It was the closest he’d ever come and would ever come to an apology. And Barrett had caused it. Shaking her head, she twisted the brooch in her lap. The emeralds twinkled in the sunlight while deep-blue flames leaped from the center stone. Blue as his eyes. “He lied.”
“Because I made him swear to it, which makes him a man of his word.”
There wasn’t one promise Barrett had made and not fulfilled. She’d trusted him with her life and would do so again without hesitation. And her heart? What of that tangled mess? Had he not stirred it to beating? He’d held it so close to his own that they had fused together. As he’d left her on the steps, she’d heard the sound of them ripping apart. But her heart had left with him, and she was certain it was his heart that beat inside her now.
Father touched her arm. “Kathleen, he didn’t take the money.”
He didn’t take his payment.
He’d done it all without claiming a cent for his own. She pressed a shaking hand to her cheek as the beginning of a smile tugged at her lips.
“What are you still doing sitting here, girl? Go get him.”
Chapter 32
“I’m from Glennmoore Distillery. Got the cases here you ordered.” Barrett hefted the crate onto his shoulder. Last drop-off of the day, and his muscles were aching from the strain. Not that they’d stopped over the past two weeks of carting orders around, but this was a first for the docks.
The ship’s purser, a short man with round spectacles, ran a pencil down his clipboard. “Name?”
“Glennmoore Distillery. You’ve ordered six crates from us.”
The pencil hovered with impatience. “Your name.”
“Anderson.”
“B. Anderson?”
The corner of the crate dug into his shoulder. “Aye.”
Scratching on his clipboard, the man nodded. “Follow me.”
“I’ve left the other orders on the dock—”
“The porters will take care of them. Follow me.”
Barrett glanced up at the towering side of the Ulysses and the hundreds of small round portholes spotting it. He’d never cared much for ships. Metal boxes floating on water were nothing more than a temptation to fate. If he was going to die, he’d rather not be trapped in one of these with miles of freezing ocean around him.
Pushing down his trepidation, he stepped aboard. The deck rolled gently beneath his feet as he followed the purser down the twisting passageways and up several flights of narrow stairs. Men and lads in white uniforms bustled to and fro, flattening themselves against the walls as they passed by with practiced ease. Barrett managed to keep from knocking any of them in the head with his bulky load.
Twisting the handle on a heavy riveted door, the purser led Barrett out into what he could only assume was the main passenger area. Spacious, with dark woods, colorful carpets, planted palms, and leather-backed chairs. Every bit of fine furniture was nailed to the deck.
“This way.” The purser motioned with his clipboard up a flight of mahogany stairs with a grand clock at the landing. “Hurry up, now. The passengers have almost completed loading.”
“I thought every ship nowadays was commissioned for troop transport.”
“Most of our current roster is for wounded, soldiers, and medical staff, but the occasional civilians come aboard if there’s room available. Being war, we do have our priorities.” The purser stopped at the top of the stairs and glanced to the crate balancing on Barrett’s shoulder. “We try to keep their spirits up as best we can.”
“Glennmoore is honored to be of use.”
“Hmm, we’ll see.”
The passageways were wider and less twisted near the staterooms. Carpets covered the floors, and the wood paneling gleamed from polish. Grand ladies in their jewels and men in white ties must have once glided down these halls while his kind rode down in steerage.
Ladies like Kat.
The corner of the crate rammed into a wall. The purser whipped his head around and glared. More scratching on his clipboard.
“Sorry.” Barrett adjusted his load. Not the first time Kat had distracted him. At work, in his one-room flat, in his sleep, her face never left him.
Before he could damage anything more, the purser finally stopped in front of a door midway down the ship and slotted a brass key into the lock. Inside, cherrywood walls, deep green-and-gold wallpaper, an intricate rug, and spindly furniture of a fancy design all bespoke a life that rich people would appreciate.
He stared across the room and out the large windows to a private balcony and the ocean view beyond. No,