Chapter Three

It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy; it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others.

—JANE AUSTEN, SENSE AND SENSIBILITY

Flynn shoved Daisy’s shoe in his coat pocket and swiftly climbed the rope ladder. Captain McKenzie was waiting to greet him, along with what looked like the entire ship’s crew neatly lined up.

Mrs. McKenzie—Mai-Lin—was also on deck, talking to Daisy who was shaking out her skirts, straightening her bonnet, and trying to look like she traveled by sling all the time. He repressed a grin. She was a game little thing.

“Captain Flynn, welcome aboard,” McKenzie said with a salute that carried an echo of the royal navy, where he’d served for many years. The seamen lined up on the deck snapped to attention as well. It might be a privately owned trader, but McKenzie ran it with military efficiency.

Flynn felt a ripple of pride at the sight. This was his ship, one of many. He inclined his head to the assembled crew and McKenzie dismissed them to go about their work.

“McKenzie, Mai-Lin. You look ravishing, as always, Mai-Lin.”

Flynn turned to Daisy, a small red leather slipper adorned with a jaunty red and white rosette dangling from one finger. “Need help putting it on?” he said with a grin.

Daisy grabbed it, blushing furiously, and while Flynn bowed over Mai-Lin’s gloved hand, she shoved her shoe back on.

“This is Miss Daisy Chance, Max’s sister-in-law,” Flynn said when she straightened.

The polite smiles of welcome on McKenzie’s and Mai-Lin’s faces instantly warmed. “Max’s sister-in-law,” Mai-Lin exclaimed delightedly. “We heard a rumor he’d married.”

“Come to think of it she’s also the sister-in-law of our silent partner, Hyphen-Hyphen.” Flynn added with a mock apologetic look at Daisy, “I mean, of course, the honorable Frederick Monkton-Coombes.”

“Welcome aboard the Derry Lass, Miss Chance,” McKenzie said.

“I’m delighted to meet you,” Mai-Lin added warmly. “You cannot imagine how good it is to meet another woman after months at sea with only men to talk to.”

“Miss Chance has an interest in some of our cargo,” Flynn told them. “She’s a dressmaker.”

“Oh.” Mai-Lin eyed Daisy’s dress with interest. “Did you make that?”

Daisy nodded, unable to keep the pride from her voice. “Dress and pelisse.”

“They’re both lovely—so elegant.” Mai-Lin gave a rueful laugh. “I have no skills with a needle at all, unless it’s to sew up a gash or a wound. But where are my manners—come along to the day cabin and we’ll have tea.”

“It’s not a social call, Mai-Lin—” Flynn began.

“Tea,” Daisy said firmly, “would be delightful, Mrs. McKenzie.”

Flynn repressed a smile. Lady Beatrice to a T, only with a cockney accent.

The two ladies linked arms and headed for the captain’s cabin. McKenzie gave Flynn a rueful look. “Sorry, sir. Mai-Lin’s been pining for female company. Six months as the only woman on board . . .”

Flynn shook his head. “No matter.” It was Daisy’s time he’d been thinking about, not his. These days he didn’t have near enough to keep him busy.

McKenzie said, “Shall we go through the inventory while the ladies do whatever ladies do over tea and biscuits? If you tell me the kind of thing Miss Chance is interested in, I’ll have the lads bring it up. No doubt Mai-Lin will have a few things to show you as well.”

“I’m countin’ on it,” Flynn said. The two men went below decks.

*   *   *

An hour later Flynn had finished his examination of the accounts and of the inventory. Another excellent result. The profit on this shipment would be good—they wouldn’t know the final result until the goods had been sold on, but he was very pleased.

“Right then, shall we join the ladies?” McKenzie asked. “And I’ll tell the lads what to bring up for Miss Chance, shall I?”

“Best wait and let her tell them direct,” Flynn said.

But when they approached the day cabin, it was obvious the process had already begun. The large central table that would seat a dozen men but was usually covered in maps and sea charts was piled high with colorful fabrics and embroideries. The two women were chattering nineteen to the dozen while several seamen stood by with resigned expressions, laden with rolls and folded lengths of fabric. Seeing Flynn and the captain, they straightened.

The ladies merely glanced up at the arrival of the men, then returned to poring over fabrics. Mai-Lin held up a bolt of glittering silver-embroidered green gauze for Daisy’s inspection.

Daisy looked for all the world like a woman who’d wasted her time coming to the ship, that there was little of interest for her here. She fingered the delicate fabric, and draped it this way and that, all the time with a pained expression, then sighed and made a careless gesture, indicating the bolt should be added to the pile on the table. “I s’pose it’ll do. Are you sure you ain’t got anything better to show me, Mai-Lin?”

Mai-Lin turned away to tell one of the seamen to bring forward the blue silk next and in that moment Flynn glimpsed a fleeting expression of glee on Daisy’s face as she surreptitiously stroked the green gauze, then turned back, ready to be bored with indifferent blue silk.

In a dramatic movement, Mai-Lin unrolled the first few yards of shimmering silk for Daisy’s perusal, saying, “You will find no finer than this anywhere in the world—see how from one angle the color is the purest turquoise, and yet when you move it, in the folds it shimmers the palest gold. It would make a superb ball dress, would it not?”

Daisy’s eyes gleamed, but she managed a seen-it-all-before kind of sigh.

“But perhaps, being English, you have little experience with true Oriental quality,” Mai-Lin said sweetly.

“Mai-Lin you mustn’t—” McKenzie began, but Flynn laid a hand on his arm, and shook his head. “Let’s leave them to it,” he murmured.

“But Mai-Lin—”

“Might just have met her equal. Shall we step outside and blow a cloud?”

As the men left the day cabin, Daisy was heard to say, “I s’pose I might be able to find some use for this bit of stuff.”

Flynn smiled to himself. The haggling had already begun.

While the two men leaned peacefully against the rail, sampling a cigar from the selection McKenzie had acquired, the sound of battle could be heard drifting up from the day cabin.

“A guinea a yard for that? Do you think I come down in the last shower, Mai-Lin?

“Such ignorance of the quality of silk . . .”

McKenzie looked horrified, but Flynn chuckled softly. “Kindred spirits, they are, McKenzie, take my word for it.”

*   *   *

Finally it was time to leave. The large parcel of fabrics was carried out by two seamen and carefully lowered into the small boat under Daisy’s anxious eye. She seemed much more worried about the fabric than her own safety, and allowed herself to be lowered in the sling and rowed back to shore with a minimum of fuss—though she sat as stiffly as ever on the boat. This time, however, she didn’t clutch the side of the boat, but the string handle attached to the parcel.

Flynn wondered which she’d expect him to save first in the event of a capsizing—herself or her precious parcel. He opened his mouth to share the observation with her, eyed her grim expression, and changed his mind. She was in no mood for jokes.

Once safely on shore however, Daisy turned to Flynn, her eyes glowing with excitement. “I got to thank you, Flynn,” she said earnestly as he carried the huge parcel toward the waiting carriage. “I never dreamed of such gorgeous fabrics. I never seen anything like those ones that have two colors, depending on what angle you’re lookin’ at them. And some of that embroidery—it’d take me months—and it’s so beautiful.”

“Pleased with your acquisitions, are you, then?” Flynn asked as he packed the precious parcel into the carriage and held out his hand to help her up the steps.

“My bloomin’ oath I am!” she said fervently.

As usual she pretended not to see his hand, but climbed in unassisted. He didn’t know whether she just didn’t like being touched, or whether it was because she didn’t like any hint that she might need help climbing up, bad leg notwithstanding.

“That Mai-Lin is nice, ain’t she?”

Flynn said dryly, “From the sounds of your bargaining, you were enemies sworn.”

Daisy laughed. “Did you hear some of the things she said to me? Proper disdainful she was, callin’ me ignorant, and unsophisticated and actin’ like I didn’t know nothing about the quality of good she was showin’ me—Lady Bea couldn’t’ve sounded more hoity-toity. Yeah, she can bargain like a proper little fishwife, can Mai-Lin.” She grinned at Flynn. “But then, so can I!”

He chuckled. “I told McKenzie you were kindred spirits.”

“Yeah, I liked her. She’s going to look out for more materials for me on her next trip. Buttons and trimmings, too. We had a right good natter. I’m goin’ to make her a dress and pelisse as well and she reckons she can get me some special embroideries.”

But as the carriage rumbled through the busy London streets Daisy’s bright spirits suddenly dimmed. She stared out of the window, chewing thoughtfully on her lip. The worried expression seemed to deepen the closer they came to Berkeley Square.

“Something bothering you, Daisy?” Flynn asked after a while.

For a few moments he wondered if she’d even heard him but, “I think I might have gotten a bit carried away,” she said with a guilty look.

“What do you mean?”

“I was so excited by all them beautiful materials, I reckon it went to me head.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I can’t afford them, Flynn, and that’s the truth. I can afford maybe about a quarter of what I’ve got there—if that.” She nodded toward the parcel sitting on the seat opposite.

“Afford it?” Flynn exclaimed in surprise. “But you don’t have to pay a penny. It’s all taken care of.”

She stiffened. “‘All taken care of’? What do you mean? I’m not a charity case, you know, I’m—”

“Calm down, firebrand—nobody’s callin’ you a charity case. Didn’t Max tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“That it’s all paid for—now don’t jump down me throat,” he said when she opened her mouth to argue. “Just let me finish—and then, if you don’t like it, take it up with Abby and Damaris.”

“Abby and Damaris? What’s it got to do with them?”

He shrugged. “You’re makin’ clothes for them and Jane, aren’t you? I suppose they want to make sure you have the right materials—and before you bite my nose off again, it’s not going to cost either of them a penny, either—nor me. It’ll all come out of Max and Freddy’s share.”

She glared at him, unconvinced. “So you’re not paying for me?”

“Not a penny. Ask them, if you don’t believe me. It’s nothin’ to do with me—I’m just your escort. Max and I arranged it all last night, when we heard the Derry Lass had been sighted. Mai-Lin is famous for finding extra special things.”

She didn’t look happy—pride was a strange and unpredictable thing—but he could see her turning over the idea in her mind. And then something else occurred to her. “But all that bargaining I did with Mai–Lin.”

“You enjoyed it, didn’t you? And so did she.”

“But I bargained her prices down so low—oh, gawd, she’ll think I’m a right royal skinflint.”

Flynn stared at her a moment—who the hell would ever understand women? First she was crowing at getting the better of Mai-Lin in a bargain, now she was all guilty over that same bargain. He began to laugh.

Daisy scowled at him. “What’s so bloomin’ funny?”

But Flynn knew better than to explain. He gazed out of the carriage window for a moment, watching the buildings pass by, and then changed the subject. “The day has fined up a treat, now the fog has lifted. Goin’ for a walk in the park this afternoon, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Not even to look at the fashionable ladies and see what they’re wearin’?”

She shook her head. “Got no time to waste. Too much work to do. Anyway, I’ve seen all the fashions I need to. I make me own styles.”

There was a little pause. Even in the dim light of the carriage Flynn could see how pale and tired-looking Daisy was, now her excitement had passed. He’d noticed it earlier, but he’d put it down to her fear of the water. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes that never used to be there. “Lady Bea said that you never go out with her or the girls anymore.”

“That’s right. I ain’t hunting for a husband. I got no time to waste on such things.”

His brows rose. “You’re not interested in marriage?”

“Nope.”

“Not at all?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?” In Flynn’s experience, every girl wanted a husband.

“Oh, gawd, Flynn, don’t you start.”

He frowned. “Start what?”

“Lady Bea goes on at me all the time about it. Wants to turn me into a lady of leisure.” She snorted.

Flynn couldn’t see the objection. If Daisy were married she wouldn’t be looking so worn out, she wouldn’t be running herself ragged “sewing every hour God sends” for the gentry. And getting up at four in the morning.

“Don’t you want children?” It was the main reason Flynn was intent on marrying; he wanted children most of all. To have a family again.

“Nope.” She gave him a cheeky grin. “Unnatural, ain’t I?”

He wasn’t quite sure what to say, but she went on cheerily, “Never had nuffin’ to do with kids, and babies scare me to death. Always screaming, puking or wetting themselves—and worse! And babies are so little and fragile . . . They die too easy.” She grimaced. “So, no kids for me, thank you very much.”

The carriage rattled over the cobbles. Flynn pondered her words. He’d never met a woman who didn’t want kids—or at least pretend to want them. He wondered if it was to do with her illegitimacy. She’d never made any secret of being born “on the wrong side of the blanket.” “How do you feel about your sisters havin’ children?”

“That’s different. I’ll be just an aunt. Aunts can come and go. They’re not responsible, not stuck with the kid forever.”

“It won’t worry you when Abby or Damaris start increasing?”

“Not a bit.” She gave a soft smile. “Abby was born to be a mother. A baby to Abby would be heaven on a plate—or in a basket. She’ll make a lovely mother, and so will Damaris. And Jane, too, when her time comes. Not me.”

He thought about that for a moment. “So what’s heaven on a plate to you?”

“To me?” She fell silent, then slid him a cautious glance.

“Go on.” He was curious. He’d never met a woman like Daisy.

“Me own shop—one that I own meself—in the best part of town.” She darted another glance at him and, encouraged by his interest, went on in a rush, “I want it to be all elegant and posh, wiv a big bay window and lots of light and velvet curtains and soft rugs on the floor so you can’t even hear yourself walkin’. And inside I’ll have gorgeous big gilt-framed looking glasses so people can look at themselves in beautiful clothes—my beautiful clothes—that I design and make myself, I mean. And they’ll be ladies, real proper toffs, there to buy—”

The carriage hit a pothole and bumped roughly, and she grabbed the seat to steady herself. She glanced at Flynn, suddenly self-conscious. “You probably think it’s stupid, a bit of foolish—”

“I don’t,” he said quietly. “I think it’s a grand dream to have. One day I’ll tell you a story about a boy who stood barefoot on the Dublin docks, gazin’ out to sea, dreaming of havin’ a ship of his own.” He gave her a wry smile. “More than foolish some would say, considerin’ I could barely even feed meself at the time, but—” He glanced outside as the carriage came to a halt. “Here you are back home, so I’ll save that tale for another day.”

He went to hand her down from the carriage but again, she rejected his help. He passed the big parcel of fabrics to William, the footman who’d appeared the moment the carriage had stopped.

Flynn watched as Daisy hurried up the front steps. He knew she was sewing dresses for the other girls, knew she was keen to make money, but until this morning he hadn’t quite realized the scope of her ambition. Her own shop, in the best part of town.

He was glad now that he’d brought Daisy to the ship for the first look at the cargo. Not that he’d ever tell anyone about his private little ritual, but if he ever did, he thought this girl, with her soft voice, her rough accent and her dreaming eyes, might just understand . . . .

She knew what it was to stand in the gutter and look up at the stars.

He climbed into the carriage and gave the driver the address of the Earl of Compton. Time to make a morning call on Lady Elizabeth Compton.

Strictly speaking he was calling on Lord Compton—single gentlemen did not make morning calls on single ladies—but on Flynn’s last two visits, after a few minutes’ conversation in the library—nothing of any consequence—Lord Compton had taken him into the drawing room where his daughter and her chaperone were receiving guests. A few further minutes of conversation, then Lord Compton would make some excuse and depart, leaving Flynn with his daughter and her visitors.

It suited Flynn quite well. There was little chance of any personal conversation, but it was pleasant enough, and he was able to observe how Lady Elizabeth conducted herself in company.

Today there were three gentlemen—two youngish, one elderly—and half a dozen ladies of various ages; mamas and their eligible young daughters, Flynn gathered after Lord Compton had introduced them.

Lady Elizabeth greeted him with cool composure—perfectly friendly, of course, but reserved—and invited him to be seated. She never did show much emotion, but was always perfectly, immaculately polite to him. A perfect lady, in fact. Today she was dressed in pale yellow, her smooth fair hair drawn back in an elegant bun. She wasn’t beautiful, but when she smiled she looked quite pretty.

She didn’t often smile, though. She was in a difficult situation, poor girl—trying to look rich and serene, when Flynn—and probably the whole world—knew Lord Compton was deep in debt. No doubt once she realized Flynn would settle those debts, she’d smile more.

As he’d hoped, he’d arrived just in time for tea to be served. Flynn sat back in his chair, watching with satisfaction as Lady Elizabeth poured tea into dainty china cups and directed her footman to hand around small cakes and biscuits.

She’d served tea to her guests the first time Flynn had visited her home, and as he’d watched the way she poured tea and handed around cups, he was struck by her elegance, her quiet competence as she ruled the tea table, ensuring each person had exactly what he wanted.

Something about the way she did it felt right, somehow. He remembered thinking at the time that it might be a sign.

He drank his tea—China tea, and weak as cat’s p—water—and munched on some biscuits. Few of the ladies addressed him directly, but he gained more than his fair share of sideways looks, some approving, some curious and some downright disapproving. The two young gentlemen eyed him with lightly disguised hostility, and the old gentleman with a shrewdly cynical expression. He was some kind of uncle or cousin, Flynn knew. Probably knew exactly what was going on.

Flynn didn’t give a toss for the opinions of any of them. They discussed the latest opera. He hadn’t seen it. They discussed some poem by a fellow called Byron. Flynn hadn’t read it.

He was bored. These society people thought themselves so sophisticated, but he doubted they’d ever even been out of England. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t marrying them. He finished his tea.

After a polite interval he leaned forward and invited Lady Elizabeth to go for a drive in the park the following day. She accepted. He stood and took his leave, and the conversation died.

In the hallway he paused to take his hat and coat from a footman and he heard the buzz of speculation that followed his departure.

He smiled to himself. Toffs thrived on gossip. The invitation to drive had just confirmed his serious interest in Lady Elizabeth. He could almost hear what they were thinking, if not saying aloud in front of Lady Elizabeth: Whatever was the world coming to when a jumped-up Irishman of no background at all could openly court an English earl’s daughter?

Lord Compton had indicated that Lady Elizabeth would welcome his suit, and that was enough for Flynn.

A few more of these morning visits, a few more park outings, a few more balls and routs and whatever else passed for an acceptable time to court a lady and he’d pop the question.

*   *   *

That evening Flynn joined Max and Freddy for dinner at their club—Whites, in St James Street. The ladies—all except Daisy—were attending some private musical evening; the men were escaping from it, citing business as an excuse.

Flynn was a guest, not a member of the club. Both Max and Freddy had offered to propose him, but Flynn had no intention of applying for membership just yet—at this stage he’d probably be blackballed in the election; all it took was one black ball among all the white balls in the secret ballot and his membership would be refused.

Flynn was too canny to allow that to happen. He’d play the long game—come as Max or Freddy’s guest and let the other members get to know the jumped-up-nouveau-riche-Irishman gradually. And when the time came he’d ask the Earl of Compton to propose him—he’d be the earl’s son-in-law by then, if all went to plan.

A waiter came and took their order, and the talk turned to their latest shipment. The transfer from the ship to their own warehouse had been successfully completed, and their man of affairs, Bartlett, was, according to Max, ecstatic about the potential profits. Bartlett was a minor partner in the company.

Their meals arrived—roast beef and Yorkshire pudding for Max, steak-and-kidney pudding for Flynn, and Dover sole and potatoes duchesse for Freddy. Conversation died as the men turned to the serious business of dinner.

Pudding followed, and then port and brandy were brought out.

“So, Flynn, how is the search for a wife progressing?” Max asked when the waiter had gone. “Anyone take your fancy yet?”

Flynn hesitated. He was a bit superstitious about discussing a deal before it was finalized.

“I might have found someone,” he said cautiously. “I’ll know more in a fortnight.”

“A fortnight?”

“I’ve been invited to visit her home in the country,” he said, deliberately vague.

“Anywhere in particular?”

“Kent.”

Freddy and Max exchanged looks. “Hah! Lizzie Compton—I told you, Max,” Freddy said triumphantly. “Laid a pony on it,” he told Flynn. “Wish I’d laid a monkey, now.”

“Dammit, you’ve been betting on me?”

“Why not?” Freddy added earnestly, “Not a public bet. Not in the club betting book or anything, just a small private wager between friends.”

Flynn shook his head. Twenty-five pounds wasn’t exactly a small bet, but he supposed it was better than five hundred. “Well, I’ll thank you to keep mum about it. I don’t want anyone to know—not your wives, not anyone—until everything is decided.”

He turned to Freddy. “How the devil did you work it out anyway?”

“Not too difficult, given your requirements. And when you said Kent, it clinched it.”

“How? There are dozens of eligible girls in Kent.”

Freddy snorted. “You forget that until recently I was acquainted with every muffin on the marriage mart, know who they are and where they come from and what they want.” He saw Flynn’s expression and added hastily, “Not that I’m saying Lizzie Compton is a muffin, precisely. Very pleasant girl, I’m sure. Pretty enough little thing, but horribly—er, delightfully marriage-minded—which is exactly what you want, is it not, Flynn, dear fellow, so there—all working out perfectly.” He took a large gulp of brandy.

Max leaned forward and said quietly, “I suppose you know that Compton is all but under the hatches. He’ll be looking to you to tow him out of the River Tick.”

Flynn nodded. “I didn’t expect an earl’s daughter to come cheap.” He probably knew more about the earl’s debts than most people; he’d investigated the man’s situation thoroughly before he’d approached him.

It was another reason why he didn’t want to discuss his marriage until it was settled. There were financial details to be hammered out before a final agreement was made between himself and Lord Compton. And the girl to court, of course.

Max frowned slightly, opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it.

Flynn sipped his cognac. Max didn’t approve? Too bad. It was different for Max; he might have been involved in trade along with Flynn, but being a lord, Max’s position in society was assured; he could afford to marry for love—and had.

For someone like Flynn, marriage—especially marriage into a society family—was a business. The earl’s crippling debts were the reason—the only reason—Flynn would be acceptable as a son-in-law.

Flynn had calculated the costs and decided he could afford them—all going to plan. All that was needed then was to propose to the girl. And for her to accept him. Her father had given him no reason to think she would not. “Lizzie knows her duty,” he’d told Flynn.

Flynn didn’t much like being thought of as a duty, but he was a practical man, and Lady Elizabeth Compton would suit his purposes perfectly. He didn’t need hearts and flowers.

Besides, that was her father’s view of things; he had yet to work out Lady Elizabeth’s attitude.

Flynn was optimistic: He’d never had any trouble with women before.