Love's Price (Lord Trent Series) (25 page)

They evaluated her with a keen interest, entranced by her bronzed skin and lack of clothing. Her chemise was thin to the point of transparency, and she could have flung an arm over her private parts, but she refused to cower. She’d done nothing wrong and had nothing of which to be ashamed.

Boldly, she returned their impudent stares, but immediately, she realized her mistake. They’d misconstrued her manner as brazen, and she peered down at the sand, wishing it would swallow her up.

Bramwell was leading Tristan to the boat as they chatted about mutual acquaintances. Harriet stumbled after them, wondering if they’d simply leave her behind if she didn’t hurry. As she waded into the surf, a sailor took pity on her and offered her his coat.

“You might want to wear this, Miss,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“You can get it back to me—once you’re squared away on board.”

“I will.”

She flashed a grateful smile and tugged it on as Tristan and Captain Bramwell climbed into the front of the longboat. Harriet was squished into a corner in the rear, behind the oars and sailors.

They arrived at the ship, and Tristan and Bramwell scampered up the rope ladder like a pair of monkeys. She was one of the last to ascend, and by the time she stepped onto the deck, dragged over the rail by several pairs of strong hands, she was fighting tears.

It was all happening too fast.

Frantically, she searched for Tristan, but he’d vanished with Bramwell, and at his sudden desertion, she felt dizzy with dismay.

She sought out the only sailor she knew, the one who’d loaned her his coat.

“Where is Captain Harcourt?”

“I expect he’s with Captain Bramwell.”

“In his cabin?”

“Well, I suppose.”

“Would you show me the way? I have to speak with Captain Harcourt. He wouldn’t want me to be alone.”

The sailor frowned, his obvious disdain making it clear that he deemed her too lowly a personage to visit the illustrious man. He seemed surprised that she would dare to request an audience.

“Captain Bramwell has a spot prepared for you. Why don’t you come with me? We’ll get you settled.”

And so it ended. Just like that.

The sailor urged her toward a hatch, and though she gazed over her shoulder, yearning for Tristan to materialize, to remember that she was on board too, he never appeared.

Momentarily, she was whisked down into the bowels of the ship, to a small closet behind the galley. She could smell rancid grease, rotting meat, and other garbage. The sailor lit a candle, uttered a few hollow banalities, then left.

She sat on the narrow bunk and began to wait. For what, she had no idea.

“What’s your name?”

“Sally, Miss Harriet.”

“Can you help me dress?”

“Of course, Miss. That’s why I’m here.”

“I’m feeling a bit peaked.”

“You look flushed. Perhaps you’re coming down with something.”

“I might be. I ache all over.

Sally opened the box of clothes from Captain Bramwell, relieved to see he’d purchased functional items that were much the same as she wore herself. At Bramwell’s home in London, she’d been a cook’s assistant, rather than a lady’s maid, so she didn’t know much about fancy attire.

When he’d invited her to join him, to aid Captain Harcourt’s mysterious stowaway—should she be found—Sally had jumped at the chance for an adventure.

Everyone was in a high state of excitement over the rescue, and when they returned to London, they’d be celebrities. Sally was in the best position of all to glean any gossip. The men had already told her about Miss Harriet’s salacious condition when they’d first seen her, but still, as Sally tugged off the woman’s old chemise, her jaw dropped in shock.

Miss Harriet was bronzed from head to toe, with not a stitch of skin that hadn’t been darkened by the sun. She had to have been running around on that island like an African savage! With Harcourt observing her the whole time!

It was the most scandalous, most delectable thing Sally had ever witnessed. She held out a new chemise, then spun away, not wanting Harriet to see her gaping. As she dawdled, her mind reeled.

Harriet was much younger than Sally had expected, and while the crew was wagering that she was a prostitute, so far, she’d been quiet and courteous. There was nothing about her—other than her tanned torso—to indicate immorality, but what was Sally to make of such an outrageous discovery?

No decent female would behave so shamefully.

She assisted Harriet so that ultimately, she was buttoned from top to bottom as a proper Englishwoman should be. Then Harriet sank down on the bunk, seeming very tired, a tad confused, and even more flushed.

“Is it hot in here?” she asked, fanning her face.

“A bit, but I’m betting you have a fever.”

Harriet’s big green eyes were poignant and troubled. “Could you get a message to Captain Harcourt for me?”

“A...message?”

Surely Harriet recognized that the request was absurd.

By her own admission, she’d been a serving maid in London, so she wouldn’t be allowed to fraternize with Harcourt. What was she thinking? She might have been friendly with him on their deserted island, but Captain Bramwell was a stickler for the proprieties, and he wouldn’t care to have her pestering Captain Harcourt.

“I need to speak with him,” Harriet said, “and it’s very important. Could you talk to him for me?”

“Certainly.” Sally smiled, knowing she never would.

“Thank you. And might I go up on deck? I’d like some fresh air. It’s so stuffy down here.”

“Actually, Captain Bramwell has ordered that you remain in your cabin.”

“Why?”

“It’s a sailing ship, Miss, filled with sailors. Many of them saw you in a rather...ah...compromising situation when you came on board. You’re a very pretty girl, and he doesn’t want to encourage any mischief.”

“I understand.”

“Plus, there’s a storm brewing. He’s asked everyone who’s not on duty to stay below.”

“All right.”

Harriet sagged onto her side, her head on the pillow, and she was so tiny and frail. Sally’s heart nearly broke. Poor child, all alone in the world, and the entire empire agog over her plight!

“Why don’t you rest?” Sally suggested.

“That’s probably a good idea.”

“I’ll see if I can round up some broth and tea. You’ll be better in no time.”

Harriet was already drifting off, which Sally deemed for the best. If she was ill and indisposed, she wouldn’t be worrying about her dashing Captain Harcourt. After she recovered, she’d remember who she was and who
he
was.

Sally tiptoed to the door.

“Be sure to give Captain Harcourt my message,” Harriet murmured.

“I will, dear.”

Sally slipped out and hurried to the galley. Several men were sitting down to supper.

“Hey there, Sal,” one of them called, “what’s the news?”

“She changed into the garments Captain Bramwell bought for her,” she indiscreetly mentioned, “so I saw her unclad.”

“And...?”

The assembled sailors voiced the question in unison, their ears cocked toward her to hear every word of her reply.

“She’s tanned by the sun from the tip of her nose to the tips of her toes.”

There was an aghast, prurient silence, then someone muttered, “Blimey!”

She was offered a jug of ale, and she drank it down, Harriet’s message to Harcourt completely forgotten.

“How dare you show your face here!”

“What do you mean?”

Mrs. Ford glared at Helen with such loathing that Helen flinched back in her chair.

“As if you didn’t know.”

Helen frowned. “I don’t. Truly.”

“Haven’t I always told you that impeccable conduct matters above all else?”

“Yes.”

“And haven’t I also told you that I only retain those girls with stellar reputations?”

“Yes, you have.”

“Miss Stewart, yesterday I received a visit from Miss Miranda Wilson. I trust you are acquainted with her?”

Helen was deluged by a wave of despair. “Yes, I’m thoroughly acquainted with her.”

“Miss Wilson had an interesting tale to tell about a certain lady’s companion who has disgraced herself with an infamous earl. She advised me that the little Jezebel was flaunting the affair in front of the servants, and the man’s household is in an uproar.”

Mrs. Ford stared at Helen, letting the moment play out, letting Helen know that she had no secrets. Helen flushed with shame.

“Need I say more?” Mrs. Ford inquired. “Or will you embarrass us both by demanding the details?”

So...Miranda had been aware of Helen’s relationship with Westwood after all. Helen sighed. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

“I can’t believe your gall in seeking me out.”

“I’m sorry. I’d like a new position. I thought you might be able to help me.”

“You hussy! You home-wrecker!” Mrs. Ford scolded. “Do you imagine there’s a woman in London who would hire you after this...this...outrage? No husband would be safe. No adolescent son.”

“I did nothing wrong,” Helen insisted.

“Nothing! Can you actually suppose this scandal will be kept quiet? Miss Wilson is a renowned gossip, so the story will spread far and wide, and I will not have it known that you were affiliated with my agency.” She leaned closer, spittle flying with her insults. “You have cast dishonor on every girl on my list.”

“I was doing my job,” Helen said softly.

“Ha! If I have my way, you’ll never be employed in this town again. Now get out before I have you thrown out.”

Helen pushed herself to her feet, and she trudged to the door, panicked over where she should go, what she should do. She felt a hundred years old, out of energy and bereft of vigor.

She’d used Westwood’s severance to fork over a week’s rent at a women’s boarding house, but everything in the city was so expensive. After purchasing a few personal items, she hardly had any money left.

She should have had some cash on hand, should have had a nest-egg with which to weather the current storm, but Westwood had never paid her her salary, and she’d never pestered him about it.

With all the dresses and other pretty things he’d given her, it would have seemed greedy to complain over money, too.

She didn’t think he’d intentionally cheated her, choosing instead to assume that her wages had slipped his mind, but however it had transpired, she was broke. Of all the dire circumstances she might face, poverty was the most frightening. There were many poor, desperate souls trying to get by in London, and she had suddenly become one of them.

With Miranda’s slurs being broadly dispersed, Helen’s chances of securing another post were ruined. All her accomplishments of the past four years had been wrecked in an instant by a vicious, jealous shrew.

It wasn’t enough that Miranda now had Westwood all to herself. No. She had to destroy Helen’s life in the process.

Helen couldn’t bear to start all over again, and as she stepped out into the brisk autumn afternoon, it felt as if the entire world was allied against her.

She drew her cloak tighter and headed down the street, not cognizant of where she was going. When she finally glanced up, she saw that she was in a park, and she stumbled over to a bench and plopped down. Dapper gentlemen rode by on magnificent horses. Fetching young misses drove by in open carriages. Everyone was smiling and waving, yet Helen scarcely noticed. She was too stunned by events.

“Oh, James,” she breathed, “how could you do this to me?”

She pulled out her purse and counted the tiny pile of coins, realizing that she could buy food for the rest of the week, then what? What on earth would happen to her?

She wondered where he was, what he was doing. Did he understand the predicament into which she’d been thrust? Did he care at all?

Though she’d never admit it, she’d convinced herself that he was falling in love with her. She’d even begun to imagine that he might...might...ask
her
to be his bride. The notion was completely ludicrous, and it underscored how Helen had grown half-mad with infatuation and was no longer able to discern fantasy from reality.

Had any woman in all of history ever been a bigger fool? Had any woman in all of history ever acted so recklessly with so little to show for it?