themselves to postpone calling until she was settled. 'You can bet they don't like waitin', Miz Copeland,' Dainty said, chuckling, one morning as she sank the heels of her bony hands into a mountain of bread dough. 'But they're too polite to do anythin' else. Any female in this part of Georgia who's older'n fifteen or younger'n fifty has set her sights on Mr. Copeland at one time or 'nother, and now curiosity's eatin' away at all of 'em faster'n maggots on week-old meat. They want to see the woman who finally managed to catch him. Oo-ee!' Dainty chortled. 'They sure is some curious ladies jes' waitin' fer the chance to set their eyes on you!'
Chapter Thirty-one
One day, while the workmen were eating their lunches in Dainty's kitchen, Noelle stepped into her sitting room to survey their progress with the painting. As she studied the ceiling moldings high above her, she saw a section they had missed. The heavy ladder was off to the side a bit, but she calculated she could reach it if she rested her weight on one foot and leaned out.
After loading a brush with paint, she hitched up her skirts and carefully climbed the ladder. When she reached the top, she held on with the tips of her fingers and, leaning far out with the brush, she dabbed at the offending spot.
His voice startled her so that she nearly lost her balance. As it was, she dropped the brush, which promptly smeared the freshly painted baseboard.
'What the bloody hell do you mean sneaking up on me that way!' she exclaimed. 'Just see what you've made me do!'
He moved over to the base of the ladder and looked up at her with amusement. 'If I'd known you were so handy with a paintbrush, Highness, I wouldn't have hired all these workmen.'
'Why are you home at this time of day?' she snapped.
'I left some papers in my bedroom.' He grinned up at her. 'Are you planning to stay up there all day?'
'I was just coming down,' she said stiffly as she began descending the ladder, trying not to catch either her skirt or her petticoats. The business was made more difficult by Quinn grinning up at her, obviously enjoying his unrestricted view of her lacy underthings.
'I should come home during the day more often. I had no idea I was missing so much.'
'Don't be infantile,' she flared, stepping down off the last rung.
She was about to sweep from the room when she stopped herself. This was the perfect opportunity to confront him. It galled her that he had forced her to come to Cape Crosse so he could fulfill his promise to Constance, yet now that she was here, he hadn't once mentioned showing her the shipyard. If he thought that after all that had happened she was still wiling to turn over control of her shares to him, he was about to be reinformed.
'I want to visit the shipyard.'
'Don't you have enough here to keep you busy?'
'It's not a matter of keeping busy, Quinn,' she said sweetly, knowing that even if he wanted to, he wouldn't break his word to Constance. 'I just want to keep an eye on what's mine.'
She could tell by the cold look that settled around his eyes that he didn't like her comment; however, he nodded begrudgingly. 'Have one of the men bring you around tomorrow.'
Her face as she turned to leave the room did not quite conceal her pleasure over the small victory. 'I'll do that, Quinn.'
With a groom to lead the way, Noelle rode Chestnut Lady the two miles to the shipyard. She had taken particular care with her appearance that day, coiling her hair low on her neck in a simple but elegant arrangement that she set off with tortoiseshell combs. She chose a fawn riding habit trimmed with dark brown piping and, as a final touch, settled the topaz ring on over her wedding band.
The shipyard was larger than she had imagined and bustling with activity. There were ships in various stages of construction, each one surrounded by piles of wood and mountains of fresh shavings. Lining the yard were at least a half-dozen buildings, some a single story open at the sides, others taller and enclosed. The sound of iron being hammered told her one belonged to the shipsmith; another she guessed to be a warehouse. She watched a wagon pull up at a third to receive a load of canvas through the door of the loft. At the end of the yard was a wharf where a large ship with a team of workmen crawling through its rigging was anchored. The smell of wood shavings, tar, and old hemp permeated everything.
'Afternoon, Miz Copeland.'
'Why, hello, Carl.'
The flaxen-haired Swede who had done some work at Televea the week before biushed with pleasure that she had remembered his name. 'If you're lookin' for Mr. Copeland, he's over watchin' the planking. I'll go tell him you're here.'
'No, don't bother. I'll go over myself.'
Noelle walked toward the group of men Carl had indicated and watched them curiously. They were standing at the base of the frame of a ship, its bare timbers towering over them like the rib cage of a giant animal skeleton. Off to one side, fires burned under large kettles that were shooting their steam into long enclosed boxes.
While Noelle watched, there was a cloud of white steam as one of the boxes was opened and two men wearing leather gloves reached in with hooks to extract a steaming plank of wood. As it whipped loosely in the air, pliable from the moist heat, they climbed up to the exposed ribs at the bow of the skeleton ship and, before it could stiffen, began clamping it down so that it conformed to the curve of the frame.
'I don't like the way that one looks, Pat. Take it off and try another strake.'
As Quinn moved around the front of the frame he caught sight of her, his admiring glance telling her that the extra pains she had taken that morning with her appearance were worth the effort.
'Take over, Pat. Any more of that wood looks green, you let me know.'
As he approached, Noelle shielded her eyes with her hand from the wintry midday sun. 'I don't want to pull you away from your work, Quinn.'
'I'm done here. It's a good time to show you around.' He led her to a large frame building at the front of the yard. Over the doorway was a wooden sign with intaglio letters of shining gold:
COPELAND AND PEALE, SHIPBUILDERS
CAPE CROSSE, GEORGIA
LONDON, ENGLAND
Noelle looked up at the sign and smiled. 'I see the British have been put in last place as usual.'
Quinn laughed. 'Old Tim told me that when Simon first had the sign hung, it read the other way around and kept disappearing. He'd have a new oce made and, within a day, it'd be gone, too.
Finally he took the hint and changed the order of the towns. Nobody's touched it since except to repaint the letters.'
For the first time, Noelle noticed a small group of men standing to the side.
'Afternoon, Boss.'
Quinn took Noelle by the arm and led her over to the men, and he introduced her. It was a pattern that was to repeat itself as they made their way through the yard, leaving each man anxious to go home and tell his wife that he had met Mr. Copeland's bride that day.
As the afternoon progressed she found that she remembered much of what Quinn had told her while they were on board the
'So you finally decided to let her visit us, Quinn.'
Noelle turned to see a pleasant-faced young man in a frock coat walking toward them.
'Noelle, this is Julian Lester, our business manager.'
