Page 61 of Better Love Next Time
Julian’s expression darkened. “Leave us, Miss Dixley.”
Her companion raised her chin. “‘And the Lord God said, it is not good that the man should be alone. I will make him a help meet for him.’” Without further ado, Althea’s long strides carried her to the bow with Sam.
Julian stretched to his full height and, dropping the mallet, prowled up the ramp toward Kitty. “I cannot,” he said so no one could hear, “have my wife actually build a ship. I would be the laughingstock of Southampton. Maybe England. Do you understand me?”
“Do not let your pride interfere.”
“Pride,” he said, even quieter. “You think I care for my pride still?”
“What if I dress as a boy?”
“Even worse.”
“Why?
“Why? Damnation?—”
“You should mind your language.”
He leaned in. “The hell I will. And if you expect my men to mind their tongues, you’ll have to lock yourself in the office and put wool in your ears. That is, if we ever have men.”
“I’ve nothing better to do.” Clearly, the wrong thing to say by his scowl. “Julian, I want to help.” She motioned to Althea handing trennels to Sam. “See there, I can carry a bucket.”
Julian twisted on his heel. Sam was showing Althea how to hammer a trennel and after several wide swings, she finally hit it.
Her husband turned back to her. “I’m to have a Bible-quoting prig working for me? Who hits her mark once every ten times?"
“I’m certain she’ll improve.”
Grabbing her by the arm, he marched her without ceremony to the loft, pushing through the narrow door and slamming it shut. They faced each other in the gloom, in a space designed comfortably for one. At his chest, his breath came hard, of which she had a perfect view, it being an inch from her nose. And she should be nervous, but the sweat made his shirt cling to his muscles and he smelled like a man.
“Do not be a bloody fool! Do you know how desperate this looks? Do you think a man would wish to work for another who must resort to his wife’s assistance?”
“Many wives assist their husbands. Shopkeepers, weavers, mercers.”
“I am notanyof those!”
Kitty winced.
His hands splayed at his side. He nodded in quick succession, and his hands settled softly at the tops of her arms. “It is not that you couldn’t do it. You have shown great ability in meeting a challenge. You might, with practice, be better than I with a mallet. But who will commission a ship with a yard who requires his wife to work in the slipway?”
“That is a question I’m not to answer, isn’t it?”
“Correct. Appearances, Katherine, are everything. When I began this venture five years ago, I had a tenth of the funds we have now. But do you know what I had? Respect. Confidence. I feared failure like any prudent man. But I had the appearance that gave others confidence inme.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” He swung open the door and jabbed toward the slipway. “Now get your companion out of our yard.”
Later that morning, after changing their dresses and freshening their faces and hair, Kitty and Althea walked High Street’s market. It being Saturday, it was the most attended day of the week. Their steps were leisurely, and their aim most calculating because Julian had lit a spark in Kitty with his angry words. Together, Althea and Kitty had formed a plan.
Their first stop was the goldsmith’s, where men often banked their extra coin. Kitty greeted Mr. Tandy who sat at his bench tapping at the tiniest of specimens. In light of his occupation, the goldsmith had a perpetual squint, making him appear suspicious of all those he encountered.
Althea praised his shop and his workmanship while Kitty perused the smith’s offerings. With time wasting, she decided upon matching silver salt cellars and a mustard pot.
As Mr. Tandy wrote up the bill of sale, she offered her card. “Please have them delivered here. It is a temporary residence, mind, while my husband and I search for a suitable place to permanently reside.”
Mr. Tandy studied the card engraved with her name and direction. He flipped it over where she had had the printer strikeSt. Clair Shipwrights.
