His Californian Countess. Kate Welsh
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adventure?” his lovely rail-partner asked, calling him back from his mental wonderings. That endearing frown reappeared. It made her eyebrows arch downward in the middle.
I must get her name.
“I hope the adventure continues for a long time.”
“Where did it begin, if I may ask?”
“Begin? I grew up in the mountains in Pennsylvania. I’d been to Poughkeepsie, New York, for college, but that city is small, especially compared to New York City. I’d been through there on the way to the school, but I never left the rail station. The cities have been very exciting.”
“Cities, not city?”
She laid her hand over his on the rail and smiled at clearly happy memories. “I stopped off in Philadelphia. For the Centennial Exposition and—oops.” She lifted her hand from his and covered her mouth with it. His gaze flew to her eyes and found them widened. He didn’t know what could have alarmed her when all he felt was the loss of her innocent touch. “I shouldn’t have mentioned our Centennial, should I?”
He smiled. “I took my daughter to see it. I assure you most people in Britain have got over the revolt. It has been a hundred years, after all. Though there are those who still insist on referring to America as the colonies.” His smile widened. “I suppose it follows that a country bold enough to revolt against an ancient power would spawn colleges for women and female adventurers,” he teased.
“Adventurer?” She took a deep breath, which made her breasts swell inside the pretty blouse she wore. “My, but I like the sound of that! I’m an adventurer!”
He dragged his gaze off the sight of her lovely bust line, but it fell on her mouth. Then what she’d said sank into his muddled mind. Jamie laughed as the ship fell out a bit from under them, and by some fortuitous hand of fate, she fell right into him. Glad he was anchored against the rail, he caught her in his arms and enjoyed the feel of her petite form from the instant their bodies came into contact. Then he steeled himself and regretfully helped her get on her own feet.
Flushed, she ducked her head and apologized for her clumsiness. “Not to worry,” he told her, while keeping his enjoyment to himself. “You’ll get your sea legs under you quick enough.”
She hugged herself and shivered. “Well, unless I want to take a chill, I must get to my cabin and unpack. I may come up again after finding my shawl. It’s been nice talking with you. I suppose I’ll run into you again. Large as the Young America is, it is small in the general scheme of life. Thank you for helping occupy my mind. I was a bit nervous about leaving the docks.”
“I didn’t get your name,” he said as she turned to walk away.
She pivoted and shot him that enchanting frown for a split second before her lovely smile blossomed. “No, you didn’t,” she replied, then hurried away.
His bark of laugher turned several heads, but he didn’t care if they thought him odd or gauche. She was really quite refreshing and he was sorry to see her go. But she was correct. During more or less the next one-hundred-and-thirty days if the ship had fair winds, they would see each other constantly. He couldn’t help but be glad of it. He’d get her name when next they met.
Jamie turned back toward the river and leaned his forearms against the gleaming gunwales. After several minutes, his eyes began to burn and the reflected sunlight became annoying rather than appealing. Perhaps his pixie had taken the magic of the sailing with her and perhaps she’d had a good idea about settling in.
But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what cabin he’d secured for himself. He started off and realized his legs were less steady than they’d been all day. He made a grab for the rail. The movement of the ship made walking difficult so he stayed put for a few minutes longer. Finally, a boy dressed in what appeared to be a uniform, passed near him. “My name is Reynolds,” Jamie said, his voice sounded rough and strained. “I wonder if you could direct me to my cabin and help me locate another passenger, Miss Helena Conwell.”
The crewmember, a boy of perhaps fifteen or sixteen, stared in obvious surprise for a moment, then his confusion seemed to clear. “Ah. Lord Reynolds, is it? We’d begun to despair, thinking you’d missed the ship.” The lad had it wrong—he was Lord Adair, not Lord Reynolds—but British titles were confusing and mostly unimportant to Americans. That was why he dropped its use whenever possible. But arranging for a specific cabin near a woman who was not in his party had needed a certain amount of diplomacy and prestige, as well as extra funds.
“Sir, are you quite all right?” the crewman asked.
Jamie straightened and shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the swirling thoughts muddling his brain. His mind bounced next to Mimm and all her fussing that he might be ill. It was ridiculous that he could have gotten what his daughter had. Meara’s doctor had all but promised it was only a disease of childhood. But even if Jamie was sick in some more minor way, he still couldn’t let on. They’d surely put him off the ship. Helena was on the Young America and he had to make sure she was safe and that she understood all that had happened.
“I’m perfectly fine,” he answered finally, then stiffened his back and notched his chin up.
The crewman nodded, but looked a bit dubious. “Your cabin is actually across the saloon from Miss Conwell’s. Close as possible, as you requested. This way, sir.”
Jamie’s exhaustion increased as he moved below, following the crewman through the saloon in the raised poop deck until he stopped before a cabin door.
“Stateroom six is yours, sir. The lady’s is just over there. Stateroom three,” the crewman explained and indicated Helena’s door or hatch or whatever the hell it was called aboard a sailing ship. The lad tried unsuccessfully to cover a smirk. “I’ll be steward for both staterooms during the graveyard shift. Just hang that little sign on the door if you’re needing privacy with her.”
Jamie felt his temper instantly rise. “Miss Conwell is a lady, sir, and I’ll thank you to keep that in mind when you speak of her or to her. Her late father was a great friend of mine. I am merely here to pay a debt to him by seeing she reaches her chosen destination unmolested. She is alone in the world or she’d never be traveling unchaperoned.”
The young man had the grace to blush. “I’m sorry, my lord. I apologize for repeating what the doc said …” He cleared his throat, then continued, “I’ll do what I can to put an end to the gossip.”
“See that you do,” Jamie ordered. “The doctor is a drunk from what I saw when I was aboard to arrange passage. I cannot imagine why Captain Baker keeps him on.” Then for some reason he thought of the pixie-woman he’d been talking with. She also seemed to be alone and he couldn’t help be worried for her, too.
“Is there anything more I can do for you, my lord?” the lad asked, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else.
Jamie was so annoyed he waved him away when he could very well have used his help unpacking. He’d left Hadley, his valet, at the town house. The man was more liability on the sea than an asset and Jamie had no wish to make the poor fellow miserable for the four months it would take them to arrive in San Francisco.
He looked at Helena’s door, tempted to knock, but he didn’t want to give anyone the idea there was even a hint of scandal brewing about her. He had wanted to see her immediately, damn it. It had been weeks since they’d danced at her birthday ball. He’d been disappointed when he’d realized her friendliness that evening had been a ruse. He’d wanted to establish at least a degree of peace between them and he’d failed. That night she’d run from her guardian and it would seem from him, as well.
He felt unsettled and unsure. It was as if a curtain had risen on his life, as if he were part of a comedy. Worst of all, he was as powerless as a marionette controlled by some sadistic specter. Nothing made sense and he could not reason it all out.
Except the vow he’d made at his wife’s graveside. That was