without excessive distress. Why should the governor’s abrupt remark make her eyes sting and her lip quiver?
Perhaps it was his offhand presumption that Ned must be alive. Or perhaps it was the foolish rush of attraction she’d experienced upon first meeting Sir Robert Kerr that had made her feel disloyal to her late husband’s memory. Though she doubted he meant to distress her, Jocelyn refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had.
“My husband has been dead nearly three years, sir.” She congratulated herself on getting the words out without her voice breaking.
The muscles of his arm tensed in response to her words and he checked his rapid pace further still as they turned onto a wide avenue that ran parallel to the harbor. “Waterloo? We lost too many good men that day.”
Jocelyn sensed he was speaking from intimate knowledge rather than in general terms. “Ned was killed on the previous day at…”
“The crossroads.” Sir Robert heaved a sigh that betrayed grief with an edge of bitterness. “You have my most sincere condolences, Mrs. Finch.”
So her husband’s commanding officer had written when informing her of Ned’s death. That and her widow’s pittance might buy her a cup of chocolate.
The governor meant well, Jocelyn told herself. She should try to cultivate his sympathy by every possible means. But she could not subdue the hostility he had roused with his offensive assumptions about her mission to the colony.
“This way.” He led her off the street onto a broad driveway that sloped gently up toward a large, elegant stone mansion.
In Jocelyn’s opinion, the pair of wooden sentry boxes on either side of the fine double staircase rather spoiled the classic lines of the house. Still, it looked like the sort of place where one could expect to be served a bountiful and toothsome tea.
The courteous young man from the wharf threw open the front door as the governor ushered Jocelyn up the stairs. “It has all been arranged, Sir Robert. Tea will be served in the drawing room, shortly.”
The poor fellow still sounded winded from his run, though Jocelyn had to admit the distance from here to the wharf would not have merited the fuss and delay of summoning a carriage.
“Thank you, Duckworth.” The governor handed his hat to the young man. “Your assistance this afternoon has been invaluable, as ever.”
He gestured toward a doorway on the left-hand side of hall. “Through here, if you please, madam. You will find the drawing room just beyond the receiving room.”
Jocelyn glanced around as she walked through a light, handsomely proportioned room that housed a pair of blue satin sofas, several small mahogany tables and over two dozen chairs without looking in the least crowded. Did His Excellency expect her to be overwhelmed by such grand surroundings.
If only he knew! Compared to some of the great houses in which she’d lived or visited, Government House was quite modest and restrained. The drawing room proved even more stately, with its fine Brussels carpet, elegant hanging luster and rich claret-colored draperies. Still it was nothing to awe the daughter of a marquess.
Jocelyn sank down gratefully onto one of several brocade-upholstered armchairs clustered around a tea table. Reminding herself of all she had at stake, she summoned every ounce of charm she could muster to assail Governor Kerr.
“What an elegant residence you have here, sir! It looks very modern. Were you responsible for having it built?”
“Me?” The governor clearly considered her question ridiculous if not downright offensive. “No. For that you must thank Sir John Wentworth and his wife. I should have been content with more modest lodgings. Indeed, I would have preferred them. This is a residence for the type of governor who would rather entertain than work.”
What an impossibly dour fellow! He had not taken a seat, but stood before one of the tall windows that flanked the white marble hearth, his hands behind his back. Jocelyn could scarcely resist the temptation to tease him out of his severity.
“Surely entertaining is part of the work of a governor.” She forced herself to smile, determined to be agreeable in spite of him. “Official receptions, levees, that sort of thing.”
He made no reply, but she thought her words sent a shudder through him.
A young footman entered, just then, bearing a well-laden tray, which he set down upon the tea table. The governor thanked him but made no move to take a seat. Even after the footman had departed, Sir Robert continued to stand beside the hearth, looking tense and ill at ease. Jocelyn considered inviting him to sit down, but it was hardly her place.
“Shall I pour?” she offered at last, desperate to commence their discussion. The sooner she cleared up this dreadful misunderstanding the sooner she could fetch the poor girls off that wretched ship.
“If you would be so kind.” Sir Robert gave a curt nod but still made no move to sit.
Jocelyn perched one delicate cup upon its saucer and poured a generous measure of steaming amber tea into it. How pleasant it felt to handle fine china and silver again.
She lifted the sugar tongs. “How many lumps, sir?”
It took some effort to keep from grinning. If she’d had a cudgel in hand back at the wharf, she might have given him a lump or two—though not the sweet kind!
“No, thank you,” said Sir Robert, but he edged closer to the tea table.
“Cream?” Jocelyn lifted the little pitcher. What a luxury it would be to taste cream in her tea again!
With a decisive shake of his head, the governor perched on the farthest chair away from her and reached for his cup. “I prefer my tea plain.”
“Indeed?” Jocelyn poured a cup for herself, then added three good-sized lumps of sugar, followed by a generous dollop of smooth, thick cream. “I like mine as sweet and rich as I can get it, especially after the recent deprivations of our voyage.”
The governor made some vaguely disapproving noise, deep in his throat…or perhaps he only meant to clear it.
He reached toward the tray and lifted the silver cover off a dish. Jocelyn’s mouth watered in anticipation.
“Bread and butter, Mrs. Finch?”
Bread and butter? Was this the best hospitality Nova Scotia could provide? It took every scrap of restraint Jocelyn could summon to keep from dumping the contents of the dish over her host’s head.
Perhaps he sensed her disappointment. “I seldom have guests to tea, especially on such short notice. This frugal fare suits me well enough.”
What he said was true, Jocelyn acknowledged with a pang of shame for her ingratitude. All the same, she would so love to have been offered her favorite walnut tea cake or the red-currant tart for which the kitchens of Breckland Manor were noted.
Sir Robert uncovered the other dish. “Perhaps you would prefer a muffin, instead?”
He pointed to a pair of small china crocks nestled in one corner of the tea tray. “They’re very good spread with apple butter or blueberry jam.”
“Blueberries?”
