The Bride Ship

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Author Note

Chapter One

Halifax, Nova Scotia

May 1818

A n urgent knock on the door of his study distracted Sir Robert Kerr in the midst of drafting his quarterly report to the Colonial Office.

“Come in, Duckworth.” The governor’s pensive squint furrowed into a scowl at the sight of his aide. “Did I not leave instructions…?”

“That you were not to be disturbed, Your Excellency?” Young Duckworth finished Sir Robert’s sentence, as he had a rather annoying habit of doing in moments of crisis.

But this was an ordinary day, of no dire import. At least none of which the governor was aware. Yet his secretary’s boyish face looked flushed and his voice sounded breathless. “So you did, sir, excepting in case of general calamity.”

One corner of the governor’s lips arched in a wry smile as he laid down his pen. His reference to “general calamity” had been meant in jest—something he had never been very good at conveying.

When he rose from his chair, Sir Robert’s neck gave a twinge. He reached back to knead the tense muscles. How many hours had he been hunched over his desk composing that blasted report? Perhaps it would do him good to get up and move about.

“Tell me, what general calamity has beset our fair colony today?” He strode out to the entry hall on the heels of his aide. “Is the brewery on fire? Are we being invaded by some foreign fleet? Has the bishop fallen into the harbor?”

“None of those, Your Excellency.” Once again, Duckworth missed the governor’s attempt at levity. He shoved Sir Robert’s hat into his hands. “I think you had better come and see for yourself, sir.”

With that suggestion, Duckworth turned and fled out the front door of Government House, leaving Sir Robert with little choice but to follow if he wished to appease his curiosity. Grumbling under his breath, the governor jammed on his old-fashioned tricorne. What had put Duckworth in such a stew? And why was he being so confounded mysterious about it?

The pair of sentries who stood guard over the front entrance of Government House were talking together in hushed, urgent tones when he stepped outside. The instant they spotted him marching down the steps, both soldiers snapped to attention.

“One of you stay here. The other come with me.” Sir Robert beckoned the larger of the two men. “I may have need of you.”

“Aye, sir!” the sentries replied in chorus, jumping to obey his orders.

Sir Robert discerned a flicker of eagerness on the face of his escort, and a shadow of disappointment on that of the man ordered to stay behind. In either of their places, his reaction would have been quite the opposite. His former career in the army had taught him to be wary of surprises.

As he marched north along Hollis Street, his old foot wound from the Battle of Corona gave a twinge as it often did in damp weather. He ignored it, reaching up to anchor his hat against the bracing spring wind. He could not afford to slow his pace or he might lose sight of Duckworth, who had just rounded the corner onto Salter Street, which sloped down toward Power’s Wharf. What manner of trouble had washed up with the morning tide?

It seemed Sir Robert was not the only citizen of Halifax curious to find out. Almost as many spectators had thronged onto the wharf as had turned out the year before last to welcome his arrival in the colony.

“Make way!” With belligerent energy, the sentry he’d brought from Government House endeavored to clear a path through the crowd. Either the young solider enjoyed ordering civilians about, or he was eager to get a good view of the proceedings, himself. “Make way for His Excellency, Governor Kerr!”

Bracing himself to meet whatever lay ahead, Sir Robert marched down the quay. He turned his gaze toward Halifax Harbor and beheld…absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.

A small ship had tied up at the wharf, its sails furled, gently rocking on the waves. Sir Robert could make out the name Hestia painted on the prow. The Hestia was sailing under British colors, he noted with a mixture of relief and surprise. That meant it was not a pirate ship, nor did it belong to some foreign fleet.

Why, it looked like any one of hundreds of vessels that arrived here in the course of the year bearing cargo or passengers. What had drawn so many good citizens of Halifax down to Power’s Wharf to watch an ordinary ship unload?

A small flutter of white caught the governor’s eye. Someone standing on the ship’s deck was waving a handkerchief. Sir Robert surveyed the deck more closely. Crowded along the port railing, staring toward the crowded wharf, were a large number of young women. The bright colors of their hats and wraps made a festive contrast to the sober browns and grays of the ship’s hull.

“What in blazes…?” he muttered under his breath.

The wind…or something else…crammed those words back into his mouth.

A woman began to make her way down the gangplank. One of the crewmen offered to assist her, but she shook off his arm and continued on her own, in spite of the precarious sway of the ship. The wind whipped her skirts in a buttery yellow ripple, exposing a pair of shapely ankles.

She walked with the dainty grace of a dancer. Yet her movements also suggested the brisk, determined stride of a general inspecting troops. The paradox unsettled Sir Robert, as did everything else about the situation.

Once she reached the wharf, the woman swept a gaze over the crowd and smiled. At that moment, an obstinate ray of sunshine thrust its way between the fast-scudding clouds to sparkle on the churning water of Halifax Harbor and on the smiling woman in the yellow dress.

The milling, muttering crowd fell silent.

“How charming!” said the woman, echoing the very words that had formed in Sir Robert’s mind about her. “You have arranged a welcoming committee to greet us!”

Before anyone could disabuse her of that notion, she continued, “Of course, you must be vastly relieved to see us at last. I hope you have not suffered any anxiety of our being lost at sea. I must confess, there were moments during our voyage when I feared we might be.”

Sir Robert considered pinching himself. The past half hour had the baffling quality of a dream. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep at his desk while drafting his report and imagined all of this. As he stared at the woman before him and listened to her bewitching voice, he could not help regretting the necessity to wake up and get back to work. Surely it would not hurt to spend a few moments more in a dream that had turned so pleasant.

He stepped forward to get a better look at the woman. “I fear there must be some mistake, madam.”

He bowed over her hand, surprised to discover how low he had to bend. From a distance, her regal bearing had made the lady appear taller. As he leaned toward her, Sir Robert realized how small and delicate a creature she was. It kindled a queer, soft ache in his chest that extended out to his arms. He vaguely recognized the sensation as an urge to protect her, a ridiculous compulsion, since he knew nothing about her—not even her name.

“What manner of mistake?” the lady asked. “We were expected, were we not?” She fixed him with her gaze.

Sir Robert’s cravat tightened around his throat and a wave of dizziness almost made him stagger. What in blazes had come over him?

Never in his life could he recall taking any special notice of the color of a woman’s eyes. Now he could not help but take notice. Hers were a light, lively brown with glints of gold and silver that put him in mind of a speckled trout. Beneath her present look of puzzlement, they seemed to dance with merriment or mischief. Or, perhaps, an answering flicker of the curious fascination that had taken hold of him?

But that was foolishness. He had never been the sort of fellow women looked at in that way. The few ladies who crossed his path seldom bothered to look at all. That was how Sir Robert had always preferred to keep matters—until he’d stared into the eyes of…