Never Land the First Fish

Chapter Three

Emily Kilbrierry disembarked from her first-class cabin in New York Harbour, younger sister and eldest younger brother in tow. She couldn't help herself tipping her head to look at the skyscrapers, taking her nose out of the guidebook she'd been reading and re-reading for the past two days. She accustomed herself again to being the darkest, wealthiest semi-Irishwoman in the vicinity. The stares were—as was typical—equally mystified by her dark skin and expensive attire, but only as long as it took to assume she was some man's mistress—even a women of her advanced age. Not so often in Brazil, but always in Europe, and apparently here, too. Crow's feet and greying hair notwithstanding, everyone believed her a concubine or a bawd. She tucked herself back into her book the first time she caught a lecherous look and waited for Benjamin and Sharada to catch her up.

"Emily!" she heard from across the docks. Looking up and standing on her toes to try to see through all the people, eventually, her uncle—her adopted father—came close enough to see. His beloved face rose out of the crowd.

It had been the same since the first day they'd met when she was seven, the day he saved her from being a scullery maid and stole away with her on his silver horse. Rook had, since the first minute, made her feel safe and secure, no matter how far away she might travel. That he immediately married Emily's aunt—who might as well be her mother—then boarded a ship with both of them and sailed away from England and Hamish Larue, was the most potent magic imaginable. Every time she saw Rook after a separation, the depth of his fatherly love for her threatened to overwhelm.

He said she had been the one to train him before all her sisters and brothers came along, for she was almost ten when Benjamin was born, and they had been in Brazil more than two years by then.

"Maausa. Is it true? Am I here?"

He picked her up and spun her like she was a small child again, then gave her a hug and kiss on the cheek. "True enough, my dear."

Emily had wanted to visit the United States of America for at least a decade, most specifically the home of the Philharmonic Society of New York. That she was breathing the same air as William Vincent Wallace was enough to make her lightheaded. Emily herself was an unquestioned virtuoso, but even among the elite, there are degrees of mastery; William Vincent Wallace... She'd seen him play once, informally, at a party she attended with Giancarlo, and she'd been struck dumb. Giancarlo demanded her attention when she might have spoken to the master, but she had no words to express her admiration, in any case.

Lord Rookscombe—Rook to anyone who knew him well—looked over her shoulder, his face falling when he took in Sharada and Benjamin, but no one else.

Emily slapped his arm with her fan. "You can't expect telling her what to do will solve the problem. You are too smart for that, Maausa. Of course, she didn't get on the boat with us. 'I shall expect you on the Carolina,' indeed."

Rook cleared his throat and couldn't help the Irish rising in his face., not quite meeting his hairline. "Quite apart from Kali, I thought Alex and Kam would come."

"Kam was never going to come once she married, and you know Alex. He always sides with Maausi. When she comes, he will, too. And you know she does not mean to leave you."

With a nod, but no words he could choke out, Maausa had to visibly collect himself to ask, "Does your maid have your things?" He always turned to the practical and immediate when he felt inconveniently emotional.

Sharada gave what would be the first of many withering adolescent looks this day. "We didn't travel with a maid, Papa."

He stopped dead in the middle of a lane of human traffic, jamming the sidewalk in both directions. "You didn't travel with a maid? Did you have anyone with you?"