The Countess' Lucky Charm Read Online Free PDF Page B

weeks of decent food wouldn’t fix.
    She wore a dress borrowed from Mrs Featherstone. It hung like a sack from her skinny shoulders and exposed her tatty boots, but its lavender colour enhanced the blue of her eyes.
    An idle thought crossed his mind—what would the London seamstress so favoured by his mother do for his companion? A decent outfit would improve her already appealing looks that much more. He shook his head over the absurd thought. It would never happen so why waste time thinking on it.
    He took another breath in an effort to settle his stomach. Ginger tea, ugh. It reminded him of being spoon-fed the nasty stuff by an unsympathetic nanny, of which there had been a parade throughout his early childhood.
    Simone’s questions, however, had set his mind to churning. Why, in fact, had he decided on a sojourn in the new world? A myriad of reasons, really, starting with his boredom with the superficiality of London society and culminating in a partnership gone awry.
    The partnership with the unsavoury Peter Mortimer-Rae, a well-known fixture in London’s east side, had provided him with a tidy, albeit illegal, source of income.
    However, Mortimer-Rae had not taken kindly to Temple’s sudden decision to leave London; words had been exchanged and an angry Temple had stormed off but not before grabbing the carved teak box inlaid with semi-precious stones sitting on Mortimer-Rae’s desk. The box held gold coins and the deed to a sizeable property in North Yorkshire – in short, Temple’s future as a country squire once things settled down.
    Temple had won it fair and square in a game of cards with Mortimer-Rae but the man had refused to hand it over. It was that, wrapped in oiled cloth, which Simone had stolen.
    Finding her in his trunk had been an unfortunate stroke of luck and, as much as he admired her bravado, he did not relish the idea of her tagging along.
    He gritted his teeth. Of necessity, he would accept her company. To put it plainly, he needed the packet she had stolen from him.
     
    * * *
     
    “I really like the dress,” Simone said shyly once she and Mrs Featherstone were seated at one corner of the ship’s dining table. She knew Temple had told her not to speak but she really wanted to thank the woman for her kindness. She looked down and smoothed her hands over the soft pale lavender wool, trimmed with lace about the collar and cuffs. So finely spun, it felt like silk beneath her calloused fingers. “I ain’t never had one so fine. Thank ye.”
    “You are welcome,” Mrs Featherstone replied absently, her mind on the task before them and not on Simone. As she placed items on the table, she listed them off. “A needle, a thimble, some thread.” She paused. “Now, where did I leave the scissors, they must still be in our cabin. I trimmed the captain’s beard this morning.” She stood up. “I shan’t be a moment.” Without waiting for a reply, she darted out of the room.
    Simone watched her leave. The captain’s wife looked like someone’s granny, plump and grey-haired, her affable face unlined save for a few wrinkles about the eyes and mouth. Hopefully, her temperament matched the pleasant exterior. Simone did not relish informing the woman she did not know how to mend.
    Footsteps pounded down the passage way; someone shouted. Apprehensive, Simone looked to the door. It wouldn’t do for the captain to find her here unaccompanied. It grew silent; she looked out the small row of windows to her left.
    There was not much to see, water then sky, water then sky as the ship challenged the waves. The shifting horizon seemed to taunt her—up, how could she repay Temple, down, she must think of something, up, how to repay Temple, down, she would think of something.
    “Who gave you permission to be in here?” A gravelly voice cut the air. Simone jerked her head around.
    Captain Featherstone stood in the doorway, barring her exit, fists clenching and unclenching. His eyes were narrowed, his