“Not at the moment. The local governor hired a woman called Mrs. Sibbald to look after Phoebe during the voyage,” Gabby continued. “But Mrs. Sibbald felt that her obligation was over once we docked. She consigned Phoebe to the care of the purser and departed.”

“Where is the captain? Miss Phoebe is his responsibility. We shall hand the child over to him and then I will escort you to Dewland House, Miss Jerningham.”

“I don’t like Captain Rumbold,” came a small voice. “I don’t wish to be handed over to him. I do not wish to ever see him again.”

“I’m afraid that is not possible,” Gabby said. “You see, Captain Rumbold is really quite happy to have reached the shore—I do believe he thought to lose the ship at one point in our voyage. And he has speculated on a number of hats that he had made up in India. They are preposterously ugly. He calls them Chapeau Nivernois, and he is going to try to pass them off as French—”

Gabby caught sight of Erskine Dewland’s tightening mouth and hurried to a conclusion. “At any rate, Captain Rumbold has already taken his leave of us and gone to supervise the unloading of his hats.

“And he doesn’t like children,” she added.

Quill took a deep breath. He prided himself on his absolute calm. In the face of extreme pain, he remained collected. But this woman was likely to drive him around the bend in a way that a concussion and injured limbs had not. He stared down at Peter’s future wife in silence. She was looking up at him with a sweet, earnest expression, but he hadn’t even marked her words. For some reason, Quill’s only coherent thought was to kiss her into silence. Miss Jerningham had the deepest cherry-red lips he’d seen in his life. She had asked him a question, he realized, belatedly.

“Forgive me,” Quill said. “I am afraid that I didn’t understand your request.”

“I asked you to call me Gabby,” she faltered in reply. Mr. Dewland’s face had grown so forbidding that she knew he had to be thinking she was a rattle-pate. She must remember to hold her tongue when she was around her brother-in-law. Thank goodness she was marrying Peter rather than his brother! The very thought cheered her up.

“Gabby,” Quill said meditatively. “That suits you.” He gave a sudden, unexpected grin.

Gabby shyly smiled back. “I try not to be too much of a chatterbox.”

“I like the way Miss Gabby talks,” Phoebe said.

Both adults looked down, startled.

My goodness, Gabby thought, I clean forgot about the child. She looked back at her future brother-in-law. “May I bring Phoebe home with me? We could leave a message for Mrs. Ewing with the purser.”

Quill looked about the wharf. “We don’t seem to have a choice, do we?”