Jo Goodman (52 page)

Giving her mount a nudge, Sylvia began her first pass along the riverfront.

Sailors and dock hands moved with purpose and precision. Barrels and bales were wheeled from warehouses, across the wharf, then up the gangboards. On dollies and wagons and carts the cargo weaved in and out. The timing, the rhythm, the musical squeaks and clatter, gave the work a choreographed beauty. Although the raised voices were often guttural and prone to cursing, and the clothes were drab, there was rarely so much grace on the floor of a Brighton ballroom.

With her attention focused on the sea of ships, it was not surprising that eventually Sylvia ran afoul of the cargo loaders.

"See here," one of them shouted. "Watch where yer goin', pretty boy."

Sylvia tugged on the reins, swinging her mare around to avoid colliding with a wagon.

Another man brought his cart up short. "If you can't keep yer mount steady, get off and lead 'er."

"What's yer business here, lad?" someone else called.

A big man chuckled. "Doxies are mostly indoors now if that's yer pleasure."

Panic caused Sylvia to look around for a savior or an exit. She found neither. What she saw, however, made her careless of the consequences as she pushed through the crowd. Carts and wagons were pulled out of her way, and the men jumped back, no match for her skittish mare. They cursed her as she rode off but Sylvia paid no heed. She sought out the
Mystic
with a new sense of urgency.

Sylvia's heart lightened when she found the ship. It was exactly as Aubrey had described it and she wondered that she hadn't seen it immediately among all the others. It was not difficult to imagine how proud she would look with her sails unfurled over the open water. Even loaded as she was now, her masts stood a little taller than those around her.

Ignoring the passengers who stood milling around on the wharf waiting for their turn to board, Sylvia dismounted and secured her horse, then charged up the gangboard.

She was stopped from jumping to the ship's deck by a sailor with a manifest.

"Not so quickly," he said, throwing up his hand to prevent her entry. "Passengers wait until we've loaded all the cargo."

Sylvia's glare was icy. "I am looking for your master," she said. "Mr. Jones."

"Sir?" the man said. As his stare narrowed he became more uncertain. "Ma'am?"

"It's Lady Sylvia Leyden," she said in cool accents, lifting her chin. "And Mr. Jones would not wish you to detain me." The man hesitated. His arm wobbled a little giving Sylvia an opening, and she jumped to the deck. "You may tell me where I can find him."

The sailor dropped his manifest to his side. "Beggin' your pardon, but Mr. Jones isn't on board right now."

"Then you'll tell me
how
I can find him."

"I'm afraid I can't. He didn't tell me where he was going, only that he'd be back directly."

Sylvia stepped out of the way as several trunks were pushed on board. "Then I'll wait," she said in a voice that brooked no argument. She walked to the taffrail and braced herself against it. Her posture alone announced she would not be moved. Out of the corner of her eye Sylvia saw the sailor start to come forward then think better of it. He shrugged and held up his manifest, checking off items as they were brought aboard.

The wait was interminable. Sylvia had no interest in any of the activity laid out in front of her. The chill that had coursed through her minutes before finding the
Mystic
eventually numbed her. Her eyes wandered the length of the wharf as far as she could see, looking for Aubrey's bright red head towering above other men.

The last of the cargo was loaded and the passengers were brought on board. Sylvia felt glances in her direction but she gave them scant attention. Had events come about differently, Sylvia would have gotten to know the
Mystic
passengers. Now she knew she would not be sailing with them.

She spied Aubrey first. He could be forgiven for not recognizing the dervish that raced down the gangboard and overtook him on the wharf. Much as she had done a few evenings earlier, Sylvia flung herself into his arms and hung on. Aubrey knew the subtle difference in the way he was held. On the previous occasion it had been passion that launched her. This time it was fear.

Ignoring the cat calls from the ship as his men gathered at the rail, Aubrey held her close. Her hat fell as she tipped her face back. Her loosely bound hair cascaded over her shoulders and back. There was stunned silence on board the
Mystic.
"You have a lot of explaining to do, Sylvia."

She hardly knew she was trembling. Aubrey set her back on her heels and urged her up the gangboard. When they were on deck again he ordered his crew back to work, then led Sylvia to his cabin.

Aubrey closed the door, but before he could say anything of the things that had come to his mind since seeing her, Sylvia held up her hand.

"There's no time to scold me," she said quickly. "You must take me back to Weybourne Park."

"My intentions exactly."

She went on as if he hadn't spoken. "I've seen him, Aubrey. He's here, in London. It can only mean that he's going back to the Park. I can't know when, but I know that he will. Captain Thorne may be in danger if we don't warn him."

Aubrey raked his hair with one large hand as he frowned. "Who have you seen?"

"My father, of course."

Aubrey simply stared at her. His dear, dear Sylvia was quite mad.

"I'm not a lunatic," she said sharply. "And it's very bad of you to think that of me. I tell you, I saw him. He was walking along the wharf with Severn and another man I don't know, Severn and my father were talking. It was he. I swear it."

Aubrey's cabin aboard the
Mystic
was a small affair. Besides the bed and trunk, there was a desk and chair and a wall cupboard that held books and liquor. Aubrey poured a glass of whisky in a tumbler and held it out for Sylvia.

"I don't require spirits," she said. "I'm frightened, not addled. You must see that I have to go back."

Aubrey sighed and downed the liquor himself. "Sylvia," he said gently. "I know you believe what you're saying, but you also must realize how it sounds." She was angry with him. He could see that now. Her delicate features were flushed and her pale blue eyes had turned frosty. Aubrey pressed on, as willing to be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. "Naturally I'm prepared to take you back to Weybourne Park. You don't have to elaborate on some fantastical story to make me do it. Anyone can see that you've thought better of your decision to come here—though not soon enough to stop you—and need some method of extricating yourself from your folly."

Sylvia actually sucked in her breath. "Anyone can see that, can they? Then you take no special credit for your prescience." She lifted her hair and secured it with more pins and a comb from her pocket. "I am very sorry for this inconvenience," she said tightly. "If it were not for seeing my father and Severn, I would regret making this trip. Clearly I mistook your feelings for me."

"Now, Sylvia."

Her eyes widened at his condescending tone. She held up one finger. "Do not say another word to me, Mr. Jones." Sylvia looked around for her hat, realized she lost it on the wharf, and rewound her scarf instead. Her voice was muffled. "My mare will not support us both. I suppose you will have to hire a mount." Turning her back on him, Sylvia left the cabin for the upper deck.

Several times during their journey Aubrey attempted to initiate conversation. Sylvia had no use for it. She kept her face averted so that he could not see her tears. She knew that he was concerned. He would have apologized if she had let him, but she didn't want to hear it, not when he thought she was creating a story to save her pride.

Aubrey reined in his horse when the road opened up in front of them as they crested a hill. The deep green of the countryside lay like a carpet at their feet. A patchwork of fields bordered the road on either side.

Sylvia slowed and glanced over her shoulder. "Why have you stopped?" she asked. "We're not halfway to Weybourne Park."

Aubrey pointed across the hillside to the ribbon of road far in the distance. "That's Colin," he said without astonishment. "Come to fetch you."

Raising one gloved hand to shield her eyes. Sylvia followed Aubrey's direction. She could make out a single rider in the distance, but it was impossible for her to say it was Captain Thorne. "Wishful thinking does not make it so," she said tartly. She urged her mount forward again.

When Colin came upon them Aubrey had the good sense not to say with either a look or words that he told her so.

"Did you see them?" Sylvia asked by way of a greeting. "If they came this way you must have passed them."

Colin's eyes grazed Sylvia's male attire. "I thought as much," he said to himself, shaking his head. He came out of his reverie and looked at Aubrey. "I take it Sylvia's escapade has set you back a day."

"A few hours anyway," he said. "Now that you're here you can complete my escort. Sylvia takes no pleasure in my company."

"Must you
both
speak as if I were absent?" she demanded. "I know you are put out with me, but I can't see that it's any excuse for bad manners." Sylvia drew her horse close to Colin's and ignored Aubrey. "Have you seen Severn?" she asked.

Colin's brows lifted. "Severn? He's on the Continent."

"Not according to Sylvia," Aubrey said. "She thinks she saw him in London." He paused a beat. "With the earl."

"Severn was with his father?" Colin asked.

"No, blast it!" Sylvia said feelingly. "He was with
my
father!"

Aubrey was not certain what he expected Colin to do. Slide him a knowing glance, perhaps. Attempt to reason with Sylvia. Clear his throat to cover a chuckle. None of these things occurred, however. Instead, Colin gave Sylvia his full attention.

"Where?" he asked.

"You believe me?" she asked, stunned. Sylvia had been prepared to go on at length about the clarity of her mind and her vision. Once she realized that Aubrey did not believe her it was conceivable that no one else would either. Her silence had not been completely in aid of ignoring Aubrey, but in planning her own defense. She suddenly realized how her surprise might sound. "It's true," she said quickly. "I swear it, Captain Thorne. Aubrey thinks I'm making it up because I changed my mind about going with him to Boston, but that's not true. Not that I haven't changed my mind, but that I'm not making it up. I wouldn't have noticed him at all if it weren't for the traffic on the wharf. A man with a cart charged in front of me and my mare turned skittish. Other men raised their voices at me, and I became confused. I looked around for someone to come to my aid, and that's when I saw him."

"Severn?" Colin asked. In the face of Sylvia's breathless recitation he found himself oddly calm. His eyes slid to his friend. He saw Aubrey was listening to Sylvia without rushing to judgment this time.

"No," Sylvia said. "My father. I saw him first. I admit I thought I mistook my own eyes, but then I saw Severn and knew that I hadn't."

"Do you remember where along the riverfront you saw them?"

Sylvia closed her eyes and tried to recall her father and Severn in a broader scene. "There was a tavern," she said at last. "The sign hung crookedly from an uneven chain. It was faded. I couldn't make it out." Her brow furrowed with the effort to remember. "There was a warehouse beside it. That's where the carts were coming from." She opened her eyes. "Gaylord's Mercantile." Sylvia regarded Colin hopefully. "It's all I can recall. Is it enough to make you believe me?"

"I believe you," Colin said. He looked at Aubrey. "Do you remember me telling you about Mr. Ashbrook?"

Aubrey nodded. "The tavern owner that Severn paid off."

Colin prompted his memory. "The Imp 'n Ale..."

"...is directly beside the mercantile," Aubrey finished. It lent credence to Sylvia's story. Aubrey was moved to apologize, but when he looked in her direction she was holding up her hand, palm out.

"You may as well speak to my hand, Mr. Jones, for all the good it's going to do for you to apologize." She turned her head away from Aubrey and gave Colin her full attention. "I'm glad to find you here and all of one piece," she said. "I believed you were the one most likely in danger. I had such a strong sense of it when I saw them together. Though why that should be, I don't know. They were in deep conversation as they walked along, but that can hardly be called sinister. My first thought was to find Aubrey and return to the Park to warn you."

Sylvia continued softly, more to herself than her companions. "Do you know I didn't feel a moment's joy knowing he was alive? There was no comfort in it. Only fear." It distressed her now to think on it and she addressed Colin. "I want to go back to the Park," she said. "I want to be with Mercedes and Chloe and the twins. They'll have to be told. I suspect they will feel much as I do."

Colin nodded. "Go on, Sylvia," he said. "Aubrey and I will catch up."

"I take it you mean to talk about things you don't want me to hear."

"That's right."

"Very well," she said. "I appreciate your honesty." Giving her mare a light kick, she moved out of eavesdropping distance.

Aubrey nudged his horse forward. "You think she's telling the truth." It was less a question than a statement.