Page 41 of The Lonely Hearts Guide

Elliot shrugged. “I’m not sure. Mother always told us there were two groups of men who came to her to find their forevers. Misters and Masters. Misters are men like Arthur Price. Kind and decent. Masters can be cruel for sport, like Jared. I don’t know what the ratio of Masters versus Misters is, though. Maybe Mrs. Peppercorn as Mother could get the data if you’re terribly curious.”

“Actually, I think I may be.” Beau had a look on his face that made it seem like little wheels were spinning inside his head. “I saved a litter of piglets when I was little. They were going to be slaughtered for meat.” Beau sighed. Alexander wasn’t sure what the man was up to, and he didn’t get a chance to ask, because as soon as he opened his mouth, Mrs. Peppercorn’s voice came over the loudspeaker.

“Mister Alexander Davenport and Elliot, your presence is required. Immediately, please.”

When Alexander looked up, she had a frantic look about her. The waves in her wig looked like they’d been combed through with her fingers multiple times, and she was sweating profusely. Elliot must have been just as worried, because before Alexander could move, Elliot launched up from his lap. They shared a worried look before making their way to the stage. Mrs. Peppercorn didn’t bother placing the microphone on its stand, just tossed it over her shoulder, making the sound system whine and squeal like it was being murdered. Before either of the men could ask what the problem was, she took them each by the wrist and quickly led them to the deck, then up the stairs, and toward Mother’s workshop. She was too busy huffing and puffing to answer either of their pleas for an explanation.

When they reached the door to Mother’s workshop, Mrs. Peppercorn turned to face them, her face red and sweaty from exertion. “All right, Elliot, I need you to look at me.”

Elliot nodded. “I already am, Mrs. Peppercorn. I believe our direct eye contact should have been your first clue.” He turned and smiled at Alexander. “How was that for sassy?”

Alexander snorted a laugh. “Precious—”

“Nope,” Mrs. Peppercorn cut him off. “We don’t have time for ‘precious boy’ praise. I’m afraid Armageddon is at hand.” She placed a hand on Elliot’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’ve just been given some horrible news. My new assistant, Thomas the Twink, just came to me and said our ship has been commandeered by two lunatics on a jet ski.” She closed her eyes and nodded like she was hyping herself up to deliver a devastating blow, but before she could respond, Alexander’s blood ran cold, because the door opened, and Emily Broussard stood on the other side, looking like a drowned rat.

“Boys, I believe it’s time we have a little chat.”

Mother? Elliot couldn’t make sense of it. He saw her plummet. He watched her head smash against the boat. They were devastating blows; of that, he was certain.

Elliot gaped at her. “Mother? You’re alive?”

She nodded slowly, like a predator watching its prey. It was a look that left him unsettled. “Indeed, I am.”

“But how? I saw you fall. I saw you crack your skull.” The room was quite dark, with only a few feet illuminated by a small flickering candle resting on a window ledge. It didn’t seem terribly safe, with the walls being made of wood-like paneling, but there were bigger fish to fry at the moment. The room had an eerie vibe that left Elliot feeling more than a bit unsettled. Elliot heard footsteps approaching, and his entire body tensed. Visions of Jared Price danced in his head. He could picture Jared following behind them at sea, stalking Elliot. He could picture Jared pulling Mother on board a small, chartered boat and driving her back to the cruise ship. Worst of all, he could picture Jared lurking in the shadows of the room, waiting to strike.

The lights blasted on out of nowhere, temporarily blinding Elliot from the sudden shift. He squinted, looking past Mother, and saw Mother’s trusted confidant, Clarence, holding an armful of towels. As he approached Mother, he was scowling something awful, muttering about ungrateful heathens.

“I have my ways,” Mother said. As she moved closer into the light, he realized the turban she was wearing wasn’t a turban at all. It was gauze that had been wrapped repeatedly around her head, probably due to her head injury. “Clarence found me the next morning, clinging to an old piece of driftwood in the center of the sea.” She beamed at Clarence. “Mother’s good boy. I’m so very proud of you, Clarence.”

Clarence, who looked to be in his forties, preened like a praised puppy. “Thank you, Mother. I saved you, didn’t I? I saved you so well.”

Mother nodded, tapping the tip of his nose. “That you did, darling. That you did.” She scratched his head, right behind his ears, and smiled. When she was done praising her favorite son, she turned her attention back to Elliot. “When I fell, I struck the back of my head. It’s a wonder sharks didn’t devour me when they caught the scent of fresh blood. Unfortunately, Clarence’s life raft deflated when my perfectly manicured nail punctured the fabric. We waited, the pair of us clinging to the driftwood until a small boat caught sight of us. Once we were on board, Clarence convinced them to allow us to use one of their jet skis, isn’t that right?”

Clarence nodded proudly. “Anything for you, Mother.”

“Well, as lovely as this all is, I think the big question is what happens now,” Mrs. Peppercorn said, sounding drowsy from the allergy medication.

Mother eyed Mrs. Peppercorn up and down. “Please tell me that’s not supposed to be me.”

Mrs. Peppercorn nodded proudly. “My name is Emily Broussard, and I love you with my whole heart. Well, that’s what I tell them, at least. I won’t lie, Ms. Broussard, it’s not the strongest tagline one could hope for. And I’ll tell you something else; the more time I spend cosplaying you, the less I care for you as a person. You’re pretty awful, sugar.”

Mother rolled her eyes. “Why are you dressed as me?”

Mrs. Peppercorn huffed. “Well, we couldn’t very well say we watched you fall into the sea. People would start asking questions.”

Mother nodded, glancing over to Elliot. “I’m sure they would. It’s not everyday a bountiful beau runs away from home.

“Exactly,” Mrs. Peppercorn agreed. “Listen, I’m sure you mean well, but you’re not a very efficient organizer. I’ve been working my fingers to the bone in your absence. Making sure events go off without a hitch. Ensuring chaos doesn’t overrun the ship, passengers and beaus running amuck. For twenty years, I’ve ruled this ship with an iron fist, and I’ll be damned if you think I’m going to let you come in here and undo all my hard work.”

“Twenty years?” Mother asked.

“It’s felt like twenty damn years with the mess you left for me to tidy. If I’m being honest, I resent it, Ms. Broussard. If you ever fall off a boat and leave me with unending work again while I’m supposed to be having fun in the sun, I’ll rescue you from the unforgiving open water, just to push you off again, myself.”

Mother opened her mouth—to say what, Elliot wasn’t sure—but before she could, Clarence stormed forward and delicately poked Mrs. Peppercorn in the chest.

“Now, see here,” he bellowed. “Mother works her fingers to the bone!”

“Clarence,” Mother warned. Then, the strangest thing happened. Clarence—normally the textbook definition of submission—shook his head. It took Elliot by surprise to see him go against Mother’s wishes.

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