At the mention of order, she took a step closer to the chair, and he immediately regretted his word choice. He didn’t want her to spend time with him because she felt coerced.

“I have no wish to force you to sit with me, Miss Wilkins,” he rushed to explain, not sure why he should care what this woman did or didn’t do. “If you have no desire for my company, I would not detain you.”

She dragged the chair away from his, putting a respectable distance between them, and lowered herself into it. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything and held herself stiffly, peering past the rail out at the endless expanse of whitecap waves.

Taking a sip of his coffee, he did likewise. At last, from the edge of his vision, he could see her shoulders relax and her body ease deeper into the chair.

He waited a few more moments, then extended the tin mug to her. He attempted nonchalance, keeping his sights half on the sea. She hesitated, but when he didn’t withdraw his offer, she accepted the coffee and took a drink. She closed her eyes, her expression radiating pleasure.

Warmth plumed in his chest like a breath of sweet tobacco smoke. “Tell me about yourself, Miss Wilkins.” He tried to keep his voice casual so he wouldn’t frighten her away. “What made you decide to join the bride ship and voyage to Vancouver Island?”

She turned and handed him the mug.

He shook his head and indicated she should have more.

She lifted the cup and sipped again. He couldn’t tear his sights from the touch of her mouth to the rim, the long curve of her throat as she swallowed, and the drop of coffee lingering on her bottom lip.

He’d almost given up hope she’d talk to him when she shifted slightly and spoke. “I wasn’t planning on leaving, didn’t really want to.”

“Then why did you?”

“When Twiggy lost her job picking rags, it was either me or Matthew who had to leave home.” She expelled a sigh. “I wouldn’t hear of Matthew a-going to the docks and scrapping for himself. So I offered to leave.”

“Who’s Twiggy?”

“My mother.”

“And Matthew’s your brother?”

She nodded. “He’s not a mite older than ten years.”

Joseph attempted to digest all the things she hadn’t revealed but implied: the inability to find new employment, the loss of income, the shortage of food for everyone, the direness of her situation. Mercy very well could have ended up on the streets.

His stomach roiled at the thought. A beautiful young woman like Mercy wouldn’t have lasted long, not before being snatched up and sorely used.

“Certainly you had a dozen offers of marriage?”

“A dozen?” Her lips curled into a wisp of a smile. “You flatter me, sir.”