Page 6 of Hearts Aweigh

B INGO NIGHT IN THE MAIN lounge held all the charm that Spencer had expected.

None.

Waiters zipped down the aisles with drink trays held high over their heads. Underdressed people packed the navy-blue couches that curved in the shape of horseshoes. They spread their paper cards on the tables in front of them and waited with giant markers poised.

He spotted Daisy and her friends in a corner, sitting side by side. His mother’s roommate waved with her hands held high.

“Over here, baby.”

Spencer ignored the intrusive glances of other passengers as he joined the older ladies. Was it really so unusual to wear a suit on a cruise? Considering the number of tank tops and flip-flops surrounding him, yes.

Why couldn’t Daisy have taken a tour of Europe or rented an apartment in Manhattan? The idea of his prim, well-bred matriarch on this noisy ship didn’t compute. And who were these crazy women with her?

He approached the table, and his mother looked behind him. “You didn’t bring Madeleine?”

“No. The new environment must be very stimulating for her, and I prefer she spend a quiet evening in our suite. Besides, it was nearing her bedtime.”

The frizzy-haired friend sitting beside Daisy quirked an eyebrow. “This early?”

“She has certain nightly routines to fulfill. Listening to classical music. Reading a story. Skin care and brushing her teeth.”

The tall, bony one asked, “Who’s taking care of her?”

Why was that any of her business? “I hired the best governess in Louisiana.”

“Governess?” Sarcasm tinged her response. “Is her name Jane Eyre?”

The one he remembered as Althea butted in. “Most people just say nanny.”

His mother placed a hand on the woman’s arm. “You must forgive him. My son always uses the most haughty, indistinguishable terms possible. He’s like his father in that way.”

Which was worse? Being castigated for his speech or compared to his father?

Spencer suppressed the ill-mannered words rising in his throat. In the old days, he’d have answered with a scathing reply, but his recent conversion had changed things. The Bible he found comfort in every morning encouraged him to hold his tongue.

Or try to.

“The nanny came with sterling references. Ms. Blanchet speaks Spanish, French, and Chinese, and she has multiple degrees in child psychology and education.”

Althea sniffed. “Can she sing a good lullaby?”

Lullaby? Did little girls need those? It had never occurred to him. And from the look on this woman’s face, she knew it. Was his incompetence as a father that obvious?

Spencer straightened his tie. “Singing ability was not a requirement.”

A Monarch employee wearing a green sequined jacket and matching pants crossed the stage. The audience clapped, and the short, older man with silvery red hair tweaked his face mic.

“I wish you were that happy to see me.” An Irish accent tinged the man’s words. “But I suspect you’re more excited that I’ll be calling out the numbers. Am I right?”

People hooted and whistled.

“Look, Spencer”—the small, bossy woman by his mother smirked—“you’re not the only one in a suit.”

Althea scooted over and patted the couch beside her. “Sit down, baby. We bought you a six-pack.”

“You … you purchased a—”

“Six-pack.” She waved a long piece of paper with bingo squares on it. “That’s what they call these game boards that have six cards on them. More chances to win.”

“Thank you, but I’d rather not play.”

“Don’t be so stinkin’ stuffy.” She grabbed his sleeve and tugged him down. Passing a thick marker to him, she pointed at the paper. “Use this dabber to highlight whatever number Seamus calls. That’s the man onstage. He has a crush on our Gerry.”

Spencer grasped the unwieldy pen and looked around the table in confusion.

On the opposite side of the couch, the skinny one, who must be Gerry, raised her eyes from the book she was reading. “There’s no need to tell tales to strangers.”

“It’s no tale. Seamus is crazy about you, and you know it. Besides, Spencer’s no stranger.” Althea rubbed his shoulder. “He’s family.”

A giant bingo card projected on the screen behind the aforementioned Seamus. He walked to a podium where a computer sat and pressed a button. The round ball on the right of the screen flickered until it stopped on a number.

“B-14,” he shouted.

“Woo-hoo!” Althea stamped her paper. “It’s gonna be a good night. I can feel it.”

Daisy observed Spencer. “You were separated for quite a while. When did the divorce become final?”

He sat with his spine rigid, not touching the back of the couch. “Two months ago.”

Murmurs came from all four women.

“N-36.” The caller tap-danced across the stage for no apparent reason.

“Has Madeleine been with you since then?” Daisy asked.

“No. Priscilla agreed to give me sole custody, but she asked for time to say goodbye. Madeleine arrived in New Orleans three days ago.” The reminder he would never again be subjected to his ex-wife’s stifling disapproval still brought an inner peace.

Even more so because he could protect his daughter from Priscilla’s exacting personality.

“I expect we won’t be seeing much of her mother. ”

Althea made a sympathetic face. “Does Madeleine miss her momma much?”

“Never mentions her.” Spencer rotated the pen in his hand. “Masterson offspring are used to living without their parents.” His gaze cut to Daisy.

Her eyes lowered, and she unsnapped her purse to retrieve a handkerchief.

The frizzy-haired woman frowned. “So who watches over the children, comforts them, gives them love? The governess?”

The man onstage spoke above the audience chatter. “Gerry, do you be needing any particular number? I’m not above rigging the game for you.”

Grumbles sounded from the crowd, and he held up both hands.

“Just a joke, friends. A man’s got to catch the lady’s attention somehow. G-52.”

Spencer tried to tune out the bingo numbers being called and checked the time on his phone. Would he get back to the room before Madeleine fell asleep? Althea leaned over his arm and placed a few purple circles on his paper.

“O-74.”

“Oooh, oooh, oooh!” Althea bounced. “I’m getting close.” She added another purple mark to her paper and sang, “ B - I - N - G - O , B - I - N - G - O .”

He focused on his mother. This was hardly the ideal time to broach the subject of her return, but he wasn’t sure she’d give him another chance. “As you can imagine, it’s a new experience for me, raising Madeleine alone. I’m hoping you will come home to New Orleans where you can be near her.”

“Why?” Her voice remained cordial. “You didn’t want me involved in her life before.”

An awkward question, but one he understood. Being married to his father had given her a suspicious nature.

“I feel it’s important to—”

“I-22.” The Irish emcee pointed to the screen.

“You got it.” Althea squinted at Daisy’s card. “You got it, baby. You got it!” She thrust her fists in the air like a prize fighter. “Bingo!” Althea pushed him off the couch. “Let your momma out. She won.”

He stumbled but managed not to land on the floor. She scooted over, stood beside him, and helped Daisy to her feet.

Spencer watched dumbstruck as his mother, the queen of New Orleans society, made her way to the front amid the cheers and disappointed moans of rowdy cruisers.

If he believed in doppelg?ngers, he might worry she’d been replaced with an impostor.

She collected an envelope from the emcee and returned to their table.

“What did you win?” Althea asked.

“A spa day.” Daisy flourished her certificate in the air.

“Perfect prize for you.” Althea let her roommate slip back on the couch, then returned to her seat. “Don’t worry, Spencer. There’s another round. We might get ’em yet.”

The ding of his phone prevented him from answering. He withdrew the device from his pocket, opened his texts, and groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Daisy rose slightly. “Is it Madeleine?”

“No, the governess.” He dropped his cell on the table. “She’s seasick.”