The Captain's Courtship. Regina Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ her. And her own feelings had been folded away like a favorite gown, tucked between sheets of tissue for safety. Some might say that a marriage would solve her problems, but she couldn’t believe that. And marriage to Richard Everard? Never.

      But he didn’t wait for her response. He strode to the sitting room door, the slap of his brown boot heels echoing against the wood floor, and glanced inside. Apparently disliking what he saw, he stalked across the space to glare into what had been her husband’s library.

      “You really don’t have a sofa,” he declared, as if that was somehow a moral deficiency.

      Claire tugged down on her sleeves, careful to keep him from seeing the edge she’d so carefully patched. Her mother would never have imagined the ends to which Claire would have to put the embroidery skills she’d been taught.

      “The sofas in this house were shabby pieces,” she told him. “I am well rid of them.”

      He returned to her side, dark eyes narrowing. “So you’d have me believe you merely tired of all your furnishings.”

      It was close to the truth; she’d tired of any number of things. Claire waved a hand. “I’ve grown weary of the whole, tedious social whirl. The town house has been sold, and I plan to leave London before Easter. I thought perhaps Bath, or Italy. I have yet to decide.”

      She had hoped her tone was as breezy as her wave, but he shook his head. “The Claire I knew would have crawled to London over broken glass rather than miss the Season.”

      “Then perhaps, sir, I am not the Claire you knew.”

      He laughed as if she’d said something remarkably clever. He had no idea how difficult the last ten years had been, how much she’d changed, how much she’d had to mature. At least that much good has come of it, Father.

      “We’ll see about that,” he said. “But I can’t keep you standing about like this. Is there nowhere in this house we can sit down?”

      She thought about turning him away more forcefully, but truly, did it matter? He would say his piece, she would decline, and he would be gone. If he told anyone about her constrained circumstances, she’d be miles away before the gossip grew to any magnitude.

      “We still have a table and chairs in the kitchen,” she told him. “This way.”

      She led him down the corridor beside the stairs toward the little kitchen at the rear of the town house. Her right knee twinged just the slightest, protesting all this moving about. Not now, Lord. Please, keep it strong until I’m finished with him. She refused to see pity or, worse, pleasure at her pain. Though, who could blame him for thinking she deserved what she’d gotten from her marriage? She was the one who had broken her promise.

      Shoving the memories aside, she pushed through the kitchen door with Richard right behind her. Mrs. Corday looked up from the potatoes she’d been peeling, hand frozen on the knife.

      “This is Captain Everard,” Claire said, as if she normally entertained guests in her kitchen. “He wishes to have words with me.”

      Her cook blinked bleary blue eyes wreathed in wrinkles. “And would you like me to stay, your ladyship?”

      Claire glanced at Richard, who looked surprised she’d think twice about trusting herself alone with him. Claire focused on her cook. “Please go about your duties. Don’t let us disturb you.”

      The cook’s snowy brows went up, but she ducked her head and set about whipping the peelings off the crusty vegetables as if her life depended on finishing.

      Claire hadn’t spent a lot of time in her kitchen until the furnishings had been taken, but she’d been surprised to find it a dark and dismal place, with a gray stone fireplace that took up one entire wall and oak cabinets painted a lacquered black that had dimmed with time. The only bright spots were the copper tools hanging from the walls around the hearth and what was left of her china, creamy white with rosebuds along the edges, piled haphazardly on the sideboard for packing.

      Still, she could remember how to be the proper hostess, even if she had to take the role of servant. “May I take your coat, Captain Everard?”

      “Thank you.” He shrugged out of the multicaped greatcoat and folded it over one arm to hand it to her. Under it he wore tan breeches and a tailored brown wool jacket. An emerald-striped satin waistcoat peeked out through the lapels. She could find no fault in his clothing or the elegantly tied cravat at his throat. In fact, he looked every bit the gentleman.

      “Please, have a seat,” she said, motioning him to a ladder-back chair farther down the oak worktable. She went to hang his coat on a curved-arm hall tree by the kitchen door. “Would you care for some tea?”

      She turned in time to see that he had pursed his lips as if he doubted she could produce the brew. “Certainly, if it’s not too much trouble.”

      Meeting Claire’s gaze, Mrs. Corday jerked her head toward the fire. “Kettle’s already on the boil, your ladyship. There’s enough for a few more cups in the caddy.”

      “Thank you,” Claire murmured. Fully aware that Richard’s gaze followed her every step, she went to the fireplace and took the kettle off the hook. Carrying it to the sideboard, she set about pouring the steaming water into one of her china cups.

      She nearly sighed aloud when she peered into the satinwood tea caddy. This was the last of her bohea. Funny how little things had come to mean so much now. Would she be able to get the mellow tea in the little town where she hoped to retire? For, regardless of what she’d told Richard and a few close friends, her funds would never extend to Bath or Italy. She was considering a two-room cottage in the tiny village of Nether Crawley, a day’s ride from London. Of course, with no carriage or horse, the distance was immaterial. Very likely, she would never see London again.

      Help me remember why I made that choice, Lord. It does no good to wish it otherwise now.

      She returned with Richard’s tea and set it in front of him. Lifting the cup to his mouth, he took a cautious sip. Now, why did that smile please her so much? She’d have thought she’d played a complicated Mozart sonata in front of the king.

      “Are you certain you want to leave London?” he asked as he lowered the cup.

      “Quite,” she replied. She turned her back on his frown and went to pour for herself.

      “What if I could give you another Season, all expenses paid?”

      She could not even reach for the teapot. Stay in London? Enjoy the balls, the parties; reacquaint herself with her friends, with no thought of tomorrow?

      Ah, but she’d learned there always came the time to pay the piper. Tomorrow, however much she wished otherwise, would come. He only offered a reprieve. She would have to leave London regardless, before the Season, after the Season, for the same small house at the back of beyond. In the meantime, she would have to continue to pretend that her life was perfect, that she was perfect. No, not that. Lord, You know I am so tired of that.

      She poured the last of the brew, the steam curling up to her face. “I fear my mind is made up, sir.”

      “Then it’s my duty to change it.”

      She turned to find him regarding her, his cup sitting in front of him, his hands braced СКАЧАТЬ