Page 30 of The Swan Syndicate #1

Stella, dressed in pants and shirt, her hair rustling with the soft coastal breeze, sat on a barrel on the starboard side of the ship, watching the portion of the dock visible to her.

Her fingers worked rapidly on creating another swan.

Six of them had been tucked into a partially enclosed gap in the railing, but they still fluttered with the breeze as if wanting to take flight.

The sail to Gowerton had been uneventful, and she was proud that she’d discovered the best formula of herbs to balance her equilibrium, keeping her motion sickness at bay.

Her time was spent helping Cook in the galley, walking the deck as she watched the men at their work, sometimes asking a question if they were chatty, and alone time with Beckworth, playing chess in bed.

They’d bought a beautiful chess set in Baywood and kept it near the window in the living room, giving them time to enjoy the neighborhood while waiting for the other person to make a move. She would need to buy a smaller set for the bedroom and their lazy Sunday mornings.

They’d been in port for two days, waiting on word from Hensley.

She’d spent the first day taking walks around town, adjusting to being on land again.

The port wasn’t as large as the last port, which meant fewer shops and activities to occupy her time.

Beckworth and Lando spent most of their days running surveillance at the pubs and inns while also monitoring the ships that came and went.

Jamie, making sure she remained occupied, asked her to help with the inventory records until he discovered a minor problem.

“You can’t write?”

“I can, but I’m not used to working with a quill.

I managed to complete the invitations for the hunting party.

” She glanced at the floor and bit her lower lip.

She sighed as she admitted, “It required several attempts and wasted several pieces of paper. Barrington hid the wasted attempts from the staff.”

He laughed. “Is it so different in your time?”

“First, we don’t use inkpots anymore.” She picked up the quill lying on his desk. “Though I do find the idea of using a feather as a writing instrument quite inspirational.”

He pushed a piece of paper over. “Sit and write.” He waved a hand. “It doesn’t have to make sense, but the only way you’ll improve is with consistent writing.”

“You sound like Barrington.”

“A wise man.”

She sat and pulled the paper to her, then glanced up. “I probably should have asked first. Would you prefer I take this to the galley?”

“No, stay here.” He stood and put on his jacket. “It’s time to go up and see what the men are up to.” Before he left, he said, “You know he worries for you.”

She laid down the quill and turned to face him.

His brows had scrunched with his own worry, maybe for her, but thought it was more for Beckworth.

The two had developed a lasting friendship after some difficult times when Beckworth worked for the duke.

Her first instinct was to make light of the concern, but their simple surveillance mission was turning into something more.

How much more they wouldn’t know until Hensley’s message arrived.

Perhaps his request would be to simply watch and monitor.

Yet, her gut said it wouldn’t be that easy.

“I know he struggles at times with how to deal with me.” She picked up the quill again.

“But it’s a two-way street.” When Jamie’s brow rose, she chuckled.

“A modern-day term, meaning I grapple with the same thing. In this day and age, women worry for their men when they leave for war or—” she smiled, “—to sail the seas. But they’ve been taught their place is to care for their home and children.

All they can do is hope for the occasional letter, but they don’t stop worrying until their husband walks through the door.

“I suppose in some ways it’s still the same in my time.

Men leave for work or military duty. The difference is that in my time, women also leave for work or join the military, and the men are left behind to worry.

” She shrugged, noted the quill in her hand, and ran her fingers over the sturdy feathers.

“I guess all of that is to say the two of us need to find a balance. Neither of us will stop worrying about the other. So, we have to find the strength to let the other do what’s important to them and then do the best we can to support their endeavors, either through action or with patience.

” She laughed. “And that’s as much philosophy as I can spare for one day. ”

Jamie considered her words. “You’re a complex woman, Lady Caldway.”

She turned back to her task. “You don’t know the half of it, but I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She’d written two pages of nonsense, discovering she’d remembered everything from composing the invitations.

Beckworth’s three taps of the quill had been a perfect discovery.

Why hadn’t Barrington mentioned it? Before she knew it, she was copying the inventory Jamie had identified from his ledger to a separate piece of paper.

She assumed it was some form of checklist. When she added the last item to the page, she closed the inkpot, dried off the tip of the quill, then left the page to dry on its own.

It was at that moment that she realized she knew next to nothing about how the cargo business operated. Or smuggling for that matter. If they were dealing with smugglers, she had to understand how everything worked.

On a mission to learn, she went topside, but Jamie and Fitz were busy and Beckworth and Lando hadn’t returned. She considered Michelson or Lane but decided she could wait. The day was warm for winter and the sun had made an unexpected appearance.

With nothing else to do, she’d returned to the cabin to grab a few sheets of paper and ended up where she currently sat, making another swan as she watched the docks and a nearby ship as the crew prepared it for sail.

A whistle made her glance up. One of the sailors waved at Fitz, who was working with two others to mend a sail. Fitz laid his portion of the sail down and called for another to resume the repair. He met a man running up the gangplank who handed him a letter.

It had to be the message they were waiting for.

When they’d first arrived in port, the first response from Hensley had been waiting with only two words—keep monitoring.

From what Beckworth told her, it wasn’t surprising since the only thing they’d been able to tell Hensley was that they’d run across Cheval.

Since Jamie’s last letter to Hensley had explained that the two smugglers seemed to be in partnership and they’d witnessed the movement of unknown cargo between them, this letter was sure to say more.

She was sure of it. The question was whether the order would be to continue monitoring or get more involved.

Excitement tingled through her as she folded the last couple sheets of paper in half, gathered her swans, and stuffed everything in her pocket before making a beeline for the gangplank where several men had gathered.

They were waiting for Jamie, who slowly made his way toward them, stopping to check the repair of the sail before arriving to shoo the men away.

“Let’s get back to work, gentlemen.” Jamie took the letter from Fitz. “Everyone will know if our mission has changed once I’ve had time to consider Hensley’s answer.” He glanced at Stella. “I know how curious some of you are.”

Stella felt the blush creep up, but she was too giddy to care.

She turned to scan the docks, searching for any sign of Beckworth or Lando.

There wasn’t any, and when she turned around, Jamie had walked off.

Disappointed he didn’t open the letter but understanding why he hadn’t, she huffed a sigh and leaned against the railing.

If he was anything like Finn or Hensley, he’d shut himself up in his cabin while he considered the response.

She stared up at the masts and the blue sky beyond. The waiting would test every last ounce of patience.

“We’ll know soon enough, lass.” Fitz had stepped next to her as they watched Jamie disappear through the door.

“It doesn’t make the waiting any easier.” She studied Fitz. His gaze was full of mischief, and she chuckled. “You already have a betting pool going, don’t you?”

“You want in?” He rocked back and forth on his heels.

“You know I’m not the best with how the money works, but how about a crown that says Hensley wants to break up MacDuff’s and Cheval’s little party.”

He rubbed his hands together. “That’s something I can work with.”

“You think otherwise?”

He glanced around the deck, then leaned over and lowered his voice. “I think when the men hear a crown’s been added to the pool, they’ll wager the opposite just for the chance of winning.”

“Which way are you betting?”

He gave her a grin. “There’s not a chance in hell Hensley will risk those two smugglers joining forces. It’s a sure bet.”

Then he strode away, whistling as he went, tapping a sailor on his shoulder and taking the man’s place to finish work on the sail.

Pleased she’d bet on the winning side, she suddenly frowned. Was this how Beckworth felt when a new assignment came along? A mix of excitement with a touch of dread. And what did it mean for her participation? Would he ask, or demand, that Jamie remove her from the ship and send her to Waverly?

She rolled up her sleeves. They could give it their best shot. Regardless of what the letter said, she wasn’t getting off this boat. Feeling a mood coming on, she stormed across the deck, raced down the stairs, and made her way to the galley.