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He’d told Trinity all about his mother and father. She was the only person he had confided such intimate details to. She’d been surprisingly compassionate toward Mother, explaining that constant disappointment may have turned her bitter, and she had eventually targeted Devin’s father with her animosity even though it had not been his fault.

What Devin had done to deserve Trinity, he would never know.

With another wry smile, he used his thumb to break the wax. He went rigid after reading the first paragraph, then, with his heart battering his ribs, skimmed the rest in a rush. His breath left his lungs in a harsh exhalation.

“Devin?”

“My mother. She is very ill.” He raised his gaze to Trinity’s—hers round pools of concern and sympathy. “The physician says I should return to England immediately.”

How?

The Daunting Duchess had no passenger accommodations available.

What about the other ships?

He scanned the harbor.

At least ten ships lay anchored there.

Conceivably, they were also fully booked with passengers hoping to escape the plague. Would the ships’ captains allow possibly infected travelers on board, risking they might spread the disease to other ports?

No wonder the officials boarding the Daunting Duchess had used such precautions.

“Oh, Devin. Of course, we must.” Wrapping her arms around his waist, Trinity hugged him, uncaring that public displays of affection were not de rigueur.

“It may be too late already.” He stared blindly over her head. “She made me bloody angry, and I despised her interference, but…”

Devin could not finish the sentence.

He swallowed the emotion throttling up his throat.

To not be able to say goodbye—to see his mother one last time.

The notion was unbearable.

“What does Mrs. Peagilly’s letter say?” Devin could guess.

Trinity slid a finger beneath the wax on the letter for Mrs. Peagilly.

He folded his notes and slid them into his coat pocket, his mind racing.

They must find passage home.

It did not matter how much it cost or how uncomfortable the accommodations might be.

All the color drained from Trinity’s face, leaving her waxen and shaken.

“Lord, no,” she whispered.

Just as Devin had suspected.

“Devin?” She held the slip of paper between trembling fingers. “There is plague here. Mrs. Peagilly was told not to come. Her interpreter has died, and what is more, the hotel we were to stay at was damaged in a fire.”

Devin cradled Trinity in his arms. “My other letter was from the tannery overseer. He said the same, love.”

Mrs. McKinnick let out a small shriek and clutched her children to her skirts. So, the McKinnicks had learned the awful truth as well.

“I do not care if you lose your position, Godfrey,” she wailed. “I shall not risk our children’s lives. I am not, I repeat, not, setting foot ashore.”

Clutching Gladys’s and Georgie’s hands, she practically dragged her children to the hatch.

Meriwether and Truman-Shelton exchanged horrified glances before charging toward the captain, jabbering like old tabbies.

What was the protocol in a situation like this?

Devin was a partial owner of this ship, yet he did not have a blasted idea.

“What are we to do?” Trinity asked.

“I am going to speak with the captain.” Devin owned this ship—well, part of it. By thunder, that counted for something. “I do not care if I have to sleep on the deck, this ship is returning to England, and we are going to be on her.”