Page 6

B ella spent a small portion of her father’s fortune in Miss Etta’s Fine Attire, the ladies’ clothing shop on Main Street. The finest gowns were displayed on mannequins with corseted waists. The shelves were stacked with folded gowns, skirts, and petticoats of the finest material. Drawers were full of gloves, lace collars, handkerchiefs, stockings, and shawls. Hat stands displayed wide-brimmed bonnets. Some ostentatious with brightly colored plumes and ribbons. Others unadorned. In the back room, seamstresses feverishly worked on custom orders. But Bella was there to purchase whatever was on hand in her size.

Miss Etta was more than happy to help her since her father provided the shopkeeper with bolts of fine material from his travels all over the world. She happily put the cost onto her father’s account. It seemed fitting to spend the money for the gowns she and Emmaline purchased. Emmaline grinned from ear to ear, clearly enjoying herself. It made Bella smile to see her so happy.

When they stepped out into the bustling street in the early afternoon, Bella’s stomach growled. She realized, then, she’d missed breakfast.

“Let’s go to the wharf for something to eat,” she said.

With their arms loaded with packages, they headed down the street to the docks where they would find street vendors hawking their street food including everything from grilled fish to fruit skewers.

“I’ve never done that.” Emmaline’s face beamed as she continued to grin, her eyes wide and shiny as she took in all the sights, the sounds, the smells.

“You’re in for a treat. Father used to bring me here when I was younger and he had business in the port with his ships.”

As they neared the docks, the fishermen shouted their catch of the day. Wooden crates were full of slippery silvery fish, the afternoon light gleaming on their damp scales. Lobsters crowded their cages. Mounds of oysters were on ice.

One side hosted the street food carts where there was a variety of treats. Fruit skewered, roasted meat on a stick, meat pies, fried potatoes, roasted nuts. The food smells intermingled with that of the salty sea air. Bella paused a moment to bask in the afternoon sunshine, closing her eyes and lifting her face to the sky to enjoy the warmth on her skin.

“My lady, you’ll burn,” Emmaline said on a gasp.

“The warmth feels delicious. Don’t you agree?” she said without opening her eyes.

“I do agree.”

The charming male voice made her eyes pop open. Standing near her, with a faint smile on his handsome face, was Lord Vincent. He was dressed in an elegant navy frock coat, finely trailed to his broad shoulders and cinched at the waist with a silver-buttoned closure. A crisp white shirt peeked out from the high collar of his dark brocade waistcoat. A silk cravat, knotted and pinned with a glittering sapphire, gave him a dash of effortless elegance. Charcoal-gray trousers were tucked into black boots polished to a high shine that gleamed despite the dust and grime of the wharf. His gloved hands held a matching cane and, tucked beneath his arm, was his top hat, allowing his brown hair to have a windswept look as though he were merely strolling the docks.

“Oh, Lord Vincent. It’s nice to see you.”

She hadn’t expected to see him again. It left her a bit flustered. After their last encounter, she thought for sure he would never speak to her again, though she did try to be kind when she rebuffed him.

“I daresay I’m delighted to see you, Miss Rinaldi. Especially after hearing about the devastating fire that took your home. Are you well? Your father?” Concern etched his face as his gaze flickered from her to Emmaline and back again.

“Yes, we’re fine. Thank you for asking. We all made it out in time.” She noticed he continued to look at Emmaline, who stood a few paces behind her. “This is my lady’s maid, Emmaline.”

He gave a brief nod and a pleasant smile in greeting, his eyes lighting with interest. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss.” His gaze roved over the mountains of packages in her arms, but he said nothing. Finally, his eyes flickered back to her. “What will you and your father do now? Surely not stay at the local inn.”

A flash of fear went through her he would open his home to them. She forced a smile, voice light and causal. “Oh, no, we’re heading to our country estate in Driftbell this evening.”

“I see.” He sounded rather disappointed hearing she was leaving the port.

Truth be told, disappointment tugged at her too—but not for the same reason. She’d miss the clamor of the docks, the clang of rigging in the wind, the gulls shrieking overhead, and the coarse shouts of fishermen haggling over the morning’s catch. The port had a pulse, a life of its own she couldn’t quite explain but felt deep in her bones.

He was still looking at the packages. Her arms ached from carrying them, but pride and determination kept her spine straight.

“May I help you with your packages? You both look quite overloaded.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you, but we can handle it.”

As the words left her mouth, one of the packages slipped—tilting, tumbling. He caught the hatbox before it hit the ground, smooth and swift. But though he gave her a polite smile, his eyes said he knew the many packages were far too much for her.

“I must insist,” he said gently. “Allow me to have your packages sent ahead to your home in Driftbell. It will make your travels much easier.”

Bella shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly aware of the weight she carried in her arms, which cramped. She had the sneaking suspicion he was interested in helping her so he could call on her later at Hawthorne Hall.

She cut a glance back at Emmaline. Her wide eyes took in his appearance and a flush bloomed high on her cheeks. She gazed at him with shy dreamy admiration. Lord Vincent’s gaze flickered toward Emmaline and, for the briefest moment, his polished composure cracked into a smile that was meant only for her.

A grin wanted to pull up the corners of Bella’s mouth, but she suppressed it.

“I do believe you’re right, Lord Vincent. Thank you for the kind offer. Our home in Driftbell is Hawthorne Hall.”

Lord Vincent signaled for his valet who stood a few paces behind him. He was dressed in a dark livery coat and black pants, his hands clasped behind his back and his expression unreadable. He stepped forward, offered a small bow and immediately took the packages from Bella’s arms.

“Hollis, please see these packages are delivered to Miss Rinaldi at Hawthorne Hall in Driftbell.”

“As you say, my lord.”

Hollis handed off the packages to another manservant who materialized out of the crowd. Before long, she and Emmaline had offloaded all of them to the men. She had to admit it was a relief not to be carrying them. Lord Vincent lingered, though, even after Hollis and the other man melted away into the crowd.

“May I escort you somewhere?” he asked.

“We were headed to the food stalls,” she said with a breezy air. “But…” She cut a glance to Emmaline and her rosy cheeks. “I just remembered I need to see my father. He’s on his ship. Would you mind escorting Emmaline instead?”

She reached behind her, taking the girl’s hand in hers and tugging her toward Lord Vincent. When his gaze landed on the girl, there was a definite spark between them. He placed his hat on his head and then held out his elbow to her. Emmaline, flustered and a tad breathless, took his arm. She gave Bella a winsome smile as they two headed away.

Bella remained a moment, watching the two of them walk toward the food stalls. He with his tall, broad shoulders in his finery, and her with her hair in a long braid down her back. They made a fine pair. A sense of smug satisfaction swept over her, pleased at her matchmaking skills, as she headed for her father’s ship.

As she approached the ship, though, she heard shouting coming from the decks. And not the normal shouts of boisterous men. This had a hint of fear in it. She picked up her skirts and hurried toward the gangplank as one of the sailors appeared on deck with a shout for her father.

Several of the crew members were clustered on the dock at the foot of the gangplank, huddling together and whispering. There was a palpable tension in the sea air, and something made the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention.

She halted a distance from the gangplank as her father, who was talking with one of the merchants, left the man and headed to the deck.

“What is it, lad?”

The young man—who could not be much older than Bella—was clearly frightened by whatever he saw in the hold. He pointed behind him and uttered nonsensical words. Her father approached him, took him by the shoulders.

“Easy, now. Tell me what this is all about,” her father said.

“He’s dead, sir.”

A stillness settled over the ship. Bella’s heart dropped to her shoes as she stood there, still as a statute, wondering who was dead. One of the crew?

Her father dropped his arms to his side. With his back to her, she was unable to see his reaction.

“You best show me, lad.”

He waved in the direction of the hold, then followed the young sailor from the deck to the cargo hold. Intent on finding out what happened, Bella headed for the gangplank. But when she approached Tobin, a longtime boatswain on her father’s ship, stepped in front of her to stop her.

“Ya don’t want to be goin’ there, miss,” he said.

“Why not, Tobin?” She put her hands on her hips, determined to step around him and find out what was going on for herself.

She’d known the man since she was a little girl. When she sailed with her father, he looked out for her, told her seafaring stories of the high seas that were surely fiction, and made sure she was treated with respect by the other deckhands.

“Still headstrong, ain’t ya, miss.” He gave her a wink and a wide smile, then turned serious. “Trust me when I tell ya, there’s nothing but trouble there.”

Something about the way he said it sent cold tingles dancing up her spine. “What do you mean?”

“He means, miss, there be whispers from below. Like chanting. It’s cold as the grave down there, it is,” said one of the deckhands.

“Whispers you say?” She instantly thought of the book whispering to her in the middle of the night.

“Aye, miss.” He lowered his voice and leaned in close, as though sharing a secret with her. “Happened in the middle of the night. Cold wind blew below deck. Lanterns snuffed out. And that shadow thing—it was in the cargo hold.”

“That’s enough, Jory,” Tobin said, cutting him off. He gave him a nudge away from her and stepped in front of him, as if to shield her from the deckhand.

But something about the way he said shadow thing sent definite cold chills through her. She shuddered and clutched her elbows. She’d seen the shadow herself creeping through the port. Not once, but twice.

“A shadow thing?” she repeated.

“And now a man’s dead,” Jory continued.

Tobin turned to him and grasped him by the arm. “Get back to yer post, you scallywag.” He gave him a shove in the direction of the gangplank.

But Jory and the others weren’t too keen on boarding the ship once again. Tobin turned back to her, plastering on a wide smile.

“Don’t ye be worrying about that, miss. It’s for Mr. Rinaldi to worry about.”

She clutched her elbows tighter, hugging herself. “Yes, of course. You’re right. Tell my father Emmaline and I will meet him at the inn.”

“My pleasure, miss.” He tipped his well-worn hat to her. “I’ll let him know soon as I see him.”

With her heart in her throat, she turned back to the wharf. A sort of numbness took residence in her as she walked across the planks, thinking of the strange whispering from the book and the odd shadowy apparition. Were they connected? She wasn’t sure. All she knew for sure was she had to get back to the inn and collect her things. The book included.