‘No. No need to be sorry,’ she said, lifting her chin as she returned his grip. ‘You came down here on the spur of the moment. Now that you have...now that we are...that is, I am sure there is all sorts of business you need to attend to. My brother was in the navy, don’t forget. And though he was the dearest, kindest brother a girl could ever have, sending me part of his pay so that I could have a little pin money, or put it away for a rainy day,’ she said, squeezing her reticule as though it contained some sort of talisman, ‘when he was on furlough, he often had to spend hours and hours doing...well, all sorts of things that didn’t include me. Important things, to him. So you mustn’t think I will ever be the kind of female who will demand that you are constantly dancing attendance upon me.’
What she clearly meant was that she didn’t believe she was the kind of female who deserved much attention. Ah, Lizzie! He hadn’t wanted to join the ranks of all those people who made her feel second rate.
‘I have plenty to be doing,’ she continued with determined brightness. ‘Especially now that I have these new books. But...’ She chewed on her lower lip, clutching on to her reticule even tighter, as though steeling herself to address something unpleasant.
‘Yes? Miss Hutton, you surely know you can tell me anything.’ He winced. For most of what she’d told him so far was about to be written up into a report he was going to send to Rawcliffe.
‘Well, I hope you don’t think I am being...insensitive, but it is just that, because Sam was also an officer in the navy, I know a little bit about the service. And the action you described...well, it doesn’t sound to me like a failure. It sounds as though you fought bravely to ensure that most of the men who landed got off safely again. Sam was always telling me how circumstances can change rapidly during battle, or even just when a storm blows up. And that losses cannot be helped sometimes during war. And that a good officer is one who thinks on his feet and snatches victory from what should have been catastrophe.’
She was sweet to say that. But she didn’t really know...couldn’t really know...
‘Was? You said your brother was an officer in the navy?’
‘Yes. I thought I told you, at some point, that he...’ She bit her lip and lowered her head to her reticule.
‘When was it?’
‘Just after Trafalgar, when a storm blew up as he was trying to take one of the prize ships to port. I got the letter from him, jubilant at the amount of prize money he was going to send me. And I commissioned...this,’ she said, undoing the drawstrings of her reticule and drawing out a small brass telescope. ‘I had it engraved. But never got to give it to him. By the time it was ready, we’d heard...’
Poor Lizzie. Her life had been one tragedy after another. And now she was stuck with him. A man who was only pretending to court her in order to romance information out of her.
‘Lizzie...’ he began, and faltered. For what could he say? He couldn’t promise her that she’d never be alone again, that she could depend upon him, for she couldn’t.
But she was looking up at him holding that telescope representing her loneliness, her eyes brimming with tears.
Right after making a valiant attempt to offer him comfort. When he didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve her. Would never deserve her.
But, oh, how he wanted her. Wanted the comfort she offered. Wanted to be the man she needed.
He found himself drawing her into his arms and cradling her to his chest.
‘Lizzie,’ he groaned into the crown of her head. ‘Lizzie...’ She was so sweet, so trusting. So womanly and yielding.
She slid her arms about his waist and, for a moment, nothing else seemed to matter. She was here, in his arms, wanting him, trusting him. And there might never come another opportunity like this.
Would it be so wrong to taste her lips, just the once?
He slid one hand under her chin, and raised her face to his. And she parted her lips. Gazed up at him as though he was the sun, the moon and the stars.
Just once, he vowed.
And proceeded to break just about every code by which he’d ever lived.
Chapter Seventeen
He’d kissed her. Oh, my word, he’d kissed her! And held her tight.
And yes, admittedly, it had all been over in a flash. And then he’d set her away from him, and said he shouldn’t have done it, that in fact they should not have stayed in the coffee room when he’d seen there was nobody else there to act as chaperon.
But the point was, he had done it.
She couldn’t have told anyone later exactly how she’d got home. His servant might have taken her in the little carriage, or she might have walked, it made no difference. Because she felt as if she’d floated there, the way the seeds of a dandelion clock soared on the current after someone plucks them and blows upon them.
Now, finally, she could believe that he really had followed her here, after the brief time they’d shared in Bath, because he wanted her. He hadn’t been able to resist kissing her, had he?
And he’d been avoiding her, ever since. As though he daren’t be alone with her any more, or who knew what might happen?
It made her giggle, as she lay in bed at night, to think of herself as irresistible. Sometimes she’d press her fingers to her lips in wonder, recalling the way her heart had pounded and her blood had surged when he’d pulled her, so suddenly and almost roughly, into his arms.
It was Sunday before she saw him again. Standing under the shelter of the lych gate, clearly waiting for her. For the moment Grandfather’s carriage came to a standstill he darted forward, an umbrella at the ready, to shelter them as they made their way through the graveyard.
As she placed her hand upon his sleeve she could picture herself as a bride, walking along this same path, she really could. With him at her side. Because he’d really meant all those things he’d said about her eyes and her hair, and so on. For some strange reason, he really did find her attractive.
And what was more, she felt attractive when she was with him. No longer an awkward, burdensome creature who never fit in anywhere.
She’d drifted right up to the church door in a cloud of imaginary orange blossom before she noticed he wasn’t in the same frame of mind. On the contrary, as he folded up his umbrella and leant it against the porch wall, she caught an expression on his face that was positively grim.
Could he still be feeling guilty over behaving improperly, as he’d put it, after kissing her? Or was that stern expression, that tightly clenched jaw due to him struggling to behave properly now?
She almost giggled at the thought of him wrestling with the urge to snatch a kiss as they ducked under the low arch of the church door.
No, she mustn’t indulge in such flights of fancy. Not in church. She bent her own head in penitence as soon as she took her place in Grandfather’s pew, determined to adopt a more proper frame of mind. And as she stood, and kneeled, and made her responses mechanically, it gradually dawned on her that his mood today might have nothing to do with her at all. Captain Bretherton had troubles a-plenty. Why, the very first moment they’d met, she’d noticed a haunted look in his eyes. And the other day he’d begun to tell her what had put it there. Guilt. Just before he’d kissed her, in fact, he’d told her what it had felt like to be defeated and taken prisoner, and be helpless to do anything for the men under his command. Only, that kiss had driven all else from her mind.
She darted his stern profile a swift glance. He’d probably done nothing but brood about his men, and what he perceived as his failure, all the while he’d been a prisoner. In fact, she wouldn’t be a bit surprised if all that brooding was what had done the damage. Because terrible things happened all the time during war. And if he’d gone straight back into action, it would have just been one more skirmish, no worse than any of the other horrors he’d been through.
Oh, how she wished she could talk to him about it. But
there was no point in even trying. Men didn’t like to speak of such things. She was sure Sam had seen some terrible sights, but all he would write to her about were the funny things that happened. The characters of the men he served with. The exotic locations he’d visited. And when he did come home, he clammed up every time she tried to get him to unburden himself. Even when he couldn’t sleep at night, he would accuse her of prying if she so much as asked him what his nightmares had been about.
So she wouldn’t pry into Captain Bretherton’s past, either. She would simply be understanding if ever he did want to unburden himself.
‘The sermon this morning,’ said Reverend Cottam, ‘is taken from Matthew, Chapter Eleven.’
She wrestled her mind away from Captain Bretherton as she found the passage in her bible, determined to give the sermon her full attention. But as Reverend Cottam started to expound the text, it felt as if he was speaking directly to her. Because it was all about weary, troubled souls letting Jesus take their burdens from them and finding rest. And she saw that was what this big, brave officer at her side needed. Someone who wouldn’t expect him to bear his own and everyone else’s burdens, simply because his shoulders were broader than everyone else’s. Someone to just love him.
She came out of church, as she so often did since the Reverend Cottam had come to the area, feeling all fired up with determination to be a better, less selfish person. And also certain that even if she couldn’t be, that the God Reverend Cottam preached was so full of forgiveness that He would understand.
No wonder he was so popular with the villagers. Especially the ones who so often strayed on to the wrong side of the law. He made everyone feel as if God was within reach. That he wasn’t just waiting in the wings somewhere, ready to rain down fire and brimstone on the heads of sinners. And as if to reinforce that image, he made a point of waiting in the porch, after the service, so that he could shake the hand of everyone who’d attended. From the greatest to the least.
‘Good morning, Miss Hutton,’ he said, when it was her turn for a handshake, though his head swiftly turned in the direction of Captain Bretherton. ‘Won’t you introduce me to your...friend?’
‘Yes, of course, Reverend Cottam,’ she said, feeling somehow as though it was an introduction she should have performed much sooner. ‘This is Captain Bretherton.’
‘Indeed. You served in the navy with Samuel Hutton, perchance? You are paying a long-overdue visit to his family?’
She blushed. ‘No. Captain Bretherton and I...that is, we are...’
‘We met in Bath,’ said Captain Bretherton, fiddling with his umbrella rather than take the Reverend’s outstretched hand.
‘They will need to be calling on you soon, I shouldn’t wonder,’ said Grandfather from behind them. ‘To talk about reading the banns.’
‘Banns? Oh! Like that, is it?’
Captain Bretherton tensed. Drew in a breath. Turned back to the curate.
‘Perhaps I should call on you. When would be convenient?’
‘Oh, no need for that. I shall call upon you. You are staying at the Three Tuns in Peacombe, I believe? Rather than with the family?’
Just a minute.
Why were they excluding her from the visit that people considering marriage normally paid to the clergy?
‘Yes. Wasn’t sure of my welcome when I followed Miss Hutton down here...’
‘Sent him to the rightabouts, if you must know,’ put in Grandfather, with a chuckle. ‘Can’t be too careful with the kind of chaps you meet hovering round the gels in Bath.’
‘I see,’ said Reverend Cottam. ‘Well, then, perhaps tomorrow? I have some business to attend to in town. Shall I call in and take coffee with you?’
‘I will look forward to it,’ said Captain Bretherton, grimly, before marching out of the church. ‘What is wrong?’ he said, before they’d gone three paces. ‘What have I said to offend you?’
‘What,’ she said with resignation, ‘could you possibly have said to offend me?’ Just because he’d been paying her more attention than any man ever had before, she ought not to take offence because, for a moment or two, he’d left her out of a conversation.
‘I don’t know, but I clearly have. You have gone as stiff as a poker.’
She sighed. It seemed that all her resolutions to not be troublesome had come to nothing. Already. The effect of Reverend Cottam’s sermon had worn off before she’d even reached the edge of the church yard. ‘I beg your pardon. I don’t mean to be a shrew.’
‘You are not being a shrew! It is I who have been clumsy, in some way. And you had better tell me what I’ve done, so that I don’t repeat my error.’
He sounded so full of remorse that she felt she just had to explain the way she’d reacted. Even thought it had been rather silly of her.
‘It wasn’t your fault. It was...well, I feel a bit petty even saying it, but I was a bit...hurt, I suppose, by the way the Reverend excluded me from the meeting he seems so keen to have with you. I mean, is it not my marriage, too?’
He appeared to consider this for a moment or two. ‘I dare say he wants to make sure I am worthy of you,’ he said. ‘You must admit, even your grandfather had his suspicions about me. And he said as much, just now.’
‘But surely the fact that Grandfather approves of you now should be enough?’
‘Perhaps...he thinks that I have somehow pulled the wool over his eyes, too.’
‘That’s outrageous! If I wish to marry you and Grandfather approves...’
‘Oh, you have decided you are going to marry me, have you?’
She felt her cheeks heat. ‘If you ever do get round to proposing to me, properly, I have to admit that I am more inclined to accept than when you first came down to Lesser Peeving, yes.’ Even though she no longer thought of him as some impossibly perfect hero out of a book. He was far from perfect. He was a touch unsure about how to converse with a female. He was overshadowed by feelings of guilt and remorse, largely, she believed, because he had set himself such high standards. In fact, the more she learned of him, the more flaws she discovered, the easier it was to see herself living alongside him. After all, how uncomfortable would it be to marry a total paragon? Only think how inferior to him she would always feel.
He pulled open the lych gate for her and stood still, waiting for her to pass. ‘Miss Hutton, I...’ He faltered to a halt, taking up a position that meant she would have to brush right past his body to get by.
‘That’s enough of that!’ From behind them Grandfather’s voice boomed out. And Captain Bretherton took a step back, putting a more decorous distance between them. ‘In the churchyard,’ said Grandfather with a shake of his head. ‘Have you no respect?’
‘Beg pardon...’ Captain Bretherton began.
But Grandfather suddenly gave a bark of laughter and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Better get the banns read sharpish, eh? Good job you’re going to be meeting with the Reverend tomorrow. Settle a date, what?’
And just like that, the irritation Lizzie had worked so hard to stifle sprang back to life. They were talking about her, about her future, as though it was all settled. As though she had no say in it. It made no difference that she did want to marry Captain Bretherton. More than she’d ever wanted anything. It was the way first Reverend Cottam, and now Grandfather, were attempting to organise her life without even consulting her.
The only man in her life who would never do such a thing was Captain Bretherton.
* * *
Harry gritted his teeth as he strode along the corridor to the coffee room of the Three Tuns the next morning. This meeting with Cottam was going to be in the nature of a skirmish with a very clever enemy, who outnumbered and surrounded him. He was going to need to employ every weapon in his arsenal, both to escape exposure as the spy that he was, while doing his utmost to obtain solid proof of Cottam’s guilt.
He knew Cottam was the puppeteer, now. Knew it in his bones. The moment he’d seen him climbing up into his pulpit, he’d recognised him for a villain. It made no difference that he looked so very much like Lady Rawcliffe, his sister. Lady Rawcliffe was different inside. And it shone through her eyes. From her attitude. Cottam was like...a wax effigy of a good man. Scrape the surface and there would be nothing inside that was true. He’d had men like that serve under him. All respectful attitude and willing smiles when officers were around. But the minute they thought nobody was looking, they’d be watering down the rum and fiddling the dockets so they could sell the proceeds, leaving the crew short of provisions. Or run any other rig by which they might enrich themselves at the expense of others.
And the devil of it was, because they had such good reputations, nobody would believe they were the culprits unless they were caught in the act.
Even he might have fallen for Cottam’s act of piety and bonhomie, if Rawcliffe hadn’t warned him about the theft of the takings from one of his former parishes. If there hadn’t been so many links between him, and the girl who’d been hired in not just one, but two of the houses where jewels had gone missing.
But he had been forewarned. And, unlike Archie, he was practised in the art of warfare. He’d sailed under false colours more than once, in order to outwit the enemy.
‘Ah, good morning, good morning!’ The Reverend Cottam came striding across the room to him, his hand outstretched as if in friendship. Harry had no option but to take his hand, and shake it today. And disguise the fact that he wanted to take out a handkerchief to wipe off the coating of imaginary slime that handshake left behind.
‘I trust you enjoyed the service yesterday? Though I dare say my sermon was not to your taste. I have ordered coffee, by the way. And told Jeavons to bring it as soon as you arrived.’
In short, attempting to act as host, thereby putting Harry in an inferior position from the outset.
‘What makes you think that? About the sermon, I mean?’
Cottam hitched up his coat tails before sitting down and indicating Harry should take the chair on the other side of the fireplace. Harry sat.
The Captain Claims His Lady Page 13