considered Sir Robert’s words, which was more than the bishop had done. But then he shook his head. “That’s different. I’m not some simple farmer or lumberman scratching out a living. Mark me, they’ll scratch a lot harder and better when they’ve got families to feed and help them out with the chores.”
That made a kind of sense, much as Sir Robert hated to admit it.
“I don’t need to tell you,” Mr. Power continued without waiting for a reply from the governor, “business has gone from bad to worse in the colony since the good times of the war. This may be just the nudge it needs to pick up again. Ladies buying dress goods, folks purchasing wedding gifts.”
“I shall certainly give your advice in the matter my most careful consideration, Mr. Power.” Consider it, then discard it. Sir Robert was not about to be bullied into changing his mind, now. Otherwise Power and his merchant cronies would run roughshod over him for the rest of his tenure in office.
“You do that, Kerr. A canny captain knows when to trim his sails to suit the wind. And just between us, I have nothing against marriage. Now that I’ve made my pile, I’ve got my eye out for the right sort of wife. I don’t know but that pretty Mrs. Finch might suit me. Have you heard her father’s the Marquess of Breckland?”
It was difficult to say which of those revelations unsettled the governor worse—that Jocelyn Finch was the daughter of a nobleman, or that Barnabas Power had his eye on the lady.
The merchant gave a derisive chuckle. “To think you as good as called her a whore out on my wharf yesterday! When is that duel between you to take place, by the way? I’d like to make a wager on the outcome.”
His tone left no doubt which combatant he intended to back.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Power. There will be no duel. I have assured Mrs. Finch I will have a full apology for my mistake printed in the Gazette. Good day to you, sir.”
Mr. Power ignored this pointed invitation to be on his way. “You’d do well to look for a wife, yourself, Kerr. The right sort of woman could be an asset to a man in your position.”
“I appreciate your interest in my welfare.” Sir Robert sauntered toward the door, hoping Power would take the hint and go. “I shall give your advice my—”
“Careful consideration.” The merchant finished his sentence in a mocking tone. “You know, Kerr, there comes a time when a man’s got to quit considering, and act.”
Without any bow or other civility of leave-taking, he departed.
Sir Robert returned to his desk, clenching and unclenching his fists. He could not recall when he’d spent such a disagreeable morning. All over some trifle when there were many crucial matters that required his attention.
“Who’s next, Duckworth?” he growled when he noticed his aide skulking outside the door.
“No one else, sir.”
“Thank heaven for small mercies!” Sir Robert sank onto his chair then picked up his pen and unstopped his inkwell.
Duckworth cleared his throat. “There is one small matter I’d like to broach with you, if I may, sir.”
“Very well.” Sir Robert looked up from his papers. “But make it quick, like a good fellow. I can’t afford to fall further behind.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. You see it’s about—”
Whatever it was about, Sir Robert did not learn, for Colonel William Carmont marched in past Duckworth and tossed a copy of the Halifax Gazette onto the governor’s desk. “Have you seen this?”
Will Carmont was the one man in the colony Sir Robert did not expect or desire to stand on ceremony. They had served together under General Wellington in the Peninsular War, becoming firm friends in spite of their differences in temperament.
“Seen what?” Sir Robert picked up the newspaper and opened it. “What has Mr. Wye got a bee in his bonnet about now?”
Considering how the morning had gone so far, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“You can guess, can’t you?” Will pushed a few documents aside to perch on the corner of the governor’s desk, while Duckworth withdrew from the room. “It’s the same thing everyone in town is talking about.”
Sir Robert read a few lines of the editorial—an overwrought diatribe about some fancied Colonial Office conspiracy to keep the citizens of Nova Scotia in bondage to the motherland, by neglecting to foster their long-term interests. He could make nothing of it until he spotted the name “Mrs. Jocelyn Finch, née Lady Jocelyn DeLacey” halfway down the page.
“Of all the ridiculous…!” He threw down the paper. “I tell you, Will, this town would be a good deal better off if people were less preoccupied with such trivialities!”
The colonel shook his head. “To a man who’s sick to death of his own cooking and his own company, this isn’t trivial. And in case you haven’t noticed, the colony’s full of men like that.”
“Don’t start in on me, too, Will. I’ve heard nothing all morning but what sound spiritual, social and business sense it makes to turn these young women loose upon Nova Scotia.”
“You won’t hear a word from me on any of those subjects.”
“That’s relief.”
“No, indeed.” Will picked up the newspaper. “I have come to warn you of the trouble that may befall if you don’t reconsider. Dorothea Beamish is a woman of considerable influence. When all this gets back to her, she could make things damned sticky for you with the Colonial Office.”
Sir Robert cursed under his breath. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
The colonel treated him to a look of exasperated pity. “I don’t believe you’re thinking with a very level head about this whole business. And that’s not like you at all. You seem to have taken some daft prejudice against it, based on an unfavorable first impression. A false first impression, let me remind you. If you just give Mrs. Finch a chance, you’ll soon find what a charming, capable woman she is. She hasn’t had an easy time of it these past few years. You of all people should be able to sympathize with her situation.”
Sir Robert sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “How do you come to know so much about the lady’s qualities and situation, pray?”
Will looked a trifle surprised by the question. “You haven’t heard?”
Sir Robert did not like the sound of that. “Perhaps you had better tell me.”
And perhaps he had better face the distasteful possibility that he might be wrong.
“This is a much tastier breakfast than we’ve enjoyed in a good while.” At a table in the ship’s crowded galley, Jocelyn savored the modest luxury of a fresh egg. “I don’t mind that we’ve had to wait until past noon to get it.”
Lily Winslow concentrated on her eager consumption of plump, crisp sausages. “I heard the men who brought these provisions say they were compliments of His Excellency, the governor, from his very own farm. Imagine,
