The Husband List by Janet Evanovich, Dorien Kelly Page A

some time, though.”
    “Of course,” Caroline said as she quickly unwove her hair from its nighttime braid.
    Annie handed her the heavy, silver-backed brush from Caroline’s small travel case. Caroline whisked the brush though her hair. Mama was no doubt taking the ship’s delay personally, as she would Caroline’s being late.
    “I let you sleep, Miss. I thought what with you out walking past midnight, some extra rest wouldn’t hurt you.”
    Caroline stopped brushing. “You saw me?”
    “Yes. I was taking a stroll with a gentleman friend and saw you talking to Mister Culhane,” Annie said as she shook out the soft green morning dress she had brought for Caroline to wear. “It’s no one’s concern but yours … though it would be easier to keep it just your concern if I knew when I needed to keep that harpy Berta occupied.”
    Caroline smiled at the eerie-but-accurate image of Mama’s maid. Nothing made Berta happier than sinking her claws into a miscreant Maxwell daughter.
    With some corset help from Annie, Caroline dressed as quickly as a female smothered in layers of fabric could. Annie pinned Caroline’s hair haphazardly, but her broad-brimmed ivory-and-green hat would hide the mess. By the time Annie had packed the travel case and gone to join Berta to wait for the family’s trunks, the Plymouth was passing the harbor’s Long Wharf, where the shipbuilders worked. Its orderly row of clapboard buildings stood in sharp contrast to the wagons and men and supplies in a jumble in front of them.
    With the sun full up and a crisp east wind blowing, fishermen had long ago left the harbor. Still, there was activity enough for Caroline to soak in as they docked, except she knew she shouldn’t dally and annoy her mother.
    She rapped twice on Mama’s door before entering. Amelia and Helen were standing in front of Mama, who was inspecting them as though they were soldiers readying for war.
    “Good morning,” Caroline said.
    Her mother peered at her. “You’re looking pallid. As soon as we get to Mrs. Longhorne’s, you are to take a rest. We need you at your peak for the season.”
    Clearly, Caroline had not passed muster.
    “Now on we go,” Mama said, scooping up Pomeroy, who sat in his wicker travel basket. “We mustn’t keep Mildred waiting.”
    “What other engagements would Mrs. Longhorne have at six in the morning?” Helen asked.
    “I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” their mother replied while shooing her flock out the door.
    Passengers disembarking in Newport were hardly more than a handful. Most stayed aboard for Fall River and its connecting train to Boston. It was a simple matter to spot Jack about twenty yards away once they stood on the wharf. He was in his shirtsleeves and talking to a clutch of men bearing notebooks. One even held a camera. How curious, Caroline thought. Reporters chased after Vanderbilts and sometimes Maxwells, but never Culhanes.
    She paused to take in the scene. Jack’s hat was tipped at a rakish angle, and his smile made her want to smile, too. He glanced her way. Their gazes briefly met, and she did smile.
    “Caroline, come along,” Mama said. “Stop gawking at strangers.”
    “That’s Jack Culhane, Mama,” she replied. “He’s no stranger to us.”
    The photographer was clearing a small cluster of spectators to take Jack’s picture. He looked at ease, though not quite as happy with the situation as he had moments ago.
    “He is a stranger to you, if not Eddie,” Mama said. “You don’t know him well at all, nor should you. He has no coat on and he keeps inappropriate friends.”
    His lack of a morning coat was a bit odd, but hardly worth Mama’s censure. It was as Caroline had figured: Last night, her mother had not looked favorably upon Jack with Flora Willoughby.
    “Eddie isn’t all that horrible,” Caroline said, trying to tease Mama out of her poor mood.
    “Don’t be impertinent,” Caroline’s mother replied. “You know I wasn’t referring to