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Miss Cowan snatched the papers from his hand. “That is unacceptable.” She threw a glance about the cabin. How did it appear through her eyes? Outside of a bunk, a bureau, the aforementioned table, and a few shelves, there was an Oriental carpet on the floor and navy draperies at the windows. He’d needed nothing else. Were the accommodations Spartan to her? For that matter, why the deuce did he care? “I specially ordered that silk. It’s the Christmastide season and my vendors are counting on that cloth for last minute gowns.” A hint of despair had entered her tones, but why?
“I do apologize, but if the items in question were never put in my hold, there’s nothing I can do about it.” Something about the desolation in her rich eyes spurred him into action. He shoved off from the table to cross the room. “Let me check the manifest of everything we took on in the last six months.”
“Thank you.”
Conscious of her gaze on his back, Bartholomew yanked open a slim drawer in the bureau. Though all his personal effects had been removed, documents essential to running the schooner remained, for the next captain would wish to familiarize himself with prior voyages. After rifling through various sheafs of paper, he withdrew a few pages. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Slowly turning about, he scanned the entries made in a heavy hand, the ink slashes confident and never wavering on the paper. “There is no mention of the Daedalus taking on silk of any sort from any of the ports we’ve visited in the last six months.”
“What?” She shook her head. “That’s impossible.”
“It happens more than you’d like to think, Miss Cowan.” Bartholomew double-checked his inventory list of everything that went into the hold, and then cross referenced it with everything that went out of the hold upon arriving in London. “There is no silk here. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” Well, damn. Not only had the order of the annoyed woman in his cabin gone missing, but the offices of the Regent had requested at least fifty bolts of silk as well. Someone would need to tell the royal of the misstep.
I’m sure it’ll bloody well be me, since I was the captain on that voyage.
“You’re sorry?” Incredulity rang in her voice. “You’re sorry?” Shock joined the panic in her expression. “My business will be ruined after this. I relied on this shipment, and with one fell swoop of your incompetence, you’ve destroyed all credibility I might have had.” Tears gathered in her eyes, and Bartholomew quickly turned away to replace the paperwork. “It’s difficult enough going about this on my own, but knowing I’ve promised things I can no longer fulfil to my vendors?”
“That’s the way of the world, I’m afraid. Some countries aren’t as regimented, and they don’t keep their word like the English.” He shrugged and closed the drawer with a resounding snap before facing her again.
“That doesn’t help me!” Miss Cowan touched a hand to her cheek where a blush was rapidly rising. “The import business is a crowded field. My inability to fulfil orders will be suspect, and because I’m a woman vendors won’t take me seriously.” Anger won the war of emotions flitting through her expression and she advanced upon him. “This is your fault.”
“My fault? How the devil do you figure?” There was already a fair amount of anxiety pulling at knots in his gut, for he’d need to pay a visit to Prinny’s offices in short order. There’d be no chance of tea with his mother now, but it would be a good learning opportunity for Luke. At least there was some redemption in the offing.
She drilled a gloved forefinger into his chest, which wrenched him from his thoughts. “It was your responsibility to take on that shipment. You should have been aware of every movement your crew made and that of the people you’re doing business with. You are quite at fault, and if my business fails because of that incompetence and inattention to duty, I’m laying it at your feet.”
“I think not, madam.” He eased away from the incensed woman and caught a glimpse of Luke’s head as he peeked around the doorframe with wide eyes. With a shrug, Bartholomew glared at the woman. “I am the captain, yes, but those tasks are not my responsibility.” A furrow of guilt plowed through his gut, for he should have overseen every aspect of what happened upon his ship. Perhaps he’d been too complacent over the years.
“From my understanding, as a captain with your word as law on the seas, it should be.” Her chest heaved from the force of her ire. Twin spots of high color stained her ivory cheeks.
He couldn’t deny the accusation, for he had been lax, perhaps resting on his own ego. “It’s as I said, the silk didn’t make it onto the ship. I am now in England. China is thousands of miles away. There is naught I can do about it now.” That same ego wouldn’t let him back down in front of her. “Best explain that to your vendors.”
“My vendors will find other import operations.” Once more, despair mixed with the anger in her brown eyes. “My future is forfeit.”
“If your business fails, it’s a sign of piss poor management, not lack of inventory. The first rule of commerce is to never put all your eggs in one basket, so to speak, but then I didn’t expect a woman to know that.”
Her lower jaw dropped. Shock reflected in her eyes, but he didn’t back down or offer words to soften the blow. Owning a business wasn’t for the faint of heart. And one needed a head for it besides. “How dare you assume to know how I’ve managed my father’s business.”
“What is there to know? If not receiving such a meager shipment of silk will turn your enterprise belly up, you have more problems than this.” He pointed to the door. Luke scuttled away. “Since there is nothing more to say, I’ll bid you good day, madam. Please do not think to darken my decks again. Our business is done.”
“Of course I’ll go, for why would I want to continue tarrying with such a horrible, beastly man such as yourself?” The glare she shot him could have flayed him alive had she wielded a cat o’ nine tails. “I hope you’ll think long and hard about the uncaring man you’ve become, Captain, for during this season of goodwill, you might just get a comeuppance.”
Then she swept out of the cabin, lifting her skirting a smidge as if she couldn’t bear to have her clothing touch any point of his decking. But at least it gave him a quick glimpse of a slender calf clad in ugly black stockings above rather worn black leather half-boots.
In the silence that followed, Bartholomew rubbed a hand along the side of his face. If he ever encountered another female in his life, it would be too soon. They brought nothing but strife and misery with them, and he wanted absolutely no part.
Especially that harpy.
Good riddance.
