Page 7 of What the Heart Knows

Kit furrowed his brow. “True. I’d not thought of settling so close to the sea, but exploring the idea doesn’t mean I must commit to it. Logically, I’d make inquiries about any location I’d consider as a home.”

“Excellent idea, Georgie.” Father slapped son on the back.

“’Tis still morning, we might as well start now.” Kit looked at George. “Where do you suggest I begin?”

“Mr. Beuth’s shop I think.”

Kit cast a glance out the window then stood. “The rain seems to be letting up.”

“Nonetheless, Captain, I’ll fetch your things.” George hurried off.

“Brewster, will you join us?”

“Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Copefort. However, I’m behind in my duties and had best remain here. Else, I’ll never hear the end of it from Mrs. Brewster.”

As they crossed the street, Kit noted the worn but clean condition of the buildings that bordered the road. His thoughts drifted to a pair of gold-dusted blue eyes. Could a woman of Miss Fenneman’s standing be an active part of a smuggling gang? Perhaps she was simply an observer, kept silent by loyalty to a relative who didn’t deserve it.

Chapter Three

Fenwick on Sea, Suffolk, That same morning

Meg perused the bolts of fine cloth on offer in the shop. At present, the owner, Mr. Alfred Beuth, was in his storeroom searching out his newest trims for her perusal.

Most of the cloth was of sturdy, practical wool or cotton. However, Beuth always stocked a few bolts of higher quality fabrics and lace. She was in search of material and trim to replace the curtains in Father’s office. He complained of how inadequate those draperies were and ordered her to purchase materials for better.

Relieved that his earlier anger had faded to mild surliness, Meg had rushed to comply before he could change his mind and send a servant.

Her hand hovered between a bolt of dark blue velvet and a brighter green taffeta. Behind her, the bell over the shop door jingled.

“The shop’s small, but it serves the needs of local folk well enough.”

Meg recognized George Brewster’s enthusiastic tenor.

“Do you think he’ll share any information about local smuggling?”

That mellow voice could only belong to the gentleman from yesterday’s encounter in the Queen’s Barque. At that time, the dulcet tones had stroked over her, and she’d been unable to forget the feeling. What was his interest in illegal trade?

She lived in Fenwick and thus was aware of the smuggling. This man didn’t reside nearby, nor had he any apparent reason to make inquiries.

“Perhaps not today,” George said. “Might be best just to let him become used to you. Fenwickians can be prickly.”

“I’d not call your father prickly.”

“Da’s a bit of an exception. He believes strangers are more comfortable if treated like friends. A comfortable customer’s more likely to return or tell others of the pleasures of the Queen’s Barque.”

“Your father’s cannier than he pretends to be.”

“’Tis all a piece of what he calls first-class service.”

Uncomfortably aware she’d been eavesdropping, Meg selected the bolt of blue velvet and one of creamy lace. Marching to the counter, she set down her items then turned slightly. “Gentlemen.” She gave a small nod. “I pray your morning’s been pleasant?”

“Good morning, Miss Fenneman. “’Tis a pleasant enough day now the rain’s ceased.” George replied.

“Indeed,” she smiled at the stranger. “Thank you again for your assistance, Mr…?”

“Allow me to introduce to you Mr. Christian Copefort, Miss Fenneman,” George said. “Mr. Copefort, may I present Miss Margaret Fenneman?”

“A pleasure to meet you, sir.” She stroked her palms across the velvet, the plush, dense texture much like the sensation she felt on hearing Copefort speak. “I’d no opportunity yesterday to ask what brought you to Fenwick on Sea?”