Page 15 of When You Rescued Me

“True. But then, neither am I.”

The magistrate appeared to ponder that thought. Samuel waited, his heart pounding.

“Very well,” Sir John said, rising to his feet. All three men instantly followed suit. “I shall take you on on a trial basis. You will work as an assistant to Jealous.”

Samuel’s hopes, which had soared moments before, came crashing down. “With Jealous, m’ lord?”

“Yes. He knows what needs to be done and can offer you the training you need.”

“What of Ross’s hearing impairment, m’ lord?” Jealous had yet to meet Samuel’s eyes, but his stiffened shoulders spoke volumes.

“As you said yourself, it seems to be of little consequence.” Sir John reached for his cane and took a step away from the table. “And in case it had escaped your notice, your magistrate is completely blind and seems to manage the job adequately enough.”

Jealous grimaced and ran his hand across the back of his neck. “More than adequately, m’lord.”

“I am glad you think so,” Sir John said, and then with a low chuckle, he swished his cane against the floor before him and started for the door.

Chapter 7

I cannot help but think that we were incredibly fortunate that the Arabella made port this month.” Hannah’s father lowered the paper he’d been reading and set it on the table beside his lunch tray. “According to Lloyd’s List, she and the Mimosa are the only merchant ships that have returned from the West Indies since July.”

Hannah looked up from the accounts she’d been reviewing. “Truly? Is there any word on the delayed ships?”

“Not that I am aware of.” He shook his head grimly. “Problems obtaining cargo, storms at sea, pirates, the war raging off America’s shores. There are any number of hazards that could have befallen them.”

“Which ships are overdue?”

“The Fortitude, the Iris, and the Kingston. The Leda is expected early next week.”

Hannah frowned. Thanks to her father, she was acquainted with the owners of all those vessels. “I pray they will each arrive soon and with no casualties.”

“As do I,” her father said. “But in the meantime, we may need to ration the sugar, rum, and molasses that we sell to anxious buyers.”

Hannah slid the ledger she’d been studying closer to her father. “This is a full list of the purchase orders we’ve already received. Do you wish me to make any adjustments?”

Her father accepted the book with a sigh. “What am I to do with you, Hannah? If your mother were still with us, she would scold me unmercifully for allowing you to devote so much of your time to my business dealings. Am I being utterly selfish or overly permissive? You should undoubtedly be spending your time taking tea with other young ladies and enjoying more feminine pursuits.”

“You know full well that I would be bored to death sitting in the parlor, enduring a conversation about recent dinner parties or the latest fashion faux pas.” She rose and placed a soft kiss on the top of his head. “I shall be eternally grateful that you have taught me so much about international commerce and that you have permitted me to be so involved in your business dealings.”

The concern had yet to leave his face. “I am not sure that I am doing you any service.”

According to conventions of the day, that was probably true. But most of the time, Hannah would rather be labeled a bluestocking than abandon her passion for buying and selling. Occasionally, however—especially after a social gathering of some sort—the reality of her situation would set in. The likelihood that she would find a gentleman who would not only accept her unladylike interests but also encourage them was slim to nonexistent. At some point in the not-too-distant future, she would be forced to choose between her dream of having a loving husband and children and her aspirations to be a woman of business.

“I love working with you, Father,” she said, returning to her chair. “And I intend to ensure that none of your business interests suffer while you are recuperating.”

“Thank you, my dear. In truth, I do not know what I would have done without you these last few weeks.”

She smiled, but before they could resume speaking of purchase orders, a knock sounded on the door to her father’s study.

“Come!” he called.

Their butler, Romford, entered. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said. “Mr. Cantrell is here to see you.”

“Send him in,” Hannah’s father said.

“Very good, sir.”

Romford disappeared, and Hannah came to her feet. Seconds later, Mr. Cantrell entered.