Page 12 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

“Dubois.” Alana stepped out from behind Mrs. Parker. “And my husband is waiting for me to join him in America. However, when we dock, I’m certain he’d like to meet you as well.”

Anger should be a color. It looked quite delightful on Mr. Cheswick’s face as he stomped away from them, gnawing his teeth.

She turned to share this observation with Mrs. Parker and caught the expression of glee on the woman’s face. The two of them burst into a fit of laughter, which drew several glares from nearby passengers.

“Come,” Mrs. Parker said after she drew in a breath. “Let’s find your cabin.”

She wrapped Alana’s arm around her and led her down the corridor.

“Thank you for your assistance, Mrs. Parker.” Alana glanced at the woman, who was a good head taller than her.

“Certainly. I had the unfortunate experience of meeting him when searching for a match for my sister.” Mrs. Parker shivered. “He’s a widow… four dead wives.”

“Four?” Alana’s eyes popped.

Mrs. Parker’s grim expression confirmed Alana’s suspicions.

“It’s best he doesn’t form an attachment to you.”

Turning right, they entered a new corridor with two rows of white doors lining both sides and stopped. Lifting her key, Alana checked the card tied to the key’s bow. On one side, inscribed in thick black ink, were the words ‘Crescent Rose’, and beneath the ship’s name were three numbers.

“Nine two five,” she read out.

They strolled down the hallway, checking each placard until they found one that matched. Shoving the key into the door, Alana wrestled with the lock, but the key refused to turn.

“You were quick to think of a name… do you truly have a husband in America?” Leaning against the wall, Mrs. Parker removed her hat and twirled the bonnet in her hand, watching the ribbons spin like a colorful kaleidoscope.

“Sebastian passed away two years ago.” A small knife slid through her heart as she spoke his name, a painful reminder of the life she lost.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Mrs. Parker wrapped an arm around Alana, yanking her into a tight embrace. She released Alana just as exuberantly, and clapped her hands together with shining eyes, smashing the beleaguered hat in her excitement.

“You must dine with Hugh and I!”

“Icannot impose…”

“Of course, you can.” Waving her hand airily, Mrs. Parker dismissed her concerns. “You are traveling without your husband, Mrs. Dubois. The least we can do is offer you companionship.”

She cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered loudly, “Besides, Hugh will be occupied most of the journey with business, and I’d much rather sit on deck and gossip with you than spend my days in the cabin, staring at my embroidery.”

Alana laughed. “I must admit, that is a task in which I’m a miserable failure.”

“Surely, you must have some talent.” Mrs. Parker grinned, thumbing to herself. “All ladies with red hair are exceptional. At what do you excel?”

“Shooting.”

“That sounds delightful.”

Checking the cabin number, Alana removed the key, compared the room number to the tag, then inserted the key again, and wrenched the bow sideways. The key slipped, cutting her finger. Sucking on the wound, she glared at the door.

“Mrs. Dubois, please, allow me to help you.”

Setting her hat atop her head, Mrs. Parker leaned around Alana, pulled the key from the lock, then spun around, facing Alana, and winked. Kicking her foot out, she struck the door with the heel of her boot, then shoved the key into the lock, twisting sharply, and pushed the door open, inspecting the cabin.

“One trunk,” Mrs. Parker murmured, then glanced back. “Is your lady’s maid staying in a different room?”

“I have no need for such an extravagance. I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself.”

The door behind Mrs. Parker opened, and a man with graying black hair poked his head into the corridor, a smile tugging at his lips.