A Lady's Wish (4 page)

She stepped on to the straw and released him, then tucked her gown neatly about her and directed her gaze forward.

He went to his horse, his chest tight. He had spent years on the sea fighting men cowardly and brazen, greedy and vicious. In service to the Crown he had fought battles worthy of nightmares. He had held the helm steady at twenty-five knots against storms that would break a madman, his heart in his throat, praying for redemption. But he had never felt like a fool until now.

For years he had worshipped the dream of a woman who no longer existed. Quite possibly, she never had.

Chapter Four

H
e rode alongside the wagon, darkly handsome and silent as the evening fell around them and the road grew dimmer. The wagon jolted under Patricia’s behind, her hands raw where she clutched the edge. Calanthia maintained a steady stream of conversation with the talkative farmer, Aunt Elsbeth inserting morsels of absurdities throughout. But Patricia could not enjoy it.

How could her blood tingle and yet she felt as though she were dying inside, both at once? He had taken her hand and her entire universe halted.

It was
he
. Still she could not believe it, possibly because he was behaving as though they had never met. As though their day together had not been the most wonderful of her life. Followed directly by the most heartbreaking.

Lights appeared ahead, and the shadows of buildings clustered about a yard. The wagon rumbled to a halt before the inn, a mostly stone structure of two stories. Calanthia took their escort’s hand to descend. Sore and stiff, Patricia hurried clumsily off the back of the wagon before he could assist her. She could not bear touching him again so perfunctorily, not remembering how they had once touched in quite another manner.

“I hope the fire is blazing,” Calanthia said cheerily. “I am chilled to the bone.”

Inside, the sounds of a busy taproom came from beyond the foyer. A robust, salt-and-pepper-haired man wearing an apron appeared in the doorway.

“How may I be of service to you, sir?”

“I am Acton. My man came ahead of me today to arrange accommodation.”

The innkeeper bowed with a sweep of his hand. “Welcome, Captain Acton! We are honored to have the Navy’s finest here at the Trout and Pony.”

Patricia gaped.

Captain Acton
? The naval officer praised for his victories so often during the war that not a person in England did not know of his fame?

“You must see to these ladies first,” he instructed the innkeeper. “They have had a time of it upon the road with an injured carriage horse and require private quarters as well as a parlor for dinner and breakfast.”

“I wish I could oblige, Captain.” The innkeeper was all obsequious regret. “But we have only one parlor and your man here—” He gestured to a weathered, bowlegged man shuffling into the foyer “—has already hired it for you.”

“I have no need of it. It shall be theirs.”

“Oh, no, sir. Captain.” Words stumbled from Patricia’s tied tongue. “You must not relinquish it for us.”

“Taproom’s not fit for ladies,” his manservant scowled. “Cap’n ain’t supped with fellows so low going on five years.”

“That is not precisely true, Rum. I have supped with you.”

Calanthia giggled.

“I regret your man has it right.” The innkeeper shook his head. “Filled to the brim with laborers tonight, Captain.”

Captain Acton turned to her. “I would not leave you to such company and suffer the chastisement of both Mr. Rum and our host.” His green eyes sparkled, so like the young man nine years ago it grabbed Patricia’s breath.

A smile tugged at her lips. “Is that the only reason?”

He lifted a curious brow. “Of course.”

“Then you must accept our invitation to dinner.” Her fingers plucked at her cloak, a habit of nerves. His gaze upon her was far too steady and inside she was tangled and regretful and anticipatory at once. Thoroughly confused. In all her fantastical imagined scenarios of how he had been busy enjoying life carelessly making love to women he briefly encountered whilst she moldered away in a remote corner of England trapped there by her husband, she had never,
never
imagined him a famous sea captain. Never.

I can sail fairly well. And I can, apparently, fall in love with a lady whose name I do not know within the course of a few short hours.

“Oh, yes, Captain.” Callie beamed. “You must join us for dinner.”

“Roast capons and turnips.” Aunt Elsbeth’s bonnet flowers bounced. “And leek pie.”

Callie laughed. “Leek pie, Auntie?”

“Been sneaking in the kitchen a’times, I’ll wager.” Mr. Rum scratched behind his ear, a bushy brow raised.

“I beg your pardon. My aunt does not sneak about kitchens.” Callie’s voice censured, but her eyes twinkled. “She is simply prescient.”

“Well I dunno what’s that, miss.” He eyed Aunt Elsbeth. “But she’s got the lay o what’s in the galley.”

“Pray join us, Captain,” Patricia said quietly. “I shall not hear differently.”

He bowed to her. He could hardly do otherwise with all three of them and his manservant insisting. But she did not think he liked it. His brow was taut.

The innkeeper finally turned to her.

“And who, ma’am, may I be welcoming with the captain here?”

“I am Lady Morgan.” She looked at the war hero she had known for a single day as a carefree, teasing youth, and said, “Captain Acton, may I present to you my sister, Miss Ramsay? This is Miss Haye, my husband’s aunt.” She did not know why those last words should be so difficult to say. She was no longer wed now, after all. As she had not been on the day she met him.

“I am honored to be favored with such company.” He bowed again. “I beg you to excuse me while Mr. Rum and I see to your cattle and vehicle.”

“You needn’t, sir. Our coachman will.”

“Not alone, he cannot.” He turned and without another word went out of the inn.

P
atricia stared into the cheval glass on the parlor wall at a face she barely recognized. She had packed all her prettiest traveling dresses, including a light muslin she liked, in the naïve, heady hopes of encountering a gentleman upon the journey who might admire her. But she had not given a thought to her face or hair. She had not imagined she might encounter a gentleman who had known her nine years ago when the bloom still glowed in her cheek and she hadn’t gray circles beneath her eyes from lack of sleep and too many cares.

She never imagined encountering him at all.

“Is this not the most splendid inn?” Calanthia danced into the parlor with a swirl of skirts. “The chambers are all done up in chintz and lace pillows, so there must be a very busy lady innkeeper.”

“Callie, where is Aunt Elsbeth?”

“Mr. Rum seems to be taking her to task for something she said concerning Noah’s Ark. I passed them in the corridor quarreling.”

“Calanthia.” Patricia started for the door. “You cannot simply leave her conversing in private with a man of whom we know nothing.”

“But Captain Acton is so splendid, I cannot imagine his manservant would be anything but splendid as well. And apparently he is the captain’s cabin steward. Sailors are so honorable.”

Patricia shook her head and reached for the doorknob. The panel swung open and she came face-to-face with the man she had dreamt about on her wedding night. His gaze swept over her features, then her hair. She lifted a hand to a curl that would not be restrained by pins no matter how she tried. He followed the action.

“What a wonderful place this is, don’t you agree, Captain?” Calanthia opened a small wooden casket on the mantle. “Why, look! A treasure chest. And it is even filled with tiny faux gold doubloons. How delightful. John and Ramsay would adore it, wouldn’t they, Tricky?”

“I suspect they would,” she murmured.

“I should wonder at a treasure chest so far from the coast,” he said over her shoulder. But she was standing in his way of entering the room, of course, staring at him as though he were not real. She backed up a step. He moved into the chamber and to Calanthia.

“You must certainly know of such things, Captain.” Callie’s fingertips ruffled through the coins then she replaced the box. “We have heard of your great victories during the war. What brings you now so far from your ship?”

“Calanthia,” Patricia whispered.

He glanced at her. “I do not mind the question. I am on a mission on behalf of a friend, Miss Ramsay. In pursuit of a hidden treasure, in fact.”

“How diverting!” She clapped her hands. “What sort of treasure?”

“I haven’t an idea. What sort of a treasure do you wish it to be?” He smiled.

Patricia’s knees went to jelly. But her sister seemed unaffected by this display of masculine perfection.

“What sort? Goodness me, if I could choose I would have it be a chest filled to the brim with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds.”

“Aha, gems.” His amusement was all for Calanthia. “A lady’s fondest wish.”

“Not every lady’s.” The words passed through Patricia’s lips before she could halt them. But her fondest wish for years had been him.

Calanthia laughed. “But, Tricky, with such a treasure you could make wedding rings for hundreds of poor girls.”

He turned to her with a mildly curious regard, hands folded behind his back, bearing erect. “Wedding rings?”

“My sister you see,” Calanthia supplied, “is an amateur jeweler. A remarkably fine one. She makes wedding rings for girls in London whose grooms cannot afford to supply rings themselves.”

“How admirable of you, Lady Morgan.”

His voice, deep and slightly rough, made her weak as it had nine years ago. He had spoken to her that day, so few words to begin, and like a puppy hungering for a biscuit, she had followed him. And she had believed his words.

She could not meet his gaze. “Thank you, sir.” She turned to the door as Aunt Elsbeth, Mr. Rum, and a serving girl bearing a tray laden with dishes entered.

“Rain’s settling in tonight, Cap’n.” Mr. Rum began distributing dishes and serving them. “Travelin’ll be poor tomorrow.”

“But I daresay you’ve had plenty of poor weather at sea, haven’t you?” Calanthia plucked a slice of bread from a basket.

“We seen squalls and tempests and sheets o’ ice and hail the size o’ turkey eggs smacking the deck like cannon shot.” He passed her a plate heaped with what looked remarkably like leek pie. “Cap’n’s got us through them all.”

“How exciting!”

“At the time they were rather more unnerving than exciting,” the captain said with a rueful smile.

“But to be a sea captain . . .” Callie sighed. “How did you come to be one?”

His gaze flickered to Patricia, then away.

“Quite by accident, Miss Ramsay.” He offered her a glass of wine.

She lifted it high. “Then I propose a toast to new friends met upon the road quite by accident.”

Patricia drank. Then she drank more. She ate very little. Her twisted stomach would not allow it. But wine went down easily. Calanthia maintained a steady stream of questions for him—some intelligent, others silly—to which he responded with apparent pleasure.

“Captain,” Patricia finally blurted out at a pause in the conversation, “what news of our carriage horse? Will he be fit to take to the road tomorrow?”

“I fear not, madam. Your coachman tells me the animal’s injury is long-standing and requires several days of rest.”

“Is there another team to be hired here?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Then we shall simply take the wagon to our destination, Tricky. Won’t that be marvelous? Auntie, you may ride upon the seat, of course.” Callie giggled. Clearly she had had too much wine. Or perhaps her twinkling eyes were due to the attentions of the handsome, famous naval captain sharing their dinner.

“Mr. Rum will ride to the next village and command replacement cattle for you at the posting house there.”

“Oh, sir, he mustn’t.” Patricia frowned. “We will be in your debt.”

“As I am in yours for dinner tonight. We will be even then.”

He did not smile. His smiles, it seemed, were all for the lovely girl grinning on the other side of the table.

Patricia stood abruptly, clattering her chair. She would not allow Calanthia to lose her heart to him. She was responsible for her sister’s happiness, and a man who could make promises to a lady then nine years later upon a rainy road treat her as though he had never seen her before did not deserve the affections of a warm, spirited girl like her sister.

“It is time we retire, I think, Calanthia.”

“Retire? Why, Tricky, it is only nine o’clock!”

“The mattress is goose-down,” Aunt Elsbeth said. “Quite suitable for lovers.”

All three of them turned their heads to her.

The captain grinned in comfortable amusement. “Miss Haye, you must be weary after the day’s adventure. May I escort you to your quarters?”

Her hazy gray eyes smiled. “Terribly weary, young man. But fetch me that Mr. Rum now to see me up.”

Calanthia tipped her glass to her lips. “Perhaps they will discuss Jacob’s ladder next, and after that King David’s dancing.”

“I regret that Mr. Rum has already turned in for the night. A sailor’s hours often follow the sun. Allow me, instead.”

She batted his hand away. “No, no. I will see to myself.” She wobbled toward the door, filmy shawl tailing upon the floor.

Patricia went after her, but she could not leave her young sister alone with a gentleman.

Calanthia leapt up. “I will go. She requires my assistance preparing for bed. But I shall return momentarily.” She grinned up at the captain. “Don’t drink all the wine without me.” She followed Aunt Elsbeth from the room.

Silence descended, only the muted crackling of fire in the grate within, and the sounds from the taproom without.

“My sister, it seems, has lost all sense of propriety.” She turned to him. “And she has drunk too much.” She was not alone in that, and it was to no good cause. In the firelight, enhanced by candles, he was quite as breathtaking as he had been in the sunlight nine years earlier. The break in his nose lent his long, handsome face a dangerous air and his eyes glimmered with gold.

“Wine will not harm her.” He tipped the decanter to the lip of his glass, then Patricia’s.

“Thank you for your assistance today. Without it we might still be stranded upon the road.”

“In which direction does your journey take you, Lady Morgan? Rum must inform the ostler at the posting house tomorrow morning.” He offered her the glass.

She shook her head. No more wine. No more muddling her already muddled thoughts.

“Not much farther. Northwest.”

He took a long swallow of his wine, set it down, and said, “Who are John and Ramsay?” His tone was easy. “It is the height of impropriety for me to inquire, no doubt, but I have spent a great deal of time removed from polite society, in fact years, so you must forgive me.”