Page 11 of Much Ado about a Widow

“Stand easy, Cartwright. We have new guests who require both our assistance and our discretion. Please lower the rope sling for the ladies.”

“Aye, Captain.” The lad disappeared as quickly as he had come.

Georgie looked back to shore. No sign of Odd Fellow. However, that did not mean he might not have followed her. As little as she wished to admit it, she would be extremely safe moored out here in the harbor. A glance at Clara found her maid looking expectantly at her, eager to get on board. They were all tired, even Lulu. Georgie closed her eyes, summoning strength. “Very well. What do we do?”

“Once Cartwright lowers the sling, may I suggest you allow your maid to ascend first? That way you can hand Miss Lulu up to her. Then you will ascend, and I will follow up the ladder.”

“Here she comes, Captain.”

A bundle of ropes dropped into the boat, attached to a thick, single one that led up to one of the ship’s masts.

The marquess tugged at the tangled mass, revealing a sling of sorts, and gestured to Clara. “Stand here. Now grasp these ropes here and here and simply sit down.”

“Yes, my lord.” One terrified glance at Georgie, and Clara deliberately shut her eyes. She grasped the ropes as she had been told and sat. The device swung slightly.

“Ohhh, I don’t like this, my lady.”

“You are doing fine.” Lord St. Just steadied the device. “Don’t look down. Keep your eyes closed if that makes you more comfortable, but keep your hands firmly anchored on the ropes, and try to relax.”

The maid grimaced, and clung to the ropes.

“Excellent, Clara. Lady Georgina would do well to mark what you are doing. Here we go. Hoist away, Cartwright.” St. Just continued a running commentary, offering advice on everything from the best footwear to use onboard to the ratio of flour to mix into biscuit dough. The man seemed to know something about everything, whether or not it applied to the ship. But before she knew it, Clara had reached the deck and was leaning over the rail to take the barking Lulu from Georgie.

Cartwright lowered the sling again, and St. Just turned to Georgie. “Now up you go, my lady. You need to get on board to restrain your wild animal.” He held the ropes out to her.

“I will have you know that Lulu is a perfectly behaved King Charles spaniel. She becomes disturbed when in the company of unsavory . . . characters.” Georgie fixed him with a bold stare, then grasped the ropes and sat down. “You had better be careful, my lord. She has been known to bite.”

“An excellent guard dog, then. Cave canem, as the Romans would have said.” He laughed, and Georgie gritted her teeth to keep in a retort. Lord St. Just was helping them, she had to remind herself. She could restrain her animosity toward him for the few hours it might take to arrange for lodgings for them for the night and send a letter to her father.

Despite her misgivings, Georgie had reluctantly admitted to the necessity of informing her father of her situation so he could either send more men to rescue the carriage, or send another carriage for her, her maid, and the dog. The Justine was the perfect place for them to hide until all the arrangements could be made. Then she could thank Lord St. Just for his assistance, and they could be on their way before the sun set.

Before she quite knew she had begun, Georgie found herself swinging over the side of the railing, her feet on firm ground again. The clever gentleman had distracted her just enough to keep her mind occupied while she was lifted onboard. She pursed her lips. His cleverness irked her.

“I’ll show you to the main cabin, ladies.” St. Just leaped nimbly over the railing. “Then we can speak in comfort and privacy. Cartwright, you’ll need to go ashore and collect the others. I couldn’t wait for them, obviously. And . . .” He paused in the act of showing them to a corridor and turned back to the sailor. “Bring tea please, before you go. I am certain the ladies could use a cup after their ordeal.”

“Very good, Captain.” The sailor bobbed his head and scurried off.

“Thank you, my lord.” Clara gave a curtsy. “I could indeed do with a cup. I’ve never been so frightened in my life as I was today.”

“Tea will set you to rights quicker than anything else, Clara. This way, if you please.” He led them toward a dim corridor.

As they walked, Georgie took in the ship, her curiosity sharp. The deck planking was spotlessly clean and oddly empty of any goods. The ship was also eerily silent. “If I hadn’t seen Mr. Cartwright, I would wonder if this was your ship at all, my lord. Where is the rest of your crew?”

“They have gone ashore to fetch the cargo I came for, my lady. Cartwright was left aboard to man the ship. This way, please. You should be out of the cold as soon as may be.” St. Just led them down a flight of steps to a sizeable cabin, paneled in teak and mahogany woods and furnished as a sitting room, with an iron stove that threw off blessed heat.

Like a magnet seeking its mate, Georgie made a beeline for it, holding out her hands to the lovely streams of warmth. Clara followed right behind her, and Lulu sat at her feet, yawning. Georgie stifled one of her own. After so much cold, the heat was making her sleepy. She struggled to keep her eyes open.

“When you’re sufficiently thawed, please have a seat over here.” St. Just indicated a comfortable-looking wing-backed chair next to him and a smaller chair beside it. “I am most eager to hear of your adventures, Lady Georgina.”

Something in his voice, perhaps a touch of sarcasm, irritated Georgie to no end. Apparently, his lordship still didn’t believe her story, and that irritated her even more. Straightening her shoulders, she strode to the chair he had indicated and sat primly on the edge, Lulu at her feet. After another moment at the stove to soak up more heat, Clara joined them.

“Now, my lady, tell me how you came to be kidnapped.”

There it was again, that supercilious smugness in St. Just’s voice that set her teeth on edge and drove her to distraction. She’d banish that tone from his voice forever before she was finished here. He might be Jemmy’s good friend, but that didn’t mean St. Just could doubt her word—no matter how outlandish those words might be. Even as she itched to ring a peal over his head, an inner voice urged caution. His lordship had helped them evade the kidnappers; however, they still needed his assistance if they were to truly escape. She must let her rancor go, at least for the moment, so she could convince him to help them contact her father. Breathing deeply, she smiled. “Well, my lord, I was returning home from Fanny and Lord Lathbury’s wedding in Buckinghamshire, at Hunter’s Cross. Jemmy and Elizabeth and I had the most wonderful time. My brother and his wife are there yet.”

“Your brother mentioned Lord Lathbury’s impending nuptials to me in his latest letter.” St. Just peered at her as if to say, “Go on already.”

“It was quite a lovely wedding, by the way.” Georgie smiled at the memory of Fanny standing at the altar of the All Saints Church, near the estate. “I believe she and Lord Lathbury will be supremely happy.”