December 23rd, 1814, Wiltshire
Captain Philip Kempton winced as he dismounted in front of the Blue Bell Inn. He’d been riding for hours and his back and legs ached. He shouldn’t have been surprised—what had he expected after spending most of the last ten years at sea? It served him right, too. He’d barely mentioned the possibility of riding to Beechgrove when his mother launched into a lament about the cold weather, the state of the roads, and how he would be much more comfortable if he borrowed the chaise. Already irritated by the way she’d pressed him to accept the invitation from Aunt Beth and Uncle Thomas, he’d dug his heels in and insisted that his father’s hunter would be the most comfortable way of making the journey. And he’d managed without a valet for a decade, thank you; his uncle’s man could do anything needed over the festive season.
So here he was, still an hour’s ride from his destination, with a backside that not even a hot bath would soothe, and fingers and toes numb from the chill air. The night would get colder still, he thought as he regarded the clear sky, its pale blue already turning a duskier shade. It would be dark by the time he arrived, but the moon was nearly full and would light his way. An hour spent thawing out in the inn would make little difference. The horse deserved a rest, too.
He walked into the inn, hoping his aching muscles didn’t show in the way he moved. The stone-flagged passageway inside was dim, but a door stood ajar and Philip entered the heat and noise of the taproom. The air was thick with smells of woodsmoke, spilled ale, and unwashed bodies, the laughter raucous.
“What can I do for you, sir?” The landlord leaned in close and raised his voice to make himself heard above the hubbub.
Philip rubbed his face, the noise and smell almost making him regret his decision to halt here. But warming himself wasn’t his only reason for stopping—he was still debating whether to just turn around and return home. He could think up some excuse and send Aunt Beth his regrets.
“Sir?”
He was here now, so he might as well eat. “Ale. And a hot meal.”
“Very good, sir. We’ve a fish stew, or beef pie. Cook can do something else, if you wish, but you’d have to wait a bit.”
“Beef pie will do nicely.” It was too loud in here to think. “Do you have a private parlour that’s warm?”
The man nodded. “Fire’s lit in the room just across the hallway, sir. Send your food in there, shall I?”
“Yes, please do.”
The parlour was furnished only with a couple of tables and chairs, and a high-backed settle near the fireplace. Philip threw a couple of extra logs onto the fire and stood with his back to the flames, hands behind him as if he was still on the quarterdeck of the Penelope. His fingers were warm and tingling by the time the landlord appeared, a maid with a laden tray behind him.
“Going far, sir?” the man said as the maid set out a plate with a huge slice of pie swimming in gravy, a dish of vegetables, and a mug of ale.
“Delfont Abbas,” Philip said.
“Nice place; I come from there. Addison, at the Delfont Arms, brews a fine ale. Nearly as good as mine,” he added, with a wink.
“I’m staying at Beechgrove, but no doubt I’ll find time to test your recommendation.”
“Friend of the family, sir?”
“Kempton’s my uncle.” Philip sat down, his stomach rumbling in anticipation.
“Ah, you’ll be Captain Kempton, then. Addison and I have been following your actions in the papers. You’ve been making a splendid fight against the Frogs, sir.”
“Yes, well…” Philip didn’t know what to say—they’d all just been doing their duty.
“Enjoy your meal, Captain. It’s on the house. Just shout if you want more ale.”
Damn it—he was committed to spending Christmas at Beechgrove now. If the man was friendly with the landlord of the Delfont Arms, word would eventually reach his aunt and uncle that he’d been on his way.
It’s been four years, he told himself—you should be over it by now. But flashes of that summer fortnight still came back to him when he couldn’t sleep, or when he let his mind wander. Days of shared walks on the Downs or through the Beechgrove gardens. Days when he’d fallen in love with a woman who’d promised to wait for him.
And his thoughts always ended on the irony of being given command of a frigate named after a wife who had waited.
***
Lady Anna Radnor huddled into her pelisse, trying to ignore her discomfort as the post chaise rattled and bumped along the road. It wasn’t the winter chill that troubled her, for her hands were warm inside her fur muff and the hot brick from the last posting inn kept the chill from her feet. No, the problem was the large pot of tea she’d drunk an hour before. She wriggled again, but it was no use. She couldn’t wait until they reached Beechgrove.
She rapped on the glass to attract the attention of the Kemptons’ groom, riding on the nearside horse. The icy air made her eyes water as she dropped the side window.
“Stop at the next inn, if you please. How far is it, do you know?”
“Only a mile or so, my lady.”
Anna drew the window up, snuggling into the cushions with appreciation. It was good of Aunt Beth to have sent the chaise for her. She had enough funds now to keep a carriage of her own, but she had little use for one, and habits of economy were sometimes hard to discard. Beth Kempton was no relation to her, but she had been a close friend of her mother and treated her like a niece.
Anna wasn’t as happy about the prospect of seeing Philip again, but it was something she had to do. As Aunt Beth had written, a final meeting might allow Anna to dismiss him from her mind even if it achieved little else. What had concerned Anna, though, was Aunt Beth saying that Philip didn’t know she was to be one of the party.
What must he think of her if Aunt Beth thought that her presence might keep him away?
“Do you wish for some refreshment, my lady?” the maid asked, as Anna emerged from the small room set aside for ladies’ use.
Anna hesitated. The groom had said they were only an hour from Beechgrove, but it hardly seemed fair to the inn to leave without buying something.
“The private parlour’s occupied, my lady, but it’s only a gentleman. I’m sure he won’t mind sharing. Captain Kempton, it is. He’s known in these parts, so you needn’t worry.”
Philip? Here?
Her heart fluttered—she had not expected to see him so soon.
It shouldn’t be so surprising; they were both on their way to the same place, after all. But although it was a fortnight since she’d received Aunt Beth’s letter, she still had not decided what she should say to him. She’d thought she would have a little more time to consider, but perhaps a first meeting here would be best. If he ignored her or just walked away, there would be no witnesses.
“A glass of wine, if you please.”
Anna took a deep breath. She had until the maid returned to compose herself. She smoothed her skirts—she looked smart enough. Knowing she was dressed well helped to stoke her confidence.
It wasn’t the maid who returned, but the landlord, with a glass of wine on a small tray. “This way, my lady.”
Anna followed him down the dimly lit passage, hesitating by the parlour door as the landlord entered.
“There’s a lady here, Captain. I hoped you won’t mind her sharing the parlour while she drinks her wine.”
The landlord blocked her view of the room.
“By all means.”
Anna’s breath caught. The sound of his voice was still familiar after all this time, and her hands clenched until the nails bit into her palms. Then the landlord moved into the room to set her wine on an empty table, and she was looking directly at Philip.
He’d changed, and he hadn’t. The same hazel eyes, but with more creases at their corners. The same brown hair, a little lighter than she remembered, perhaps bleached by the tropical sun. The smile was cool, a smile for a stranger.
Had he forgotten her so completely? Was that why he’d never answered her letters?
Philip saw only a dark red pelisse beyond the landlord as he agreed to share the parlour. He hadn’t paid for the privilege of having it to himself, after all. As he stood, the woman’s face came into view and his polite smile froze.
How could she be here?
For a moment he wondered if his thoughts had conjured up a vision, then she moved and the spell was broken.
“Captain Kempton.” She inclined her head and turned to the landlord. “Thank you. Can you ask my groom to be ready in ten minutes?”
The landlord bowed and left, leaving the door ajar. Anna, his Anna, sat down at the table and sipped her wine. He dragged his eyes away from her face, dismayed to find he was still attracted to her in spite of what she had done.
‘Please, Captain, do finish your meal.”
Her voice sounded different than it did in his dreams—cooler, more confident. He sat down but ignored the food. “You look well, Anna. My lady, I should say.” What was her name now? He’d destroyed the letter—all he could remember was that the man had a title.
“I am Lady Radnor now,” she said. “You seem to be none the worse for your sojourn in the tropics, Captain. I should congratulate you on being made post.”
“And I should congratulate you on your marriage.” Despite his efforts, bitterness coloured his tone. She had done well for herself; he could see that from her garments. Edgings and trim of deep pink turned what might have been a drab pelisse into one of understated elegance, an effect that was unlikely to have come cheap. Her hair was dressed plainly, as it had been that summer, twisted into a knot with only a few tendrils to frame her face.
“Thank you. But my husband died two years ago.”
“Commiserations, my lady.” He tried to sound sincere, and was ashamed of himself for the effort it took.
“It was not unexpected,” she said, a shadow crossing her face. “But it is always sad when a good man dies.”
Good man? Taking a wife young enough to have been his granddaughter?
Anna—Lady Radnor—drank more of her wine, her fingers cradling the glass. He wanted to reach out and touch them, to caress her cheek, feel if her skin was as smooth as before. She had more poise now than when they first met, but to his dismay the new maturity this gave her only added to the need filling him.
“I was sorry you did not reply to my letter, Captain. I wrote again, in case the first one did not reach you.”
Philip felt the heat rise to his face.
“So either several letters went astray, or you decided not to reply.” She paused for a moment. “Or perhaps you did not even read them.”
He lowered his eyes, one hand toying with his knife. He had received a letter from her after he’d already learned of her marriage. He’d read only enough to realise who the letter was from, then held it in a candle flame, watching the paper char and burn until there was nothing left but ash. After what she had done, writing to him had seemed like an insult.
Her chair scraped on the floor as she stood. “Thank you for allowing me to share the parlour. I bid you good day, Captain.”
She left without waiting for an answer, although he had no idea what he could have said. He pushed the plate away and went to the window. A chaise stood ready. A groom put up the steps behind her and closed the door. It pulled away, taking the road to the north—the same way he was travelling.
Could she be going to Beechgrove too? She must be—why else would she be on this road, today?
The desire to turn back was stronger than ever, but so were the reasons to carry on. If he went home now, she would know he’d cried craven, as well as Aunt Beth and any others who remembered that summer house party.
His legs and backside protested as he finally pulled himself up into the saddle, having drunk perhaps one mug of mulled ale too many. It was just as well the way from here had few turnings.
In no rush to arrive, he let the horse amble on through a landscape of black shadows and silhouettes, the only sounds the clop of the horse’s hooves on stone and frozen mud. The cold was no worse than many a night at sea in the Channel, and here, at least, he was dry.
He’d last ridden this road four years ago, on a sunny July afternoon. Aunt Beth had greeted him and directed him to where her younger guests were picnicking beyond the woods on the lower slopes of Delfont Down. That was where he’d first met Anna.
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