in some profusion hereabouts on low bushes. They’re more purple than blue, as a matter of fact, especially after they’ve been cooked.”
He passed her a napkin. “The things stain like the very devil, but they have a most agreeable flavor.”
There was something rather touching about the governor’s clumsy, earnest attempts at hospitality. Jocelyn’s antagonism began to soften. After the weevily biscuits and thin, rancid stew she’d been forced to eat for the past two weeks, fresh-baked bread with newly churned butter should taste very good indeed.
Taking a thick slice from the plate, she closed her eyes, the better to savor it. Oh, the crisp crust! Mmm, the sweet, wholesome flavor of the butter, so generously spread! Ah, the soft texture of the bread itself!
Suddenly aware of a strained silence, she opened her eyes to find the governor staring at her with a look of mild horror. Oh dear, had she been making all those sounds of enjoyment—the kind she’d sometimes made in bed with her husband?
A fiery blush prickled up her neck to blaze in her cheeks. At the same time, she battled an urge to laugh.
“Please excuse my manners, sir.” Despite her most strenuous efforts to contain it, a chuckle burst out of her. “The bread is very good.”
To stifle any further unseemly levity, Jocelyn took a large bite of muffin. Too large, she realized as her cheeks bulged.
Of course, the governor would choose that moment, when her mouth was so full she could scarcely chew, let alone speak, to say, “Then let us turn to the matter at hand, shall we?”
Jocelyn could only nod and pray she would not choke.
The governor fortified himself with a sip of tea. “Our conversation on the wharf left me rather…confused. You mentioned a letter that was meant to precede you. I received no such message. Perhaps you would be so good as to explain your purpose in coming to Halifax and who sent you?”
Jocelyn worried down her mouthful of muffin and seized upon his last question to answer first. “I have been sent by Mrs. Dorothea Beamish. Perhaps you have heard of her?”
Recognition flickered in the governor’s cool, blue eyes. Her vast wealth and forceful personality had made Mrs. Beamish widely known.
“I have a second letter of introduction from her,” Jocelyn hastened to add. “Alas, in all the confusion, I left it behind on the ship. I would be happy to retrieve it and present it to you at your earliest convenience.”
Despite the mention of her sponsor, Sir Robert did not look anxious for a second interview. “And what business has Mrs. Beamish in sending a boatload of young women to my colony?”
Had he not heard a word she’d said down on the wharf? Or had he been too busy jumping to his own offensive conclusions to listen?
The words of her former governess ran through Jocelyn’s head. “Remember, my dear, you’ll catch more flies with sugar than with vinegar.” That was all very well, but Sir Robert Kerr did not appear partial to sweets!
“You may have heard of the projects Mrs. Beamish has undertaken to prevent young women who find themselves without friends or resources from sinking into lives of vice?”
The governor nodded. “Commendable work.” More to himself than to Jocelyn, he muttered, “I could use someone like her in this blighted town.”
At last, a scrap of encouragement! Jocelyn seized upon it as eagerly as she had consumed the food. “I am heartened to hear you are in sympathy with our aims, Your Excellency! Mrs. Beamish has established a number of useful institutions for such unfortunate young women back in England. Alas, the need is beginning to outstrip even her resources.”
Jocelyn warmed to a subject dear to her heart. “You may not realize, sir, that the late war robbed many of our country’s young women of the men who would have wed and provided for them.”
The governor’s brow furrowed as he sipped his tea. Clearly he had not given any thought to the plight of his country’s women, and the price they continued to pay for Napoleon’s defeat.
“It occurred to Mrs. Beamish that while there is a shortage of eligible men in Britain, there is an equal shortage of eligible women in the colonies. To that end, she has sponsored a bride ship to Nova Scotia. It is my responsibility to chaperone these young women and find suitable husbands for them before I return to London in the fall. If the project is successful, I may bring more brides to the colony next spring, and the scheme might be expanded to other British territories abroad.”
She stopped to catch her breath, and to encourage some response from the governor, who had been listening to her with grave, silent concentration.
He did not speak right away when she gave him the opportunity. Instead, he drained the last of his tea, then set the empty cup back upon the tray, his features creased in a thoughtful frown. His hesitation troubled Jocelyn. Surely, despite the inauspicious start to their acquaintance, he must see the mutual benefits of this venture?
At last the governor broke his silence. “So it is your intention to spend the summer wedding these young women off to the men of my colony?”
“Indeed it is, sir. To provide the bachelors of Nova Scotia with companions and helpmates, while offering my charges an opportunity to make good and useful lives for themselves.” What fool could fail to endorse such a worthwhile enterprise?
The governor mulled her words for a few moments longer, then rose abruptly and strode back toward the marble mantelpiece.
He was rather like that fine hearth, Jocelyn decided. Handsome in appearance, but hard and cold to the touch. While a cheerful blaze might be kindled within it, she doubted any such fire ever had, or would, warm the empty depths of his heart.
For that reason, it came as a distressing disappointment but no great surprise when he announced, “Your idea sounds all very well, madam. In practice, I fear it would prove otherwise. This colony is not some frivolous marriage market. The men here have important work to do that requires their full concentration. You saw the idle mob that gathered at Power’s Wharf this afternoon. Halifax has no need of such distracting spectacles.”
“That was not our fault!” Jocelyn surged to her feet and threw her napkin down on the tea tray. “Perhaps if more men in your colony had wives and families to occupy their interest, they would not need to seek diversion gawking at incoming ships.”
The governor’s stance grew even more rigid and his frown deepened. “You do not know these people, madam. You do not know this colony. Nor are its peace and welfare your responsibility. They are mine.”
“How can loving wives possibly be a threat to the peace and welfare of your settlers, sir?” Jocelyn longed to seize the breast of his coat and shake some sense into the man. “Have you a wife?”
The instant the words left her mouth, she wished she could recall them. What if, like her, Sir Robert had been brutally bereaved—his heart chilled and hardened by grief?
Her swift impulse of sympathy had no chance to take root.
“Never,” declared the governor. “I have never desired such a distraction from my duties, nor the weight of additional responsibility that a family entails. The bachelors of Nova Scotia would do well to follow my example. I will see to it
