For You Alone (Frederick Wentworth, Captain: Book 2)

by Susan Kaye

  The rapidity of the ceremony and the abruptness of the conclusion caught both Anne and Frederick off guard. A small crowd of the inn’s patrons had formed, and with the pronouncement and the mention of the kiss, they were noisy and raucous in their encouragement. Anne glanced about, embarrassed. Frederick leant down and pecked her on the cheek. There was general disapproval and disappointment, but when Wentworth announced he would pay for a round of drinks, all the grumbling ceased.

  They followed the innkeeper to the third floor, dodging and stepping over several drunken men who had chosen to quit the miserable weather earlier in the day. Anne held tightly to Frederick with one hand, her other over her nose as the keep drew them on. “Now, like I said, Jane has graciously agreed to give ya her room. You're lucky; it's the last to be had.”

  They entered the dimly lit room to find it occupied by a frail young woman standing next to the bed. She stood as straight as she could with the steep pitch of the roof. Her expression was taut, and she sniffed as she looked them over. Though the room was sparsely furnished—just the little bed, a table next to it, and a small chest—the four bodies filled the place, giving it the feel of the tight quarters below deck on the Asp. To him it was familiar, though unwelcome in the circumstance. He was sure Anne felt greatly oppressed.

  Not waiting for an introduction, the woman pulled a shabby bedcover over a single pillow on the very narrow bed that looked nearly as frail as its owner. She took several swipes at the spread as she muttered, “I dun get clean sheets but once a quarter, but for the swells, nothin’ but the finest. And me to sleep on the kitchen floor.”

  The innkeeper dumped an armload of wood in the general area of the fireplace. “Shut up, Janey. You got no cause for bein’ mouthy.” Turning to the Wentworths, he said, “Pay ’er no mind. The kitchen’s warmer anyways.”

  At this, Jane lit up. “There, you finally admit it! I been sayin’ that since I come. And I pay nearly half me wages for it.”

  “Shut up, Jane, or you be sleepin’ in the barn.” The man grabbed her by the arm and pushed her through the door. “Leave these fine people to have at it in peace.” Before he went out the door, he turned and assured them he would bring their dinner up directly. Frederick caught him at the door and spoke quietly. The man smiled and tucked something in his pocket. “Yes, sir. Right away. The other will take a little bit.” Wentworth closed the door after him, glad to be shutting out the world and, in a small way, shutting out all the noise endeavouring to invade their little bit of it.

  Anne stood motionless in about the only spot a person could stand straight. The wind whistled through a tiny window he noticed behind the door. She said nothing and made no attempt to put down her reticule, remove her gloves, or hang her bonnet. Instead, she slowly examined the room.

  Wentworth took the few steps to the wood, gathered it, and, stepping over the bed, began laying the fire. He could hear her moving around behind him. He feared she would try to leave and looked over his shoulder to see if she was heading to the door.

  She was making no move to leave. She stood at the foot of the small bed, her expression unreadable. She had removed her bonnet and now held it, twisting the strings between her fingers. Glancing towards the fireplace, she caught him studying her. She looked hurriedly away and said, “It is terribly small.”

  “Yes, but the average seaman has a hammock and a mere fourteen inches at the widest. That bed looks to be almost treble that. We have superior accommodations in comparison.”

  She smiled. “Yes, well, beggars have no choice when it comes to what they receive.”

  Turning back to the fire, he viciously jabbed at a teetering log. The wood had stood in the weather. Soaking up rain and drying repeatedly had caused it to rot. It split in half, both parts falling to the floor of the firebox. “Yes, beggars are at the mercy of Providence, that is for certain,” he said, reaching in to stabilise the woodpile before lighting it.

  Anne left the bed, hanging her bonnet and reticule on a rough peg next to the window. The room was too chill to surrender her cloak just yet. A gust of wind knocked on the roof, and she pulled her cloak closer, reminding him he had work to do. To his relief, she was looking out the window. He hoped the fray down in the carriage yard and the chaos just outside down the stairs would make her grateful for their quiet, though tiny space.

  He was relieved that the dry kindling caught immediately. Soon, the fire would warm them both, giving at least a glimpse of the bodily comfort that had been missing over the past few days. He worried that the long and uncomfortable journey had worn her beyond her endurance and that, finding the inns stuffed full of travellers halted by the wind and snow, she might lose sight of the joy of their marriage. Considering their journey, he was heartened that aside from her comment about beggars, Anne was accepting the situation with much good grace.

  She joined him at the hearth and knelt close. He said nothing but glanced her way now and then as he worked the fire. He saw the weariness in her eyes, though she looked content. The flickering firelight gave her a rosy complexion that suited her very well.

  A knock at the door brought them to their feet. Before Frederick could approach or answer, the innkeeper entered with a large covered tray, followed by a boy with two pottery mugs clacking dangerously in one hand and a brown jug in the other.

  “Here ya are, sir. Everything hot and as fresh as we can get in this sort of weather,” the innkeeper said, placing it on the chest. “Wine’s all gone, though. The beer’s good, and this should get you through the evening just fine.” He leant close. “Most fine ladies don’t care for it much.” He eagerly took a coin and departed. Wentworth was glad to close the door on the boy’s whining about splitting the bonus.

  Anne lifted the lid on the tray. At once, she replaced it and drew her hand back. “Did you order this in particular for me?”

  He joined her and looked. “What is it?”

  She gestured for him to raise the lid. “I am not certain what it is. The shape is unidentifiable, and the colour...it may be the lack of light in here, but I suspect it to be deep grey.”

  “Ah, yes, that would be boiled beef. What part of the animal is always a mystery, but it is edible. And I am sure our host would assure us those little round stones are potatoes.” He was surprised when she reached in and removed one of the white rounds. She looked it over and then put it in her mouth.

  “It is...warm,” she said. Her expression made it clear she found the potato barely agreeable. She touched his arm as she passed by to the fire. Her weariness was more evident when she leant against the short mantel. He joined her.

  “I never expected that bribery would be a part of my honeymoon.” She finally looked up. Her smile was wan, her eyes tired and sad. “I know you did not expect this. We are out of our element.” The reflection of the flames flickered in her eyes.

  “It’s not what we bargained for, but it is what we have. And, I am afraid to tell you, this is my element, precisely.” He took her hand and led her to the bed. She glanced at it and looked greatly relieved when he sat and pulled her into his lap.

  Her spine was straight and her hands folded primly in her lap. He placed his hands over hers. “My dear Anne, when I am at sea, the greater portion of my career involves bribery, cajoling the reluctant to do as I wish, and if that fails, frightening them into submission. I am quite at home here, truth be known.”

  She shook her head a little and then leant into him, resting her head on his shoulder. The small fingers of her left hand caressed his wedding band. To see their rings together was a revelation. His love for her was all consuming.

  “You don’t frighten me.” Her face was mere inches from his. “Not even a little bit.”

  “Good.” He allowed himself to kiss her. During the course of the journey, he’d been scrupulous about touching her only when absolutely necessary. He’d spent more time than he cared doing calculations of the carriage’s speed, looking out the window predicting the weather’s vagaries, a
nd labouring to ignore her presence when they were not in conversation. The worst were the nights when he would wrap her in his heavy boat cloak, and she would lay with her head on a folded lap robe resting on his legs. Tonight, there was no propriety to keep them apart.

  “I feel terribly about putting that poor girl out of her room.” She suddenly pulled away, rose, and walked to the fire.

  It took a moment for him to order his thoughts. “Even if we felt badly enough to give up the room, it is reasonable to think she’d not be sleeping here.”

  Anne sighed and glanced his way. “Of course, that black-hearted soul who married us would just sell the room to someone else.”

  “Very true.” This remark heartened him. She was not as naïve as he thought her to be. “So, giving up the room would be fruitless.”

  “Of course. And if we did that, we would have to find a place to sleep for the night.”

  “Yes, and though Patrick’s carriage is most finely appointed, we’ve been in it for too many days, and I am heartily sick of it!” She laughed and joined him once again. He took her in his arms. “And, I have no desire to share my wedding night with the driver and the post boy.”

  Anne buried her face in his coat, laughing.

  ‘I promise tomorrow morning I shall put on my captain’s face and go down roaring for Jane—”

  “And why should you do that? The poor girl has done nothing to us.”

  “It is simple, my dear. No matter where the girl is, no matter what her occupation, if I am perceived as angry she will be brought to me post haste. I then shall take her aside and give her enough to make her sleeping on the kitchen floor very worth her while.”

  She shook her head. “Another bribe.”

  “I told you, I am very at home in this sort of place. Most of the world functions by either threats or bribes. Now, I am going bribe you to eat something.”

  She took his arm and they went to the hearth. “May I ask, sir, with what would you bribe me?”

  As they moved the short distance, he said, “I should say jewels or furs perhaps, but I think, at this juncture, I could have my way for a bit of hot water.”

  She was surprised. “You know me very well.” Just then there was a knock at the door. He looked as surprised as she.

  “Here’s the water, sir,” the innkeeper said, holding out a steaming kettle. Wentworth thanked him and closed the door quickly, feeling not in the least guilty that he had not opened his purse yet again. Holding up the kettle, he said, “So, will you dine with me?”

  “I shall, sir.”

  The hot kettle was stowed by the coals, and Wentworth considered where they would eat. No plates had been brought so dining directly from the tray was their only option.

  “We can sit on the floor before the fire. We shall pretend we are dining al fresco.” She went to the hearthrug and settled herself.

  “And who is this Fresco chap?” he said, placing the tray before her.

  She removed the lid and looked at the beef. “Al fresco is Ital—” she stopped. Her eyes narrowed and she examined him. “You are teasing me. You know perfectly well what it means.”

  “I am, indeed.” He took the lid and discovered that not only did they have no plates, but also, other than a carving knife and badly bent meat fork, they had no other utensils. It was only one more instance of folly on a very long list.

  As they sat eating and chatting before the fire on a surprisingly new and comfortable rug, he discovered that his wife was as adaptable as any man and unquestionably more beautiful to look at. Even under such difficulties, she never ceased to smile. They spoke of things long past and things to hope for in their future. She ate little, preferring to abandon the bent fork and separate stringy bits of tough beef from its fat that she might offer them to him. On occasion, a gobbet would prove difficult and she would insist on feeding it to him. Once, he caught her hand and kissed her fingers. She let them linger and then gently pulled them back. The only disruption to their enjoyment was the sourness of the beer.

  Frederick realised this communion was what he’d seen between Edward and Catherine and had been jealous to have. It was now his. And while he felt exhilarated, he also felt the weight of her joy on him. Some might think that the individuals in a marriage easily remained content, but he was coming to understand that he held keys able to unlock their ultimate happiness or lock them into great anguish.

  There was little left on the platter save a few misshapen potatoes and chunks of fat in a pool of congealing grease. He slid it under the bed that they might not tread on it in the night. Afterwards, he fuelled the fire while she looked on.

  When he was finished, she sat looking at him for a long time. He told her how beautiful she was in the fire’s light. She thanked him and then said, “I love you, Frederick.” She kissed him chastely on the cheek and rose. He absently watched the fire.

  “Oh, no.” There was real anguish in her voice. “The case with my nightclothes is still in the carriage.” She looked nearly panicked.

  He had not removed his coat as yet and rose. “I shall fetch it.”

  She stopped him before he got to the door. “No. As you said earlier, we have what we have. I’m surely not the only woman to spend her wedding night in her shift. I am sure to be in quite good company.” She touched his chest. “But thank you all the same.”

  As she hung her cloak, she asked that he would assist her in unbuttoning her dress. “I wish to make use of your bribe now.”

  Her talk of wedding nights and shifts was irritating an already increasing yearning, so it was only to be expected that after awhile Frederick fumed. “Why are there so many of these blasted buttons? And why so small, and so damnably close together?” He slowly opened the back of her dress and endeavoured not to sound as helpless as he felt.

  “If you’ve not noticed, women are smaller than men. Many buttons, close together, make the fabric lie properly. It would leave gaps otherwise.” She started to unpin her hair.

  “Can’t have gaps,” he said, under his breath. He’d always thought himself capable in every circumstance. This task proved that theory to be quite wrong. A lock of hair fell on his hand. It sent a tremor up his arm as it tickled the hair on the back of his hand. For a moment he was unable to work his fingers. Just as her hair fell to cover her shoulders, he finished. He wanted in the worst way to gather it all in his hands and smell it, then pull her to him.

  “You promise you will not steal a look as I wash.” She looked serious.

  “What?” The room was suddenly smaller.

  “You will not look as I wash and change into my nightclothes.” Her arms were crossed and she could barely look him in the eye.

  His heart raced. He felt as though he had just run miles. He hoped he didn’t look as ridiculous as he felt. Normally, he would say something flippant such as, of course he would look, that now he was her husband and eventually see everything anyhow. To tease her like that would be cruel, but teasing was part of his deepest nature.

  “Perhaps just below the knees.” He tried to look as innocent as possible.

  Despite her nerves, she laughed. “You will always have some part of your own way, won’t you?”

  “As I said, if a bribe will not work, cajoling might do it.”

  “All right. But no looking above the knees.”

  “I promise. Besides, I have a fire to tend.” He had no intention to look at all when he knelt at the hearth. Well, this may be a Herculean effort. He stabbed, carefully poked, levered, and otherwise harassed the logs. As he worked, he could hear the water falling back into the basin. Musing upon what that sight might be, a small chunk of rough soap skittered to a stop at his feet.

  “Please, may I have that back?”

  The soap was slick, and it took several attempts to pick it up. When he did, his husbandly curiosity won out over his nobler self, and he glanced her way. He saw nothing. In a moment, he looked her way again. She was just beginning to pull her shift over her head. The sig
ht of her was exquisite. He looked back at the flames and marvelled.

  Soon, there was a light touch on his shoulder. “I am finished,” she said.

  He sat back and looked up at her. The light was soft and flattering to her small frame and lovely figure. “You’ve warmed it up quite nicely in here. I don’t even need the robe that was with the gown.” She looked at him, looking at her. “You peeked, didn’t you?”

  Had she seen him? He thought not, but obviously, he was wrong. Before he could respond, she said, “It’s all right, it all belongs to you anyway.”

  Standing, he took her hand. “I do not own you.” He did not wish her to think him a brute that thought of his wife as a piece of property, despite what the law might say.

  “Yes, you do, in every way that truly matters.” She placed his hand over her heart. “I am yours. I only hope you are mine.”

  For a moment he was disappointed that she harboured doubts. The soft, much-washed cotton under his fingertips cried out to be caressed and explored, but he would take every opportunity to banish her doubts and fears about him. He moved his hand to her shoulder. Gently toying with the strap, he said, “Whatever proof you need, I will give it to you.”

  She put her hand over his and then kissed it. “You have been most kind to me tonight; the whole way here, in fact. Do not think it has gone unnoticed that you’ve taken great care to see to my comfort and not press me with what will naturally come. You do have rights as my husband.”

  “Yes, I have my rights, but I would rather those things come to me freely than take them from you.”

  “Well, your patience is rewarded. I think it is time.”

  They were the sweetest words he’d heard in his life. He unbuttoned his jacket and began to ease out of it. “Please, allow me to help you.” She took it off his shoulders and to the peg. She brushed it and then, as she fingered the braid, she said, “It is heavier than I thought.”

  “I imagine there might be as much gold on that coat as you have in your entire jewellery casket. If anything happens to me, sell that coat first when you need money,” he said, beginning to unfasten the buttons of his waistcoat.