Chapter Thirty-Eight
“If it is Clara, Ireland, that you must reach, then Dublin is your next destination,” Chisholm, the father of his friend, announced.
“Will a passenger ship be sailing there soon?” Damian asked. He hoped that it wasn’t. Yes, it was selfish of him to want their departure to be delayed because the sooner they reached Grace, the sooner Georgie would be out of his life and he was not ready for that to happen.
“We have a ship that makes regular visits to Dublin and back. It leaves tomorrow at seven but you can board the night before and sleep so that you do not miss it.”
“Is there a cabin available, or only bunks in a communal area?” He knew enough about passenger ships to know what type of sleeping arrangements were available according to how much a person could pay.
While he could book a private cabin, there was also a very good chance that those had been taken.
For passage across the Atlantic, it was best to purchase passage weeks, if not months, in advance so that a traveler was not stuck with the more uncomfortable bed.
“As you are traveling with your wife, and because our passengers are usually only male, I will ask if there is a cabin available so that she has privacy.”
Because men could travel freely and women could not was the cause of Georgie’s irritation previously. Though, truly, he had no complaints given what she revealed and what she had wanted.
Further, she was correct. It was not fair.
“How long is the journey?” Georgie asked.
“It will take two or three days depending on winds and current,” Chisholm answered.
While Damian hoped that it was three, he would have a least tonight, and two more as they sailed through the Firth of Clyde and into the Irish Sea to Dublin.
“Is there a map that I could view?” Georgie asked. “I know where Dublin is but would like to determine how much further we will need to travel to reach Clara.”
Chisholm thumbed through a stack of maps on a far table, then found the one she requested. He then pointed at Clara. “This is your destination.”
She frowned. “How far is the distance.”
Chisholm shrugged. “No more than sixty-five miles, I suppose.”
She nodded, then a frown creased her brow. “Can I assume there are also mail coaches in Ireland?”
As much as Damian hated the idea of riding in yet another mail coach, they had little choice. He’d never been to Ireland before, nor did he have friends or acquaintances there to be of assistance. Therefore, they would travel as they had before.
“Yes, they do,” Chisholm answered. “However, that is not your only option. There are more comfortable ways to travel.”
“Clara is in the middle of the country, not along the coast,” Georgie observed.
Chisholm chuckled. “A grand canal, linking Dublin on the east coast to the River Shannon in the west was completed in 1804, and passes near Clara.”
“I had not realized,” Damian murmured, and he could understand the benefit of such travel, especially if trade had been a consideration. It would certainly be quicker than sailing around the country.
“I am to understand that it usually takes nine hours to navigate the canal from Dublin to Tullamore, whereas a mail coach is only about six to eight hours to travel the same distance. If you were to take a passenger boat, you could disembark at Tullamore then take a mail coach to Clara, which is no more than twenty or so miles.”
“Tullamore?” Georgie asked with interest before she returned her attention to the map, then pointed. “It is there. Why hadn’t I seen it?”
“Likely because you were only concerned with the location of Clara and the distance from Dublin,” Damian suggested.
“Is Tullamore of importance?” Chisholm asked.
“My father was born there. I have family there. I am certain that they will assist me.” It was only then that Georgie smiled at Damian.
She would be seeing her uncles and cousins after all.
He also knew, without asking, that once Georgie was reunited with her uncles and cousins, there would no longer be a need for him to remain and protect her.
To think, only a sennight ago he had been resentful for being the one to make certain that nothing happened to her and now he wasn’t ready for her to leave.
He might not ever be ready.
“We sail to Ireland then take either a mail coach or the passenger boat to Tullamore, whichever one is departing first that has space for us. I am certain my uncle will provide transportation, more comfortable than a mail coach to Clara, where I will finally locate Grace.”
“In a four, or five, short days, your search will finally be done.” As Damian said the words, his heart squeezed with pain.
Eight days. It was impossible to fall in love in eight days.
Hadn’t Grace believed herself in love only to realize it had been an infatuation? How could he be certain that he was not experiencing the same?
Georgie did not appear to have any emotional attachment to him. She had simply wanted a lover.
“A cabin is available on the ship leaving tomorrow. I have seen that it is given to you,” Chisholm announced as he returned to the office.
Two or three more nights with Georgie in his bed. That was all he was likely to have and he was going to make every moment memorable.
*
Relief, anxiety, and perhaps a little sadness filled Georgie’s being.
Her search would soon be at an end.
There was also some excitement in visiting her family in Tullamore. Even though she had only met a few relatives’ years ago when they had visited Carrera, her father kept up regular correspondence, and she was certain that she would be welcomed the moment she arrived.
However, once she reached Tullamore, Damian would likely take his leave of her and return to Southampton and she would be left with memories. Would he remember her as fondly as she did him?
Georgie shook the thoughts from her mind as she looked out over the Firth of Clyde. They had boarded not long ago so they could sleep on the ship, as Mr. Chisholm suggested.
The day had been spent touring Greenock and Georgie smiled at the memory of Damian asking if she would mind terribly if they visited John Scott & Sons—shipbuilders.
After Damian had introduced himself, they were given a tour of the company, including the yard where ships were being built.
It was clear that those in charge had wanted to impress Damian, nor could she blame them since Trade Wynd was well known for their lucrative trade practice, which could not be operated without ships.
They had then visited the recently built customhouse, necessary for a port invested in so much trade.
Greenock was a thriving port with imports of sugar, rum, and cotton and exported herring, linen, iron, and coal.
There were even refineries that processed the sugar.
Damian had taken it all in, listened and learned, though there was also much that he already knew, but said that it benefited Trade Wynd to visit other trade ports.
There had been an intensity to him that she had not witnessed before and she had simply stood back and observed the man of business and integrity.
A man who admitted that he had not known something.
A man willing to consider different options for Trade Wynd.
He was Trade Wynd. Wine wasn’t the only thing in his blood but shipping as well.
He was also a man that she came to deeply admire and now understood why he had not wanted to leave Southampton to escort her across England.
He belonged in Southampton while she belonged in Carrera, Italy, and they could never be anything more than lovers and friends, even though her heart yearned for more.
“Are you eager to arrive in Ireland?” Damian asked as he joined her at the railing.
“Yes, I suppose.” There had been an urgency in their travels, but now that she knew, or assumed, that Grace was safe and realized her error, Georgie was no longer in such a hurry. Instead, she wanted to enjoy what little time she had left with Damian.
“What does Trade Wynd import and export?” She knew two of the imports were wine and marble.
“Besides Wynd Wine from the Cape Colony and Madeira, we also import wine from various vineyards in France, Spain, and Portugal not owned by the Wynd family. We import marble from quarries in Greece as well as Carrera. Silk from Florence, Messina, Palermo, and Naples. Timber from Canada.”
She was surprised that timber had to be brought in from so far away.
“Laces from Brussels, Alencon, Argentan, and Chantilly, as well as from Venice. Olive oils from Italy, Spain, Portugal, and Greece. Cork from Portugal and Spain. Sugar, molasses, tobacco, and cotton from the Caribbean and America…”
The corner of his mouth tipped. “I am boring you.”
“I am fascinated,” she insisted. “I assume those are not the only imports.”
“No.” He chuckled.
“What do you export, besides Wynd Wine?”
“Nothing of importance,” he claimed as he turned to face her fully. “You have suffered enough with trading, imports, exports, and shipbuilding for one day.”
“I have learned about what is important to you.”
“And my family,” he added. “Our wealth may have been built on wine but the other items are necessary as well, but we will talk of it no further.”
Georgie suspected that Damian could talk of trade and ships for many more hours since that was his life. He had claimed that he spent all waking hours at the Trade Wynd offices so it wasn’t any wonder why he took so much interest in Greenock.
And today she may have fallen a little bit more in love with him, and it was because of the serious and intense side of him that allowed her to witness his sense of responsibility to his family and business. He was a man to be respected, and one whom she loved, for what little good it would do.