Lost Lady Read online

  “Nothing to say?” Travis asked quietly.

  She was surprised at the almost wistful quality in his voice. “It’s very pretty,” she smiled, sitting down on the seat in front of the window. “Is your room as nice?”

  Travis grinned. “I’d say it’s exactly as pretty as this one. Now, I want you to stay here while I see to the loading of my supplies.” Pausing at the door, he turned back. “And I’ll go through the passengers and find that seamstress I hired and send her to you. You might want to look through those trunks and decide what you want to make first.” His eyes twinkled. “And I told her to forget the nightgowns, that I had my own way of keeping you warm.”

  With that he was gone, and Regan was left to gape in puzzlement at the closed door. Passengers! He’d told the passengers she was to be sleeping with him? Were these passengers American friends of his, people she hoped would someday respect her?

  Before she could even contemplate the horror of this new situation, the door opened, and a tall, thin woman entered.

  “I knocked, but no one answered,” she said, eyeing Regan with interest. “If you’d rather, I could come back later. It’s just that Travis said there was so much sewing to do, it would take the whole voyage. There’s another woman on the boat—oh, no, Travis said it was a ship. Anyway, I think I can get her to help out. I don’t know if she can do fancy work or not, but she can probably at least do the straight seams.”

  The woman was quiet for a moment as she seemed to be contemplating Regan. “Are you all right, Mrs. Stanford? Are you getting seasick, or maybe you’re homesick already?”

  “What?” Regan asked blankly. “What did you call me?”

  The woman laughed as she moved to sit by Regan. She had lovely eyes, a full, pretty mouth, but in between was a sharp, long nose. “Neither you nor Travis seems used to being married yet. When I asked him if you’d been married long, he looked at me like he didn’t think I was talkin’ to him. That’s a man for you! It takes them ten years before they admit they’ve given up their freedom.” Glancing about the room, she didn’t stop talking. “But if you ask me, marriage was made for men; they just get another slave when they get a wife. Now!” she said abruptly. “Where are your new clothes? I reckon we’d best get started.”

  There were about a hundred thoughts whirling together in Regan’s head, all of them confusing. In the turmoil of the last few days she’d completely forgotten about the clothes.

  The woman patted Regan’s hand sympathetically. “I guess with you being a new bride with a husband like Travis and all, and going to a new country, it’s just too much for you. Maybe I should come back later.”

  New bride, Regan thought. She was a bride in a way. At least it was pleasant to imagine that she was a bride rather than facing up to the reality of the situation.

  The woman was already at the door before Regan recovered herself. “Wait! Don’t leave. I don’t know where the clothes are. No, Travis said they were in the trunks.”

  Grinning broadly, the woman held out her hand. “I’m Sarah Trumbull, and I’m happy to meet you, Mrs. Stanford.”

  “Oh yes!” Regan sighed, liking this woman very much in spite of her extraordinary manipulation of the English language.

  Sarah was on her knees in seconds as she threw open the lid to the first trunk. Perhaps the best indication of her admiration was her complete silence as she gazed down at the riot of colors and soft, silken, finely woven fabrics. “These must have set Travis back a bit of gold,” she finally managed to whisper.

  A sharp wave of guilt passed over Regan as she remembered how she’d purposely chosen many more clothes than she needed just to embarrass Travis when he found he could not pay the bill. Yet, obviously, he had paid the bill, and she wondered how much it had cost him—mortgages perhaps, selling what he owned?

  “You’re looking a little green again. Are you sure the ship’s rolling isn’t bothering you?”

  “No, I’m all right.”

  “Good,” Sarah said, looking back at the trunk. “Travis wasn’t exaggerating when he said this was going to take months. You think that other trunk is as full as this one?”

  Swallowing hard, Regan glanced at the closed lid. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Afraid!” Sarah laughed, pulling a leather portfolio from the trunk. “Look at this!” she said, emptying it onto her lap. Several pieces of heavy paper fell out, and on each one were four delicate watercolors of women’s gowns. “These the dresses you picked out?”

  Taking them, Regan smiled. They were beautiful dresses, and the sketches themselves were works of art. As Sarah and Regan began exploring, they found that each dress and coat had been carefully cut, and the trims for the particular garments were wrapped inside.

  “It looks like I have my work cut out for me,” Sarah said, then laughed at her own pun. Gathering drawings and fabrics, she said she’d like to get started, and as abruptly as she had appeared she left the cabin.

  For a few moments, Regan sat alone on the window seat, looking at the cabin and wondering what adventures were ahead of her. She thought of Farrell and wished he knew she was on a ship bound for America and that a wardrobe fit for a princess was being sewn for her.

  She had no idea how long she sat immobile on the seat, but gradually she became aware of the sounds outside her door. For all of her life she’d been forced to stay in a very small area, and the only living she could do was inside her head. Now she realized that she was free to see and do things, that the door to her cabin was not locked, and all she had to do was walk up some stairs and she’d be on the deck of an actual ship.

  Taking a deep breath, feeling like a bird let out of a cage, she left the cabin, standing for a moment at the bottom of the dark stairwell. When a door next to her opened, she jumped in surprise.

  “I beg your pardon,” came a polite male voice. “I had no idea anyone was here.” When Regan didn’t answer, he continued, “Perhaps I should introduce myself since it looks as though we’re to be neighbors. Or am I being too presumptuous? Maybe the captain could do the honors.”

  The young man’s formal manners were a welcome relief after the last few days’ complete suspension of anything resembling courtesy. “We will be neighbors,” she smiled, “so perhaps just this once we can suspend formalities.”

  “Then allow me to present myself. I am David Wainwright.”

  “And I am Regan Alena…Stanford,” she said as an afterthought, not wanting to reveal her true identity or let this man know the truth about her relationship with Travis.

  Gently, he shook her hand, then asked if she’d accompany him up to the upper deck. “I believe they’re still loading. It may afford us some amusement to see these Americans among themselves, though I confess I sometimes have difficulty understanding their dialect.”

  The sun was warm and bright on the deck, and Regan caught the feeling of excitement as people rushed around her everywhere. They emerged at the base of the quarterdeck, a partial additional deck at the fore end of the ship. Soon realizing they were in the way, she and David climbed the stairs to the top of the quarterdeck. Here they had a good, high view of the activities on the rest of the ship as well as on the wharf. And here, too, she had a view of David Wainwright. He was a small man with a plain face topped with straw-colored hair. His clothes were of good wool, his cravat perfectly white, and his slim feet were encased in soft kid slippers. He was the type of gentleman she’d always known—his hands made for the keys of a piano or to idly twirl a snifter of brandy. Looking at his long, slim fingers, she thought with disgust that an uncouth man such as Travis would probably hit two keys at once with his big fingers. Of course, she had to admit that those wide fingers sometimes hit the right chords.

  As her lips curved in a secret smile, she looked away from David, who was explaining why he was going to such a heathen place as America, and searched for Travis.

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am to be traveling with an English lady,” David was saying. “When