But Anna Selwyn was not there, nor would she ever be. Thea's heart constricted. Ten years and she still mourned the loss of the strong, determined woman who had given her birth.
"Afternoon, Miss Thea."
She stopped at the sound of Whiskey Jim's voice. She smiled into the old man's weather-wizened face. "Good afternoon, Captain."
His one good eye twinkled merrily at her while the patch that covered his other eye shifted as his face creased into a grin. "See you're moving with the main sail at full mast like always."
She waved the air in front of her face. "Perhaps I should let down some sail and move more slowly. It's so hot today."
"That it is. That it is." He pulled a large bandanna from his pocket and wiped his forehead. "This old man should know better than to try to load his ship on a day like today."
Thea smiled. Old man indeed. He looked about a hundred, but he was still one of the fastest captains employed by Merewether Shipping. "When are you sailing?"
"She looks to be loaded by the day after tomorrow."
Satisfaction spread through her. The timing could not be better. She needed to take action before Uncle Ashby became aware of the pilfe
ring going on in the London office. He would insist on making the trip to England to investigate, and his health would suffer for it.
She owed him more than she could ever repay. When her mother had died of the fever that killed so many Europeans in the West Indies, the Merewethers had insisted on caring for Thea, treating her like their own daughter.
"When do you expect to arrive in Liverpool?"
"Don't."
Thea stopped fanning herself. "What do you mean?"
"I'm up to Charleston and then on to New York this trip."
"But I thought you were going to England."
He scratched the side of his head. "Nope."
They weren't expecting another ship for weeks. "Sacre bleu."
The old man's eye twinkled. "What did you say?"
Although the seamen and even Uncle Ashby could turn the air blue with their curses, she would have a peal rung over her for letting the French phrase slip from her lips. "Nothing."
There was no hope for it. She would have to sail on someone else's ship.
The captain bid farewell and ambled toward the far end of the warehouse where his crew moved without regard to the heat, loading the heavy barrels of sugar and rum onto wagons for transport to his ship.
She turned and walked toward Uncle Ashby's office, the problem of finding berth on a ship to England weighing heavily on her mind.
A droplet of perspiration trickled down her neck, and the relative privacy afforded by the opening between two stacks of wooden crates became too strong a temptation to resist.
Slipping between them, she cast a furtive glance around her. No one was in sight. Reaching behind her back, she awkwardly patted the fabric against her damp skin. Oh, heavenly. She lifted the skirts of her gown just a few inches and flapped the edge to force more air against her legs. She closed her eyes in bliss. Wouldn't it be lovely to go swimming right now? She could almost feel the refreshing water against her skin.
"Mademoiselle Thea. Mademoiselle Thea."
Her eyes flew open. The sight of Philippe, the warehouse manager, staring at her as if she'd been caught dancing naked on top of the crates rather than fanning herself behind one of them, momentarily froze her wits. The dark contours of his face were set in lines of rigid disapproval. Well, drat. If she had to get caught, couldn't it have been by someone like Whiskey Jim, not her self-proclaimed duenna?
Thea straightened, tossing her skirts back to decorously cover her ankles. "Philippe. I didn't see you."
"That would have been difficult, yes? With your eyes closed and while cavorting in such a fashion?"
How could a mountain-size black man sound so prissy? "I was not cavorting. I was fanning. There's a difference."