The Ransom by MaryLu Tyndall

Skirting the desk, she lowered into the chair and studied him, trying to guess the cause of his distress. “Your great success last week in dealing with the incoming shipment gave me hope we can continue our charade and make Dutton Shipping more lucrative than ever. But here you are looking as dour as a goose before the slaughter.”
    “Yes, good news, indeed, about the shipment. I astounded even myself. I grow more comfortable in my role and become more accepted down at the wharves.”
    “But …?” She examined him. She’d known him too long to not notice the hesitation hovering around his mouth, the distress in his eyes.
    “It may be nothing. Perchance I can put him off.”
    Juliana groaned inwardly. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know to whom he referred, yet she found herself asking the question anyway.
    “Mr. Wilhelm Edwards.”
    “Mr. Edwards, yes. He’s a friend of my father’s. Runs a merchant fleet from Dover to Barbados.”
    “The same. He oft comes to town to see a mistress he keeps here. One time when he saw the Esther’s Dowry at the dock, he asked the shipmaster where to find your father. The man directed him to me. He told me many times to say hello to your father and asked to see him. On one occasion, he insisted on traveling home with me. I’ve been able to put him off with various excuses, but I fear the next time he sails into Port Royal, I will be out of excuses.”
    Did a cloud absorb the sun, or did the room suddenly become gloomier? Juliana closed her eyes. She knew Mr. Edwards. He and her father had been childhood friends in Bristol. He would not relent until he saw his old friend. And once he did, he was not the type of man to keep a secret. Even worse, he would never approve of a woman running a business.
    She rubbed her temples, where a headache began to form. “What else can go wrong, Abbot? I fear I cannot tolerate any more bad tidings.”
    Miss Ellie entered the study, carrying a tray of tea and cakes and set it on the desk. “Here you go, miss. Oh, you do look tired. Poor dear. Never you fear about Master Rowan. Weel get ’im well soon enough, you’ll see. But ’tis you who must stay well.” She stopped to take a breath and dab the moisture on her neck with a handkerchief. “I must check on your father and Master Rowan. Cook says she’ll ’ave dinner ready soon.”
    Rising, Juliana approached the flustered maid. “Thank you, Ellie, for all that you do. Mayhap you should get some rest as well.”
    “Naw, miss.” She waved her away. “If you aren’t restin’ then I’m not restin’.” And with that pronouncement, she hurried from the room.
    “An’ I ’ave,” Mr. Abbot began, “I mean to say, I have business down at the docks. I’ll return before sundown.”
    Juliana smiled. “I’m so proud of you, Abbot.”
    He halted midstride to say, “It is you we are all proud of, miss,” before he marched from the room.
    Proud of her ? She shook her head and poured herself some tea. Plunking broken bits of sugar into the steaming liquid, followed by a dollop of cream, she stirred and watched the steaming tea spin round and round. Like her life was doing. Like her head was doing at the moment. She raised a hand to steady it, when she saw a post on the tray with her name written in stylish letters. In all the mayhem, Ellie must have forgotten to mention it. On the back, a red seal bearing a single initial M stared back at her as she broke it and opened the missive.
    My coach will arrive at eight p . m . this Saturday to escort you to our betrothal gala.
    Forever yours, Munthrope
    Fie! She’d nearly forgotten about the ball on the morrow. She tossed the note to the desk. With all that was going on, the last thing she needed were the attentions of some jingle-brained fop. Yet how could she bow out now with the invitations already sent and the celebration already planned? She simply must speak with Lord Munthrope before the announcement, give her regrets, but tell him she