Deborah Hale - The Bride Ship

The dazed look fled Jocelyn Finch’s attractive features. An indignant glare took its place.

Unfortunately, it did nothing to detract from her beauty.

Sir Robert wished it had.

“How dare you?” Mrs. Finch wrenched the glove off her impossibly delicate fingers.

She surged up on the tips of her toes and struck him across the cheek with the glove. For such a small scrap of soft kid leather, it stung like the very devil.

“I demand satisfaction for that vile insult, sir!” she cried. “How dare you sully the reputation of me and my charges with your disgusting accusations?”

Then she struck him dumb by asking, “And, pray, when did the state of holy matrimony become a vice in Nova Scotia?”

Highland Rogue

“This is an updated classic with timeless

characters and well-developed humor.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

The Wizard’s Ward

“In her first crossover foray into fantasy,

romance writer Hale nicely blends the two

genres in an upbeat, feel-good story.”

—Publishers Weekly

Beauty and the Baron

“Deborah Hale delights with midnight ball, stargazing

and a wonderful cast of characters.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

Border Bride

“Excellent characterization and a nicely detailed

Welsh setting give this medieval an intriguing

flavor readers will find hard to resist.”

—Booklist

Whitefeather’s Woman

“This book is yet another success for Deborah Hale.

It aims for the heart and doesn’t miss.”

—The Old Book Barn Gazette

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This book is dedicated with love and admiration

to two special young men, Brendan and Jamie Hale,

who make the duties of motherhood a true pleasure.

You are my heroes!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Author Note

Halifax, Nova Scotia

May 1818

A n urgent knock on the door of his study distracted Sir Robert Kerr in the midst of drafting his quarterly report to the Colonial Office.

“Come in, Duckworth.” The governor’s pensive squint furrowed into a scowl at the sight of his aide. “Did I not leave instructions…?”

“That you were not to be disturbed, Your Excellency?” Young Duckworth finished Sir Robert’s sentence, as he had a rather annoying habit of doing in moments of crisis.

But this was an ordinary day, of no dire import. At least none of which the governor was aware. Yet his secretary’s boyish face looked flushed and his voice sounded breathless. “So you did, sir, excepting in case of general calamity.”

One corner of the governor’s lips arched in a wry smile as he laid down his pen. His reference to “general calamity” had been meant in jest—something he had never been very good at conveying.

When he rose from his chair, Sir Robert’s neck gave a twinge. He reached back to knead the tense muscles. How many hours had he been hunched over his desk composing that blasted report? Perhaps it would do him good to get up and move about.

“Tell me, what general calamity has beset our fair colony today?” He strode out to the entry hall on the heels of his aide. “Is the brewery on fire? Are we being invaded by some foreign fleet? Has the bishop fallen into the harbor?”

“None of those, Your Excellency.” Once again, Duckworth missed the governor’s attempt at levity. He shoved Sir Robert’s hat into his hands. “I think you had better come and see for yourself, sir.”

With that suggestion, Duckworth turned and fled out the front door of Government House, leaving Sir Robert with little choice but to follow if he wished to appease his curiosity. Grumbling under his breath, the governor jammed on his old-fashioned tricorne. What had put Duckworth in such a stew? And why was he being so confounded mysterious about it?

The pair of sentries who stood guard over the front entrance of Government House were talking together in hushed, urgent tones when he stepped outside. The instant they spotted him marching down the steps, both soldiers snapped to attention.

“One of you stay here. The other come with me.” Sir Robert beckoned the larger of the two men. “I may have need of you.”

“Aye, sir!” the sentries replied in chorus, jumping to obey his orders.

Sir Robert discerned a flicker of eagerness on the face of his escort, and a shadow of disappointment on that of the man ordered to stay behind. In either of their places, his reaction would have been quite the opposite. His former career in the army had taught him to be wary of surprises.

As he marched north along Hollis Street, his old foot wound from the Battle of Corona gave a twinge as it often did in damp weather. He ignored it, reaching up to anchor his hat against the bracing spring wind. He could not afford to slow his pace or he might lose sight of Duckworth, who had just rounded the corner onto Salter Street, which sloped down toward Power’s Wharf. What manner of trouble had washed up with the morning tide?

It seemed Sir Robert was not the only citizen of Halifax curious to find out. Almost as many spectators had thronged onto the wharf as had turned out the year before last to welcome his arrival in the colony.

“Make way!” With belligerent energy, the sentry he’d brought from Government House endeavored to clear a path through the crowd. Either the young solider enjoyed ordering civilians about, or he was eager to get a good view of the proceedings, himself. “Make way for His Excellency, Governor Kerr!”

Bracing himself to meet whatever lay ahead, Sir Robert marched down the quay. He turned his gaze toward Halifax Harbor and beheld…absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.

A small ship had tied up at the wharf, its sails furled, gently rocking on the waves. Sir Robert could make out the name Hestia painted on the prow. The Hestia was sailing under British colors, he noted with a mixture of relief and surprise. That meant it was not a pirate ship, nor did it belong to some foreign fleet.

Why, it looked like any one of hundreds of vessels that arrived here in the course of the year bearing cargo or passengers. What had drawn so many good citizens of Halifax down to Power’s Wharf to watch an ordinary ship unload?

A small flutter of white caught the governor’s eye. Someone standing on the ship’s deck was waving a handkerchief. Sir Robert surveyed the deck more closely. Crowded along the port railing, staring toward the crowded wharf, were a large number of young women. The bright colors of their hats and wraps made a festive contrast to the sober browns and grays of the ship’s hull.