Loving Katrina

Five

Felix entered his home and shut the door. When he opened the letter, his grandmother's name at the bottom of the missive grabbed his immediate attention. He hadn't talked to her since he left London right after he'd been disinherited by his father. Anxious, he skimmed the message. The news slammed into him like a runaway team of horses. Shaking his head, he read it again.

Dearest Felix,

Your father hasn't been well of late, and just last week, pneumonia claimed his life. Because your older brother died of a gunshot wound a year ago, you are now the Earl of Blackwood. Please return home and resume your responsibilities. If you fail to do so, or to contact us, you will be declared dead and the title will be given to your cousin, Stanley, who is, as you know, a spendthrift. The title is rightfully yours, and I wish you to weigh this decision carefully.

Sincerely,

Dowager Countess of Blackwood

Groaning, Felix sank into a cushioned chair and closed his eyes. For years, he'd fought his father on the issue of him becoming a vicar, as second sons of peers often did. Felix had been stubborn in his decision of not becoming a man of the cloth and so was cut off.

Regret swelled in his heart, and he wished he'd made amends with his father before he died. Truly, it was Felix's responsibility now to take over as Earl, even though the prospect didn't sound enticing. His grandmother's worry over Stanley stepping into the role was not misplaced. Felix's cousin had always been a reckless man as long as Felix had known him. He wasn't too sure becoming an earl would straighten out his cousin. Indeed, Felix should step into the role.

He rubbed his now throbbing head and glanced at the telegram. With a sinking heart, he knew what must be done. He'd been his grandmother's favorite grandson as a child. Now she needed him, and he couldn't let her down.

Children's laughter rang from outside the window, drawing his attention. They played a chase game, and it reminded him of when he was young and lived at home. Nostalgic memories engulfed him, bringing with them a bitter-sweet pang to his heart. If he took over the earldom, this would be his last time in Macapá.

This would be his last adventure, so he might as well make it memorable.

* * * *

The rickety old hackney jerked to a stop in front of the docks a half hour before Katrina's scheduled arrival time. She peeked out the window of the hired coach at the large white steamer with filigree and railings of shiny brass, wishing she would be sailing instead of traveling in a bumpy coach.

The sun had already begun its climb into the early morning sky, creating a palette of purple, blue, and orange. As she scanned the area, a few men loaded several crates onto the boat, but she didn't see her escort. If Mr. Felix Knightly came late, she'd never let him forget it. She'd show that all-too-arrogant man he couldn't push her around. Although she had promised to obey, she'd do it on her own terms.

With help from a Portuguese manservant, she stepped down from her conveyance. He then picked up her trunk and carried it onto the dock. A few men glanced her way in curiosity. Unease shot through her, causing strange chills to raise the small hairs on her arms. Thankfully, she'd taken her mother's advice and hidden a dagger in her boot just in case any man got the wrong impression and wanted to treat her any less than she deserved.

Acting her part as a well-bred lady, she daintily sat on her trunk, folded her hands on her lap, and kept her back ramrod straight while she waited patiently for Mr. Knightly to arrive. She stared up the street and watched for his carriage, but after ten minutes passed with other vehicles stopping to unload and no sign of her guide, panic welled inside of her.