The Bride Ship. Deborah Hale

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      Worst of all, while the crowd gawked and snickered behind his back, and Mrs. Finch regarded him with a mixture of dismay and disdain, he froze in a way he had never done in the heat of battle.

      Had he been a fool to take up this post? The Duke of Wellington’s personal recommendation had touched and flattered him. He wanted to acquit himself well to justify the duke’s faith in him. And to confound certain Whitehall factions who carped at the number of “Wellington’s Waterloo Warriors” being given plum colonial appointments.

      But he was a military man, not a diplomat.

      Fortunately, young Duckworth rallied to his support. “It would seem explanations are in order, Mrs. Finch, but this is hardly the proper time or place for them. Is it, Your Excellency?”

      That was all the prompting Sir Robert needed. “No, indeed,” he snapped. “This is not a matter to be debated on a public wharf.”

      He turned to the sentry he’d brought from Government House. “Disperse this crowd at once. Surely some of them have duties they ought to be attending.”

      How Sir Robert wished he’d issued that order the moment he had arrived!

      Under cover of the soldier’s enthusiastic bellows for everyone to move along and their buzz of annoyance at being deprived of an amusing spectacle, Sir Robert addressed himself to Mrs. Finch. “I think you had better come along with me to Government House, madam, where we may review your situation in private.”

      His invitation came out sounding like an order, which he was far more accustomed to issuing.

      Mrs. Finch turned back toward the ship. “May I bring the girls along? After the rigors of our voyage, they are anxious to get dry land under their feet again, poor dears.”

      Sir Robert could not afford to let their plight arouse his sympathy. “I’m afraid that will not be possible.”

      If he let them disembark before he’d decided how to deal with the situation, what was there to stop them from melting off into the town and getting up to unthinkable mischief? “Until this matter is settled, the young ladies and your crew must be confined aboard.”

      “Confined?” Jocelyn Finch spun to face him again, her fine dark brows drawn together in an indignant frown. “As if they were a pack of criminals? I have never heard of such a contemptible lack of hospitality!”

      “May I remind you, madam,” Sir Robert warned her in a tone he had often used with subordinates who questioned his orders, “you are not guests in this colony. You have arrived unannounced and uninvited. I have only your word as to your business in coming.”

      Perhaps her mission was not as despicable as he’d mistakenly assumed. That did not mean he approved of it.

      When the lady began to sputter and looked tempted to use her glove on him again, he made a valiant effort to moderate his tone. “In the interest of their well-being, as well as the peace and order of this community, I must insist.”

      Anxious to escape her outraged glare, he turned to the young soldier who had done an efficient job clearing the wharf. “Well done, Corporal. Now, I want to you to stand guard over this ship. Until you receive further orders from me, make certain no one gets on or off. Do you understand?”

      The corporal snapped a crisp salute. “Aye, sir!”

      Fortified by the soldier’s respect, Sir Robert confronted his contemptuous visitor once again.

      “Government House is this way.” He nodded toward Salter Street and took several brisk strides in that direction before he realized Mrs. Finch was not following him.

      What now?

      He look back to find her still standing where he’d left her, with Duckworth hovering anxiously nearby. “Are you coming?”

      “Walk, you mean?” She glanced around at the ironstone warehouses that lined the docks.

      “It is no distance.” He beckoned her with an impatient wave of his hand. “We could be there and back ten times before a carriage could be fetched.”

      Duckworth nodded. “Government House is only a block up the hill, ma’am.”

      The lady paid him no heed except to stare up the steep slope of Salter Street.

      “Have you no intention of offering me your arm, at least?” She addressed the governor in a tone chillier than a North Atlantic winter. “Or do I not merit so small a courtesy?”

      Few things put Robert Kerr out of temper worse than a suggestion he had done less than his duty.

      Trudging back to where she stood, he muttered, “This is not a social call! Besides, I did not suppose you would accept if I had offered.”

      He thrust out his arm at a stiff, awkward angle to demonstrate he took no pleasure in the civility she had demanded from him. And perhaps to convince himself, as well.

      “Your Excellency?” Duckworth scurried along beside them. “Shall I inform the kitchen staff you will have a guest for tea?”

      Over Mrs. Finch’s head, the governor fixed his aide with a severe look. He preferred to take a modest tray in his study, continuing to read reports and sign papers between sips of tea and bites of biscuit. Now he would be obliged to offer the vexing woman his hospitality.

      “Madam, would you care to discuss your situation over tea?” He tried to ignore the warm pressure of her hand on his arm.

      For a moment, her frosty manner thawed. “Proper food? Oh, I should be most grateful! When our ship was blown off course by the storm, some of our supplies were lost. We have been on very tight rations the past fortnight.”

      Before the governor could think what to reply, his aide piped up, “I’ll go on ahead then, sir, and alert Miz Ada.”

      Off Duckworth dashed, leaving Sir Robert all on his own to deal with a devilishly awkward situation. He was not much accustomed to conversing with women and went out of his way to avoid it whenever possible. Now he had little choice.

      Before he could marshal some manner of civil remark, Mrs. Finch spoke—or rather gasped. “I beg…your pardon, sir. But would you…kindly…slow down!”

      A swift sidelong glance confirmed the lady was hard-pressed to match his brisk parade-ground march up the hill. Her face had flushed to a high color. And her bosom, of which he had a far clearer view than he would have liked, heaved in a most unsettling manner. What if the creature swooned into his arms or some such nonsense?

      To his horror, the governor’s body roused at the prospect of another man’s wife in his arms. That was enough to curb his stride. Where was Mr. Finch, anyway?

      “Your husband?” he asked. “Is he back on the ship? I have no objection to him accompanying us.” Perhaps, between them, he and Finch could settle all this, man to man.

      Trust him to choose the worst possible thing to say, then blurt it out in the most bald, offensive manner possible. Judging by the look that came over Mrs. Finch’s face, Sir Robert had no doubt that was exactly what he’d done.

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