Deborah Hale

by The Bride Ship

  Before she could beg her friend not to desert her, Sally had slipped away. Jocelyn decided not to chase after her. It might look as though she had been routed. Instead she stood her ground, her attention fixed on the dance floor while her lips froze in a counterfeit smile. She fluttered her fan in front of her face to cool a self-conscious flush that burned in her cheeks.

  If only some gentleman would ask her to dance, she might not feel quite so awkward. Colonel Carmont would make an ideal partner. Even a dance with that bothersome Mr. Power would be preferable to standing here alone, the target of so much censorious scrutiny.

  She would have given anything, just then, to take the floor on the arm of Sir Robert Kerr. But the governor would be laid up in bed at Government House for some days yet. No doubt he would welcome any excuse to keep him away from the social gatherings he so detested.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Jocelyn glimpsed someone approaching. She turned toward the kind soul with a grateful smile. It hardened on her face when she recognized Mr. Wye, the editor of the Gazette who had written such horrid things about the bride ship in his newspaper. His glowering countenance warned her he had not come to apologize.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Finch.” The editor’s tone implied he did not truly wish her a good evening, but was only paying the barest lip service to civility.

  “Mr. Wye.”

  “I am surprised to find you in attendance this evening, ma’am.”

  Though she knew the man was baiting her, Jocelyn could not resist asking, “Indeed, sir. And why is that?”

  The editor’s eyes took on the gleam of a hunter’s with prey firmly in his sights. “I assumed you would not want to run the risk of provoking more riots here in town or more of your charges running off with young soldiers.”

  Fie! Better a hundred stubborn governors than one weather vane of a newsman! At least Sir Robert had been honest and frank in his opposition and sincerely concerned for the welfare of his colonists. Not to mention that he had turned out to be right in several particulars. The governor was a far worthier opponent, yet she could not back down from Mr. Wye’s challenge. It would be an insult to Sir Robert if she yielded to an inferior adversary.

  “Upon my honor, sir.” She prepared to throw down the gauntlet. “I always thought you gentlemen of the press prided yourselves upon the accuracy of your reports.”

  “Indeed we do!” Mr. Wye bristled. “Are you telling me I have been misinformed? Was there not a riot on the grounds of Prince’s Lodge last evening, provoked by the presence of so many unattached young women? And did not one of those young women elope with a soldier assigned to guard the estate?”

  Jocelyn sensed several onlookers drawing closer to overhear their conversation. Across the ballroom, she glimpsed Colonel Carmont urging the musicians to play louder. “I cannot vouch for what information you received, sir. It may be that the facts were correct, but the wrong conclusions were drawn from them. I did receive a deputation at the lodge last night. And I cannot deny it grew somewhat…disorderly before it dispersed.”

  Before the editor could mount a counterattack, Jocelyn hurried on. “But from what those men told me, their actions were prompted by stories in your newspaper. Early accounts of the bride ship led them to believe the girls would wed working men like themselves. Then your reports about the levee at Government House convinced them their future brides were being stolen by officers and merchants. One can hardly blame them for wanting to voice their objections.”

  For all her brave words, she had never felt so cornered or bereft of allies. Where was Sally? Or the colonel? Anyone with a word to say in her defense? She braced for Mr. Wye to demolish her with the stinging wit she had read in his editorial.

  But before he could speak, another voice rose from behind her—a familiar and most welcome voice. “Answer the lady, Mr. Wye. Do you advocate the suppression of free speech in Nova Scotia? I have never known you to refrain from voicing your objections on any matter.”

  Sir Robert’s comment drew chuckles from several officers and a number of the young gentlemen of the town who happened to be within earshot. Jocelyn turned to reward him with her warmest smile of gratitude. If they had not been in such a public place, she might have repeated her actions of the morning by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly.

  Her first glimpse of Sir Robert startled her. He looked so formal in an old-fashioned powdered wig. Then she understood. He must have donned it to hide the bandage over his head wound. Her relief turned to dismay. The poor man should not be out of bed so soon!

  “Humph!” The editor’s thick brows bristled. “You cannot hold me responsible for how those young fools acted. I only reported what took place. They drew their own conclusions.”

  The governor considered for a moment then gave a judicious nod. “I agree, sir. You are no more to blame for the actions of those men than is…Mrs. Finch.”

  “Er…well…I suppose…” Mr. Wye sputtered.

  The governor was not done with him yet. “If you could have witnessed the self-possession and courage with which this lady handled the encounter, I feel certain you would have offered a toast in her honor.”

  “Indeed?” The editor appeared to realize he had been neatly outflanked. “I received no account of that.”

  “If you were to,” said Sir Robert, “no doubt you would publish it, to counter the negative impression your previous reports may have created.”

  As Mr. Wye gave a grudging growl of agreement, Jocelyn sensed someone standing beside her. She glanced over to find Lily Winslow, looking pale and anxious but determined.

  “I should be happy to provide you with an account, sir.” Lily sounded nervous. For all her capability with the other girls, Jocelyn had noticed she shied away from men, especially men of authority. “His Excellency is correct. Mrs. Finch was magnificent. I’m sure your readers would find it a thrilling and inspiring story.”

  “No doubt,” muttered the editor in a tone of reluctant surrender. “Let us find a quiet corner where you can tell me all about the heroics of your chaperone.”

  Sir Robert raised his hand to detain them a moment. “You might also tell your readers Mrs. Finch has agreed to let her young ladies accompany me on my forthcoming tour of the colony.”

  Jocelyn struggled to keep her jaw from dropping. She had agreed to no such thing! Sir Robert had not even broached the idea with her.

  But when their eyes met, she sensed a plea in his for her indulgence. After all he had done for her, she owed him her trust, difficult as she found it to grant. While he continued to speak, she held her tongue and nodded in agreement, praying he knew what he was doing.

  “Since my arrival in Nova Scotia, it has been my desire and intention to visit other parts of the colony.” With each word Sir Robert raised the volume of his voice. “No doubt I will receive a much warmer welcome if I am accompanied by a great many pretty young ladies. Besides, Mrs. Finch and I have discussed the need for marriageable women in rural areas of Nova Scotia.”

  For the second time in two days Jocelyn heard the governor utter a blatant falsehood. He sounded as convincing as when he’d threatened to blow a hole in one of the rioters with an unloaded musket. Yet she sensed it did not come easy for him to dissemble.

  They would discuss the matter, she decided, and several others. Including their early-morning kiss. What would Sir Robert have to say about that?

  Chapter Twelve

  Would Mrs. Finch have his hide? Sir Robert wondered. For publicly committing her to an undertaking she had never discussed with him, let alone agreed to?

  He could scarcely blame her if she did. At least she’d had the forbearance to present a united front for Mr. Wye and the crowd at the assembly. More than that he had no right to ask.

  He hoped she would understand that he’d had no choice. After reading the Gazette, he’d known she would be walking into an ambush tonight. Turning a deaf ear to Duckworth’s warnings and pleas, he had risen from his bed, s
lapped a wig on his wounded head then ventured out to lend Mrs. Finch his support…such as it was.

  The effort had set his head pounding again. Beads of sweat prickled on his forehead and at the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure if they were caused by the pain in his head or the warmth of the wig. Either way, he did not want to spoil his rout of the belligerent editor by swooning to the floor.

  “Come, Sir Robert.” Mrs. Finch seized him by the arm and tugged him toward a quiet alcove. “Let us sit for a moment and discuss your plans for this tour of the colony. I have a suggestion to make.”

  No doubt she did. A suggestion that he stick to the truth from now on, perhaps. Or that he not take advantage of a lady’s slip of propriety to kiss her breathless. Still, he did need to sit before he humiliated himself by falling down. And the prospect of a private moment or two with Jocelyn Finch appealed to him, even if it meant enduring her reproaches.

  It seemed to take a very long time for them to reach the alcove and sink onto a pair of chairs. Mrs. Finch opened her fan and fluttered it in front of her face, but at such an angle that the breeze cooled Sir Robert, too.

  When she spoke, her tone was reproachful, but gently so, prompted by concern rather than annoyance. “Do you call this resting? You should never have left your bed so soon. I must speak to your Mr. Duckworth for permitting it.”

  Her words acted like the whisper of her fan to revive Sir Robert’s spirits. “It’s not his fault, poor fellow. I insisted. As you know, I can be rather stubborn at times.”

  “Stubbornness is a much maligned virtue, in my opinion—one with which I am well supplied, myself. Until you are fully recovered, I warn you I shall be most stubborn in my insistence that you look after yourself properly.”

  “Are you saying you wish I had stayed away tonight?” No doubt it would have been less awkward for them both if he’d allowed more time to elapse before seeing her again.

  Time during which they could have pretended to forget what had passed between them that morning. But how long would it take for him to forget that kiss? Far longer than Jocelyn Finch would remain in Nova Scotia.

  “For your sake, I do, indeed.” The tempo of her fan quickened. “For my own, I cannot deceive you. I have seldom been so happy to hear anyone’s voice. This is twice you have come to my rescue, at some cost to yourself. Of course I am grateful, but I hope you do not mean to make a habit of it.”

  Sir Robert could give her no such assurance.

  “Did you mean what you said?” she asked after an awkward pause. “About taking us with you on your tour of the colony?”

  “Would you object? I’m sorry I told Wye it was all settled, but I thought the news might take the wind out of his sails. I truly believe the venture could benefit us both.”

  Her attention never wavered as he told her of his plan to sail around the colony, visiting a number of the larger settlements. “I wish to see for myself the local conditions and hear, firsthand, what the settlers need. Having you and your young ladies along will make the tour more festive, less political. I am certain they’ll meet plenty of willing suitors in areas where their presence could do a great deal of good for the colony.”

  A look of uncertainty creased Jocelyn Finch’s features. “But you will not be staying long in any one place. How are my girls to form lasting attachments so quickly? I want them to be happy!”

  “I know you do.” Sir Robert glanced toward the dance floor, where a number of the young ladies appeared to be enjoying themselves. “But you do not have the power to insure their happiness. The best you can hope is that they will choose husbands wisely and for the right reasons.”

  “That is true.” Her eyes were focused on the dancers, but for a moment her thoughts seemed far away.

  Perhaps if Sir Robert made his suggestion now, she would agree without truly hearing him. “What if the eligible men in each settlement write letters of introduction, telling what they want in a wife and what they have to offer?”

  One of Jocelyn’s delicate brows flew up. “Like the marriage applications you proposed before?”

  He should have known better than to imagine he could sneak anything past her. “Not altogether. The couples themselves would make their choices, but letters might be a useful first step in bringing about compatible matches. Surely even in matters of the heart, one must not lose one’s head entirely.”

  Jocelyn’s brow arched even higher. “The way we lost ours this morning, you mean?”

  “Yes…I mean, no! Perhaps I misplaced mine, but that is no excuse. I should never…that is, I beg your pardon for what happened!” Of many awkward moments in his life, this was quite one of the worst. Yet when he recalled the lush sweetness of her kiss, Sir Robert could not bring himself to regret it.

  “Beg my pardon?” Jocelyn raised her fan higher to conceal a teasing grin from everyone but him. “Nonsense! It is I who should beg yours—throwing myself upon you the instant you woke. I fancy any man would have reacted as you did.”

  “Perhaps so, but…” He should be grateful for the brisk humor with which she dismissed the incident. He was! And yet…

  She turned toward him. Her incomparable eyes sparkled with daring mischief and her voice dropped to a provocative whisper. “I must confess, I never suspected you capable of such…fervor. You kiss very well, indeed!”

  “Madam, please! What if someone should overhear you?” They would likely assume their ears were playing tricks on them.

  But he was not certain how much of the lady’s playful baiting he could take before being provoked to silence her with another kiss. One that would make this morning’s seem subdued and decorous by comparison.

  With a mixture of keen anticipation and profound wariness, he found himself looking forward to touring the colony in her company.

  Two weeks later, Jocelyn watched with a mixture of relief and regret as the town of Halifax slowly disappeared into a bank of fog. Sir Robert stood beside her on the aft deck of the Aldebaran as it eased out of the harbor, bearing them on their tour of the colony. Nearby, clusters of girls were huddled together, reading and exchanging letters that had reached Sir Robert the previous day from the South Shore town of Liverpool.

  “John Sarty?” Mary Ann held up a piece of paper. “Has anybody not read his letter?”

  “The widower with two little ones?” Charlotte’s tone left no doubt what she thought of a widowed suitor. “Give it to Mary Parfitt. She’s always on about wanting a big family. That would give her a head start.”

  “I’ve read Mr. Sarty’s letter,” Mary snapped. “He sounds very amiable and hardworking. I hate to think of those poor babes without a mother.”

  “Here’s one from a shipwright,” said Lily. “He claims he goes to church regularly and is temperate in his habits. He writes a very fine hand.”

  Glancing toward Sir Robert, Jocelyn muttered, “Very well. I’ll admit those letters of introduction were a good idea.”

  The governor did not take his eyes off Fort George, rapidly disappearing into the fog. “I demanded no such admission from you, Mrs. Finch.”

  “You did not have to. The self-satisfied look on your face spoke volumes.” Jocelyn concluded with a soft laugh to let him know she was in jest…at least partly.

  Since the evening of the assembly ball, the two of them had discussed, planned and compromised upon their strategy until she was convinced her mission had a far better chance of meeting its objectives. Mrs. Beamish would be pleased with her next report.

  Sir Robert nodded toward the girls. “I was beginning to worry we might have no prospective brides left to bring along with us on this tour. I should not have been able to show my face in Liverpool or anywhere else without an armed escort.”

  “There has been quite a rash of marriage proposals in the past few days.” Jocelyn waved her handkerchief one last time at a clutch of girls standing on the wharf with Sally Carmont. “I reckon their beaux were afraid the girls might not return to Halifax if they left on this tour.”<
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  Sir Robert nodded. “It was prudent of you to insist their weddings wait until we return.”

  Prudent? Jocelyn strove not to make a face at the word. No doubt the governor thought he was paying her a great compliment. “After what happened with Hetty and Corporal Miller, I could not abide the prospect of more hasty weddings. I hope the girls will behave themselves for Sally and Mrs. Langford until we return.”

  Halifax society had relaxed its disapproval of her charges once the governor announced he would be taking them away to the far corners of the colony. Jocelyn did not want any more scandalous incidents stirring up fresh gossip.

  “It was a good thing a few stayed behind.” Sir Robert scanned the crowded deck. “Otherwise we might be packed as tight as a catch of herring for our voyage to Liverpool.”

  Though his words conjured up a ridiculous image, Jocelyn could not help wondering what it might be like to share close quarters with the handsome governor. Ever since the morning of their imprudent kiss, her attraction to Sir Robert Kerr had intensified daily.

  Whenever he held her hand during the course of a dance, she recalled the seductive way his fingers had tangled in her hair. When he spoke, she could not keep her gaze from straying to his lips. Sometimes she fancied she could feel them upon hers again, moving with sweet, wild urgency.

  Often she searched his cool blue eyes for a secret gleam that might betray his preoccupation with similar thoughts about her. But his usual facade of solemn courtesy gave nothing away. Had her kiss stirred anything more than a passing fancy in him? It seemed not.

  And that did not seem fair. For it had stirred far too many and far too intense feelings in her. Foremost, it had reminded her how much she missed the feel of a man’s arms about her, the breathtaking power of his kiss…even the soft rumble of his snoring in the bed beside her at night. Since Ned’s death she had been too numbed by grief, consumed by bitterness and preoccupied with her struggle for survival to think of any man as an object of desire. How she wished that had not changed!