“Set sail with your cargo of strumpets for some other lonely colony, where that manner of vice is tolerated. You, and they, are not welcome in Nova Scotia!”

The dazed look fled Jocelyn Finch’s attractive features. An indignant glare took its place.

Unfortunately, it did nothing to detract from her beauty.

Sir Robert wished it had.

“How dare you?” Mrs. Finch wrenched the glove off her impossibly delicate fingers.

She surged up on the tips of her toes and struck him across the cheek with the glove. For such a small scrap of soft kid leather, it stung like the very devil.

“I demand satisfaction for that vile insult, sir!” she cried. “How dare you sully the reputation of me and my charges with your disgusting accusations?”

Then she struck him dumb by asking, “And, pray, when did the state of holy matrimony become a vice in Nova Scotia?”

Praise for bestselling author DEBORAH HALE’s latest books

Highland Rogue

“This is an updated classic with timeless

characters and well-developed humor.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

The Wizard’s Ward

“In her first crossover foray into fantasy,

romance writer Hale nicely blends the two

genres in an upbeat, feel-good story.”

—Publishers Weekly

Beauty and the Baron

“Deborah Hale delights with midnight ball, stargazing

and a wonderful cast of characters.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

Border Bride

“Excellent characterization and a nicely detailed

Welsh setting give this medieval an intriguing

flavor readers will find hard to resist.”

—Booklist

Whitefeather’s Woman

“This book is yet another success for Deborah Hale.

It aims for the heart and doesn’t miss.”

—The Old Book Barn Gazette

The Bride Ship
Deborah Hale

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This book is dedicated with love and admiration

to two special young men, Brendan and Jamie Hale,

who make the duties of motherhood a true pleasure.

You are my heroes!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Author Note

Chapter One

Halifax, Nova Scotia

May 1818

A n urgent knock on the door of his study distracted Sir Robert Kerr in the midst of drafting his quarterly report to the Colonial Office.

“Come in, Duckworth.” The governor’s pensive squint furrowed into a scowl at the sight of his aide. “Did I not leave instructions…?”

“That you were not to be disturbed, Your Excellency?” Young Duckworth finished Sir Robert’s sentence, as he had a rather annoying habit of doing in moments of crisis.

But this was an ordinary day, of no dire import. At least none of which the governor was aware. Yet his secretary’s boyish face looked flushed and his voice sounded breathless. “So you did, sir, excepting in case of general calamity.”

One corner of the governor’s lips arched in a wry smile as he laid down his pen. His reference to “general calamity” had been meant in jest—something he had never been very good at conveying.

When he rose from his chair, Sir Robert’s neck gave a twinge. He reached back to knead the tense muscles. How many hours had he been hunched over his desk composing that blasted report? Perhaps it would do him good to get up and move about.

“Tell me, what general calamity has beset our fair colony today?” He strode out to the entry hall on the heels of his aide. “Is the brewery on fire? Are we being invaded by some foreign fleet? Has the bishop fallen into the harbor?”

“None of those, Your Excellency.” Once again, Duckworth missed the governor’s attempt at levity. He shoved Sir Robert’s hat into his hands. “I think you had better come and see for yourself, sir.”

With that suggestion, Duckworth turned and fled out the front door of Government House, leaving Sir Robert with little choice but to follow if he wished to appease his curiosity. Grumbling under his breath, the governor jammed on his old-fashioned tricorne. What had put Duckworth in such a stew? And why was he being so confounded mysterious about it?

The pair of sentries who stood guard over the front entrance of Government House were talking together in hushed, urgent tones when he stepped outside. The instant they spotted him marching down the steps, both soldiers snapped to attention.

“One of you stay here. The other come with me.” Sir Robert beckoned the larger of the two men. “I may have need of you.”

“Aye, sir!” the sentries replied in chorus, jumping to obey his orders.

Sir Robert discerned a flicker of eagerness on the face of his escort, and a shadow of disappointment on that of the man ordered to stay behind. In either of their places, his reaction would have been quite the opposite. His former career in the army had taught him to be wary of surprises.

As he marched north along Hollis Street, his old foot wound from the Battle of Corona gave a twinge as it often did in damp weather. He ignored it, reaching up to anchor his hat against the bracing spring wind. He could not afford to slow his pace or he might lose sight of Duckworth, who had just rounded the corner onto Salter Street, which sloped down toward Power’s Wharf. What manner of trouble had washed up with the morning tide?

It seemed Sir Robert was not the only citizen of Halifax curious to find out. Almost as many spectators had thronged onto the wharf as had turned out the year before last to welcome his arrival in the colony.

“Make way!” With belligerent energy, the sentry he’d brought from Government House endeavored to clear a path through the crowd. Either the young solider enjoyed ordering civilians about, or he was eager to get a good view of the proceedings, himself. “Make way for His Excellency, Governor Kerr!”

Bracing himself to meet whatever lay ahead, Sir Robert marched down the quay. He turned his gaze toward Halifax Harbor and beheld…absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.

A small ship had tied up at the wharf, its sails furled, gently rocking on the waves. Sir Robert could make out the name Hestia painted on the prow. The Hestia was sailing under British colors, he noted with a mixture of relief and surprise. That meant it was not a pirate ship, nor did it belong to some foreign fleet.

Why, it looked like any one of hundreds of vessels that arrived here in the course of the year bearing cargo or passengers. What had drawn so many good citizens of Halifax down to Power’s Wharf to watch an ordinary ship unload?

A small flutter of white caught the governor’s eye. Someone standing on the ship’s deck was waving a handkerchief. Sir Robert surveyed the deck more closely. Crowded along the port railing, staring toward the crowded wharf, were a large number of young women. The bright colors of their hats and wraps made a festive contrast to the sober browns and grays of the ship’s hull.

“What in blazes…?” he muttered under his breath.

The wind…or something else…crammed those words back into his mouth.

A woman began to make her way down the gangplank. One of the crewmen offered to assist her, but she shook off his arm and continued on her own, in spite of the precarious sway of the ship. The wind whipped her skirts in a buttery yellow ripple, exposing a pair of shapely ankles.

She walked with the dainty grace of a dancer. Yet her movements also suggested the brisk, determined stride of a general inspecting troops. The paradox unsettled Sir Robert, as did everything else about the situation.

Once she reached the wharf, the woman swept a gaze over the crowd and smiled. At that moment, an obstinate ray of sunshine thrust its way between the fast-scudding clouds to sparkle on the churning water of Halifax Harbor and on the smiling woman in the yellow dress.

The milling, muttering crowd fell silent.

“How charming!” said the woman, echoing the very words that had formed in Sir Robert’s mind about her. “You have arranged a welcoming committee to greet us!”

Before anyone could disabuse her of that notion, she continued, “Of course, you must be vastly relieved to see us at last. I hope you have not suffered any anxiety of our being lost at sea. I must confess, there were moments during our voyage when I feared we might be.”

Sir Robert considered pinching himself. The past half hour had the baffling quality of a dream. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep at his desk while drafting his report and imagined all of this. As he stared at the woman before him and listened to her bewitching voice, he could not help regretting the necessity to wake up and get back to work. Surely it would not hurt to spend a few moments more in a dream that had turned so pleasant.

He stepped forward to get a better look at the woman. “I fear there must be some mistake, madam.”

He bowed over her hand, surprised to discover how low he had to bend. From a distance, her regal bearing had made the lady appear taller. As he leaned toward her, Sir Robert realized how small and delicate a creature she was. It kindled a queer, soft ache in his chest that extended out to his arms. He vaguely recognized the sensation as an urge to protect her, a ridiculous compulsion, since he knew nothing about her—not even her name.

“What manner of mistake?” the lady asked. “We were expected, were we not?” She fixed him with her gaze.

Sir Robert’s cravat tightened around his throat and a wave of dizziness almost made him stagger. What in blazes had come over him?

Never in his life could he recall taking any special notice of the color of a woman’s eyes. Now he could not help but take notice. Hers were a light, lively brown with glints of gold and silver that put him in mind of a speckled trout. Beneath her present look of puzzlement, they seemed to dance with merriment or mischief. Or, perhaps, an answering flicker of the curious fascination that had taken hold of him?

But that was foolishness. He had never been the sort of fellow women looked at in that way. The few ladies who crossed his path seldom bothered to look at all. That was how Sir Robert had always preferred to keep matters—until he’d stared into the eyes of…

“I must confess, madam, I have no idea who you are or what has brought you to my colony.” He wanted to find out, though. Her identity in particular. Hard as he tried to maintain his accustomed indifference to such matters, his mind fairly itched with curiosity.

A look of dismay tightened her delicate features and quenched some of the sparkle in her eyes. Sir Robert found himself wanting very much to spare her any distress.

“Something must have happened to the letter.” She glanced back at the ship. “I suppose we should have waited for an answer before setting out, but the time was growing late. Besides, I felt certain the gentlemen of Nova Scotia would extend us a warm welcome. And you have—far beyond my expectations.”

Those words rekindled her luminous smile, which sent a rush of warmth through Sir Robert.

“I am Mrs. Finch.” She performed an elegant curtsy. “Mrs. Jocelyn Finch.”

The discovery that she was married flooded Sir Robert’s belly with a cold heaviness, as though it were the hold of a ship smashed by a stray cannonball and rapidly taking on water.

Mrs. Finch raised her voice to carry over the muted murmur of the crowd. “It is my pleasure to bring the men of your fine colony a shipload of charming ladies to assuage their loneliness.”

The murmuring around them gained force and volume, like a breaker gathering itself to dash against the rocks.

For a moment the governor stood mute, too stunned by Mrs. Finch’s brazen declaration to reply. If she had upended a chamber pot over his head, Sir Robert could not have felt more sullied or humiliated.

Ever since assuming his position in the colony, he had waged a strenuous campaign against the evil of prostitution, so rampant in garrison towns like Halifax. His efforts had met with scant support. Everyone from the admiral to the Colonial Office back in London seemed to look on the contemptible trade as an unfortunate but necessary support for the soldiers and sailors on duty in the colonies. Rather like the armorers or the quartermaster corps. Even the bishop was tepid in his condemnation of the Barrack Street brothels.

Sir Robert could not share their casual endorsement of a trade that fostered disease, disorder and degradation. If that qualified him as the “stiff-rumped prude” some of his enemies called him behind his back, he made no apology for it. Until now, he had managed to ignore the slights and subtle challenges to his authority mounted by those who opposed him. But he could not ignore this brazen invasion by a shipload of harlots, flouncing into the city under his very nose!

Had the comely Mrs. Finch been meant as a bribe to secure his compliance? The degree to which she tempted him to abandon his scruples outraged Sir Robert.

“Madam.” He fairly trembled with the effort to contain his indignation. “The men of my colony would be better off to suffer a little loneliness than the ills they are likely to incur by consorting with your ladies.”

It gave him a rush of bitter satisfaction to watch her dainty jaw fall slack. No doubt the little vixen had believed him quite smitten with her charms. Instead, she had given him more reason than ever to keep his distance from the fair sex.

“I suggest you get back aboard your vessel.” Sir Robert stabbed his forefinger toward the ship and spoke in a ringing tone of righteous authority. “Then set sail with your cargo of strumpets for some other lonely colony, where that manner of vice is tolerated. You, and they, are not welcome in Nova Scotia!”

The dazed look fled Jocelyn Finch’s attractive features. An indignant glare took its place. Unfortunately, it did nothing to detract from her beauty.

Sir Robert wished it had.

“How dare you?” Mrs. Finch wrenched the glove off her impossibly delicate fingers.

Before Sir Robert could anticipate what she meant to do, she surged up on the tips of her toes and struck him across the cheek with the glove. For such a small scrap of soft kid leather, it stung like the very devil.

“I demand satisfaction for that vile insult, sir!” she cried. “How dare you sully the reputation of me and my charges with your disgusting accusations? How dare you order us away from this colony?”

Before Sir Robert could rally his composure sufficiently to answer, she fired off a final question that struck him dumb again. “And, pray, when did the estate of holy matrimony become a vice in Nova Scotia?”

Her words rocked Sir Robert back on his heels with far greater force than the blow from her tiny glove had done. “Matrimony?”

Mrs. Finch gave a nod of grim, defiant triumph.

“Ma-tri-mony.” She spoke the word again, her tongue and lush lips lingering over each syllable with provocative enjoyment. “Perhaps you have heard of it? A man and woman living together in the state of holy wedlock, having vowed their mutual lifelong devotion?”

Oh, he knew about matrimony. Had he not studied to avoid it ever since he’d grown old enough to contract such an alliance? Marriage distracted a man from his duty while saddling him with further responsibilities. Sir Robert told himself he did not envy Mister Finch his singular distraction of a wife.

Jocelyn savored the bewildered air of the odious man before her. To think her first glimpse of him had made her question whether her heart had truly died upon the battlefield with her darling Ned! The man’s dark good looks and air of distinction had drawn her to him immediately. The modest gallantry of his initial addresses had quickened something inside her that had long lain fallow.

That very favorable first impression had only made his subsequent behavior all the more vexing. She’d been buoyant with pride to proclaim her mission in the colony, foolishly hoping her announcement might provoke a smile from him.

Instead, he’d stared at her as if she were a bit of filth he was anxious to scrape off the bottom of his immaculate boots. No man had looked at her with such contempt since the day her father had cut her off without a farthing for marrying against his wishes.

Then, in front of half the male population of the town, he had denounced her as a bawd-mistress! Recalling the strenuous efforts she had made to protect Vita Sykes’s virtue during their voyage, Jocelyn might have laughed of that preposterous accusation. If she had not been boiling with indignant fury, instead!

Her glove came off almost before she knew what she was doing. If she’d had a male escort with any gumption, he would have called her slanderer out for such an insult. Since she had vowed to make her own way in the world, without the assistance or hinderance of any man, she would have to defend her own honor—and, more importantly, that of her charges.

Just then, she could have cheerfully put a bullet through…

Who was this man, anyway? It seemed indecent, somehow, that he should inflame her emotions to such a pitch in so short a time, without bothering to introduce himself.

While he stood there, momentarily stunned by her counterattack, Jocelyn seized the opportunity to press her advantage. “Furthermore, what gives you the right to declare our ship is not welcome in Nova Scotia?”

Before he could answer, an anxious-looking young man detached himself from the crowd on the quay.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am.” He bowed to her. “This gentleman is His Excellency, Governor Sir Robert Kerr. He does have the authority to order your ship out of Halifax Harbor if he chooses.”

The governor? Jocelyn stared at Sir Robert Kerr in horror. She had just challenged the governor of Nova Scotia to a duel. Could her mission to the colony possibly have gotten off to a worse start?

Chapter Two

S ir Robert’s dream was rapidly turning into a nightmare!

He had publicly slandered Mrs. Finch and all the young women in her charge with the worst insult a man could make regarding a lady’s honor. She had responded by slapping his face and challenging him to a duel in front of half the town. The ugly gossip would set tongues wagging all over Halifax before the town clock up the hill struck another hour!

Would there be any other topic of conversation over local tea tables that afternoon? Sir Robert could picture his opponents consuming such morsels of damaging tattle as though they were rich little cakes iced with gleeful malice.

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.

By now, Jocelyn had been a widow longer than she’d been a wife. Time and necessity had taught her to speak of her late husband 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?”

The governor nodded. “They grow 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 that your ship is reprovisioned so you may return to England or sail on to another colony where you might be more welcome.”

Jocelyn could scarcely abide the prospect of another hour confined aboard ship, let alone days or weeks. She could not return to England and face Mrs. Beamish with her mission unfulfilled. And what manner of welcome were they likely to receive in another colony, having been turned away from the shores of Nova Scotia?

“You cannot do this to me!” she cried. No man since her father had provoked her to such a rage.

“Not only can I, madam. For the good of this colony, I must.” He headed out of the room, calling for his aide.

Jocelyn nearly overturned the tea table in her haste to catch him.

“Have you forgotten?” She clutched the sleeve of his coat. “I challenged you to a duel. Are you such a coward that you would bundle me out of town before I can defend my honor?”

He stared down at her with undisguised aversion. “Madam, I have no intention of fighting a duel with anyone, least of all a woman. I made a mistake—a perfectly natural one under the circumstances, I believe. But I am willing to apologize for it in public. I will put a notice to that effect in the Halifax Gazette if you wish.”

He turned to his aide, who had just arrived. “Remind me of that, will you, Duckworth? But, first, I would like you to escort Mrs. Finch back to her ship.”

The governor detached her hand from his sleeve, then executed a curt bow. “I wish you a safe journey, madam.”

Before Jocelyn could protest further, he strode from the drawing room.

With a strangled shriek, she lunged for the tea tray and scooped up the blueberry jam pot, determined to hurl it at the governor’s pristine marble hearth…for lack of a more deserving target.

Mr. Duckworth stepped in front of her. “Please don’t, ma’am. It’ll make the most frightful mess.”

That was what she wanted. To leave His Excellency with a vivid purple stain to remember her by!

His aide’s plea stayed her hand. After all, the governor himself would not be obliged to clean up the mess.

She held the jam pot out to Mr. Duckworth. “I pity you with all my heart, sir, having to work for such a tyrant.”

The young man relieved her of the crock before he replied, “There is no man in the colony I’d rather serve, ma’am.”

Poor young fool, Jocelyn thought as she permitted him to escort her out of Government House and down toward the wharf. Every step of the way, she struggled to invent an excuse that would prevent her from getting back on that ship. Once aboard, she was certain Governor Kerr would never permit her to set foot off it again. How could she hope to plead her case if she could not communicate with anyone in town?

As they caught sight of the wharf, Mr. Duckworth sighed. “Not another crowd gathered? I hope we shan’t need to call out the militia to disperse these people.”

The nearer they drew, the more evident it became that these curious onlookers were different from the first group. For they were mostly women.

A number stood around the wharf in small clusters, talking together and pointing toward the ship. A few appeared to be chatting with the young soldier Governor Kerr had left on guard. From their garish dress and forward manner, Jocelyn took them to be the kind of women Sir Robert had accused her of bringing to his colony. Perhaps they had got word of the governor’s slander and hoped to catch a glimpse their rivals.

Jocelyn could not recall seeing so many women of ill repute together at one time in London…at least not the parts of London she frequented. If Halifax had this great a problem with flesh-peddling, perhaps the governor had some small justification for jumping to the wrong conclusion about her bride ship. But that did not give him grounds for turning them away once he’d discovered their true purpose!

Just then, a woman’s voice called from an open carriage parked nearby. “Oh, Mr. Duckling, a word, if you please?”

Muttering “Duck-worth, damn it!” under his breath, the governor’s aide approached the carriage.

It crossed Jocelyn’s mind to run off while his attention was diverted. Perhaps she could find a clergyman, or some other worthy citizen willing to plead her case with the governor. After an instant’s consideration, she discarded the idea. How could she hope to find someone to help her, when she did not know a single soul in town, nor how to locate them if she did?

She hung back a bit as Mr. Duckworth approached the carriage. “Why, Mrs. Carmont, what a pleasant surprise. May I be of service, ma’am?”

“Indeed you may,” replied the occupant of the carriage, whose voice sounded strangely familiar to Jocelyn. “With a bit of reliable information, if you’d be so kind. It is in very short supply presently. The most preposterous rumors have been circulating about town. Is it true that Barnabas Power imported a shipload of women to cater to the officers of the garrison?”

Duckworth shook his head at the wild story. “A ship did arrive, ma’am, carrying a number of young ladies. But it is my understanding their business in the colony is entirely honorable. Nor have I heard of any connection with Mr. Power except that they have docked at his wharf.”

He turned toward Jocelyn and beckoned. “Here is a lady who can tell you better than I. May I present Mrs. Jocelyn Finch. Mrs. Finch, may I present Mrs. Carmont, the wife of our—”

Before he could finish, the woman cried, “Jocelyn? Lady Jocelyn DeLacey? My dear, it is I, Sally Hastings—Mrs. Carmont since my marriage. What a delightful surprise to find you here in Halifax, of all places on earth!”

“Sally, of course! How good to see you!” Back in England, Jocelyn had hated chance encounters with her old acquaintances. But here and now, she had never been more grateful for the sight of a familiar face.

Sally Carmont threw open the carriage door. “Do come dine with me this evening! We have so much to catch up with one another.”

As Jocelyn moved to accept the invitation, the governor’s aide became quite agitated. “But, His Excellency entrusted me with seeing Mrs. Finch back to her ship!”

“Think nothing more of it, Mr. Duckling.” Sally Carmont waved him on his way. “I promise you, I shall deliver her personally once we’ve dined. I can get my husband to provide us an armed escort, if necessary.”

Clearly Sally was someone of consequence in Halifax, for Duckworth appeared torn between the governor’s orders and the lady’s wishes.

“Please?” Jocelyn appealed to him, hoping she might tip the balance in her favor. “It would mean a great deal to me to spend an evening with an old friend. I give you my word, I will be back aboard ship before midnight. His Excellency need never know a thing about it.”

“The governor’s instructions were very specific, ma’am.”

“Please?”

On the young man’s face, she could see the struggle between a kind desire to oblige her and the tyrannical dictates of duty to his master. “I don’t suppose a small detour would hurt.”

“Not a particle!” Jocelyn pressed a swift kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, thank you!”

“If there’s any fuss with Governor Kerr,” said Sally, “I shall take full responsibility.”

Before Mr. Duckworth could change his mind, 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 the governor’s senior, remained a bachelor with no sign of altering his marital state. “Would you have risen so far and so fast in the world with the cumbrance of a wife and family?”

The merchant 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, the governor of the colony taking such an interest in our welfare! He must be a very kind man.”

Sir Robert Kerr—kind? The good reports Colonel Carmont had given her of the man last night over dinner could not keep a bitter chuckle from rising in Jocelyn’s throat.

“If he’s taking such an interest in our welfare,” said Hetty Jenkins, “why don’t he let us off this stinking boat before we all go barmy?”

Several more of Jocelyn’s charges took up the question.

“Why won’t they let us disembark?”

“When can we go ashore, Mrs. Finch?”

“Yes, Mrs. Finch—when?”

Jocelyn glanced around the dimly lit galley at their anxious faces. She did not have the heart to tell them upon how slender a thread their hopes hung. “Now, my dears, we must exercise a little patience. I fear the ship carrying our letter of introduction must have been lost at sea. So our arrival in Halifax was quite unexpected.”

From what little she had seen of the town, last evening on the way to the Carmonts’, Halifax had not appeared very large. Finding suitable accommodations for so numerous a party might prove difficult. Against her will, she felt a glimmer of sympathy for Governor Kerr.

“But they are happy to see us, aren’t they?” asked Lily, the orphan daughter of a country parson. Her calm manner during the rigors of the voyage had won Jocelyn’s respect and trust. “Such a great crowd came out yesterday to bid us welcome.”

“Yes, indeed,” replied Jocelyn, referring to the size of the crowd, not the sentiments that had motivated it.

She sensed that curiosity, not goodwill, had drawn most of yesterday’s onlookers. If only she and her charges were given a fair chance, she believed they could win a sincere welcome from the colonists. Certainly the gentlemen to whom Sally Carmont had introduced her last night seemed well disposed toward her mission. But would their support prove strong enough to sway their stubborn governor?

The ship had not been ordered out of port—yet. Jocelyn seized upon that as a hopeful sign. “I’m certain everything will be arranged soon, and we will be at liberty to disembark.”

She prayed so, at least. These fresh provisions from the governor’s farm were a great boon, to be sure. But the strain of forty women crowded together for weeks on end was beginning to take its toll on everyone’s temper. After returning from her lovely dinner with the Carmonts, Jocelyn had been called to settle no less than a dozen quarrels among her charges.

“The first thing I mean to do when I get ashore,” said Louisa Newton, a pale girl who had suffered from violent seasickness for much of the voyage, “is kneel down and kiss dry land!”

Some of the others laughed and nodded their agreement.

“I shan’t waste my kisses on the ground,” announced Vita Sykes, a saucy little minx who had caused Jocelyn no end of trouble since they’d set sail. “I mean to kiss the first man I see. There were a few fine-looking ones on the dock yesterday. That governor fellow you went off with wasn’t half-bad, Mrs. Finch. Is he married?”

The bold question brought a stinging blush to Jocelyn’s cheeks.

Before she could find her voice to answer, Hetty Jenkins cried, “A fine governor’s wife you’d make, Vita, with no more morals than a cat. I saw you, last night, pawing at that soldier who was guarding the gangway!”

“You’ve got sharp eyes, carrothead!” Vita grabbed a large fistful of Hetty’s bright red hair. “How’d you like them scratched out, eh?”

Hetty’s fist flew but missed Vita to box one of the other girls on the ear. By the time Jocelyn threw herself into the fray it had escalated to a full-scale brawl.

“Enough!” she cried. “Stop this at once!”

She squealed when grasping fingers found her hair and pulled.

“If this does not stop…” Sharp fingernails scored her cheek. “I shall send everyone involved straight back to England!”

Her threat calmed the mayhem a little, but she wasn’t sure they could all hear her above the racket.

“Mrs. Finch!” The first mate’s resonant bellow accomplished what she had been unable to, freezing the galley in a silent, violent tableau.

Into the stunned hush, he announced, “Visitors to see you up on deck, ma’am.”

Visitors? “Tell them I’ll be along, directly,” Jocelyn answered in a tone of false brightness.

Once the crewman was out of earshot, she ordered Vita and Hetty confined to their cabins.

“As for the rest of you,” she announced in a harsh whisper, “I did not want to tell you this, but not everyone is anxious to welcome us to the colony. If word of this kind of behavior gets out I fear we will be sent packing!”

She glared at every young woman brave enough to meet her eyes. “Now remember what is at stake and conduct yourselves accordingly.”

She swept out of the galley amid a subdued chorus of “Yes, Mrs. Finch.”

As Jocelyn hurried up the steep stairs to the main deck, fear and hope warred within her. Had she been summoned to witness their departure from Halifax…or for some eleventh-hour reprieve? Hope gained the upper hand when she found Colonel and Mrs. Carmont waiting for her, along with Governor Kerr.

Sally’s smile twisted into a grimace when she caught sight of Jocelyn. “My dear! Whatever happened? Are you all right?”

For an instant, Jocelyn puzzled what her friend meant. Then, a gust of salty sea air made her cheek sting.

The fight! Her summons to the deck had driven it from her mind entirely. With one hand she reached up in a futile effort to tidy her hair. The other flew to her face to cover the scratches. Dear heaven, she must look like the worst type of woman Governor Kerr had accused her of being!

She braced herself to confront his disdainful stare. Instead, his stern countenance had softened in a look of concern. That unsettled her further.

“I’m fine, truly! I just had a little tumble below deck.”

The moment the words left her lips, she wished she’d swallowed them. For tumble had another meaning…

Was it just her fancy, or did the governor’s firm mouth twitch from a suppressed grin?

When he spoke, however, he sounded serious as ever. “Ships can be tricky places to keep one’s footing. You must take care, Mrs. Finch.”

His feigned concern for her well-being goaded Jocelyn. “May I remind Your Excellency that I would prefer to be ashore where I would not have to be so careful of my footing. What brings you here, sir? Have you come to see us off in person? Bid us a safe voyage?”

If that were the case, there could be no advantage to holding her tongue. She’d give Governor Kerr a piece of her mind before he evicted her from his colony.

The governor shook his head. “As a matter of fact, I have come on a rather different errand.”

“Pray, what might that be?” Though she warned herself to keep her hopes in check, Jocelyn could not suppress them altogether.

“Upon reflection,” said the governor, “I see I may have acted rather hastily yesterday.”

Yes! Yes!

When he hesitated, she prompted him. “And…?”

The smile of triumph froze on her lips when he replied, “I have decided to accept your challenge to a duel, after all.”

Chapter Four

N o doubt it said terrible things about his character, but Sir Robert could not help relishing the look of dismay on Mrs. Finch’s pretty face when he accepted her challenge. It eased his sense of defeat…a little. The woman had outmaneuvered him, damn it! No soldier could be expected to bear that with good grace. Least of all when he felt a sneaking sense of admiration for his adversary’s resourcefulness.

“A-accept?” For an instant she looked ready to swoon.

Together with her tousled hair and the scratch on her face, it roused that absurd protective urge he’d felt the first moment he set eyes on her. Had recent events not demonstrated the lady was more than capable of looking after herself?

Before he could reach out to her, Mrs. Finch composed herself. A steely light flashed in her eyes. “Very well, sir. Choose your weapon. Pistols? Swords?”

Mrs. Carmont rushed to her friend’s side. “Surely, you cannot mean it, Sir Robert? A gentleman engaging a lady in armed combat violates every code of civilized behavior!”

As he contemplated the ladies facing him arm in arm, one the picture of violent antagonism, the other of righteous indignation, Sir Robert fought to keep a straight face. “Quite so, Mrs. Carmont. I wish to offer combat of a different nature. One in which my size, strength and experience will not give me too great an advantage over a female opponent.”

“Indeed?” Mrs. Finch hid her relief quite well. “What manner of combat do you propose then?”

“Chess. Are you familiar with the game, ma’am? If not, perhaps we could make it draughts instead.”

“It has been some years, but I used to play chess rather well. When and where do you propose to hold the match?” The set of her mouth warned Sir Robert she would be ready for him.

“Two hours hence at Government House, if you are willing,” he replied. “I believe it is in both our interests to settle this matter without further delay.”

“I agree.” She looked surprised to find herself addressing those words to him. “But I am curious, sir. Yesterday you told me you intended to have an apology printed in the newspaper.”

Sir Robert nodded. “It has already been drafted and dispatched to the editor, whom I believe you have met.”

“Er…yes. Mrs. Carmont was kind enough to introduce us.” She seemed to clutch her friend’s arm a little tighter while Sally Carmont’s expression dared him make fuss over what she’d done. “But if you have issued an apology, my honor is satisfied. Why is this chess match necessary?”

“Because, madam, you have persuaded a number of influential citizens that your bride-ship scheme would benefit the colony. I still believe that certain drawbacks outweigh any possible advantages. But I am willing to give you the opportunity to win my cooperation.”

“You mean if I best you at chess, we can stay?” Her eager smile made Jocelyn Finch look even more beautiful, if that were possible.

The governor replied with a curt nod. “If you win our match, I shall make arrangements for you and your…young ladies to remain in Nova Scotia. If I win, you must set sail tomorrow morning without any further protest or effort to circumvent my authority. Agreed?”

At least the little minx had the decency to look faintly ashamed when he mentioned circumventing his authority. She did not allow her conscience to trouble her long, however.

“It is.” She offered him her hand to seal their bargain.

As he wrapped his fingers around hers, Sir Robert felt a bewildering compulsion to raise them to his lips. Stifling the foolish inclination, he took a firm hold and shook her hand instead. “I shall await you at Government House.”

Before Mrs. Finch could reply, her friend spoke up. “I will fetch her there in my carriage, Your Excellency.”

Was the woman implying some reproach that he’d made Mrs. Finch walk the trifling distance from the wharf to his residence? Clearly these ladies were determined to put him in the wrong, whatever he did.

He gritted his teeth. “That would be most obliging of you, Mrs. Carmont. Now if you will excuse me.”

Sir Robert turned to the colonel, who had been watching the whole exchange with an amused grin that vexed him no end. “Will you accompany me, Carmont, or do you reckon the ladies require an armed escort as far as Hollis Street?”

His friend chuckled. “Any fool daft enough to molest these two deserves the trouncing he’d get. You, on the other hand, might require protection from the bachelors of Nova Scotia when they hear you intend to send all these lovely ladies packing to some other fortunate colony.”

“Et tu, Carmont?” Sir Robert growled.

He knew the futility of trying to wage a battle without a single ally. But it galled him to surrender without a fight. He vowed to give his pretty, conniving adversary a fight she would not soon forget!

What had made her accept his offer? Jocelyn could not wrest her attention away from the governor and Colonel Carmont as they disembarked and strode from the wharf. She had not played chess in years, while he looked like just the sort of cool, calculating fellow who would excel at the game.

But she sensed this was the only chance the governor would give her. For the sake of her charges, she must seize it—no matter how great a disadvantage she would suffer. Besides, the governor had roused her antagonism such that she could not resist his challenge. She half wished she could confront him on a more violent field of honor—with pistols, or duelling swords…or hand-to-hand combat.

Quite ridiculous, given the way he towered over her! Yet some furious part of her longed to strike him a physical blow. Another part yearned to shake his haughty self-control. A very tiny, traitorous part wondered how it might feel to be pinned beneath him.

“My word!” Sally Carmont’s tinkling laugh roused Jocelyn from her wanton fancy. “You do have the most singular effect on our honorable governor, my dear.”

Jocelyn made a wry face. “What? Is Sir Robert usually more demonstrative in his manner?”

“Demonstrative?” Sally burst into such a gale of laughter she could scarcely catch her breath. “Quite the contrary, I assure you! Will swears he is the best of men, but I have always found him unbearably severe. I vow, he spoke more and with greater feeling these past few minutes than I have heard him speak in the past month altogether.”

“I refuse to take either the credit or the blame for Sir Robert’s recent behavior,” Jocelyn insisted. “It is the situation that has provoked him, though I cannot fathom his prejudice against my mission.”

For all she denied ruffling the governor’s composure, it intrigued her to think she might possess that power. And it restored a little of her self-respect, which was shaken by the suspicion Governor Kerr might hold some of that same power over her.

“Do not slight yourself, my dear,” said Sally. “I believe you have more effect upon Sir Robert than either of you is willing to admit. Now fetch your hat and let us be off. We have less than two hours to prepare for this duel of yours.”

“Of course, how clever to think of it!” Jocelyn started off toward the galleyway. “You and I can play a few practice matches at your house before I have to face Sir Robert.”

“Chess?” Sally’s mouth puckered as though she had bitten something sour. “Don’t be silly! We must fix your hair. And I have a new gown I believe will suit you very well.”

“What does my appearance matter? I mean to beat the governor at his own game, not make a conquest of him.”

Sally Carmont wagged her forefinger. “Why should any woman want to beat a man at his game when she may so easily vanquish him at hers?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Jocelyn headed toward the hold.

Sally called after her. “No matter whose game a woman plays, appearance and charm are two potent weapons she cannot afford to neglect if she means to win.”

On other men, perhaps. But Governor Kerr? Jocelyn had never met a man less likely to be swayed by feminine charm. This had the bothersome effect of making her want to compel his admiration, however reluctant.

When she reached the lower deck, Jocelyn found her charges much subdued.

“Please, ma’am,” said Lily, after one of the other girls nudged her, “has anything been decided? Will we be allowed to stay in Nova Scotia?”

“Perhaps.” Jocelyn did not want to raise false hopes only to dash them later. “I am going to Government House, now, for more…talks with Governor Kerr about our situation.”

The girls looked relieved and hopeful, clearly trusting in her powers of persuasion. Jocelyn wished she could be as sanguine of her chances as they. The bravado with which she’d accepted Sir Robert’s challenge was ebbing rapidly.

Perhaps sensing her uncertainty, Lily asked, “Is there anything we can do to help, Mrs. Finch?”

“You can all maintain your best behavior during my absence.” Jocelyn surveyed the group, meeting the eyes of one or two girls capable of causing trouble. “Those of you so inclined might pray for my success.”

“Pray?” cried Louisa. “Is it as bad as that? Whenever folks fall ill and the doctor says to pray, you know it’s hopeless!”

Pulling out her handkerchief, she began to sob into it, joined in her lamentations by several other girls. A few more sensible among the group rolled their eyes at this display.

“It is not hopeless!” Jocelyn grabbed her hat and jammed it on her head, skewering it in place with a decorative but dangerous looking pin. “Now stop this blubbering at once!”

That only made the tearful ones weep harder. Jocelyn chided herself for not keeping her impatience in check. “Perhaps a turn around the deck in the fresh air might do you all good. I promise to do my very best for you.”

Clasping Lily’s hand, she muttered, “Try to keep them calm until I get back.”

With that, she fled to the deck as if something frightful were nipping at her heels. In truth, something was. The haunting specter of defeat and the daunting prospect of crossing the ocean so soon again in charge of forty young women in their present overwrought state. Before Jocelyn would let that happen, she would battle Governor Kerr with a sword or pistol!

Sir Robert could scarcely have felt more keyed up if he’d been going to fight a real duel. For the fifth time in as many minutes, he checked at the clock to the left of the drawing-room door. It did not surprise him that Mrs. Finch was late. In his experience, women cared far less about punctuality than men.

He might have strode over to the window to watch for Mrs. Carmont’s carriage but a cluster of men crowded in front of it, talking together. These were the same council members who had called on him this morning to express their support for Mrs. Finch and her bride ship. Sir Robert had invited them to witness the chess match to satisfy them that he was giving the woman a chance.

He hoped they would notice her tardiness, a small foretaste of the disturbances she and her shipload of marriageable women were likely to unleash upon the colony. To his annoyance, none of them seemed to mark the time. Neither did Will Carmont, who lounged in an armchair beside the hearth perusing the Gazette. No doubt he was too well acquainted with his wife’s dilatory habits to look for her an instant before she arrived.

All heads turned when Duckworth threw open the morning-room door to admit a young footman bearing tea. When they saw it was not the ladies after all, the gentlemen returned to their conversation and the colonel to his newspaper.

“Any sign of Mrs. Finch yet, Duckworth?” The governor made no effort to conceal his impatience.

“Not yet, sir. But the bish—”

Before Duckworth could get the rest out, Barnabas Power stalked in followed by the bishop. “What’s all this nonsense, deciding matters of colonial policy over a chessboard? What will be next? Cutting cards for land patents? Throwing dice for government appointments?”

Would that be so much worse than the present system of influence and patronage? Sir Robert wondered. For once he exercised enough tact to bite his tongue.

When he began to stammer his reasons, Power cut him short with another gruff question. “Why was I not invited to watch?”

“M-my apologies, sir.” Suddenly this whole idea seemed as frivolous a waste of time as he had condemned Mrs. Finch’s mission for being. “I assumed you would be occupied with more important matters.”

Power reached into his trouser pocket and jingled some silver. “I’m never too busy to make a little easy money.” He called out to the youngest of the council members. “Say, Brenton, would you care to lay a small wager on the outcome of the governor’s duel with Mrs. Finch?”

“With pleasure, sir!” Lewis Brenton beckoned him toward the window. “I was just discussing that very subject with Mr. Chapman and Mr. Sadler when you arrived.”

Grumbling under his breath, Sir Robert stalked to the middle of the room, where a small card table had been set up and his chessboard placed upon it. He made a few practice moves, nudging forward king’s and queen’s pawns. Will Carmont returned to his newspaper once again, while Duckworth fetched tea for the governor’s guests.

Finally, a full half hour after they were expected, a footman announced Mrs. Carmont and Mrs. Finch. Sir Robert quickly shifted all the chess pieces back to their original positions then strode forward to greet the ladies.

He bowed then gestured toward Barnabas Power and the others. “I believe you are already acquainted with the gentlemen, Mrs. Finch.”

This time she betrayed no embarrassment at being reminded of how she had gone behind his back. Instead, she acknowledged her allies with an elegant curtsy. “I have had that honor.”

The men, none a day below thirty, grinned at her like a gaggle of calf-eyed schoolboys. Though Sir Robert had an almost irresistible urge to box their ears, he could not dispute the effect Mrs. Finch had upon them.

She looked quite a different woman from the one who’d emerged from the Hestia’s hold earlier that afternoon. Her hair had been dressed in a different style—a very becoming one with wispy curls framing her face. A pale green gown showed her slender figure to advantage and made her look the embodiment of springtime, which was so keenly anticipated in the colony.

Lewis Brenton made no effort to conceal his admiration as he swept her a very deep bow. “The honor is ours, Lady Jocelyn.”

His words flustered her in a way the gentlemen’s stares had not. A flush mantled her cheeks and though the corners of her lips still curved upward, all the sparkle went out of her smile. “If you would be so kind, sir, I prefer to be addressed as ‘Mrs. Finch,’ in honor of my late husband.”

Sir Robert was familiar enough with forms of address to know that the daughter of a marquess could continue to be called “Lady” even after she had married beneath her. He wondered what lay behind Jocelyn Finch’s insistence on dispensing with her title. For the first time since learning of her lofty connections, it occurred to him to wonder what a noble-woman was doing chaperoning a shipload of emigrant girls.

Her remark seemed to dumbfound the rest of the party for a moment. Sir Robert rushed to fill the awkward lull with the first words that came to mind. “Of course we shall call you by whatever name you wish, Mrs. Finch.”

It was not a witty remark but, like him, blunt and to the point. Still, it served well enough. The tension in the room relaxed and in Mrs. Finch’s eyes he detected a flicker of gratitude.

It prompted him to continue. “Since these gentlemen have expressed some interest in our…disagreement, I thought they might care to observe its resolution.”

He wanted them all on hand to see him win, fair and square, and to bear witness that Mrs. Finch had willingly accepted his terms.

Barnabas Power seemed more interested in eyeing the lady as if she were a prize mare on which he planned to bid. “We’ve come to cheer you on, ma’am.”

She rewarded him and the others with a glowing smile that made Sir Robert smart with resentment. “How very kind of you, when you all must have so much more important business to occupy your time. I am flattered by your attention.”

They were equally flattered by her, the governor had no doubt of it. Did they not see the skill with which she was playing them? If the lady was half as proficient at chess, she might give him more of a challenge than he’d bargained for.

“Your point is well taken, Mrs. Finch. We are all busy people and this matter has already occupied more of our time than it merits.” Sir Robert gestured toward the chessboard. “Shall we begin without further ado?”

She cast him a venomous glance. Then, with the graceful but determined gait, she approached the chess table and took the chair at the “white” end of the board. “I hope you will not begrudge me the small advantage of first move, Your Excellency.”

It was clear she considered him anything but excellent.

“Indeed not.” He sank onto the chair opposite her, pleased to be playing his accustomed black. “I would insist upon it.”

“Enjoy your game.” Mrs. Carmont pulled off her gloves. “I could do with a cup of tea. May I pour for anyone else?”

While the spectators swarmed to the tea table to refill their cups, Mrs. Finch picked up the white king’s pawn and advanced it two squares. Sir Robert nodded his approval of this sound opening. He countered by moving his king’s pawn forward to block hers.

She surprised him by slipping her queen out on the diagonal. After a moment’s consideration, he moved out his queen’s knight. Mrs. Finch stared at the board with grim concentration then picked up her bishop and shifted it several spaces forward.

Teacups in hand, Sir Robert’s guests clustered around the table, watching the match. The bishop greeted Mrs. Finch’s move with a murmur of approval. No doubt he could see how her aggressive play threatened a checkmate.

Or would have against a novice opponent. Sir Robert nudged his knight pawn forward to endanger her queen. While she studied the board, her brow furrowed and her pretty mouth compressed in a tight line, he got up and helped himself to tea. When he turned his attention back to the board, he found she had moved her queen to bishop three, still threatening the mate. He advanced his knight to a square defended by his queen. Mrs. Finch’s little sortie had failed. He would put her on the defensive now.

She stared at the board for so long Sir Robert wondered if she ever meant to move. He beckoned his aide and whispered, “Go to my office and fetch me some papers, like a good fellow.”

Duckworth hurried away, returning with the requested documents before Mrs. Finch reached for her knight. After a little dithering, she placed it upon the king-two square.

Then she turned to Mrs. Carmont. “I could do with a cup of tea, if you please, Sally. Plenty of cream and sugar.”

She had barely spoken before Sir Robert pushed his bishop forward. That done, he picked up one of his papers and began to read. If the woman was going to take an eternity making up her mind over every move, he could use the time to catch up on some of his work. Work she had interrupted and distracted him from.

The rest of the party seemed impatient with her slow play, too. After watching the opening moves of the game with interest, they withdrew in small groups to various parts of the room, talking quietly together.

Mrs. Finch paid them no heed, except to look a trifle relieved to be free of their scrutiny. She sipped the tea Mrs. Carmont had poured for her while examining the chessboard with a puzzled look. Perhaps she was wondering if his bishop posed any threat to her, never guessing he had simply moved the piece to get it out of the way.

Sir Robert read over the land grant petition in his hand. It seemed to be in order. The petitioner was a Scot recently mustered out from one of the Highland regiments that had served with distinction at Waterloo. He was thirty-two years of age and unmarried. That information reminded Sir Robert of what Mr. Power had said that morning about men being more productive citizens when they had families to support. He could not help wondering if one of the young ladies from the bride ship might make a suitable wife for a new settler like this one.

The soft but insistent sound of Mrs. Finch clearing her throat drew his attention back to the chessboard. “I have made my move, sir. It is now your turn.”

“Of course.” He glanced at the board and saw she had brought her queen’s knight forward.

Sir Robert quickly replied with his queen’s pawn. Then he returned to his work, instructing Duckworth to check that the requested land did not encroach upon Crown forest reserves before issuing the grant. The next petition had come from a widower with three young children. A new wife would be a necessity for that poor fellow, not a distraction.

“Is there some difficulty, Sir Robert?” asked Mrs. Finch in a tone of genuine concern.

“No, indeed.” He looked up from the paper. “Is it my turn again?”

She nodded.

Sir Robert scanned the board, then moved his bishop to threaten her queen. Enough conservative play, waiting for her to make a mistake he could exploit. He wanted the matter settled and Mrs. Finch gone before he was bothered by any more second thoughts.

Only after he had made his move did Sir Robert recognize the weakness of his position. He hoped Mrs. Finch would be too intimidated by his threat to her queen to see it. By now he should have realized she was not the kind of woman to be easily intimidated in any situation. He tried to keep his face impassive when she ignored the threat, reaching for her knight instead.

Ivory clicked softly against ebony as she took his knight with hers. “Check.”

Jocelyn tried to keep any note of premature triumph from her voice as she removed Sir Robert’s knight from the board, the first capture of the match.

There were likely hundreds of ways he could beat her yet. Especially now that she had put him on his guard. He might be a more experienced player than she, but he would have to spare the match more than a crumb of his attention if he hoped to win.

Still it boosted her confidence to have made that first capture. Unless she was mistaken, there might be better yet to come. What would her father think if he could see how she was making use of the skills he had taught her?

She recalled those long-ago years as if seeing them through a window of golden glass. How she had reveled in the attention the marquess had lavished upon her, then! Mistaking it for love when he had only been cultivating her as an asset of potential value in his quest for dynastic power. At least Governor Kerr was forthright in his dislike of her.

Jocelyn watched with mute satisfaction as he scrutinized his position more closely before capturing her knight with his queen. His scowl told her he knew what she would do next and she did not disappoint him. Her queen took his undefended bishop. From now on, if she could simply trade him piece for piece until the end of the game, she would win. But she had learned not to underestimate Sir Robert Kerr. A pity he had not learned the same about her.

The flurry of captures brought their spectators back to hover around the table whispering to one another. Sir Robert castled kingside. Jocelyn advanced her queen’s pawn. After a moment’s deliberation, he moved his queen’s rook to defend his king on the other side. As soon as he let go of the piece, a flicker of his brow told Jocelyn he had seen his mistake but hoped she would not.

When she brought her bishop forward, he cursed under his breath. The man recognized trouble when he landed in it—she would give him that. What a shame he also imagined trouble where none existed.

A series of captures was inevitable now. All he could do was minimize the damage. His queen took her bishop. Her queen took his. Their audience broke into a spatter of applause.

Jocelyn willed her hand not to tremble as she lifted the teacup to her lips. The match was now hers to lose, but she could not hope to maintain the advantage of Sir Robert’s inattention. From now on he would be watching very closely indeed to exploit any mistake she might make. Somehow the tantalizing prospect of victory unsettled her more than the fear of defeat.

They continued to play, the governor taking his time and studying the board carefully before each move. That gave Jocelyn time to plan, as well, anticipating what his next move might be and how she could best counter it. Several strategic moves gave way to another flurry of captures that robbed the governor of a knight and three pawns in exchange for Jocelyn’s bishop and two pawns.

She sensed the moment he knew he was beaten. His moves picked up tempo once again and seemed calculated to bring the game to a swift end. He did not concede defeat, but fought on, allowing her to savor the triumph of a complete victory.

In the end, her queen alone placed him in checkmate, his king boxed into a corner.

“Bravo!” Sally squealed.

The gentlemen applauded Jocelyn’s win, some with more vigor than others. She understood why a few moments later when they exchanged small sums of money.

The governor rose and extended his hand over the chessboard. “Well played, Mrs. Finch. I hope you will allow me the opportunity to redeem myself in a rematch during your stay in Halifax.”

As they shook hands, Jocelyn lowered her voice for his ears alone while the others were discussing their wagers. “I shall be honored to play you again, sir, if that is your wish. But the outcome of this match does not impugn your skill. We both know you allowed me to win.”

He made no effort to release her hand. “For the sake of my pride, I wish I could claim that were so, but I assure you it is not. In my arrogance, I yielded you an advantage, but you had the skill and resource to capitalize upon it. You are a formidable opponent, ma’am.”

Over the years Jocelyn had received many of the usual compliments gentlemen lavished upon ladies. Tributes to her beauty, her charm, her accomplishment, even her wit. Why then did Sir Robert’s bald, grudging scrap of praise set her insides aflutter? Or was it the warmth of his hand as he clung to hers, only now letting it go?

She was done with such feelings, Jocelyn insisted to herself. And she resented the governor for provoking them, though she knew it had never been his intention.

“You have only begun to see my formidable nature, sir. I mean to prove you wrong about the bride ship—that it will be an unmixed blessing to your colony.”

“I hope you will succeed, ma’am.” He did not look by any means convinced that she would. “For the sake of the colony, I sincerely hope so.”

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