Free The Secret Rose by Laura Parker Page A

risen within her. Surely, there were better ways of dealing with such men.
    “Your bags have been lowered into the dinghy, Miss Fitzgerald.” The steward doffed his hat as Aisleen turned to him. “If you’re ready to disembark, I’m to show you the way.”
    “That won’t be necessary,” Major Scott cut in and offered Aisleen his arm.
    The offer surprised Aisleen. She had not thought him the gallant sort. Yet, in her dealings with men, she had found they needed little or no encouragement to preen. Doubt dimmed her countenance. “Will you not need to see to your wife, Major?”
    “When the rush for the quay has ebbed, I’ll collect her,” he answered, still holding out his crooked elbow.
    Aisleen looked down at the bobbing boat into which she was expected to climb and decided that perhaps she might benefit from a stout arm to help her on shore. “Thank you, Major,” she said, accepting his arm.
    “You’ve every reason to be cautious.” The major took up his thought once they were safely ensconced in the boat that carried them the short distance to the quay. “Don’t accept the first proposal that comes your way, that’s my advice to you. Look the lot over before choosing a husband.”
    Aisleen stiffened as she sat by his side. “I have not come to Sydney to wed; I’ve come to teach.”
    Giving her a skeptical look, he said, “See that lot yonder?” He nodded toward the group of men standing to one side of the pier at dockside. “Bushmen mostly. Whenever they’re in town, they meet the incoming ships in hopes of finding themselves a bride. You’ll be lucky to get past them without receiving at least one marriage proposal.”
    Aisleen stared at the throng of bushy-bearded men in floppy-brimmed hats as the boat docked at the pier, and her gaze was greeted by a cheer that made her blush even as she looked away. “Preposterous!” she murmured.
    “I see a prime ’un! Get the clergyman!” one of the group called out, and his cry was answered by more raucous male laughter as Aisleen was handed up onto the wharf by two seamen. A moment later the major appeared by her side, and she did not hesitate to take the arm he extended.
    “Bring her on, Major!” another jeered. “She deserves better than an old sod the likes of ye!”
    “Do not quail before them, Miss Fitzgerald,” Major Scott said under his breath. “They’ll not lay a hand on you. Just talk, that’s all they know.”
    Aisleen looked down her nose at the crowd of scruffy men as they started toward the dock. “Is that the fisheries of Port Jackson I smell, Major, or is it the population?”
    The men accepted the comment with good-natured hoots of laughter.
    “That’s the spirit, lass!” a drayman called from his perch. “Dinna let them jackeroos scare ye!”
    She ignored the other sallies coming her way, glad that she had the major as her escort. To her surprise, once they reached dockside the boisterousness subsided. Several of the men who had teased her snatched their hats from their heads as she passed, their grins less leering and their gazes almost shy. Even so, she pretended not to notice, lifting her chin to stare over their heads.
    Once on the dock, she quickly became aware of other things, like the costermongers holding up food and liquid libation as their cries of “Two a ha’penny!” and “Shilling a toss!” split the air.
    The major led the way through the lines of traffic until he found a patch of shade under the overhang of a warehouse. “Here we are, Miss Fitzgerald. A bit of respite from the heat.”
    Aisleen touched a gloved hand to her forehead beneath her corded bonnet, where a fine beading of moisture had formed. “I trust I shall learn to deal with the clime after a few days. The summer’s heat certainly lingers in this latitude.”
    Major Scott looked at her with amusement. “September is the beginning of spring by Australian reckoning.”
    “Oh, that’s right!” Aisleen sighed inwardly. How, she