Jocelyn bounded into the carriage and Sally ordered her coachman to take them home…wherever that might be.
As the carriage headed in the opposite direction from the governor’s mansion, Sally peered at Jocelyn in the waning light of early evening. “You look marvelous, my dear! Tell me, what brings you to Halifax?”
The tiniest, most delicate bud of hope had begun to sprout inside Jocelyn. If her old friend was a person of consequence in the community, perhaps she could help. Didn’t Mrs. Beamish always say that when two women put their heads together they were more than a match for any number of men?
She did not have any number of men to sway. Only one.
But a very stubborn one.
Chapter Three
B loody stubborn woman!
Sir Robert bolted his breakfast, irritated to be running behind schedule on account of Jocelyn Finch. The little minx had invaded his dreams, challenging him to duel. Not upon a field of honor, but on the dance floor, in the drawing room…and in the bedchamber!
He could have sworn he’d felt her body beneath him, soft and willing. Her unbound hair had whispered against his cheek. Her scent had filled his nostrils. And when she’d made those sweet little sounds of pleasure and yearning, it had been more than he could bear.
The rest of the night, he’d tossed and turned, half-afraid to go back to sleep in case he should have more such dreams—half desperately wishing he could recapture those tantalizing sensations. At last he had fallen into a barren, dreamless slumber so deep he had not heard the bells of nearby Saint Peter’s chiming seven.
As a consequence, he’d risen late to tackle the work on which he’d already fallen behind. The sooner he got that infernal woman and her bride ship out of his colony, the better off he’d be!
Perhaps he ought to go down to Power’s Wharf and make certain the Hestia weighed anchor the moment it had been reprovisioned? To his horror, Sir Robert found himself anxious to catch a final glimpse of Jocelyn Finch.
Just then, Duckworth entered through the side door from the service hall, looking almost as agitated as he had the previous day when he’d summoned Sir Robert to Power’s Wharf. The governor tried not to scowl as he glanced up from his porridge. After all, his young aide had acquitted himself well in this sorry business. Rather better than his master, if truth be told.
“What is it, Duckworth? I’ll be done in a moment.”
“His Grace the Bishop to see you, Your Excellency.”
“The Bishop?” Sir Robert glanced toward the pedestal clock that stood beside the door to the service hall. “At this hour?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We did not have an appointment scheduled, did we?”
“Ah…no, sir. I don’t believe so.”
One more interruption to put him further behind in his work. Sir Robert sighed. No help for it, he supposed, if the spiritual lord of the colony wished to speak with him.
“Show his Grace into my study, Duckworth, and offer him some refreshment. Tell him I shall be along directly.”
Once his secretary had gone, Sir Robert hurried through the rest of his porridge, though he had scant appetite for it. His habit of not wasting food was too deeply ingrained to be abandoned, even on account of a call from the bishop.
Once he’d cleaned the bowl, he washed his porridge down with a strong brew of West Indies coffee. Then he strode off to his study.
“Your Grace.” He bowed to the bishop, a tall, austere man with a long, aristocratic face. “To what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit…at this hour?”
“Too early for you, am I, Governor?” The bishop resumed his seat as Sir Robert settled behind the desk. “I’d heard you were a notorious early riser. I wanted to catch you before your day was half-done.”
Sir Robert gritted his teeth. “I am running a trifle late this morning, as it happens. What can I do for you?”
The bishop fixed him with the sort of solemn look to which his patrician features were so well suited. “I’ve come to talk to you about this bride-ship business, and urge you to give the matter your prayerful consideration.”
Sir Robert barely stifled a groan.
The bishop’s private sermon on the virtues of matrimony lasted the better part of an hour. Sir Robert scarcely had a chance to get a word in. Not that it mattered, for his protests seemed to fall on deaf ears.
He had finally bid the bishop farewell, promising nothing more than to seek divine guidance in the matter, when Duckworth announced three members of the Privy Council were waiting in the reception room to speak with him.
“Will you see them separately, sir, or together?”
“Together, I suppose.” The quicker to get it over with. At this rate, Mrs. Finch and her troublesome charges would cost him another day’s work. “I can’t think how the bishop came to know so much about the whole business. He was one of the few men I did not see milling about Power’s Wharf, yesterday.”
“You know how gossip travels in a town this size, sir.” Poor Duckworth looked as if the whole business were his fault.
“Don’t fret,” Sir Robert tried to reassure him. “We’ll let them all have their squawk, then we’ll send Mrs. Finch’s bride ship packing and get back to work.”
“Indeed, sir.” Duckworth did not appear very hopeful as he hurried off to the reception room to fetch the council members.
By the time they left his office, Sir Robert was in need of a strong drink, though it was not yet noon. The gentlemen, all leading citizens of the colony, had made their views on the bride ship fully known. Since two of the three were magistrates, Sir Robert had to admit, they put forward a number of convincing arguments. They might have swayed him if he had been in the frame of mind to be convinced…which he was not.
The whole tempest this business had stirred up, and the time it had stolen from more important matters, convinced him more firmly than ever that Halifax would be well rid of Mrs. Finch and her fool ship!
“Your Excellency,” ventured Duckworth with an anxious apologetic air, “Mr. Barnabas Power begs the courtesy of a short interview.”
No doubt Duckworth had rephrased Power’s request in more mannerly terms. To Sir Robert’s knowledge, the former privateer, now rumored to be the richest man in British North America, never begged anything of anyone.
“Oh, very well.” He threw up his hands in temporary defeat. “Might as well waste the whole day. Show Mr. Power in.”
Unlike the bishop and the privy councillors, Barnabas Power wasted no time or excessive civility in coming to the point of his call. “Don’t be an ass, Kerr. What’s the harm in welcoming these women to the colony?”
“Surely I don’t need to tell you, sir.” The bishop and the privy councillors were all married men, but Barnabas Power, though a good ten years
