flynn called up. “Lady comin’ aboard.”
A couple of heads appeared above, then a rope with a canvas sling was lowered.
“Sit in that,” Flynn said, helping her to her feet. “The lads will haul you up. It’s perfectly safe—like a swing at the fairground. We use it for loading and unloading cargo—and ladies.”
Anxiety scalded her throat, but she’d made a right ninny of herself once already this morning, so she swallowed her objections—and her fear—and allowed Flynn and the sailor to help settle her onto the strip of canvas.
“Ready?”
She nodded, clutching the ropes like grim death. Lordy, but she felt a fool.
“Take her away, lads,” Flynn called up.
The ropes snapped taut, the canvas sling pulled tight around her bum, and “Lord lumme!” Suddenly she was swinging in the air, swaying over the water, her feet dangling and her skirts blowing.
“Keep still,” Flynn instructed.
One of her shoes fell off.
“Caught it,” he called up.
But Daisy wasn’t worrying about her shoe. She was pulled high, and swung over the deck—a deck filled with a bunch of men and one woman, all gawking at the elegant sight she made—for all the world like a pudding dangling in a bloomin’ pudding cloth. Talk about dignity.
Chapter Three
It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy; it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others.
—JANE AUSTEN, SENSE AND SENSIBILITY
Flynn shoved Daisy’s shoe in his coat pocket and swiftly climbed the rope ladder. Captain McKenzie was waiting to greet him, along with what looked like the entire ship’s crew neatly lined up.
Mrs. McKenzie—Mai-Lin—was also on deck, talking to Daisy who was shaking out her skirts, straightening her bonnet, and trying to look like she traveled by sling all the time. He repressed a grin. She was a game little thing.
“Captain Flynn, welcome aboard,” McKenzie said with a salute that carried an echo of the royal navy, where he’d served for many years. The seamen lined up on the deck snapped to attention as well. It might be a privately owned trader, but McKenzie ran it with military efficiency.
Flynn felt a ripple of pride at the sight. This was his ship, one of many. He inclined his head to the assembled crew and McKenzie dismissed them to go about their work.
“McKenzie, Mai-Lin. You look ravishing, as always, Mai-Lin.”
Flynn turned to Daisy, a small red leather slipper adorned with a jaunty red and white rosette dangling from one finger. “Need help putting it on?” he said with a grin.
Daisy grabbed it, blushing furiously, and while Flynn bowed over Mai-Lin’s gloved hand, she shoved her shoe back on.
“This is Miss Daisy Chance, Max’s sister-in-law,” Flynn said when she straightened.
The polite smiles of welcome on McKenzie’s and Mai-Lin’s faces instantly warmed. “Max’s sister-in-law,” Mai-Lin exclaimed delightedly. “We heard a rumor he’d married.”
“Come to think of it she’s also the sister-in-law of our silent partner, Hyphen-Hyphen.” Flynn added with a mock apologetic look at Daisy, “I mean, of course, the honorable Frederick Monkton-Coombes.”
“Welcome aboard the Derry Lass, Miss Chance,” McKenzie said.
“I’m delighted to meet you,” Mai-Lin added warmly. “You cannot imagine how good it is to meet another woman after months at sea with only men to talk to.”
“Miss Chance has an interest in some of our cargo,” Flynn told them. “She’s a dressmaker.”
“Oh.” Mai-Lin eyed Daisy’s dress with interest. “Did you make that?”
Daisy nodded, unable to keep the pride from her voice. “Dress and pelisse.”
“They’re both lovely—so elegant.” Mai-Lin gave a rueful laugh. “I have no skills with a needle at all, unless it’s to sew up a gash or a wound. But where are my manners—come along to the day cabin and we’ll have tea.”
“It’s not a social call, Mai-Lin—” Flynn began.
“Tea,” Daisy said firmly, “would be delightful, Mrs. McKenzie.”
Flynn repressed a smile. Lady Beatrice to a T, only with a cockney accent.
The two ladies linked arms and headed for the captain’s cabin. McKenzie gave Flynn a rueful look. “Sorry, sir. Mai-Lin’s been pining for female company. Six months as the only woman on board . . .”
Flynn shook his head. “No matter.” It was Daisy’s time he’d been thinking about, not his. These days he didn’t have near enough to keep him busy.
McKenzie said, “Shall we go through the inventory while the ladies do whatever ladies do over tea and biscuits? If you tell me the kind of thing Miss Chance is interested in, I’ll have the lads bring it up. No doubt Mai-Lin will have a few things to show you as well.”
“I’m countin’ on it,” Flynn said. The two men went below decks.
* * *
An hour later Flynn had finished his examination of the accounts and of the inventory. Another excellent result. The profit on this shipment would be good—they wouldn’t know the final result until the goods had been sold on, but he was very pleased.
“Right then, shall we join the ladies?” McKenzie asked. “And I’ll tell the lads what to bring up for Miss Chance, shall I?”
“Best wait and let her tell them direct,” Flynn said.
But when they approached the day cabin, it was obvious the process had already begun. The large central table that would seat a dozen men but was usually covered in maps and sea charts was piled high with colorful fabrics and embroideries. The two women were chattering nineteen to the dozen while several seamen stood by with resigned expressions, laden with rolls and folded lengths of fabric. Seeing Flynn and the captain, they straightened.
The ladies merely glanced up at the arrival of the men, then returned to poring over fabrics. Mai-Lin held up a bolt of glittering silver-embroidered green gauze for Daisy’s inspection.
Daisy looked for all the world like a woman who’d wasted her time coming to the ship, that there was little of interest for her here. She fingered the delicate fabric, and draped it this way and that, all the time with a pained expression, then sighed and made a careless gesture, indicating the bolt should be added to the pile on the table. “I s’pose it’ll do. Are you sure you ain’t got anything better to show me, Mai-Lin?”
Mai-Lin turned away to tell one of the seamen to bring forward the blue silk next and in that moment Flynn glimpsed a fleeting expression of glee on Daisy’s face as she surreptitiously stroked the green gauze, then turned back, ready to be bored with indifferent blue silk.
In a dramatic movement, Mai-Lin unrolled the first few yards of shimmering silk for Daisy’s perusal, saying, “You will find no finer than this anywhere in the world—see how from one angle the color is the purest turquoise, and yet when you move it, in the folds it shimmers the palest gold. It would make a superb ball dress, would it not?”
Daisy’s eyes gleamed, but she managed a seen-it-all-before kind of sigh.
“But perhaps, being English, you have little experience with true Oriental quality,” Mai-Lin said sweetly.
“Mai-Lin you mustn’t—” McKenzie began, but Flynn laid a hand on his arm, and shook his head. “Let’s leave them to it,” he murmured.
“But Mai-Lin—”
“Might just have met her equal. Shall we step outside and blow a cloud?”
As the men left the day cabin, Daisy was heard to say, “I s’pose I might be able to find some use for this bit of stuff.”
Flynn smiled to himself. The haggling had already begun.
While the two men leaned peacefully against the rail, sampling a cigar from the selection McKenzie had acquired, the sound of battle could be heard drifting up from the day cabin.
“A guinea a yard for that? Do you think I come down in the last shower, Mai-Lin?
“Such ignorance of the quality of silk . . .”
McKenzie looked horrified, but Flynn chuckled softly. “Kindred spirits, they are, McKenzie, take my word for it.”
* * *
Finally it was time to leave. The large parcel of fabrics was carried out by two seamen and carefully lowered into the small boat under Daisy’s anxious eye. She seemed much more worried about the fabric than her own safety, and allowed herself to be lowered in the sling and rowed back to shore with a minimum of fuss—though she sat as stiffly as ever on the boat. This time, however, she didn’t clutch the side of the boat, but the string handle attached to the parcel.
Flynn wondered which she’d expect him to save first in the event of a capsizing—herself or her precious parcel. He opened his mouth to share the observation with her, eyed her grim expression, and changed his mind. She was in no mood for jokes.
Once safely on shore however, Daisy turned to Flynn, her eyes glowing with excitement. “I got to thank you, Flynn,” she said earnestly as he carried the huge parcel toward the waiting carriage. “I never dreamed of such gorgeous fabrics. I never seen anything like those ones that have two colors, depending on what angle you’re lookin’ at them. And some of that embroidery—it’d take me months—and it’s so beautiful.”
“Pleased with your acquisitions, are you, then?” Flynn asked as he packed the precious parcel into the carriage and held out his hand to help her up the steps.
“My bloomin’ oath I am!” she said fervently.
As usual she pretended not to see his hand, but climbed in unassisted. He didn’t know whether she just didn’t like being touched, or whether it was because she didn’t like any hint that she might need help climbing up, bad leg notwithstanding.
“That Mai-Lin is nice, ain’t she?”
Flynn said dryly, “From the sounds of your bargaining, you were enemies sworn.”
&
nbsp; Daisy laughed. “Did you hear some of the things she said to me? Proper disdainful she was, callin’ me ignorant, and unsophisticated and actin’ like I didn’t know nothing about the quality of good she was showin’ me—Lady Bea couldn’t’ve sounded more hoity-toity. Yeah, she can bargain like a proper little fishwife, can Mai-Lin.” She grinned at Flynn. “But then, so can I!”
He chuckled. “I told McKenzie you were kindred spirits.”
“Yeah, I liked her. She’s going to look out for more materials for me on her next trip. Buttons and trimmings, too. We had a right good natter. I’m goin’ to make her a dress and pelisse as well and she reckons she can get me some special embroideries.”
But as the carriage rumbled through the busy London streets Daisy’s bright spirits suddenly dimmed. She stared out of the window, chewing thoughtfully on her lip. The worried expression seemed to deepen the closer they came to Berkeley Square.
“Something bothering you, Daisy?” Flynn asked after a while.
For a few moments he wondered if she’d even heard him but, “I think I might have gotten a bit carried away,” she said with a guilty look.
“What do you mean?”
“I was so excited by all them beautiful materials, I reckon it went to me head.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I can’t afford them, Flynn, and that’s the truth. I can afford maybe about a quarter of what I’ve got there—if that.” She nodded toward the parcel sitting on the seat opposite.
“Afford it?” Flynn exclaimed in surprise. “But you don’t have to pay a penny. It’s all taken care of.”
She stiffened. “‘All taken care of’? What do you mean? I’m not a charity case, you know, I’m—”
“Calm down, firebrand—nobody’s callin’ you a charity case. Didn’t Max tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“That it’s all paid for—now don’t jump down me throat,” he said when she opened her mouth to argue. “Just let me finish—and then, if you don’t like it, take it up with Abby and Damaris.”