The stranger’s lips twitched, though they stopped short of an actual smile. It was almost as if he found her amusing against his will. He crossed his arms, his blue eyes studying her intently.
She stared back, uncertain how exactly to react.
Growing up, she had always been hemmed in by Mother’s rules.
And she was certain that speaking to a gentleman she hadn’t been introduced to, in the middle of the bustle and stench of the docks, while holding her most precious worldly possessions in a carpet bag against her thighs was breaking every single one of those rules.
Her unlikely savior broke their gaze first. He glanced briefly around both of them. He huffed a sigh. “We should speak elsewhere—somewhere quieter.”
A protest bubbled up her throat. It was hardly proper to be going anywhere with a stranger, much less somewhere quieter.
But any protest she had been about to utter was immediately forestalled when he efficiently, though not quite roughly, tugged her by the elbow towards the large square building behind her.
Her feet followed quickly, walking almost twice as many steps as he did due to her shorter stature.
She didn’t quite know where exactly they were going, but it was almost as if her subconscious mind had already decided that she had better odds of safety following the well-dressed young man than almost anybody else she could encounter in this part of town.
Who knew traveling by sea involved coming near such a stench?
She would have immediately expelled any contents of her empty stomach upon arrival if she hadn’t been too preoccupied with making sure she managed to keep some of her money intact.
She might not be accustomed to paying for her own transport, but such a short ride could not possibly cost more than a new gown.
“Wait here,” the stranger ordered when they reached the building. Amelia wanted to bridle at his instructive tone, but she stayed put for the meantime. It was not as if she had any other better ideas at the moment.
The young man slipped into the building through a side door, and Amelia felt her gut clench.
Surely, there was nothing nefarious afoot?
Anyone who meant her harm wouldn’t have announced a fictitious connection between them in front of so many people, would he?
Having people recognize him wouldn’t have helped a villain.
Amelia bit her lip. Her eyes darted around her.
She’d tried to dress practically, but even her oldest traveling clothes seemed to draw attention around these parts.
She knew she didn’t look like the average English person, even if her accent and manners could be disguised easily.
She could only hope Mother’s omniscience didn’t reach past the confines of her own townhouse.
An interminable minute later, the blond man reemerged.
“Come in,” he said. “No one will disturb us here. You can tell me everything.”
She hesitated for a second before following him in, his ominous words seemingly at odds with the innate trustworthiness he seemed to emanate.
The side door they used spilled some light into a narrow but clean corridor.
Noisy conversation indicated some sort of regular business or trade going on down the far end of the long hallway, but Amelia’s unlikely companion led her into one of the nearer storerooms instead.
Large crates towered on all sides of her the moment she entered, while the sharp fragrance of tea nearly sent her choking.
She took a brief moment to acclimate herself to the dimmer indoor light, although there were windows, at least, and the room looked more temporarily unoccupied than dangerously neglected.
“Now we can talk,” he said, whipping around to face her fully again for the first time since he’d suddenly inserted himself into her confrontation with that highway robber of a hackney driver.
Frank, clear blue eyes studied her, and Amelia felt her heart make an unexpected little trip.
His gaze was straightforward and honest—gentlemanly, yet not at all patronizing or proud like the younger sons of nobility that she usually came across.
“I’m not going to pretend that it is not absolutely inexplicable—and, not to mention, inexcusable—for a woman like you to be wandering the Docks unaccompanied. What are you doing here?”
The question, as direct as his gaze, forced Amelia onto her toes. She sniffed and squared her shoulders. “I’m not sure what you mean. I am here for the ships. I would think it obvious.”
“No, it is not obvious at all,” he said. He pointed to her carpet bag, clutched tightly between both her hands, before crossing his own arms again. “I take it you are not here to receive any arrivals, given the state of your own belongings.”
“No,” she answered, a trifle annoyed to have him analyzing her—and doing a rather accurate job of it. It was a little unsettling to be seen through so easily.
“And a part of me is almost tempted to assume that you are expecting to be the one departing English soil.”
Amelia shrugged a shoulder. “So what if I am?”
“Why are you at the Docks? Surely, you must know more cargo than passengers pass through this place.”
She did not, in fact, know that—but she was not about to admit her ignorance to this handsome yet know-it-all stranger. She cleared her throat. “It is more efficient.”
A dent appeared on his forehead. Did this man think himself some sort of expert on maritime travel? His fancy clothes hardly made him out to be a sailor—or, at least, what Amelia thought sailors probably looked like .
“You’re not visiting the former colonies then,” he said almost to himself.
“No, I am not.” She was happy to have thwarted his expectations for once. She raised her chin higher. “It is highly improper to make any assumptions about a lady, sir.”
Her comment seemed to take him by surprise, and the man actually nodded. “I apologize. You are right. Please, allow me to introduce myself. Mr. Jacob Hawthorne, at your service. I hope I did not overstep with my assistance earlier today.”
The reminder that she was in his debt was yet another reason to find this entire conversation discomfiting. Amelia made the slightest little curtsy. “Thank you for your help. It is much appreciated.”
“Think nothing of it—although I hope you do not intend to place yourself in similar situations from now on.”
Again, she shrugged. “I never intended to place myself in a confrontation with Mr. Driver, I assure you.”
His lips twitched. “Was he really called Mr. Driver?”
“No—but what else was I to call him?”
This time, Mr. Hawthorne chuckled in truth. “Very well. I suppose that is hardly important now. As you are neither in Liverpool nor in Bristol, which would prove far more logical places to take a ship to the Americas, I can only assume you are seeking passage towards the continent instead.”
“Can you find me a ship?”
He paused. “I suppose that depends on where you are going.”
“China.”
“China!” His eyes widened in alarm.
“Yes. ”
He looked her up and down. “Have you any clue how extraordinary of an endeavor that is?”
Amelia bit her lip. She sniffed ever so slightly before taking on the imperious stance that Mother always liked to do. “Well, I’m sure matters could be arranged.”
“You will meet swindlers and liars at every turn,” he said unapologetically. “The weather and the seasickness fell the strongest of men, not to mention all the other things one catches on board. The misfortunes of the sea are no child’s game.”
“Well, there must be a way—people ship things to and fro so very often these days.”
“Things, yes. People—well, I suppose they transport them too, but not quite as safely or humanely. And never would I call it a recommended course of action unless direly necessary.”
“It cannot possibly be so very difficult.”
“For a gentlewoman, it would be.”
Amelia did not know if the term was a compliment or an insult. She squared her shoulders, again. “I can engage the services of a maid.”
He leveled a look at her with his entrancing blue eyes.
“One in twenty ships are lost or wrecked every year traveling this very route.
And even if you prove to have the most impressive constitution and have the unbelievably good luck of only encountering the most upstanding shipmen, there may be pirates or spies or other villains lurking at every turn.
I doubt even the most talented servant can be of much assistance in such circumstances.
“So while the audacity of your ambitions might warrant a modicum of admiration, their feasibility proves unaccountably poor—not unless you actually wish to become a pirate’s hostage, a casualty of war, or, perhaps more realistically, fish food.”
Amelia felt herself blanch even as her indignation rose. All this running away business was proving rather harder than she’d like it to be.