study to read the latest humor magazine and racing form, Juliana headed to her own bedchamber. Pride was a hard dish to swallow, and of late she had had little practice at it. But asshe turned the situation over in her mind, only one solution came to her—at least, there was only one solution that would not cost her another sleepless night. So she wrapped herself in her most concealing cloak, and padded down the hallway to Meg’s chamber door.
“I cannot believe that you talked me into this,” Meg said as she stepped gingerly around an evil-smelling basket of fish innards.
“ ’Tis your own fault,” Juliana countered over her shoulder. “You were the one who encouraged me to apologize to Connor.”
“Yes, well, I imagined you might send him a nice note, not spend the night traipsing around the London docks.”
“We are not traipsing—the harbormaster gave us excellent directions. We shall find the captain and be back home by eleven, I assure you.”
“Perhaps,” Meg replied as she gave a wary glance at the fog-shrouded docks ahead of them. “I only hope that you know what you are doing.”
Juliana hoped the same. Ever since she had left the hired carriage and set foot on the docks, she began to have doubts about the wisdom of her plan. When she was a child, this place had been like a second home to her. The river had beenthe lifeblood of England’s commerce since Roman times, and most of the successful shipping concerns, including her father’s, had their offices here. But it had been almost seven years since she had visited those offices. And as she peered into the murky gloom, intermittently lit by lanterns and torches, and saw the dark forms of ships rise and fall on the rolling Thames like a fleet of ghosts, she began to wonder if a pleasant note might not have been the best solution after all.
Then she remembered the pain in Connor’s eyes, pain she’d purposely caused. Any note she sent would likely be torn to bits before it was read. No, she had to face him when she apologized, to make sure he believed her. She wasn’t entirely certain why it mattered so much to her,—she was sure that Connor was nothing more to her than a notorious scoundrel—but she did know that if she didn’t try to make amends, she truly would be no better than Renquist and the rest of his shallow set.
“Look!” Meg’s cry cut through her thoughts. She pointed directly ahead, toward one of the shadow vessels. “ ’Tis the one, I’m sure of it. It has no name painted on its bow.”
Connor’s ship. It was a fine snow, a two-masted vessel used in trade and war. Juliana appraised the silhouette with a sailor’s eye, taking in the sleek hull built for speed and maneuverability, and the high-set guns designed to fire at masts and rigging.
French design, and a real beauty
, she surmised as they approached the vessel, but her admiration was almost instantly replaced by a perplexed frown. It was hardly unusual for a privateer to be sailing a captured ship—often that was the only way they could acquire one. But usually the vessels were old and outdated, unable to outrun and outfight their more modern attackers. This frigate was nearly brand new, surely no more than a half dozen years out of the French shipyards. How in the world had Connor managed to win such a prize, when four years ago he’d left London with little more than the clothes on his back?
“Who goes there?”
Juliana started at the barked demand. She looked up and saw a man glaring down at her from the railing of Connor’s ship. He had one eye, no neck, and arms like ham hocks. He looked as if he’d slit her throat for a penny. “We—ehem—we’ve come to see Captain Gabriel.”
The large man leaned to his left and spit a wad of tobacco into the water. “ ’Ooh wants ’im?”
Make that a ha’penny
, Juliana thought as she pulled her concealing hood closer around her face. Her reputation would be in tatters if news of this visit became
“I cannot believe that you talked me into this,” Meg said as she stepped gingerly around an evil-smelling basket of fish innards.
“ ’Tis your own fault,” Juliana countered over her shoulder. “You were the one who encouraged me to apologize to Connor.”
“Yes, well, I imagined you might send him a nice note, not spend the night traipsing around the London docks.”
“We are not traipsing—the harbormaster gave us excellent directions. We shall find the captain and be back home by eleven, I assure you.”
“Perhaps,” Meg replied as she gave a wary glance at the fog-shrouded docks ahead of them. “I only hope that you know what you are doing.”
Juliana hoped the same. Ever since she had left the hired carriage and set foot on the docks, she began to have doubts about the wisdom of her plan. When she was a child, this place had been like a second home to her. The river had beenthe lifeblood of England’s commerce since Roman times, and most of the successful shipping concerns, including her father’s, had their offices here. But it had been almost seven years since she had visited those offices. And as she peered into the murky gloom, intermittently lit by lanterns and torches, and saw the dark forms of ships rise and fall on the rolling Thames like a fleet of ghosts, she began to wonder if a pleasant note might not have been the best solution after all.
Then she remembered the pain in Connor’s eyes, pain she’d purposely caused. Any note she sent would likely be torn to bits before it was read. No, she had to face him when she apologized, to make sure he believed her. She wasn’t entirely certain why it mattered so much to her,—she was sure that Connor was nothing more to her than a notorious scoundrel—but she did know that if she didn’t try to make amends, she truly would be no better than Renquist and the rest of his shallow set.
“Look!” Meg’s cry cut through her thoughts. She pointed directly ahead, toward one of the shadow vessels. “ ’Tis the one, I’m sure of it. It has no name painted on its bow.”
Connor’s ship. It was a fine snow, a two-masted vessel used in trade and war. Juliana appraised the silhouette with a sailor’s eye, taking in the sleek hull built for speed and maneuverability, and the high-set guns designed to fire at masts and rigging.
French design, and a real beauty
, she surmised as they approached the vessel, but her admiration was almost instantly replaced by a perplexed frown. It was hardly unusual for a privateer to be sailing a captured ship—often that was the only way they could acquire one. But usually the vessels were old and outdated, unable to outrun and outfight their more modern attackers. This frigate was nearly brand new, surely no more than a half dozen years out of the French shipyards. How in the world had Connor managed to win such a prize, when four years ago he’d left London with little more than the clothes on his back?
“Who goes there?”
Juliana started at the barked demand. She looked up and saw a man glaring down at her from the railing of Connor’s ship. He had one eye, no neck, and arms like ham hocks. He looked as if he’d slit her throat for a penny. “We—ehem—we’ve come to see Captain Gabriel.”
The large man leaned to his left and spit a wad of tobacco into the water. “ ’Ooh wants ’im?”
Make that a ha’penny
, Juliana thought as she pulled her concealing hood closer around her face. Her reputation would be in tatters if news of this visit became
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