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What was this, then? “Who is it?”
His first officer shrugged. “A Miss Cowan.” He gestured toward the side of the schooner and then pointed downward. “She’s not best pleased, and from the looks of things, she’ll come up the gangplank in two minutes.”
Why did the name ring alarm bells in his head? Bartholomew peered at the woman in question. He couldn’t see much, for she wore a straw bonnet decorated with navy silk flowers and matching satin ribbons that tied beneath her chin. The ever-present breeze that blew in off the water ruffled the hem of her plain navy skirts, and the black cloak engulfed her form. From his vantage point, there was nothing to recommend her, and he certainly couldn’t see her face.
“What does she want?” Never had he invited a female onboard his ship… except once, and that evening proved a disaster. That particular woman had decided to tell him she’d thrown him over for a man with a title, thereby breaking their engagement.
The wounds from that conversation had gone deep into his heart and had taken up roots. From that moment on, he hadn’t trusted another.
His first officer shrugged. “Something about missing bolts of silk. She’s quite adamant she has them back.”
He stifled the urge to curse, for Luke was watching. “Very well. Escort her up to my cabin. After that, I’m off.” Damn fool woman. None of them could be trusted.
“Will do, Captain.”
“Thank you.” He sighed with a nod. “I hope you’ll come ‘round while in London.” Outside of his shipmates, he didn’t have many close acquaintances. His first mate was as much of a best friend as he’d ever had.
“Of course. What would Christmastide be without sharing a glass of spirits with you?” Then Mr. Farmington left the ship while he returned to his cabin with Luke in tow.
Bartholomew glanced at the boy. Responsibility for his upbringing weighed heavily on his shoulders. “Take your bag and wait outside. We’ll depart directly.”
“Yes, sir.” Luke took hold of his sack and slunk from the room. He plopped himself on the deck to one side of the double doors.
Having no idea what the unexpected visitor wanted outside of quibbling, Bartholomew rested a hip against the edge of the square table he’d used as a desk and a place where he’d consulted maps and charts. He didn’t wait long, for soon enough Miss Cowan was shown onto the ship.
“Hello there, young man. Do you know where the captain of this ship is?” Her words, softly couched in a melodious voice, gave Bartholomew pause.
“Cap’s inside.” In his mind’s eye, he saw Luke hook a thumb over his shoulder. No doubt he’d also given the woman an incredulous look for the sole purpose of her not being familiar with a ship or how it worked… or of him not having set eyes on a woman since he’d been aboard.
At least she’d acknowledged the boy. Most would have overlooked him.
“Thank you, and Christmastide blessings to you.” She swept inside the cabin. Then she rested her gaze upon him, and there was lightning brewing in those dark brown eyes. “Are you the captain?”
“I am. What is your business with me?” If his words were gruffer than he’d intended, he couldn’t help it. He should have been well on his way home. To punctuate that fact, his stomach let out a loud growl.
“I see.” Both her eyebrows soared. Now that she was closer, he spied blonde curls on her forehead beneath the bonnet’s brim as well as those same-colored baby fine wisps at her nape. “And a good afternoon to you too.” She pulled a couple pieces of paper from her reticule. “I’m the daughter of Mr. Paul Cowan, of Cowan Imports, and I’m here because I’ve found a discrepancy on my invoice. What I ordered and what I received are two different things.” Her forthright tone took him aback as did her shaking the papers.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” He crossed his arms at his chest and stared.
“What’s not to understand? I was promised twenty bolts of silk from the inventory in your hold. I received none of them, so I’d like the fabric. Now.”
“All my cargo has been offloaded.”
“Where? Have you sent it on?” Something akin to panic threaded through her formerly dulcet tones. “Or is it in a warehouse?”
“How should I know, Miss Cowan? My responsibility was bringing the ship home. Once here, other men are assigned those tasks.”
“That’s not good enough.” Again, she shook the paperwork. “I have vendors waiting on that silk. It’s my livelihood and theirs, for customers are waiting on gowns from that silk.”
“Yes, yes, I understand how commerce works.” An immediate loathing for the harridan set up in his chest. “May I?” Grudgingly, he held out a hand for her papers.
“Of course.” She gave them over and then stood glaring at him with her arms crossed beneath a modest bosom and her pert chin tilted at a stubborn angle. The folds of her cloak settled around her, but he had a glimpse of a rounded hip. What would she look like without the shielding fabric? “I demand satisfaction, Captain.”
I’ll wager my paycheck you’ve never been satisfied, both in bed or out of it.
Where the devil had that thought come from? That was hardly the context at issue now. He frowned as he studied the tidy list of items on the shipping manifest she’d apparently ordered. Twenty bolts of Chinese silk were listed in a bold hand. Then he transferred his attention to the invoice. That list included the items she’d been billed for and had received. The bolts of silk were not on the invoice, and neither had she been charged for them.
“I’m terribly sorry, ma’am but it seems the fabric in question wasn’t put on my ship.” Things like this occurred regularly.
