Page 28 of Lady Tempts a Rogue

It would take money to ship Mrs. Peagilly’s belongings back to England.

Except, Mrs. Peagilly had turned the bulk of her funds over to the captain to secure inside the new Chubb safe in his cabin.

A familiar, comforting melody drew her attention.

Devin held a small, oddly-shaped instrument to his lips and played a soulful rendition of “Amazing Grace.” A sailor strumming a lute joined him, and another raised a violin to his chin as a third put a short wooden flute to his mouth. A fourth man, possessing a version of the same strange wind instrument as Devin, listened for a moment before closing his eyes and harmonizing.

The wind stilled, and the sails eased into slacked folds. Silence and an uncanny peace shrouded the ship as they played on, the water lapping gently at the ship’s hull.

When the last note faded, Trinity dabbed at the tears burning her eyes, and Mrs. McKinnick blew her nose.

Georgie slipped his hand into Trinity’s, bringing a nascent smile to her lips.

The stoic little fellow, expression somber, said nothing but sucked contentedly on his thumb. He pulled it out, looked at it with maturity and seriousness beyond his four years, then glanced up at Trinity.

“I believe it is time I put this childish habit behind me.”

Adorable little man.

She squeezed his other hand.

“That is very grown up of you, Georgie.”

He gave a grave nod. “I have attended my fiwst funewal. I am not the child I was yestewday.”

Tragic but true.

Trinity was not the optimistic, enthusiastic woman she had been yesterday either.

His mother drew near and hugged Trinity.

“My deepest condolences, Miss Ablethorne. Please let us know if there is anything Sir Godfrey and I can do for you.”

Do you need a governess?

Know anyone who might need a companion in Morocco?

Can you loan me funds to return to England?

And do what?

Become a burden to one of her childhood friends until she could find a position?

Instead of blurting the questions, Trinity managed a wan smile. “Thank you.”

Trinity had not known Mrs. Peagilly well enough to truly grieve for the woman. Only Devin knew how very brief her employment status had been. She felt like a fake and a fraud for accepting commiserations.

She lifted her focus, her gaze meshing with Devin’s.

His all-black, expensively tailored jacket and pantaloons emphasized his athletic physique. In comparison, Misters Meriwether and Truman-Shelton appeared foppish and pallid in their matching pinstripes.

Devin’s devastatingly sympathetic smile sent another lump scuttling up her throat and more tears burned behind her eyelids. The wind resumed and played with a lock of dark hair flopped over his forehead.

How old was he?

Not yet thirty, she would guess.

And yet, as the son of a wealthy merchant, he was a partial ship owner and on his way to what might be a grand adventure. Devin could do most anything he chose. His future was secure.