“Captain Harris advised me of your name. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stanbridge.” She smiled. “Under the circumstances, perhaps not exactly a pleasure but better than the alternative. I am Amity Doncaster.”
“Doncaster?” His very interesting face tightened into a frown of concentration. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
She cleared her throat. “I have written several travel pieces for theFlying Intelligencer. Perhaps you have read one or two of them?”
“Not likely. I never read that rag.”
“I see.” She gave him her coldest smile.
He had the grace to look abashed. “Now I’ve managed to insult you. That is the very last thing I wish to do, believe me.”
She got to her feet. “I’ll ring for the steward. He can assist you with your personal needs while I go back to my own stateroom to freshen up and get some breakfast.”
“Hold on, I know where I’ve heard your name.” Benedict looked pleased with himself. “My sister-in-law mentioned your travel pieces. She is a great fan.”
“I’m delighted to hear that,” Amity said in the same cool tones.
She yanked hard on the bell pull and reminded herself that Benedict was recovering from a nasty wound and therefore could not be held accountable for his poor manners. But the knowledge did not lessen her irritation.
Benedict looked at the satchel she had placed on the dresser.
“That letter I gave to you for safekeeping,” he said. “You still have it?”
“Yes, of course. Shall I get it?”
He considered that question for a few seconds and then shook his head. “No. Leave it there in case—”
“In case of what, Mr. Stanbridge?”
“It’s a long way to New York and I might take a turn for the worse,” he said.
“Unlikely.”
“Nevertheless, I prefer to have a plan in place to deal with such an eventuality.”
She smiled. “I take it that you are a man given to planning for all possibilities?”
He touched the bandage on his side and grimaced. “You see what happens when I fail to plan well. As I was saying, if I fail to make it to New York, I would consider it a great favor if you kept your promise to deliver the letter to my uncle.”
“Cornelius Stanbridge, Ashwick Square. Never fear, I wrote down the address so I won’t forget it. But I assure you it won’t be necessary for me to deliver it. You will recover from your wound, sir, and deliver the letter yourself.”
“If I recover, there will be no need for me to deliver it.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “What does that mean?”
“Never mind. Just promise me that you won’t let that satchel out of your sight until I feel strong enough to take care of the letter myself.”
“I give you my word that I will keep the satchel and the letter with me at all times. But I do feel that, given all that has transpired, I am owed some explanation.”
“In return for your promise to guard the letter I give you my word that someday I will explain as much as I can.”
And that was all she was going to get by way of a guarantee that she would one day be told the truth, she concluded.
A knock announced the return of Yates. She hoisted the satchel and crossed the small space to open the door.
“I will look in on you again after breakfast, Mr. Stanbridge,” she said. “Meanwhile, be sure you do nothing to undo my needlework.”
“I’ll be careful. One more thing, Miss Doncaster.”
