by Diana Davis
How was this going to prove his quality?
Knowing his parents, how would anything?
“Pardon,” a sailor pushing a mop muttered.
Lord David stepped back from this sortie. The only people to which he might have possibly spoken were the captain, who was obviously busy, and still rather beneath him, and the occupants of the other two cabins. Unfortunately, as he outranked them, he would have had to give assent, and they had no acquaintance to introduce them.
He had deduced that the couple in one cabin and the pair of sisters in the other were not completely destitute. The couple were apparently merchants hoping to establish a shop in the colonies. He could only assume from the somber colors of their attire that the sisters were either hopeless in fashion or mourning a close relative. Both seemed equally probable after their attempt at ridiculing his own apparel.
It was likely better this way. He’d spent enough of his life being disrespected; he wasn’t about to let someone else treat him that way. Nothing was to be gained from associating with them, and he was not quite so desperate for company that he needed to lower himself that much.
Yet.
Though he’d never inherit his father’s title, he had learned long ago that his rank often meant that he would be alone. No reason to believe that would change now, not aboard this ship and not once they reached the colonies.
What was he thinking? Young men of rank did not run away to America to build their own fortunes. No matter how little they had to do with their family’s estate, no matter how little consequence they had in their own lives, no matter how much they wished to . . . matter.
Lord David paced to the other side of the ship. The other side of the ocean held nothing for him either.
He could buy passage back as soon as they landed. On this very ship, or perhaps something nicer, departing sooner. In another three months, he could be back in silly Somerset society, courting the same silly society girls at the same silly society suppers and balls.
He could have lived his entire life there. He could have done exactly what everyone expected of him. He could have slipped into the background of every conversation and every ball and every life, as he’d been forced to from birth.
Lord David strode back to his first position. He’d made this choice for a reason. He could wait a few weeks before he made any rash decisions.
High, light laughter carried to his ears and for a moment, he did fancy himself back in Somerset society. He turned and found the sisters, each swathed in fashionably cut grey silk.
They were handsome women; he could give them that. Even if he hadn’t heard they were sisters, they favored one another so strongly he would have guessed it. He’d gathered the elder was the slightly taller one and the one with narrower features the younger, though they both had to be above twenty, which would put them within a few years of himself.
Lord David pivoted away. The sisters did not belong above deck, and to be sure, they did not belong in his company either. He wasn’t about to forget his place simply because it had been his place to be forgotten.
Furthermore, the sisters had little sense of propriety, sailing off to the colonies unaccompanied. They had attempted to insult him multiple times upon their first meeting. He’d successfully avoided them almost all of the time since, so they hadn’t repeated the offense, but he didn’t mean to give them the opportunity, either.
The laughter drew closer. Lord David clasped his hands behind his back and began to stroll away. The mopping sailor, however, cut off his route, forcing Lord David back to the sisters. They were terribly close. Now he could not turn away without obviously snubbing them. They were hardly the sort of society that would merit such a stroke.
The mopping sailor conspired against him again a moment later as he mopped right past the women. The motion combined with a swell set the younger sister off balance. She tottered for a moment before she teetered backward — toward him.
At the last moment, David caught her before she crashed into him. “I beg your pardon,” he said. He was fairly certain it had become the phrase he’d used the most with the other passengers, in various shades of apology or indignation.
The sister righted herself. “It’s no matter.”
It was no matter? That time was not an apology. “Excuse me, is it possible you do not know who I am?”
“Obviously I do not.” She smiled, but it was the look of someone who had ensnared her quarry. “As we have never been introduced.”
Lord David opened his mouth but immediately thought better of it. What was he to do, lower himself and introduce himself like a commoner?
The older sister took the other’s arm, but the younger woman arched an eyebrow. “Ah, then you do not know who you are either?”
Yes, this was exactly why he had avoided them. “Perhaps,” he said, pouring as much ice into his tone as would fit in his father’s icehouse, “I do not wish to make your acquaintance.”
“That has been completely clear,” the younger sister snapped. “And it suits perfectly. I’ll happily persist in not knowing you if making your acquaintance would require a gentleman’s daughter to bow and scrape to someone of so little consequence. Good day.”
Neither woman showed any sign of remorse for that level of effrontery. Neither of them made any move at all, forcing Lord David to give a curt bow and stride away.
A gentleman’s daughter? How very likely. Certainly not any sort of gentleman he’d ever known. He wasn’t about to throw his father’s title around, and he was a marquess.
This was exactly the sort of silly society he wanted to escape. Yes, he should be accorded the respect commensurate with his rank, but all the ridiculousness of the self-important, immodest imbeciles —
Lord David schooled his thoughts with a deep breath. As ill-advised as this voyage seemed at times, he had to remember its purpose. He wished to distance himself from the vainglorious, simpering society he’d always associated with, and to do something of consequence.
And that was the real reason why the younger sister’s words hurt.
There, he had admitted it: she’d injured him. She was of no consequence herself, but her words had found their mark. Again.
The sooner they reached their destination and he was out of close quarters with that woman, the better.
Cassandra finished a sweep of their empty cabin and locked her trunk for the final time. The forecast of six weeks at sea, as it happened, was overly optimistic. In all, the nine weeks of their voyage passed with agonizing slowness. Cassandra and Helen had befriended the merchant and his wife occupying the other cabin, as well as a few of the lower sort of passengers, but they soon ran out of things to discuss. The sailors were busy working, and not much in the art of conversation in the first place. Probably why they’d taken to the sea.
Cassandra could own it: she’d felt like she’d nearly lost her mind trapped on this ship. She’d already read all the books both she and Helen had brought — not many, as they’d hoped they’d be able to find more in Philadelphia. It couldn’t be that backward, could it?
That nobleman had to have an entire trunk full of books among the nine she’d counted as he’d boarded, and there could well be more. Or perhaps they were all full of clothes.
It didn’t matter. They would get shut of him now that they had reached the colonies.
Cassandra tidied their cabin for the final time, making sure they had left nothing unpacked. Their meager trunks were filled and ready to find their way to Uncle Josiah’s. To their new home.
“Are you ready?” Helen asked.
Cassandra looked at their trunks. Nothing compared to what the coxcomb had brought. “Yes,” Cassandra replied. She followed Helen through the narrow corridor that felt so familiar it was their home now, up to the deck. She pulled the back of her neckerchief higher to protect her skin from the sun, her better straw hat already carefully packed away.
When they reached the railing, the first inescapable sight was not the c
ity. It was the twelve trunks piled on the deck to disembark, all bearing the same coat of arms.
“Twelve?” Cassandra breathed, counting again.
Helen shook her head in wonder. “That man could have bought Heartcomb and never missed the money. We could have at least stayed on as tenants.”
That much wealth was almost unseemly, even to Cassandra. However, they’d well learned that no amount of money could make up for ill breeding. “Yes, but he would be every bit as disagreeable as Cousin Lowell.”
Helen had to agree with that assessment. Cassandra finally moved past the trunks, both physically and metaphorically, as she stepped to the ship’s railing. Helen joined her for their first look at Philadelphia.
It was not as quaint as she had expected. In fact, the civilization of the tall brick buildings almost seemed to rival London, as rare as their visits there had been. Cassandra glanced at Helen. She, too, seemed pleasantly surprised.
“Do you see Uncle Josiah?” Cassandra asked, although neither of them had any idea what he might look like.
Helen scanned the crowd. “I don’t know.” She took her sister’s hand. They would find him.
A man began shouting behind them, and they both turned to see what was the matter. The popinjay was there behind them, and for a brief second, Cassandra assumed that he had caused the fuss, probably demanding to be treated as befitting his rank, which had to be some lowly baronet or other. He had put on a fine white wig over his dark hair for the first time in weeks, but he could scarcely be older than them.
However, once she craned her neck to see past him, Cassandra found that it was a sailor clamoring. The commoner passengers were being herded onto the deck.
“What’s happening?” Cassandra murmured to Helen.
“I don’t know,” the nobleman replied from her other side. Something in his aggravatingly handsome face was watchful of the growing commotion on the deck.
She was most definitely not addressing him, but decided the matter was not worth pursuing. Furthermore, he wasn’t that handsome.
The ranking seaman selected several of the male passengers from the crowd and commissioned them to help carry the coxcomb’s trunks.
“Is this what it means to be a servant in the Americas?” the nobleman murmured.
Cassandra couldn’t read his tone, but he did not seem entirely pleased, although his trunks were already making their way down the gangway. “What? Are they not bowing and scraping deeply enough, Your Highness?”
He turned a cool look on her. “Where I come from, we hire servants. We don’t press people off the street.”
Cassandra could only manage a quizzical expression. His Highness the Popinjay . . . cared about commoners?
Before she could understand what that might mean, the nobleman strode away, down the gangway.
“That’s the last we’ll see of him,” Helen said. “And good riddance.”
“Indeed.” While Cassandra agreed, she would have done so more emphatically five minutes ago.
“All right,” the captain said, waving them toward the gangway. “All off.”
Helen and Cassandra headed down the gangway, the rest of the passengers following them. On the docks, Cassandra discovered that America was much less terra firma than England. Why did the land feel so much less steady than the boat had?
The captain guffawed at her tottering steps. “You’ll find your land legs again; give it time.”
“Thank you,” she managed. Helen fished Uncle Josiah’s letter from her pocket while Cassandra found their trunks, piled among The Lord High Popinjay’s things.
His Lordship watched, arms folded, as Helen instructed a dock worker to transport their things to Josiah Hayes in Society Hill, but neither of them could describe his house. This didn’t trouble the dock worker, who took a whole shilling for the job.
“Don’t touch the other trunks,” the popinjay commanded.
The dock worker nodded, but his air held less subservience than Cassandra expected.
Perhaps they would like the colonies if it put people like His Worship in his place. The sooner, the better.
“Arright, you girls.” A seaman cut between them and the nobleman, herding Helen and Cassandra back with the other passengers.
“What? What’s happening?” Helen demanded.
They were brought to stand before the captain, who held out a hand. “Now you pay yer fare.”
Cassandra and Helen looked at one another. “What fare?” Helen asked.
“The rest of yer passage.”
“There must be some mistake,” Helen insisted. “We saw our cousin pay your sailor at the docks. Lowell. Remember?”
The captain checked with his nearest crew members, who each shook their heads. “No one else remembers that, girlies.” He waited for some answer, but they had none. Did he want money? They had only a few pounds to their names.
“We’re waiting for our Uncle Josiah,” Helen said. “He is to meet us here.”
The captain squinted at them, as if too many weeks at sea had dulled his eyesight. “Yer passage wasn’t paid free and clear. Off to the market wit’ ye.”
Market? What would they buy? “No, no, no,” Cassandra said. “Then our uncle should never find us.”
“If yer not paying, then nobody’s meeting anybody here. You’re to be indentures.”
What? The word seemed to steal Cassandra’s breath. They were to be sold as bound labor?
The captain could only offer an open-handed shrug. “Sorry, girls, my hands is tied.”
No, they clearly weren’t — but Cassandra’s and Helen’s would be soon. Cassandra scanned the dock for anyone to appeal to, anyone who could help.
The popinjay. She certainly didn’t deserve anything from him, but he was the only person there who might be able to compel the captain’s compliance. Cassandra locked eyes on him.
He gave her a slow, easy smile, and then a little bow from the neck, as if taking his leave of her.
He was going to let them be carted away to be sold like cattle?
Tears pricked Cassandra’s eyes, and she grasped for Helen’s hand.
How would Uncle Josiah ever find them now?
The captain had cleared away the rabble and the impertinent sisters, and Lord David had taken his leave. He’d known, all along, they weren’t his sort. Gentleman’s daughters indeed. No uncle was coming for them. Obviously he was a ruse invented to get themselves out of the contract they’d agreed to when they’d purchased a cabin but not passage.
Lord David was not about to become another pawn in that scheme.
Now he could set about setting his things to order. He would still have to find a place to stay, but surely a tavern in town would do for now.
“Excuse me,” a man said behind him. Lord David turned to find a moderately well dressed man of about fifty addressing him, his dark hair straight and loose.
“Yes?” Lord David kept his tone brusque.
“Is this the Rimington?” He pointed at the ship behind them.
David gestured to the side of the ship where its name was painted. It was the Rimington, but he had better things to do.
The man addressed one of the workers helping with Lord David’s trunks. “Are there passengers still aboard? I’m trying to find my nieces, Helen and Cassandra Crofton.”
Lord David’s heart fell an inch. For a moment, he’d allowed himself to believe all the uncharitable thoughts he’d had about the sisters. Even the panic in the younger sister’s sweet brown eyes he’d believed feigned.
Had the sister given her uncle’s name? He turned to address the colonist. “Josiah Hayes?”
The man cocked his head slightly. “You have the advantage of me, sir.”
No alternative this time. He gave a curt neck bow. “Lord David Beaufort.”
“Pleasure,” Hayes responded, the barest minimum of decency. “Do you know of my nieces?”
“They have been taken to the market to be sold as indentured servants.” H
e pointed in the direction they’d been taken.
Hayes drew a sharp breath. “Thank you, Lord Beaufort. Please, do call on us in Society Hill so I may thank you properly.”
Lord David gave another neck bow to dismiss the effusive man. He was not properly addressed as Lord Beaufort, but that was no matter. Josiah Hayes hurried off to rescue his nieces.
Something about the man stayed with Lord David as he coped with his affairs, including the two extra trunks that apparently he would have to get to Society Hill now. That man cared that much about his nieces? Lord David couldn’t even tell if they’d ever met.
Well, for his part, he hoped Josiah Hayes found his nieces. Helen and Cassandra Crofton. Lord David pushed the names out of his mind. He would never see them again. Noting their names was unnecessary.
Where had they come to? Cassandra clung to Helen’s hands, watching the impromptu market warily. On the street in front of a coffeehouse, various merchants, tradesmen and farmers inspected them and their fellow passengers as if they were livestock. They were certainly herded together like animals, the market surrounded by chains. The terror in the children’s eyes echoed her own.
How was this allowed in a civilized society?
Next to her, a coarse man in coarser clothing haggled with a mother for her daughter, who could not have been more than ten. Everything within Cassandra ached to free the little girl, her siblings, her mother. A year ago, she would have had the means to free them all. Now she shared their fate.
Was this Cousin Lowell’s design all along in sending them away? Had he really not paid sufficiently for their passage, or was the captain or crew being unscrupulous? Cassandra was unsure which was worse.
“Crofton!” a rough voice called.
Helen and Cassandra turned. A man in a homespun suit stood next to the captain, who was beckoning them over. The man counted out coins into the captain’s other hand.
This couldn’t be happening. Surely they would awaken from this nightmare.