2. The Unexpected Alliance #2
Kate stopped directly in front of him, just two feet away. Her mind raced through the implications of his suggestion. It was clever, perhaps too clever. Especially coming from a complete stranger. “And what would you know about the practices of privateers, Mr. Moore?”
“Enough to suggest adding twenty casks of ‘linseed oil’ to your next Mediterranean shipment,” he said, reaching past her to point out the route he was mentioning on the map that lay open on the desk.
The movement brought him closer, his arm extending near her shoulder. Kate held her ground, refusing to step back, even as she became acutely aware of the impropriety of their proximity.
The head clerk looked confused though. “But we don’t trade in—”
“Gunpowder,” Kate clarified, interrupting him without ceasing to challenge the intruding gentleman with her gaze.
She cleared her throat, finally taking a step back, while Mr. Moore straightened up.
“He suggests that we arm our merchant vessels,” she added, looking him directly in the eye, though she was fully aware of how hot her own cheeks were burning.
Mr. Moore nodded.
“I’m suggesting you ensure they can defend themselves.” He held her gaze without flinching, and Kate felt an intrusive shiver run down her neck. “The French may have superior naval forces, but they prefer easy targets to costly battles.”
Kate opened her mouth to reply when Jane Harper burst into the office, her bonnet askew and cheeks drained of color, eyes wide and darting as if searching for something solid to hold onto.
Her usual quiet manners had vanished, trampled by the urgency to speak even through her shallow, rapid breaths.
“Miss Sullivan! Your father…” she tried to recover her regular breathing, inhaling deep. “…he’s collapsed!”
Kate didn’t wait a second to react. “The carriage,” she ordered. “Now.”
With a rapid motion, she grabbed her coat from the back of her chair, her mind already racing ahead to doctors and treatments and the terrible possibility that time had run out sooner than expected.
She didn’t acknowledge Mr. Moore still standing in the same place with a shocking face.
At the threshold, she stopped and turned to the head clerk.
“Reclassify the Pembroke’s cargo as personal effects and send the updated manifest to Lloyd’s. Divert the ship to Cadiz until the patrol clears. And do it quickly.”
Then she turned to leave—
“Miss Sullivan,” Mr. Moore stepped forward, his once-shocked expression lined with genuine concern.
“I’ve corresponded with your father for months regarding the Bengal routes.
I had hoped to meet him under better circumstances—but perhaps I could accompany you?
I have some experience with heart ailments,” he spoke so quickly Kate couldn’t follow him completely.
She hesitated only briefly, torn between her instinct for privacy and the faint hope that his presence might be useful.
“Fine,” she said tightly. “But stay out of the way if you must.”
She nearly ran for the carriage, forcing Mr. Moore to follow her and match her pace without question.
The carriage ride through London’s crowded streets passed in a blur of anxiety and fears.
Kate, despite the constant dread coiled in her chest about her father’s failing heart, found herself uncomfortably aware of Mr. Moore’s presence inside this small space.
Jane sat beside her, hands folded in her lap in complete silence, her usual chatter replaced by a silent and discreet scrutiny on the gentleman across her.
Mr. Moore sat silent as well, his hands on his knees, his posture unnaturally still, as though any sudden movement might shatter something fragile between all of them.
At one point, he shifted slightly, and forced himself to speak with measured voice, “I’m sure your father has weathered worse storms, Miss Sullivan. Men of his character don’t yield easily to adversity.”
“You don’t know my father, Mr. Moore,” Kate said quickly, regretting the sharpness in her tone instantly. She felt mortified all at once, whether by his presumptuous comment or simply his presence in this private moment, she couldn’t say.
And, given that it was she who had accepted his request to join them, she could do nothing but scold herself.
Mr. Moore pressed his lips together and turned toward the window on his side. And Kate dared to glance at him then, surprised to find herself almost moved by his visibly chastened posture.
“I…” she began, but the words wouldn’t come.
When he looked back at her, he offered a gentle smile that somehow made her feel even more unsettled.
“I understand your distress, Miss Sullivan. Please forgive my presumptuous remark,” he said quietly.
Something in his tone, or his words, struck Kate unexpectedly, a genuine contrition that made her chest tighten further. She closed her eyes briefly, opened her mouth to respond, then thought better of it and simply turned to gaze out her own window.
Mr. Moore’s lips formed a thin, straight line as he averted his gaze in the opposite direction to focus once again on the road.
Jane watched all of this from her corner. If the situation were other than Mr. Sullivan’s condition deteriorating, she would have smiled, though not too openly.
They spent the remainder of the journey in tense silence. Kate couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow herself to contemplate this enigmatic man when her only thoughts should be for her dying father. And nothing more.
When they finally arrived at the estate, Kate was already moving before the wheels had stopped turning.
She stepped down quickly, her heel catching slightly on the uneven ground.
She stumbled, and she was about to fall completely on the ground when Mr. Moore’s hand shot out instinctively behind her, catching her elbow to steady her.
The contact was brief, for Kate righted herself immediately, pulling her arm free with a not-so-subtle gesture.
“Thank you,” she murmured, already turning toward the house. “But I had it.”
“Of course,” he replied.
Kate left hurriedly up the front steps and into the property while Mr. Moore remained behind, helping Jane alight from the carriage.
Dr. Hale was already packing his medical bag when Kate burst into her father’s bedchamber hurriedly. Edward lay pale against his pillows but alert, managing a weak smile upon seeing her.
“Still here, girl. No need for hysterics.”
Kate knelt beside the bed, taking his hand in both of hers. “Father, what happened?”
“His heart is weak,” Dr. Hale explained, “but the crisis has passed. Rest and calm will serve him better than worry.”
“Tell that to this stubborn old fool,” Kate muttered, though her grip on her father’s hand tightened with affection.
It was only then that Edward noticed Mr. Moore lingering respectfully in the doorway. “Who’s the dandy?”
Mr. Moore stepped forward with a proper bow. “Jason Moore, sir. We’ve exchanged letters regarding the Bengal routes and monsoon scheduling.”
Edward’s eyes sharpened with interest. “Ah! The man who out-argued my Liverpool partners on tariff calculations. Impressive work, though I suspect they didn’t appreciate being corrected by correspondence.”
Kate rose from her position beside the bed, her father’s hand slipping from hers as she stood. Despite her worry, she found herself studying Mr. Moore’s reaction to her father’s praise. There was no false modesty, but neither did he seem to expect recognition as his due.
She watched him bow again, more graciously this time, while another smile revealed his perfect teeth.
“Would you reroute through the Cape if pirates plagued the Horn?” Edward asked, his business instincts overriding his physical weakness for a moment. Or maybe it was his way of deflecting his illness, like a stubborn child refusing to stop playing.
“No, sir. I’d hire former privateers as escorts. They know the waters, understand the tactics, and cost less than the delays caused by avoided routes.”
Edward raised his brows and exchanged a meaningful look with Kate, who felt her estimation of their visitor shift again.
His tactics seemed more and more, somewhat unconventional but practical solutions her father would admire, and exactly the kind of thinking that might serve their business well in the challenging months ahead.
“You play chess, Mr. Moore?”
“Passably, sir.”
Kate caught the understated confidence in his response and suspected his chess skills were considerably better than “passable.” Her father had always been an excellent judge of character, able to detect both strength and deception in a man’s manner.
His invitation suggested he had found something worth cultivating in their unexpected guest.
“Come to have supper with us this evening,” Edward decided. “We’ll discuss ships and strategy over the board.”
“I would be honored, sir,” Mr. Moore replied, though his eyes flickered briefly to Kate, as if seeking her permission given the circumstances. “If it would not be an imposition during such a difficult time.”
Kate stepped forward, moving closer to the bed again, her concern overriding propriety. “Father, you’ve just had a crisis. The doctor said you need rest and calm, not—”
But Edward raised his hand, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Nonsense, Kate. A good conversation will do me more good than brooding in this bed.” He looked back at Mr. Moore with a slight smile. “You’ll come, Mr. Moore. I insist.”
Kate’s jaw tightened with frustration, but she recognized the futility of arguing when her father had made up his mind. She glanced at Mr. Moore, half hoping he would decline out of consideration for her father’s health.
But Mr. Moore could do nothing but nod respectfully. “Of course, sir. I would be honored.” And with that, the supper appointment was settled.
Kate opened her mouth to protest again, to point out that her father had nearly died mere minutes ago, that he needed rest not stimulation, that this was reckless, but Edward had already closed his eyes, a satisfied expression on his pale face, exhausted by even this brief exchange.
The doctor took this moment to intervene. “We should let him rest for now, Miss,” he said.
As they exited the room, Dr. Hale spoke quietly to Kate, taking her to a corner gently. Away enough from Mr. Moore, who waited patiently by the corridor window, his back turned to give them privacy.
“He’s not well, Miss Sullivan. Today was more than a warning.”
“How long until he…” Kate’s voice trailed off.
“Hard to tell, but…” Dr. Hale paused. “I’d give him a month, possibly two.”
Kate stared at him. “Two months?” she said in a hushed tone. “Are you certain there’s nothing more to be done?”
Dr. Hale’s expression was grave but kind. “I’m sorry, Miss Sullivan. Keep him comfortable, avoid unnecessary stress, and…” he paused, choosing his words carefully. “Perhaps it’s time to settle any urgent affairs.”
Kate only nodded, but her hands clenched at her sides as she struggled to maintain her stance.
From the corner of her eye, she could see Mr. Moore looking stricken, but when she turned to face him directly, his expression had returned to neutrality.
She wondered then what kind of man could school his features so quickly, and whether such control indicated depth of character or… a very-well-rehearsed deception.
Time would tell, she supposed.
Time —the one commodity she could no longer afford to waste.