The Captain's Disgraced Lady. Catherine Tinley

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      ‘I confess I still feel as though the ground is rolling under my feet, as it was on that awful boat! I declare I thought we would all end up in the sea, it was so stormy! I should like to sit here for a little while, before we continue on.’

      Juliana looked at her mother doubtfully. The crossing had been an easy one, the sea smooth. The rain had only started as they approached Dover. Mama had stayed in the cabin the whole time, not actually being sick, but expressing strong disapproval of the sea and everything associated with it. Juliana had paced the deck, exhilarating in her first sea voyage, inhaling the sea, immersing herself in the experience.

      Perhaps this was why they had never travelled home to England before. Although Juliana was used to her mama’s nerves, she did seem to be reacting particularly badly to her sea journey. Mama rarely left their home city of Brussels, but had made the long journey to visit Juliana in Vienna the previous year, accompanied by her devoted maid, Sandrine. Strange to think Mama had grown up here, in England, yet Juliana had never even visited.

      Until now. Juliana’s dear friend Charlotte—her best friend from the school for young ladies—had moved to England and was now married, and Juliana had not seen her for more than a year.

      Tea was the solution, Juliana decided. Mama would rest here awhile, in solitude, then they could continue their journey.

      * * *

      Captain Harry Fanton, darling of the Thirtieth Foot Regiment, strode into the King’s Head, glad to get out of the rain. The sea crossing had been smooth enough, but he was frustrated at having to return to England when his fellow officers were busy preparing to take on Napoleon again. His colleague Evans followed diffidently. Harry was rarely seen without a smile or a light-hearted remark, but today, his usual good humour seemed to have left him. Harry drummed his fingers impatiently on the high bar. ‘Landlord!’

      Harry had lodged many times in the King’s Head and the landlord recognised him and his colleague immediately.

      Ignoring the landlord’s effusive greeting, Harry informed him, curtly, that they required overnight rooms, as well as the use of the parlour.

      Wringing the corner of his apron, the landlord explained haltingly that the parlour was in use, that two ladies—a mother and daughter just off the packet from Calais—had need of the parlour for an hour while they awaited their carriage and—

      ‘Tosh!’ said Harry. ‘Why, we have shared the parlour before, with many fellow travellers! We shall speak to these ladies and all will be well! Come, Evans...’ he nudged his portly, sandy-haired friend ‘...follow me!’

      Knowing his way about, Harry led the way unerringly to the parlour. The landlord stayed at the end of the hallway, still clutching his apron for comfort. Ignoring him, Harry scratched on the parlour door. His friend, experiencing sudden qualms, baulked.

      ‘Dash it, Harry, we need not intrude. Perhaps we should have stayed in the taproom. The beer is the same there!’

      Harry brushed off his concerns. ‘Nonsense, Evans! I have a fancy for the parlour and its fire. I will handle this—trust me.’

      On hearing the command to enter, Harry opened the door. He paused to survey the scene. On a chair beside the fire sat a faded, middle-aged lady with fair hair and gentle blue eyes in a pale face. Standing beside her chair was a young woman, who—

      Lord!

      She was strikingly beautiful. Her height was average, but she seemed taller—something to do with the air of suppressed energy about her. She was as dark as her mother was fair, with glossy brown curls, a stubborn chin and expressive chocolate eyes, framed by thick black lashes. His own eyes swept over her, noting the confident stance, white neck and shapely figure. A vision!

      He smiled—a smile his friends would recognise. They called it the Dazzler, for the effect it had on young ladies.

      He made an elegant bow. ‘Ladies! Allow me to present myself! I—’

      ‘You have made a mistake. This is the wrong room.’

      ‘Pardon me?’ He blinked.

      ‘I said...’ the young lady spoke slowly, as if he had trouble understanding ‘...this is the wrong room. You should not be here. This room is taken.’

      Beside him, Evans gave a snort of laughter, quickly suppressed. Harry’s spine stiffened. He would not be made to look a fool in front of one of his lieutenants!

      ‘This room,’ he returned, speaking equally patiently, ‘is a public room. It is not a private parlour. Therefore—’ he stepped forward ‘—we will join you.’

      ‘You must know,’ she insisted, through gritted teeth, ‘I cannot physically remove you. Hence I must ask you, if you are a gentleman, to allow my mother and me the private use of this room.’

      ‘An interesting dilemma. For you cannot know if I am a gentleman or not, as we have not even been introduced. I am—’

      ‘I do not wish to know who you are! I wish only that you leave this instant!’ Incensed, she stamped a little foot. Her mother, who had been becoming increasingly agitated, chose this moment to intervene.

      ‘My dear Juliana, they are doing no harm. They have been out in the rain, like us, and perhaps also need the warmth of the fire.’

      Two points of high colour appeared in Juliana’s cheeks, as she heard her mother’s words. They were gently uttered, but delivered a public rebuke, nevertheless. Harry almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

      She was not to be defeated. ‘Very well, you may remain. We shall remove ourselves to the taproom!’ She swept towards them, all grace and haughtiness. ‘Mama, we shall allow these men to have the parlour.’ She clearly expected her mother to follow.

      ‘Oh, no! My dear, please!’ Juliana’s mama shot a look of entreaty at the soldiers.

      Harry knew himself to be defeated. He spoke coldly. ‘There is no need for you to leave. We shall retire to the taproom.’ He bowed politely to the older lady. ‘I shall cause you no further distress, ma’am.’

      He turned to Juliana. ‘Miss.’ It was the shallowest of bows, designed to show his disdain.

      She responded with the slightest nod of her head, mirroring his iciness, but her eyes blazed.

      Evans, who had been squirming in agitated silence, made his bow to the two ladies, then followed his friend out of the room. They closed the door behind them.

      ‘Well!’ Juliana exploded in a flurry of movement, pacing up and down the parlour. ‘What an insufferable man!’

      ‘Now, Juliana—’

      ‘So rude! So arrogant! Thinking he could just burst in here, uninvited—’

      ‘They did knock, my dear. You bade them enter.’

      ‘No, but—well, yes, I bade them enter, but only because he knocked. I did not bid him to stay!’

      ‘It is not seemly to draw attention to yourself in such a way.’

      ‘Oh, stuff, Mama! What should СКАЧАТЬ