Page 9 of Miss Wylde and the Wynd

“If you are Italian, from Carrara, and I assume your family is there as well, why did you need to come to Southampton?”

*

How much should she tell him? It was not as if he could be of any assistance, and she really could not waste any more time answering Mr. Damian Wynd’s questions.

“What restitution do I need to make for not paying for passage on your ship?” She had funds, though she hated to part with any because she did not know how long her search would take and what she would need to pay for along the way. And then she would need to purchase passage home.

“I am not certain as we are not a passenger ship, but a friend recently returned from America, which cost him fourteen pounds.”

While Georgie had managed to bring that much with her, it was also most of her funds.

“We could calculate, I suppose,” Damian suggested. “By dividing the fourteen pounds over the sixty days that it took to cross the Atlantic, then multiplying that amount by twenty-one, the number of days you were on my ship, you would owe Trade Wynd…four pounds.”

Georgie frowned as she did the calculations mentally. “It would be more,” she answered.

“Yes, well, you were not in a cabin, nor did you take meals, other than when you stole from the galley, therefore, it would not be fair to charge you the same as a passenger ship where you were guaranteed more comfortable quarters. In fact, given you slept behind marble slabs, two pounds might be more accurate.”

She could pay two pounds, three even, especially if it allowed her to finally leave. Therefore, she opened her purse and produced the funds.

“I did not say that I would take payment. We were simply discussing what the cost should be.”

“Then there is no reason why I cannot leave.” Georgie stood.

“That will be decided when you answer why you felt the need to stowaway.”

“Why does it matter?” She nearly cried with exasperation.

“Because it was my ship and I am still not certain what I am going to do with you.”

“It is not your ship,” she returned. “It is owned by the Earl of Wyndham, and you are not him.”

Humor lit in his blue eyes.

“How do you know that I am not Wyndham?”

“Because I have met him.”

At that statement, Damian leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Exactly when did you meet the Earl of Wyndham?”

“When he came to Carrara to visit the owners of the marble mines last year. I served him tea and bread and sometimes a small repast at Accetta Panetteria.”

“Is that a café or coffee house?”

“I suppose you would likely refer to it as a bakery. Most people visit in the mornings for their bread to take home for meals, but we also have tables to serve customers, which includes sandwiches in the early afternoon before we close.”

“I assume that was your place of employment, where you supposedly met the earl, before you decided to stow away on a Trade Wynd ship.” He cocked his head and studied her as he leaned forward. “Is that the reason you traveled to Southampton? Is your interest in the Earl of Wyndham?”

“Of course not!” Did women often show up at Trade Wynd looking for the earl? Why else would he make such an inquiry? “Unless the gentleman I spoke with and served was impersonating the earl, you are not him.”

“I am certain that it was Wyndham.” Damian shook his head and sighed as he once again relaxed back in his chair.

Why did he believe her now? Did the Earl of Wyndham have a known fondness for bread outside of when he had visited them?

“While my older brother may own Trade Wynd, I am the one who runs and operates it. Therefore, all decisions fall to me, including whether you are to be punished, made to pay for passage, or put on a ship and taken back to Italy.”

“I am happy to pay!” she reminded him.

“That decision will be made when you tell me what was so urgent that you snuck aboard one of our ships instead of waiting to book passage.”