Font Size
Line Height

Page 13 of Benefactor to the Baroness (The Seductive Sleuths #3)

R osemary ushered Annie down the dock, the soles of her shoes slapping on the damp planks. The cool, foggy night had given way to a blazing, afternoon sun, causing her to regret choosing her sturdiest walking suit made of scarlet corduroy for the first day of their journey. Between the oppressive heat and the tight clasp of the fabric around her body, she felt nearly as ready to leap out of her clothes as she had when Lady Kerry… Fontaine …had slipped her tongue inside Rosemary’s mouth. Leaving that house had taken every ounce of willpower she’d possessed, and even then, she’d returned to her bed to bring herself to orgasm a dozen times before the conflagration that Fontaine had sparked inside her had ebbed.

She was out of her mind to be joining the dowager baroness on a journey across the ocean. There would be no avoiding each other. She would have to force her embarrassing infatuation away, bury it so deep that even Fontaine’s winning smile and expressive eyes wouldn’t revive it. She wouldn’t allow herself to remember the warmth of Fontaine’s hands caressing her neck and the faint taste of mint on her lips…

“Is that it?” Annie asked.

Rosemary shoved her lustful thoughts to the side and followed Annie’s raised finger to the enormous ship looming at the end of the dock. Its black-painted iron hull contrasted against the bright-blue sky. Waves washed against its side, spraying sea foam that settled like a mist over their feet. Even without the billowing sails drawn, she felt a shiver of unease. She had only ever boarded small boats, the kind that went down rivers or across lakes. This ship, the S.S. Great Arcadia , was enormous in comparison.

Annie adjusted the brown, burlap sack slung over her shoulder and sidled closer. From the moment Rosemary had arrived at Fontaine’s home that morning, Annie had clung to her like a chick. As much as she knew she had to sever the attachment Annie had formed—the girl would be staying in Halifax, Rosemary would not—it was difficult to push her away. Annie reminded her too much of Angelica, who had been similarly both shy and precocious at the same age.

Rosemary reached down and took Annie’s hand. “Shall we try to get ahead of the others? Then we can have the first choice of beds.”

Annie glanced at the line of passengers waiting to board ahead of them, then strode ahead much faster than before. In moments, they had caught up to the other children, all carrying burlap sacks stuffed with their few possessions. Fontaine stood in the middle of the pack, wearing a dark-green walking suit and holding a blanket-wrapped Quinn in her arms. The boy no longer trembled, but his face was pale and beaded with moisture.

“I couldn’t leave him,” Fontaine said. “The doctor said it’s not cholera, but an infection.”

Peter, standing beside Fontaine, reached up and tucked the blanket more securely around his brother. “He needs rest and food. Then he’ll get stronger.”

“Let me,” Rosemary said, gesturing to Quinn. “You must be tired from holding him.”

Fontaine’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Are you sure?” She looked down at Quinn, then back at Rosemary. “I didn’t think you were…” Rather than complete the sentence, she shrugged, as if apologizing.

“Not fond of children?” Rosemary asked. She shook her head. “It has been some time, but when I took in my nieces and nephew, they were five, six, and ten-and-three.”

She fondly remembered the chaos of that first month. Even though her parents had trained her to be a proper wife, she had not expected to go from a newly widowed, childless woman to a guardian of three in a matter of months. After the initial few days of shyness, Basil, Angelica, and Saffron had turned into terrible nuisances, or so she’d thought at the time. With the clarity of foresight, it was obvious that grief had steered her behavior. She had only wanted the best for them, but her frustration had manifested in a short temper. Deep down, she knew it was her fault that Basil had rebelled. Had she treated him kindlier, listened to his fears, he would not have felt the need to strike out on his own. If she’d been more like Fontaine, perhaps her nephew might have still been alive.

She wordlessly reached out her arms and accepted the blanket-wrapped bundle. As Fontaine stepped away, Rosemary hissed in a breath. Quinn was so light. She clutched the boy as tightly as she dared. This time, she vowed, she would not make the same mistake as she had with Basil. She would hold on to her temper with everything she had, no matter how often her patience was tested. The orphans had experienced enough cruelty to last them a lifetime.

“What do you plan to tell the captain?” Rosemary asked.

Before they had left Fontaine’s townhouse, she had admitted that she had only negotiated passage for two.

“I won’t tell him anything,” Fontaine said. Then she crouched and drew the other children close. “Have all of you played tag behind before?”

“Of course,” Peter said. He adjusted her sack on his shoulder. “But what about Quinn? He’ll draw too much attention.”

“We could nick a sack and carry him in that way,” Annie said.

Rosemary stood outside the circle Fontaine had formed with the children, feeling as if she had been thrust from the planning, the only member of their party who had not lived on the street. But at the alarming mention of shoving frail Quinn into a bag, she leaned down. “Please tell me you have a plan.”

Fontaine pushed to her feet. “I had intended to have the children find large families and follow behind them. It is a tactic street urchins often use to gain entrance to places they would not otherwise be allowed. They only need to hide until I can speak to Captain Charles.”

Before Rosemary could protest this haphazard plan, the crowd pushed them forward, and the narrow dock made it impossible for the children to disperse.

“We’ll have to convince the captain some other way,” Fontaine said, her voice strained. Then she looked over her shoulder and paled. “Oh, no.”

“What is it?” Rosemary asked. She followed Fontaine’s gaze to a black carriage at the end of the dock. Etched on the door was the crest of a rearing lion.

“Is that the same one that followed us?” Rosemary asked.

“I’m not sure,” Fontaine said. “I only saw it for a moment.”

The door to the carriage opened, but the crowd moved before Rosmary could see who had exited.

“Lady Kerry, is that you?”

Rosemary straightened as a man wearing a bright-blue suit and a wide smile maneuvered through the crowd toward them.

“Mr. Eris,” Fontaine said in a tight voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Traveling to Halifax, of course,” the man asked. “Are you also traveling on foundation business?”

Rosemary realized with a start that the children had distanced themselves, as if realizing their presence might raise questions. That, or they feared strangers. Probably both.

“Who is this, then?” Mr. Eris asked, turning to Rosemary.

“M-My companion, Mrs. Summersby,” Fontaine said. “We are to assess the progress of the relocation scheme.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Rosemary spotted someone shoving through the crowd, causing a disturbance. She elbowed Fontaine in the ribs.

The dowager baroness gave an exaggerated swoon.

“Lady Kerry!” Mr. Eris cried. He reached for her. “Whatever is the matter?”

“The heat,” Fontaine whispered. She waved her hand in front of her face. “It feels as if I have been standing in the sun for hours.”

Mr. Eris huffed. “These ocean liners never consider the well-being of passengers. Well, the least I can do is offer you a faster embarkation.” He winked. “Foundation privilege, eh?”

“We would not want to be a bother,” Fontaine said, while taking his arm.

“Nonsense,” Mr. Eris said. “Where is your luggage?”

“Our driver left them with the rest.” Fontaine gestured toward the other end of the dock, where piles of trunks and bags were guarded by several sailors.

“Wait here a moment,” Mr. Eris said. Then he squirmed through the crowd and spoke to a stern-faced sailor some distance ahead of them. When he returned, the sailor led them through the crowd, with Rosemary following behind. She worried at first what Mr. Eris would say when the children joined them, but he soon split off from them to join the first-class line, giving a wave before turning away.

Then she was standing in front of a tall, bald man with a winding snake tattooed across his bulging forearm.

“Tickets,” he said.

“It’s me, Cookie,” Fontaine said. “Captain Charles agreed to transport my companion and me to Halifax.”

Rosemary felt herself scowl. Who was this man to whom Fontaine referred by such a cute name?

The man squinted. “Who?” He reached into the pocket of his trousers and retrieved a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles, which he settled on his face. Then his scowl transformed into a wide smile. “Lady Kerry! I thought you might not make it.” He tilted his head. “Who’re them?”

The children clustered closer to the adults.

“Don’t worry,” Rosemary whispered to Xavier and Annie, hiding behind her. “Lady Kerry won’t let them turn us away.”

Fontaine stepped forward and clutched her hands together, as if praying. “Cookie, you must understand. These orphans have nowhere else to—”

“Orphans!” Cookie shouted. “Why didn’t you say so? Bring ’em aboard. I’ll see if I can find you another room.”

“Ah, yes, thank you,” Fontaine said. She met Rosemary’s gaze, gave a helpless shrug, then ushered the children forward. The gigantic man reached down and lifted each of the children by the waist and onto the ship, making them squeal. Up close, Rosemary could see that one of the man’s eyes was milky white, and the other a startling green. He grinned, displaying several gold teeth.

Rosemary stepped through the porthole without help but then danced on her feet with the rocking of the ship. Her stomach was already gurgling, which did not bode well for the rest of the journey. She kept one hand on the wall as they followed Cookie through the narrow halls of the ship. By the time he stopped at a closed door and removed a ring of keys from his belt, she was certain she would spend the entire journey leaning over the railing. How did one get used to the constant movement? She already missed the firm stillness of the earth beneath her feet.

Cookie unlocked the door and pushed it open, eliciting a series of gasps and squeals from the children.

Annie and Xavier were the first inside, shouting as they rushed inside. There were just enough beds for the children, and a single porthole that let in a small amount of light, interspersed with splashes of water.

“This is wonderful,” Fontaine said. She turned to their guide. “I cannot thank you enough, sir.”

“Aye, don’t thank me yet,” Cookie said. “And don’t be calling me ‘sir.’ It’s just ‘Cookie’ for you, my lady.” He held out his arm, and Fontaine put her fingers on it with a giggle. Rosemary was too nauseated to feel jealous. She craved fresh air with a fierceness that overwhelmed any other sensation. She lurched over to the tiny porthole and stared greedily out until her stomach gave another loud groan.

“I think your companion has had about enough,” Cookie said. Then, louder, “You’ll want to be followin’ me now, my lady.”

Silence followed that statement until Rosemary realized Cookie had been speaking to her.

“I’m not… a lady,” Rosemary said. Then she belched and nearly cast up her accounts.

Cookie charged across the room and scooped Rosemary into his arms. It was done so quickly and smoothly that she didn’t have time to scream or complain. The only sound that escaped her lips was a yelp before Cookie ran out of the room, down the hall, and up several flights of stairs. The next thing Rosemary knew, she was standing on the deck of the ship, clutching a railing, with cool wind brushing through her hair. She closed her eyes and tightened all of her muscles until the sick-sour taste at the back of her throat faded.

“Has it passed?” Fontaine asked.

Rosemary opened her eyes to find the dowager baroness standing beside her with a worried look on her face. Cookie was nowhere in sight, which was a relief, as Rosemary didn’t know what the sailor would think if he saw Fontaine rubbing circles in the small of Rosemary’s back.

“Here,” Fontaine said. She lifted her other hand, holding a chunk of something yellow and bulbous. Ginger root.

“Cookie gave it to me,” Fontaine said. “It’s apparently an old sailors’ remedy.”

Rosemary picked up the item and carefully nibbled the end. It had a mild, slightly spicy taste, and a stringy texture, but it was not unpleasant. She bit off a chunk, chewed the ginger in her back teeth, then slipped the rest into her pocket and stared into the far distance. All the while, Fontaine remained beside her, a silent but reassuring presence.

“Have you spoken to the captain yet?” Rosemary asked, when she no longer felt as if the ground were going to open and swallow her up.

Fontaine sighed. “Not yet. I rather hoped he might not find out until we had set sail.”

“Too late for that, my lady,” a deep voice said.

Rosemary spun around and met the gaze of a man wearing a bright-red suit jacket and trousers. In one hand, he held the top of a cane, and in the other, a rolled-up sheet of paper.

“Thought you could trick me, did you, lass?” the man asked. “Well, I’m not sorry to be telling you that my men inform me of everything that happens on this ship, including Cookie, generously upgrading you and your brood.”

“C-Captain Charles, I can explain,” Fontaine said. She darted a glance at Rosemary, then continued. “These children—”

“Orphans,” the captain said, interrupting. “Orphans who’ve got nowhere else to go, isn’t that, right?”

Fontaine furrowed her brow in a tremendously adorable manner. “Yes, that is right.”

The captain nodded. “Then there’s nothing else that needs explaining.” He lifted his cane and swept it toward them. “Cookie, show these ladies back to their room.”

The bald-headed sailor who had helped them before appeared as the captain turned and walked away, leaning heavily on his cane.