it was hardly her place.
“Shall I pour?” she offered at last, desperate to commence their discussion. The sooner she cleared up this dreadful misunderstanding the sooner she could fetch the poor girls off that wretched ship.
“If you would be so kind.” Sir Robert gave a curt nod but still made no move to sit.
Jocelyn perched one delicate cup upon its saucer and poured a generous measure of steaming amber tea into it. How pleasant it felt to handle fine china and silver again.
She lifted the sugar tongs. “How many lumps, sir?”
It took some effort to keep from grinning. If she’d had a cudgel in hand back at the wharf, she might have given him a lump or two—though not the sweet kind!
“No, thank you,” said Sir Robert, but he edged closer to the tea table.
“Cream?” Jocelyn lifted the little pitcher. What a luxury it would be to taste cream in her tea again!
With a decisive shake of his head, the governor perched on the farthest chair away from her and reached for his cup. “I prefer my tea plain.”
“Indeed?” Jocelyn poured a cup for herself, then added three good-sized lumps of sugar, followed by a generous dollop of smooth, thick cream. “I like mine as sweet and rich as I can get it, especially after the recent deprivations of our voyage.”
The governor made some vaguely disapproving noise, deep in his throat…or perhaps he only meant to clear it.
He reached toward the tray and lifted the silver cover off a dish. Jocelyn’s mouth watered in anticipation.
“Bread and butter, Mrs. Finch?”
Bread and butter? Was this the best hospitality Nova Scotia could provide? It took every scrap of restraint Jocelyn could summon to keep from dumping the contents of the dish over her host’s head.
Perhaps he sensed her disappointment. “I seldom have guests to tea, especially on such short notice. This frugal fare suits me well enough.”
What he said was true, Jocelyn acknowledged with a pang of shame for her ingratitude. All the same, she would so love to have been offered her favorite walnut tea cake or the red-currant tart for which the kitchens of Breckland Manor were noted.
Sir Robert uncovered the other dish. “Perhaps you would prefer a muffin, instead?”
He pointed to a pair of small china crocks nestled in one corner of the tea tray. “They’re very good spread with apple butter or blueberry jam.”
“Blueberries?”
The governor nodded. “They grow in some profusion hereabouts on low bushes. They’re more purple than blue, as a matter of fact, especially after they’ve been cooked.”
He passed her a napkin. “The things stain like the very devil, but they have a most agreeable flavor.”
There was something rather touching about the governor’s clumsy, earnest attempts at hospitality. Jocelyn’s antagonism began to soften. After the weevily biscuits and thin, rancid stew she’d been forced to eat for the past two weeks, fresh-baked bread with newly churned butter should taste very good indeed.
Taking a thick slice from the plate, she closed her eyes, the better to savor it. Oh, the crisp crust! Mmm, the sweet, wholesome flavor of the butter, so generously spread! Ah, the soft texture of the bread itself!
Suddenly aware of a strained silence, she opened her eyes to find the governor staring at her with a look of mild horror. Oh dear, had she been making all those sounds of enjoyment—the kind she’d sometimes made in bed with her husband?
A fiery blush prickled up her neck to blaze in her cheeks. At the same time, she battled an urge to laugh.
“Please excuse my manners, sir.” Despite her most strenuous efforts to contain it, a chuckle burst out of her. “The bread is very good.”
To stifle any further unseemly levity, Jocelyn took a large bite of muffin. Too large, she realized as her cheeks bulged.
Of course, the governor would choose that moment, when her mouth was so full she could scarcely chew, let alone speak, to say, “Then let us turn to the matter at hand, shall we?”
Jocelyn could only nod and pray she would not choke.
The governor fortified himself with a sip of tea. “Our conversation on the wharf left me rather…confused. You mentioned a letter that was meant to precede you. I received no such message. Perhaps you would be so good as to explain your purpose in coming to Halifax and who sent you?”
Jocelyn worried down her mouthful of muffin and seized upon his last question to answer first. “I have been sent by Mrs. Dorothea Beamish. Perhaps you have heard of her?”
Recognition flickered in the governor’s cool, blue eyes. Her vast wealth and forceful personality had made Mrs. Beamish widely known.
“I have a second letter of introduction from her,” Jocelyn hastened to add. “Alas, in all the confusion, I left it behind on the ship. I would be happy to retrieve it and present it to you at your earliest convenience.”
Despite the mention of her sponsor, Sir Robert did not look anxious for a second interview. “And what business has Mrs. Beamish in sending a boatload of young women to my colony?”
Had he not heard a word she’d said down on the wharf? Or had he been too busy jumping to his own offensive conclusions to listen?
The words of her former governess ran through Jocelyn’s head. “Remember, my dear, you’ll catch more flies with sugar than with vinegar.” That was all very well, but Sir Robert Kerr did not appear partial to sweets!
“You may have heard of the projects Mrs. Beamish has undertaken to prevent young women who find themselves without friends or resources from sinking into lives of vice?”
The governor nodded. “Commendable work.” More to himself than to Jocelyn, he muttered, “I could use someone like her in this blighted town.”
At last, a scrap of encouragement! Jocelyn seized upon it as eagerly as she had consumed the food. “I am heartened to hear you are in sympathy with our aims, Your Excellency! Mrs. Beamish has established a number of useful institutions for such unfortunate young women back in England. Alas, the need is beginning to outstrip even her resources.”
Jocelyn warmed to a subject dear to her heart. “You may not realize, sir, that the late war robbed many of our country’s young women of the men who would have wed and provided for them.”
The governor’s brow furrowed as he sipped his tea. Clearly he had not given any thought to the plight of his country’s women, and the price they continued to pay for Napoleon’s defeat.
“It occurred to Mrs. Beamish that while there is a shortage of eligible men in Britain, there is an equal shortage of eligible women in the colonies. To that end, she has sponsored a bride ship to Nova Scotia. It is my responsibility to chaperone these young women and find suitable husbands for them before I return to London in the fall. If the project is successful, I may bring more brides to the colony next spring, and the scheme might be expanded to other British territories abroad.”
She stopped to catch her breath, and to encourage some response from the governor, who had been listening to her with grave, silent concentration.
He did not speak right away when she gave him the opportunity. Instead, he drained the last of his tea, then set the empty cup back upon the tray, his features creased in a thoughtful frown. His hesitation troubled Jocelyn. Surely, despite the inauspicious start to their acquaintance, he must see the mutual benefits of this venture?
At last the governor broke his silence. “So it is your intention to spend the summer wedding these young women off to the men of my colony?”
“Indeed it is, sir. To provide the bachelors of Nova Scotia with companions and helpmates, while offering my