Mary-Ann exhaled slowly and opened the folio just a crack to confirm the cloth-bound ledger was still tucked inside. She looked down at her hands, the ink staining her fingertips, the paper smudged where she had gripped it too tightly. Her heart still raced. She wasn’t simply playing with books and numbers anymore. This was real. This was dangerous.
She pushed the ledgers into neat stacks, returned the larger one to its place, and tucked her writing folio under her arm. She would find the truth, page by page, if she had to. As she blew out the candle, the room sank into darkness once more, but her mind was alight.
She thought of Quinton, her Quint, how he had looked standing in the doorway, thinner than he should be, quieter thanhe once was, but unbroken. She could almost hear his voice, playful and cynical.‘You never did leave a puzzle unsolved, Mary-Ann.’
She remembered how he used to stride through a room with barely contained energy, the glint in his eyes when he bested her at chess or pretended not to, just to hear her crow with triumph. There had been something in his eyes when he looked at her, something more than surprise or relief.
Despite everything, she still cared. And she ought not to. She had promised herself to another. Rodney, steady and proper, who spoke of plans and investments as if love were a ledger to be balanced. But Quinton had never been tidy like that. He had been wind and flame, impossible to chart. And somehow, he still was.
Even though she had tried to let go, the sight of him had stirred something too lasting to be buried. He had returned, not knowing what he would find, and he had stood there anyway. If he could face that, then she could face this. She would follow the threads wherever they led. She had played the obedient daughter long enough, smiled through compromises and polite silences. But this? This was hers to uncover. If no one else would ask the questions, then she would.
Whatever this book meant, someone had gone to great lengths to keep it hidden. That made it dangerous. And now, it was hers.
Chapter Nine
The following morningbroke under grey skies. Mary-Ann awoke with the uneasy awareness that she hadn’t truly slept. The morning light pressed against the curtains, cool and flat. Her head ached, not from illness but from too many thoughts packed too tightly into too few hours of rest.
She dressed quietly and glanced at her locked wardrobe, where she had hidden the cloth-bound ledger, tucked into the back beneath a folded shawl. She didn’t know yet what the ledger meant or why it had been hidden in the first place, but that fact alone told her it was worth protecting. If someone had gone to the trouble of concealing it, then she needed to keep it safe until she understood why. She tested the lock twice before stepping away.
Downstairs, the house stirred to life. Mrs. Aldridge had already ordered tea and toast in the breakfast room, and the air smelled faintly of jam and firewood. It should have felt like any other morning. But it didn’t.
Her father had already left for the docks. She was grateful. She needed time to think.
She took her tea standing at the window, the porcelain warm in her hand, though she barely tasted it. Her thoughts kept circling around the ships named in the hidden book,Carrabelle,Redwake,Winsome Tide,and the strange symbols etched beside the entries.
She considered asking her father about the ships directly, but every instinct warned her against it. She didn’t have enough information. Not yet. If she raised the alarm without cause, she risked more than embarrassment. She could lose his confidence in her, and she had worked far too hard for that.
There was someone else she wanted to speak to. Someone who would listen, not dismiss her. The name came before she could stop it, Quinton. She exhaled softly, the thought far too tempting. Too dangerous.
She sipped her tea instead.
A knock at the door interrupted her musing.
“Miss Mary-Ann.” Mrs. Aldridge stepped in with a note card in her hand. “Mr. Wilkinson is here.”
Mary-Ann set the teacup down with care. “Show him in.”
Rodney entered moments later, gloved and smiling, impeccably dressed as always. “You’re up early,” he said. I was passing by and thought I’d bring you these.
He held out a bouquet of blush-pink roses, delicate and full. The scent reached her first, heady and sweet, the kind that lingered. His gloved hand brushed against hers as he handed them to her, the leather cool and too smooth, too polished.
“They’re lovely,” Mary-Ann said, accepting them with a polite smile.
He studied her face. “You look tired. I hope you haven’t been unwell?
“Only restless,” she said lightly. “A great many things are on my mind.”
“That’s understandable. The wedding, the household, and all the arrangements. It’s a great deal.”
She nodded.
“It won’t always be such a burden,” he added. “You’ve carried more than your share. Balancing books and responsibilities when you ought to be enjoying the season.”
He reached for her hand, holding it lightly between his gloved fingers. “When we’re married, I’d like you to have that chance.”
That chance. It was thoughtful. Generous. But it felt like a door softly closing.
Of course, life would change. That was what marriage meant, sharing everything. But for the first time, she wasn’t certain whether that sharing meant becoming more…or becoming less.
