Page 29 of The Governess and the Rogue

Jack made no reply as he screwed the cap back on. During his many years in the army, he’d become a keen observer of men. He knew when they were lying to him, when they were foxed, and when they were frightened. And he knew when one of them had succumbed to shock.

It was the latter that had come over Bea. Jack had seen it happen the instant she’d announced that the two of them were engaged. Her face had gone waxen, and her gaze had become fixed. He’d been amazed she hadn’t swooned.

She set her hands on the rail. “I didn’t expect that you⁠—” she broke off. “That is, I didn’t consider what must come next.”

“Which part?” Jack asked. They’d discussed all of it last night, hadn’t they? He believed he’d been thorough. He usually was, even with the most reckless of his brainstorms.

“What you said about my being under your protection,” she replied.

“We talked about that, didn’t we?” Jack returned his flask to his pocket. “Not that you require my protection. You seemed to be doing an excellent job of protecting yourself when I entered the saloon.” He smiled slightly. “What happened to throwing yourself on Mrs. Dimsdale’s mercy?”

Bea gave an eloquent grimace. “My wretched temper.”

Jack’s smile broadened with reluctant amusement. He leaned against the rail at her side. “I wasn’t aware you had one.”

“Didn’t I mention it last night when I was giving you a catalog of my failings?”

“Not that I recall.”

She’d enumerated countless flaws. Claimed she was bold, difficult, opinionated. Even that she was bad at geography. But she hadn’t said anything about having a temper.

“It creeps up on me,” she explained morosely. “The smallest offenses accruing day-by-day until I can bear it no longer without speaking up. That’s what happened with Mrs. Dimsdale. I was standing in front of her, fully prepared to beg her pardon for all my supposed crimes, when the injustice of the situation became too great to ignore.”

“It would indeed have been an injustice had she sacked you for her husband’s offense,” Jack said.

“Exactly what I thought,” Bea said. “But being in the right is poor comfort, given what’s happened as a result. This situation—you and I—It’s… It’s an absolute catastrophe.”

Jack had never imagined that a woman—any woman—would describe being engaged to him as a catastrophe. Even if it was only a fake engagement. The fact that Bea had done so, and that she continued to look so glum, was equal parts amusing and insulting.

“Mrs. Dimsdale is probably telling everyone as we speak,” she said. “Her husband, Mrs. Rawson, the Farradays, the children. The captain and the crew. The stewards and the⁠—”

“Very likely.”

“I can’t imagine what they must be saying about me.”

“Who cares?” Jack asked. “It can’t touch you now.”

Bea’s fingers curled tighter on the rail. She stared out at the sea. “Poor Pearl.”

He frowned. “Who is Pearl?”

“Mrs. Rawson’s maid-companion. We’ve shared quarters since we left Bombay. She’s become my friend. And now… She must hate me.”

Jack feared he had lost the thread. “Why must she?”

Bea cast him a bleak glance. “It was she who Mrs. Dimsdale called upon to watch the children this morning. Mrs. Rawson must have lent her for the purpose. Otherwise, Mrs. Dimsdale wouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss me.”

“Ah.” Jack began to understand. “Poor Pearl, indeed.”

“So, you see,” Bea said, releasing the rail, “we haven’t considered everything.”

“We didn’t consider Pearl,” Jack allowed. He racked his brain as Bea paced away from him. It didn’t take him long to land upon a solution. “There’s a simple enough remedy for it.”

Bea didn’t stop. She didn’t appear to be listening, either. Arms folded, she walked toward the deck chairs beneath the awning.

Jack gripped his cane, following after her. “You’ll require a maid for the remainder of the voyage. If Mrs. Rawson can lend Pearl to the Dimsdales, she can just as easily hire her out to you instead.”

That got Bea’s attention.