Deborah Hale

by The Bride Ship

  Though she would not admit it to her friend, Jocelyn wished the governor could look a trifle less severe. She knew it was only a bluff to hide his lack of confidence, but other guests might take it as Sally had.

  “I will say one thing for Sir Robert.” Sally gave a soft, rustling chuckle. “At least he looks more interested in the proceedings than His Majesty did when we were presented at court. Do you remember?”

  Jocelyn gave a nod then touched her forefinger to her lips. The first of the young ladies from Halifax was about to be presented. She was attired grandly enough for the court in London, as were most of the other local ladies—all silk and plumes. It made Jocelyn acutely conscious of her charges and their pretty but simple gowns. She hoped they would not be too intimidated by this grand occasion. Back home in England none of them could ever have dreamed of being presented at court.

  When the chief justice’s daughter performed her well-rehearsed curtsy to the governor, a faint spasm of worry gripped Jocelyn. Would Sir Robert remember her coaching and put it to good use? Or would he let his nerves get the better of him and say the worst possible thing? Remembering the way he had greeted the bride ship, she knew that was no exaggeration.

  She strained to hear what he would say. Around her, she sensed others doing the same.

  The governor bowed to Miss Sherwood and spoke a few words to her. It was all very conventional—one of the remarks he had practiced with Jocelyn. She doubted anyone else in the crowd would guess, though, for his resonant voice rang with sincerity, perhaps even a touch of warmth.

  A sense of triumph lifted Jocelyn’s spirits. It was nothing like the spiteful satisfaction she’d taken in beating Sir Robert at chess, but a soft glow of fulfilment. Savoring the approving buzz that rippled through the crowd, she shared in the governor’s obvious relief over his first hurdle successfully cleared.

  When he searched the sea of faces and locked on hers, she smiled and nodded her approval.

  “Oh, no!” whispered Sally as a lanky, nervous-looking girl approached the dais to be presented. “It’s the bishop’s daughter. I vow she must be the clumsiest creature in Halifax, if not the whole colony.”

  The way Miss Foster wobbled her curtsy, she appeared in grave danger of toppling sideways to land in a tearful heap at the governor’s feet. Fortunately, Sir Robert had not lost his soldier’s quick reflexes. Instead of the customary bow, he lunged forward and caught the young lady by the hand, steadying her until she regained her balance. When he raised her gloved fingers to his lips and murmured what appeared to be words of reassurance, Jocelyn nearly burst into applause.

  Having averted a minor disaster with his quick thinking seemed to bolster Sir Robert’s confidence further. He appeared more and more assured as the presentations continued. Jocelyn ceased to worry on his account, fretting instead about how her charges would conduct themselves. The last thing she needed was for Vita to make some brazen remark or Sophia to dissolve in a fit of giggles before the governor.

  Fortunately her fears proved groundless. The formality of the occasion seemed to subdue the girls’ high spirits and even quench the worst of Vita’s perpetual impudence. The governor helped, too, making a special effort to relieve their jitters and bid them a sincere welcome.

  “That came off far better than I expected.” Sally echoed Jocelyn’s very thought when the last of the girls had been presented. She sounded vaguely disappointed there had been no mishaps for her to gossip about in the coming days.

  Mr. Duckworth gave a signal and the music swelled once again, this time an old dancing tune called “Shepherd’s Holiday.” Jocelyn was pleased to see Colonel Carmont’s officers and the young gentlemen of Halifax rushing to invite her charges to take the floor.

  “My dear.” Sally tapped Jocelyn’s arm with her fan.

  “What is it?” She turned toward her friend. “Oh!”

  There stood the governor, regarding her with a hopeful look. “Mrs. Finch, if you are not otherwise engaged, will you grant me the honor of the first dance?”

  Jocelyn hesitated for a moment. She’d had neither the occasion nor desire to dance since Ned’s death, though it had once been among her favorite pastimes. It dismayed her a little to find herself so eager to accept the governor’s invitation.

  She swept him an elegant curtsy. “The honor will be mine, Your Excellency.”

  Why should a perfectly innocent dance make her feel disloyal to her husband’s memory? She had danced with plenty of other men when Ned was alive and he’d never seemed to mind. Besides, she still did not feel she’d atoned sufficiently for the way she had treated Sir Robert. She was determined to put him at ease and help him enjoy the evening.

  As they took their places as head couple of a long line of dancers, she murmured just loud enough for him to hear, “You did very well indeed. Mrs. Carmont and I both thought it was much better than our own presentation at court.”

  The dance began with an exchange of bows and curtsies, then each pair of partners turned side-on to one another, clasped hands and took three steps forward.

  “I was only parroting what you told me to say.” Sir Robert dismissed her praise, but Jocelyn could tell it pleased him more than he would admit.

  “Parroted? Nonsense!” she insisted as they took three steps back and exchanged places. “You selected a proper acknowledgment for each young lady. And you delivered each with perfect sincerity. I congratulate you upon your performance.”

  “I fear none of this will ever come naturally to me.” Sir Robert’s glance flickered to the gentleman beside him for a cue to the next figure. “Any more than dancing does.”

  “What you lack in natural aptitude, you are quick to pick up with study and practice,” said Jocelyn, as she and Sir Robert slipped down between the second couple. “I reckon that is more admirable than some fortunate accident of nature.”

  The words had scarcely left her lips when she experienced another pang of disloyalty to her late husband. For Ned had been one of those fortunate mortals possessed of natural grace and charm. The effortless ease with which he’d done so many things was part of what had drawn her to him. Having to work for a living had since taught Jocelyn the value of effort.

  “I think you give me too much credit, ma’am.” With a very uncertain look, he led the three gentlemen of their set to circle to the left while Jocelyn led the ladies circling to the right.

  After a rather complicated shuffling of couples, they returned to their original places.

  “I apologize in advance,” said Sir Robert, “in case I should tread on your toes.” They stepped toward each other, circled and stepped back to exchange places.

  Jocelyn did not let her gaze waver from Sir Robert’s. “I have trod on your toes more than once since my arrival in Halifax, sir. You have shown me uncommon forbearance. Toes are apt to recover from a minor assault more readily than pride.”

  The two long rows of ladies and gentlemen took hands and moved two steps back then two forward. After that each set of three couples joined hands to dance in a circle.

  Sir Robert never did injure Jocelyn’s toes, nor those of the other ladies in their set. As the dance progressed, he seemed to grow more confident, moving with stately, meticulous grace that suited the music very well.

  Jocelyn abandoned any further efforts at conversation, giving herself instead to the enjoyment of the dance. The music seemed to frolic through her veins as her limbs remembered the familiar movements. Something inside her that had long lain frozen began to stir. At length the dance concluded with a final exchange of bows and curtsies. Jocelyn would have been content for it to go on all evening.

  To cool her flushed cheeks, she raised and opened the fan that had dangled from her wrist during the dance. Then, seeing Sir Robert also looked a trifle flushed, she waved it in front of his face for a moment. “There, now. That was not so bad, was it? I thought you acquitted yourself quite—”

  “Adequately?” The silvery twinkle in his eyes set Jocelyn’s in
sides fluttering like her fan.

  “Quite admirably I was going to say,” Jocelyn teased, as they drifted to the edge of the ballroom. “My but you have trouble accepting a compliment.”

  “I do not get much practice.” This time she sensed he was not in jest.

  “I must endeavor to correct that during my stay in your fine colony.” A week ago Jocelyn would have vowed there was nothing to recommend the man…except perhaps his looks. Now she wondered if he might not possess many more admirable qualities than she had ever suspected.

  “Do not trouble yourself on my account, ma’am.” Sir Robert did not look in the least eager to become the object of her flattery. He wasted neither time nor subtlety in changing the subject. “May I fetch you a cup of punch?”

  “I would be much obliged to you, sir.” Closing her fan, she gestured with it toward an empty Turkish sofa beside the white marble hearth. “I shall take a seat and await your return.”

  Sir Robert headed off to fetch the punch just as the musicians began to play a lively air that had long been one of Jocelyn’s favorites. Humming the tune and taking mincing little steps in time to it, she made her way to the Turkish sofa and lowered herself onto its brocade upholstered seat. She was gratified to see so many of her charges dancing and conversing with the gentlemen of Halifax.

  Soft, rosy candlelight reflected off the tiers of crystals that graced three handsome lusters hung from the ceiling. The rich olive wallpaper and draperies made a handsome background to the bright colors of the ladies’ gowns and officers’ scarlet dress tunics. A melodious blend of music, laughter and conversation filled the air. Through the soles of her slippers, Jocelyn could feel a faint vibration in the floor as so many feet rose and fell together following the rhythm of the dance. Even Sir Robert must sense an aura of magic at work that evening!

  A bit of that magic shattered for Jocelyn when, without warning, Barnabas Power strode out of the crowd and dropped heavily onto the sofa beside her. “Good evening, Mrs. Finch.”

  “Why, Mr. Power.” She edged away from him as far as the width of the sofa would permit. The merchant’s forceful presence overwhelmed her. “What a…pleasant surprise. Are you enjoying the ball?”

  “I am now.” He smiled at her with blatant admiration. “All these pretty debutantes are well and good for the young cubs, but a beautiful, unattached woman is a rare commodity. Will you do me the honor of this dance?”

  What made her hesitate? It was one of her favorites. “It has already begun.”

  “But there is plenty of music left.” Mr. Power rose and held out his hand to her.

  A man of his wealth and influence could prove very useful in furthering her mission. Yet Jocelyn could not overcome her reluctance. “I danced the last, you know, and I was rather looking forward to—”

  “Don’t tell me you are too delicate to undertake two dances in a row.” Unwilling to accept her excuses, the merchant seized her hand and hoisted her to her feet.

  “But the governor—”

  “Hang, the governor!” Mr. Power drew her toward the other dancers. “I’ll wager a crown this ball was your idea, not his.”

  Jocelyn recalled something she had overheard Sir Robert tell his aide, about knowing when surrender was one’s only option. Now she was getting a taste of how he must have felt when she browbeat him into hosting this levee. She joined the dance at Mr. Power’s insistence, but her heart was not in it.

  “I did suggest to His Excellency—”

  “I knew it!” The scorn in Mr. Power’s hearty laugh grated on Jocelyn’s nerves. “You owe me a crown, but I shall claim another dance in lieu of it.”

  Not if she had to sell everything she owned to pay a wager she had not even accepted! At that moment Jocelyn was more concerned with defending the governor. “Sir Robert was quick to endorse my idea.”

  “That I do not believe.” Mr. Power made a sweeping gesture around the grand ballroom. “I know to the last shilling what this place cost to build and furnish. Hate to see it not earning its keep.”

  No question, the merchant was a far more confident dancer than Sir Robert. He spoke more, smiled more and laughed more. For all that, Jocelyn found him a much less congenial partner. None of his frequent smiles brought a merry sparkle to his eyes, which were hard and gray as the ironstone walls of his warehouse. She sensed a coldness in them, as if he were calculating her worth to the last shilling. When he took her hand or brushed against her in the course of the dance, a clammy chill of aversion slithered through her.

  Every interminable moment in his company raised her opinion of Sir Robert Kerr. Better a frosty manner masking an amiable heart than the other way around. The better acquainted she became with Mr. Power, the less she liked him.

  The merchant’s forceful voice intruded upon Jocelyn’s thoughts. “I told Kerr the right wife could be of use to him. She could manage all the social doings and leave him to his canal schemes and land patents.”

  “I wonder if one of my charges might do for him?” Somehow, the words left an unpleasant taste in Jocelyn’s mouth. Having a bride-ship girl as the governor’s lady would insure the future of the program in Nova Scotia. And yet…

  “You must be joking,” Mr. Power made no effort to disguised his contempt. “One of these raw chits, mistress of Government House?”

  Jocelyn struggled to hide her mounting vexation. It would not do to provoke a man of Mr. Power’s wealth and influence. “I assure you I am perfectly in earnest. Some of the girls come from very respectable families and have received a superior—”

  Mr. Power interrupted her. “What about you, my dear? Given any thought to marrying again?”

  Was he thinking of her as a prospective wife for the governor? Jocelyn found herself blushing.

  “Why you cannot be above six-and-twenty,” Mr. Power continued. The hint of a leer in his smile told Jocelyn it was not Sir Robert he had in mind for her. “Plenty of good breeding years left, eh?”

  The indelicacy of his questions stunned her speechless, which was probably a blessing, or who knew what she might have said to the odious man?

  Fortunately her sense of discretion had asserted itself by the time she found her voice. “I was most fortunate in my first marriage, sir. It was a true love match and a very happy one. Since I could never be satisfied with anything less, I have no interest in taking another husband.”

  Mr. Power did not appear daunted by her assertion. “If a man had enough to offer, he might change your mind, my dear.”

  She was not his dear, nor would she be, for every penny of his fortune! But how could she rid herself of him without making an enemy she could ill afford? His vulgar reference to her breeding years gave Jocelyn a clue.

  In the upsurge of conversation following the dance she lowered her voice and met his granite gaze with one of flint. “Even if I were inclined to wed, Mr. Power, my childless first marriage might make most gentlemen think twice before offering anything for my hand.”

  The dazed look on his face went a little way toward easing the familiar ache of regret in Jocelyn’s heart.

  Sir Robert’s heart sank a little when he returned with two cups of punch only to find the sofa beside the hearth empty. That was ridiculous, of course. A few days ago, he’d have given anything never to set eyes on Jocelyn Finch again. When and how had he come to feel at ease in her company as he did with few other women?

  Perhaps it was because she had seen him at his worst yet still appeared willing to give him another chance. Or perhaps having seen a less pleasant side of her character, he knew she was as fallible as he, not some flawless paragon. Whatever the reason, he’d enjoyed their dance tonight and had been looking forward to a little more of her company.

  He’d hoped Mrs. Finch might feel the same, but now he was not so sure. Had she sent him off to fetch punch so she could slip away in search of more congenial company?

  Sir Robert turned and scanned the crowded ballroom. It surprised him how quickly he picked her out of t
he throng. He told himself it was her rich claret-colored gown that had drawn his eye.

  For a moment he was too busy admiring the sprightly grace of her dancing to take any notice of her partner. Then he recognized Barnabas Power. His fingers tightened around the handles of the cups he’d forgotten he was holding. The well-honed edge of some potent emotion stabbed him, but he was not certain what it could be. Indignation, he decided after a moment’s thought.

  He recalled with perfect clarity what Power had said about his interest in Jocelyn Finch as a prospective wife. But the man was too old for a vibrant woman in her prime, and far too mercenary for a woman who had abandoned fortune and position in pursuit of love.

  When the dance concluded, Sir Robert found himself striding toward Mr. Power and Mrs. Finch, keeping a tight grip on the punch cups so as not to spill any on his guests. Prudence warned him he should not interfere with the most influential man in the colony, but for once in his life, he paid it no heed.

  “Mrs. Finch?”

  She started at the sound of his voice and spun about.

  He handed her a cup of punch. “I apologize for taking so long to fetch the drink you requested. No doubt some refreshment will be even more welcome after a second dance.”

  “Your Excellency!” Her splendid eyes seemed to light up at the sight of him. “How kind of you to seek me out. It was not my intention to abandon you—”

  Before she could finish, Barnabas Power snatched the remaining cup of punch from Sir Robert’s other hand. “Thank you, sir. Most hospitable of you. Now if you will excuse us…”

  He pointed toward the bowed alcove at the far end of the ballroom and addressed himself to Mrs. Finch. “It looks less crowded over there. Shall we find a spot to rest and partake of our drinks?”

  Sir Robert clenched his mouth shut and prepared to make a dignified retreat. He did not dare spit out any of the words that crowded on the tip of his tongue.

  But Jocelyn Finch caught him by the arm with surprising strength for her size. “Later, perhaps, Mr. Power. There is an urgent matter which I must discuss with Sir Robert.”