Coming Home (6 page)

‘M
ISS COLEBROOK, TIME to wake up,' Colly whispered as he stroked her shoulder. It was a shame to wake her. After his appalling behaviour the night before they had both lain awake for hours. She had tried to lie still, but he had heard her unsteady breathing and the occasional rustle of the sheet.

He smiled at the relaxed, tempting body outlined through the transparent shift. The independent Miss Colebrook would hate to know how vulnerable she looked. She might not have the currently popular lush curves, but every single inch of her was delicious.

He frowned as she struggled up from the bunk. She was much thinner than when he had first met her. At first he had presumed her slenderness was caused by the strenuous work she did in the hospital, but during the voyage he noticed that she ate very little. And, after she had eaten, sometimes she sat very still, breathing deeply.

When he left the cabin to give her privacy for her ablutions, he was still in a brown study. Was she ill? Was that why she wanted so desperately to be with her relatives? He chewed his lip. How did he go about finding out if her illness was serious? He had no rights where she was concerned because once they left Portsmouth their marriage charade would be over. They would travel to Trewbridge together but would no longer be ‘Mr and Mrs Hetherington.'

He must ensure that Lieutenants Davidson and Harding were not standing close by when he handed his and Juliana's travel documents to the Customs officials. Davidson had already made one or two airy comments about ‘How quickly some people get married these days'. Colly was sure the man did not believe they were married. Then again, perhaps his guilt was causing him to be unnecessarily sensitive. The fact that he had saved Davidson's bacon at Douro when Davidson had been too pig-headed to listen to his sergeant should keep the young man's mouth shut. And, of course, Juliana had nursed Davidson at Sao Nazaire. Colly hoped that the lieutenant's sense of obligation would
persuade him to keep his suspicions to himself. Anyway, once they left Portsmouth they were unlikely to meet up with their fellow travellers again. Colly had checked the manifest and discovered that Davidson had listed an address near Keynsham, care of his aunt and uncle. It was a long way from Trewbridge but it
was
quite close to Heather Hill. That didn't matter. Colly had no intention of returning to Heather Hill ever again.

They passed through Customs without mishap, and Colly paid a soldier to help him with their baggage as far as the Saracen's Head. Some of the soldiers planned to stay at the Mariners' Rest or one of the cheap inns in the back streets, but most were already making bookings on the stage or hiring horses to escape Portsmouth as soon as possible. Some were desperate to get home, provided they were lucky enough to have a home. Those who did not would head for the thrills of London. When they had run through their pay, they would sign up for another eight years with the army, or sit begging in the streets, displaying their injuries.

‘Thank you, Lord, for granting me a decent future,' Colly muttered underneath his breath, as he lugged their belongings into their suite of rooms.

‘When do you wish to proceed west, sir?' Juliana asked as they unpacked.

‘There are no decent carriages to be had at the moment. Mine host informs me that Portsmouth has been cleaned out of all available transport. But that gives us time to write letters so our people know we are in England.'

He had been eager to start a new life, but now the time was drawing near to their separation, his eagerness had dissipated. He had had Juliana all to himself for two weeks and, in spite of spending most of that fortnight balanced on a knife-edge of sexual frustration, he would give much to have it all over again.

He had had time to study the tilt of her head when she was considering something. Time to watch the chocolate eyes light up with amusement when the captain paid her fulsome compliments. Time to enjoy the rise and fall of her breasts as she brushed her beautiful sable hair each evening. Time to admire her expertise at deflecting Mrs Harding's curiosity about their marriage.

Most of all he had had time simply to enjoy being with her.

And last night, lying awake for hours, he'd had time to speculate if Miss Colebrook had, by any chance, tried to seduce him. Had he wilfully interpreted her whispered ‘please' to be an invitation? If so, an invitation to what?

She was innocent, no doubt about it. Her initial startled reaction and her untutored response to his kisses had evoked a protective gentleness he had never felt before. All his previous sexual encounters had been with women who knew how to please a man. It was safer that way. Those women did not expect promises.

But Juliana kept her soft lips closed and her hands tended to wander restlessly. She did not comprehend what sort of invitation she was initiating when those hands roamed.

He grimaced to himself as his groin tightened.

Thank God some remaining shred of decency had pulled him back in time.

He allowed himself a small smile. For once the gods had ceased to thwart his every pleasure. Portsmouth had no transport for them, so he had been granted a little more time with her. The Saracen's Head had given them three adjoining rooms, all perfectly respectable, but they had seen Lieutenant Davidson in the taproom and realized that he, too, was staying here. They had little choice therefore but to continue their charade.

‘It might be a good idea to hire a maid,' Colly commented. ‘When you meet your relatives it will lend respectability.'

Sipping the coffee he had ordered for her, she pulled a face. ‘Is this how the English drink their coffee?' she asked disgustedly.

He laughed. He could afford to. In his hand he held a tankard of English ale. He had longed for this since he'd last set foot on England's soil after the Corunna débâcle, two long, dusty years ago.

‘I think, my dear, that you will be obliged to sip glasses of revolting ratafia in the future. And let me assure you that ratafia is worse than our English version of coffee.' He stretched out his long legs in front of him, relaxing in front of the open window. ‘God, it's good to be home.' Resting his head on the windowsill he inhaled. ‘Fish, seawater, rubbish, hot bread baking, carriages rumbling past….'

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Very similar to Portugal. Especially the fish and the rubbish.'

He grinned with unabated good humour. Nothing could burst his bubble today. Later he must face a difficult hurdle. He must apprise his employers of his past. He was sure that John already suspected the circumstances behind Colly's ‘choice' to join the army. Fortunately, during his stay at Trewbridge after Corunna, Colly had cemented a strong friendship with the family. Hopefully they would not be as ready as his father to believe ill of him.

He still had all his selling-out money. If the Trewbridges failed him,
somehow he would find a way to make a living. He was a very different person from the stunned, unhappy youth who had left England five years ago.

His first responsibility was to repay his redoubtable grandmother – or rather, to try to. He very much looked forward to seeing her again. ‘I doubt the army is the best life for you, Colly,' she had said, as she handed him a bank draft to purchase his commission. ‘But you need time to stand back and assess what you will do with your life. And you need to do it far away from here. Pray God you don't lose your life while you are finding yourself.'

His grandmother had been right. Killing had not suited him, nor had the vagrant life. Most of all he had found it impossible to bury the mind-pictures of friends he had once laughed and joked with whose lives had been snuffed out like cheap candles. He had mourned over the mangled bodies of so many of his fellows that in the end he had avoided close friendships. Now, at last, he could put down roots and make friends, secure in the knowledge that on the morrow their bodies would not be piled up on top of each other, walling up a breach on the edge of a battlefield far from England.

Lord, the relief at shaking off the shackles of the army!

For many men it was an ideal occupation. But he had never thought that aiming a musket at a man in a different coloured uniform who might well be your cousin, or your neighbour's cousin, was anything less than senseless. Thanks to Juliana and Dr Barreiro he had survived. And done well. He'd been promoted.
So
, he thought,
Father dear, you know what you can do
.

Juliana's voice broke into his musing. Of course he thought of her as Juliana now. How could he do anything else? He had lain beside her and kissed her. He had run his fingers through that dark-as-night hair and had even, for one glorious second, cupped her soft creamy breast in his hand. And he had relished her unmistakable response. It was ridiculous to think of her as Miss Colebrook.

‘You are right,' Juliana commented. ‘It would be a good idea to hire a maid.'

‘I shall ask the proprietor where the receiving office or employment agency is,' Colly promised. ‘He'll know.'

The proprietor was most helpful and, though Colly escorted her to the agency, he knew better than to offer to assist. She had seen and done more than any other young woman of his acquaintance. She would quickly adjust to the English way of doing things.

Indeed, barely a half-hour later she joined him at the bootmakers,
where he was contemplating a fine piece of black leather. He was negotiating with the bootmaker to fashion him a neat plain pair of boots.

‘No. No ornaments. No tassels,' he said, as Juliana approached.

For some reason she smiled.

‘You are finished already?' he enquired in surprise.

‘Yes. Mrs Tudbroke is sending two young women to meet me at the Saracen's Head. One will arrive later today and the other will come early tomorrow morning.'

He thanked the bootmaker and they retraced their steps to the inn.

He glanced at her. There was a crease between her eyebrows. ‘You seem worried,' he commented. He didn't want her worried, blast it.

There was a short silence as she adjusted her broken pink parasol so that it shaded her face more.

‘It is nothing,' she dismissed. ‘I did not expect such high wages, you see. I had to ask Mrs Tudbroke to send me very young candidates. I cannot afford the wages of a more experienced maid who would set my stock up higher with my relatives. A lady's maid in England is paid the same as a housekeeper in Portugal. However,' she sighed, ‘an inexperienced maid is better than no maid at all.'

Damn her feckless father, Colly thought. She should not have to worry about such things. ‘I think it is,' he agreed. ‘Let us hope one of the young women will suit. Your relatives will simply assume she has been with you all the time.' He paused. ‘By the way, I wish you to be easy about the cost of staying at the Saracen's Head: I shall take care of that.'

When she began to argue he made a slicing movement through the air with one hand. It was a device he had found worked very well with subalterns who wished to discuss an order at length, rather than simply get on with it. ‘No,' he said firmly. ‘I made the decision to stay here, so I shall bear the cost. That is all there is to it.'

But he saw the firming of her lips and knew that would not be all.
So
independent. However, from what he knew of her background, her independence was understandable.

Then he noticed she was peering around his shoulder at someone behind them.

‘Who is that man, sir?' she asked. ‘I saw him watching us when we arrived at the Saracen's Head. Do you know him?'

Colly turned, but the man had disappeared around a corner. ‘What does he look like?'

‘Um … medium height, shabbily dressed. Tanned skin. Possibly a foreigner. I'm sure I've seen him before.'

Colly smothered a smile. She was already identifying with her
English side. He shook his head. ‘I don't remember seeing anyone like that.'

He took her gloved hand and placed it on his arm. They strolled back to the Saracen's Head like any other married couple. Which was just as well, because they met Lieutenant Davidson weaving drunkenly over the uneven cobblestones outside the inn.

He bowed low to Juliana and sketched a careless salute in Colly's general direction. ‘Ah, the happy married couple!' Lieutenant Davidson was in his cups. ‘What it is to be married, and yet not married. The best of both worlds, eh, Brigade-Major?' He emphasized his comment with a jab at Colly's chest.

Juliana's face blanched.

Colly smiled at her reassuringly and stepped towards the lieutenant, now waving backwards and forwards like a straw in the breeze. ‘You seem to be the worse for wear, Lieutenant Davidson. Might I assist you?' As he spoke, Colly got a firm arm-lock on the man.

Davidson stared blearily into his face. ‘I'm looking for the Saracen's Head. It's my home away from home, y'know. M'aunt and uncle are sending their carriage, but it won't get here for a couple of days.' He belched with enthusiasm. ‘For two whole days I can be free of their whining and man-manipulations. Until then, drink up.' He waved an imaginary tankard in the air.

Colly grinned. ‘As a matter of fact you are directly outside the Saracen's Head, Lieutenant. Allow me to help you to your room. I think you need to lie down.'

‘Lie down? Lie down? What do I want to lie down for?' Davidson asked indignantly.

‘Good Lord,' Colly said, quirking his eyebrows at Juliana. ‘He's in prime order. I'll take him to his bedchamber.' He shoved Davidson through the big oak doors and propelled him upstairs by keeping his knuckle fisted in the small of the lieutenant's back.

‘All right, all right,' Davidson protested. ‘You're like my bloody aunt. Always pushing. Why can't people take life peaceably?' Here, their progress was hampered by Davidson's injured leg, which stuck out stiffly to one side. Colly sighed and persevered.