The Bride Ship. Deborah Hale

governor mulled her words for a few moments longer, then rose abruptly and strode back toward the marble mantelpiece.

      He was rather like that fine hearth, Jocelyn decided. Handsome in appearance, but hard and cold to the touch. While a cheerful blaze might be kindled within it, she doubted any such fire ever had, or would, warm the empty depths of his heart.

      For that reason, it came as a distressing disappointment but no great surprise when he announced, “Your idea sounds all very well, madam. In practice, I fear it would prove otherwise. This colony is not some frivolous marriage market. The men here have important work to do that requires their full concentration. You saw the idle mob that gathered at Power’s Wharf this afternoon. Halifax has no need of such distracting spectacles.”

      “That was not our fault!” Jocelyn surged to her feet and threw her napkin down on the tea tray. “Perhaps if more men in your colony had wives and families to occupy their interest, they would not need to seek diversion gawking at incoming ships.”

      The governor’s stance grew even more rigid and his frown deepened. “You do not know these people, madam. You do not know this colony. Nor are its peace and welfare your responsibility. They are mine.”

      “How can loving wives possibly be a threat to the peace and welfare of your settlers, sir?” Jocelyn longed to seize the breast of his coat and shake some sense into the man. “Have you a wife?”

      The instant the words left her mouth, she wished she could recall them. What if, like her, Sir Robert had been brutally bereaved—his heart chilled and hardened by grief?

      Her swift impulse of sympathy had no chance to take root.

      “Never,” declared the governor. “I have never desired such a distraction from my duties, nor the weight of additional responsibility that a family entails. The bachelors of Nova Scotia would do well to follow my example. I will see to it that your ship is reprovisioned so you may return to England or sail on to another colony where you might be more welcome.”

      Jocelyn could scarcely abide the prospect of another hour confined aboard ship, let alone days or weeks. She could not return to England and face Mrs. Beamish with her mission unfulfilled. And what manner of welcome were they likely to receive in another colony, having been turned away from the shores of Nova Scotia?

      “You cannot do this to me!” she cried. No man since her father had provoked her to such a rage.

      “Not only can I, madam. For the good of this colony, I must.” He headed out of the room, calling for his aide.

      Jocelyn nearly overturned the tea table in her haste to catch him.

      “Have you forgotten?” She clutched the sleeve of his coat. “I challenged you to a duel. Are you such a coward that you would bundle me out of town before I can defend my honor?”

      He stared down at her with undisguised aversion. “Madam, I have no intention of fighting a duel with anyone, least of all a woman. I made a mistake—a perfectly natural one under the circumstances, I believe. But I am willing to apologize for it in public. I will put a notice to that effect in the Halifax Gazette if you wish.”

      He turned to his aide, who had just arrived. “Remind me of that, will you, Duckworth? But, first, I would like you to escort Mrs. Finch back to her ship.”

      The governor detached her hand from his sleeve, then executed a curt bow. “I wish you a safe journey, madam.”

      Before Jocelyn could protest further, he strode from the drawing room.

      With a strangled shriek, she lunged for the tea tray and scooped up the blueberry jam pot, determined to hurl it at the governor’s pristine marble hearth…for lack of a more deserving target.

      Mr. Duckworth stepped in front of her. “Please don’t, ma’am. It’ll make the most frightful mess.”

      That was what she wanted. To leave His Excellency with a vivid purple stain to remember her by!

      His aide’s plea stayed her hand. After all, the governor himself would not be obliged to clean up the mess.

      She held the jam pot out to Mr. Duckworth. “I pity you with all my heart, sir, having to work for such a tyrant.”

      The young man relieved her of the crock before he replied, “There is no man in the colony I’d rather serve, ma’am.”

      Poor young fool, Jocelyn thought as she permitted him to escort her out of Government House and down toward the wharf. Every step of the way, she struggled to invent an excuse that would prevent her from getting back on that ship. Once aboard, she was certain Governor Kerr would never permit her to set foot off it again. How could she hope to plead her case if she could not communicate with anyone in town?

      As they caught sight of the wharf, Mr. Duckworth sighed. “Not another crowd gathered? I hope we shan’t need to call out the militia to disperse these people.”

      The nearer they drew, the more evident it became that these curious onlookers were different from the first group. For they were mostly women.

      A number stood around the wharf in small clusters, talking together and pointing toward the ship. A few appeared to be chatting with the young soldier Governor Kerr had left on guard. From their garish dress and forward manner, Jocelyn took them to be the kind of women Sir Robert had accused her of bringing to his colony. Perhaps they had got word of the governor’s slander and hoped to catch a glimpse their rivals.

      Jocelyn could not recall seeing so many women of ill repute together at one time in London…at least not the parts of London she frequented. If Halifax had this great a problem with flesh-peddling, perhaps the governor had some small justification for jumping to the wrong conclusion about her bride ship. But that did not give him grounds for turning them away once he’d discovered their true purpose!

      Just then, a woman’s voice called from an open carriage parked nearby. “Oh, Mr. Duckling, a word, if you please?”

      Muttering “Duck-worth, damn it!” under his breath, the governor’s aide approached the carriage.

      It crossed Jocelyn’s mind to run off while his attention was diverted. Perhaps she could find a clergyman, or some other worthy citizen willing to plead her case with the governor. After an instant’s consideration, she discarded the idea. How could she hope to find someone to help her, when she did not know a single soul in town, nor how to locate them if she did?

      She hung back a bit as Mr. Duckworth approached the carriage. “Why, Mrs. Carmont, what a pleasant surprise. May I be of service, ma’am?”

      “Indeed you may,” replied the occupant of the carriage, whose voice sounded strangely familiar to Jocelyn. “With a bit of reliable information, if you’d be so kind. It is in very short supply presently. The most preposterous rumors have been circulating about town. Is it true that Barnabas Power imported a shipload of women to cater to the officers of the garrison?”

      Duckworth shook his head at the wild story. “A ship did arrive, ma’am, carrying a number of young ladies. But it is my understanding their business in the colony is entirely honorable. Nor have I heard of any connection with Mr. Power except that they have docked at his wharf.”

      He turned toward Jocelyn and beckoned. “Here is a lady who can tell you better than I. May I present Mrs. Jocelyn Finch. Mrs. Finch, may I present Mrs. Carmont, the wife of our—”

      Before he could finish, the woman cried, “Jocelyn? Lady Jocelyn DeLacey? My dear, it is I, Sally Hastings—Mrs. Carmont since my marriage. What a delightful surprise to find you here in Halifax, of all places on earth!”

      “Sally, of course! How good to see you!” Back in England, Jocelyn had hated chance encounters with her old acquaintances. But here and now, she had never been more grateful for the sight of a familiar face.

      Sally Carmont threw open the carriage door. “Do come dine with me this evening! We have so much to catch up with one another.”

      As