Page 10 of When You Rescued Me

“Nonsense,” Hannah said. “Your paintings lift everyone’s spirits. They have filled our home with color and life—which was especially welcome after Mother’s passing.”

The sudden and unexpected loss of their mother to diphtheria three years previously had left a hole in the family that would never be truly filled. But Sophia’s art had done much to relieve the somber mood and offset the gray and black mourning clothes that had filled the house for over a year.

“I do enjoy sharing my art with the family,” Sophia admitted. “It just does not seem to be of the same practical value as what you are able to do for Father.”

“If it is of any consolation, I daresay you will be able to pursue your interest far longer than I will. No one beyond our immediate family has any idea how involved Father has allowed me to become in his business decisions; no one else would likely tolerate it.” The ache of regret that Hannah experienced whenever she thought on how limited and controlled her life would be if she ever married resurfaced.

“I am sorry, Hannah.” Sophia did not even attempt a reassuring response. They both knew that no matter Hannah’s skill or experience, there was no place in international commerce for a woman. “But you are here now. And I have a sneaking suspicion that Mr. Cantrell’s already-­high opinion of you will only increase when he witnesses your organizational prowess with those delivering Father’s cargo.”

Hannah gave her sister a startled look. “I did not realize Mr. Cantrell held any opinion of me whatsoever.”

“Oh, I know.” Sophia raised her handkerchief to her nose as the carriage pulled to a stop at the edge of the wharf, and the familiar smells seeped into the vehicle. “It is actually quite remarkable that someone who is so observant that she can uncover a missing ha’penny in Father’s accounts cannot recognize whole-scale admiration in a gentleman’s eyes.”

Admiration! What was Sophia talking about? At her father’s request, Hannah had been present the last three or four times Mr. Cantrell had come to the house to discuss business matters with him. At the conclusion of his last visit, she had offered him tea. They had relocated from her father’s study to the parlor, where Sophia and Elinor had joined them. Their conversation had been polite and wholly unremarkable. Not once had Hannah felt that she had been singled out by the gentleman.

“Sophia, I really think you are—”

“I see him,” Sophia cried, effectively cutting off Hannah’s attempted refutation. With one hand yet holding her handkerchief to her nose, Sophia pointed through the carriage window with the other. “Over there. Talking to the man in the blue jacket.”

Hannah turned to look and spotted Mr. Cantrell immediately. Tall and thin, he was dressed in a dark-green jacket and brown breeches. A tricorn hat covered much of his white-wigged head. In contrast, the man standing with his back to the carriage wore white trousers and a double-breasted blue jacket. His dark-brown hair was pulled back into a short queue, and on his head, he wore a round felt hat with an upturned brim.

“A navy seaman,” Hannah said, instinctively scouring the busy waters for a Royal Navy vessel. “I wonder if he is just now coming ashore or is shortly heading out.”

The opening of the carriage door cut short her search of the ships offshore.

“I fear this is as close as I can get, Miss Dennington,” their driver said. “There’s at least three more carriages blocking the way up ahead.”

“This is perfect. Thank you, Prescott.” Hannah accepted his hand to exit the carriage. “I’m afraid I cannot tell you exactly how long we shall be.”

“Not to worry, miss. I’ll be here when you need me.” He waited until she was down before offering his hand to Sophia.

“Thank you, Prescott.” Sophia’s voice was slightly muffled by her handkerchief.

He nodded, closing the carriage door and stepping away as brisk footsteps approached.

“Miss Dennington. Miss Sophia.” Mr. Cantrell bowed to each in turn. “I am glad to see that you are here safely. I had begun to worry.”

Worry? The threat of highwaymen on London’s roads notwithstanding, they were not so late as all that.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting, Mr. Cantrell,” Hannah said. “Have you located the Arabella’s shipmaster?”

“Not yet. I inquired about the Arabella with a passing sailor. He was unfamiliar with the ship’s crew or the whereabouts of the shipmaster, but he claimed that the vessel is riding at anchor beside the HMS Swan.”

Hannah’s attention shifted from the gentleman before her to the one currently walking away. He did not wear the gold lapels of a captain, but his squared shoulders spoke of confidence and authority. An officer perhaps? But why was he alone?

“Is the HMS Swan his ship?” she asked.

“I assume so,” Mr. Cantrell replied. “Though, I confess, I did not ask.”

“Completely understandable,” Sophia said. “Your focus was on learning about the Arabella.”

“Precisely.” He hesitated. “I imagine that if we walk a little farther down the wharf, we may come across someone else who could help us.”

“Of course,” Hannah said. “And I am well acquainted with the wharf clerk, Mr. Ellerby, and the Arabella’s shipmaster, Mr. Ridley. If either of them is about, I will know him right away.”

Mr. Cantrell offered her his arm. “Then let us see to your father’s business.”

Despite the fact that Sophia’s mouth and nose were hidden from view, at the gentleman’s gesture, humor flickered in her eyes. Ignoring the sudden churning discomfort in her stomach, Hannah set her hand on his arm. To her relief, he then extended his other arm to Sophia. Her sister accepted it straightway, and as they moved away from the carriage, Hannah glanced back once more at the retreating seaman.