Page 16 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
The smile froze on his face. “That is intriguing…”
“And she is moving to Boston!”
His eyes flicked to Alana. “I hope my dear wife hasn’t convinced you to alter your plans.”
“Not at all.” Alana grinned, winking at Mrs. Parker. “It’s a delightful coincidence.”
“I’m pleased the two of you will have so much to discuss in my absence.” He patted his wife’s hand but didn’t notice her tiny flinch when he mentioned he’d be occupied during most of the journey.
Mr. Parker vanished halfway through the meal, promising his wife he’d return before dessert, but he didn’t. His disappearance was remarked upon by Mr. Cheswick, who’d—unluckily—been seated at their table.
Disgusted by the insinuated comments from the crass man, who was by no definition a gentleman, Alana and Mrs. Parker dropped their forks with a simultaneous clatter and abandoned their half-eaten desserts.
“I’ll speak with Hugh,” Mrs. Parker said as they returned to the corridor. “He’ll have our places switched to a different table.”
Nodding, Alana extracted the key to her cabin. Spinning quickly, she kicked the door, then turned again, thrusting the key into the lock in one fluid movement. Wrenching the key, Alana slammed her shoulder into the center of the wood, pushing the door open.
“I’m very impressed, Mrs. Dubois. Most ladies aren’t that capable.”
“Of opening a door?”
“Of taking care of themselves.” She followed Alana into her cabin. “Hugh has my mind working, and now I wonder. You’re widowed. Why are you going to Boston alone?”
“I’m going to find a husband.”
“Have they run out of them in England?”
“No.” Alana snorted.
“Do you have an intended selected?” Mrs. Parker took a seat on the edge of the bed and folded her hands, a patient expression forming on her face.
“No.”
“You boarded a ship, unchaperoned, to meet a man you’ve never met, and you hope to find him in Boston?” There was a fair amount of skepticism in her voice.
“Yes.”
“And…”
“And you have an amazing gift for knowing when someone is withholding the truth.” Alana peeked out into the corridor, ensuring the hallway was empty, then closed the door.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Parker replied when Alana turned back around.
“My family has been targeted by a killer, who murdered at least two people in his desire for revenge.” Alana twisted her fingers together, pacing the small room.
“Who?”
“My uncle, Mr. Matthew Hastings, and Mr. Horace Pierce.”
“Miss Shirely’s uncle?”
“His body was discovered hanging on the road between our land and the Shirely’s country estate.” Alana paused, a shudder rippling down her spine.
No one knew she’d seen Mr. Pierce before his body had been taken down from the tree. That was the tipping point, the reason she’d agreed to sail to America. The image of Mr. Pierce’s empty eyes, staring at her accusingly as he twisted six feet above the road, would forever haunt her.
“Well, you are safe aboard this ship.” Mrs. Parker rose and embraced her. “And while those are horrific circumstances indeed, I’m glad they have introduced you to me. We shall have a delightful time finding you a husband, now that I’m no longer focused on Susannah. My matchmaking talents need to be put to use.”
“Who did your sister end up agreeing to marry?” asked Alana as Mrs. Parker released her.
