Page 12 of A Lady's Wager
“Perhaps I’d give them to you for safekeeping.” He winked, sending her thoughts spinning all over again. “And you? Do you remember your parents well?”
She nodded. “I was fourteen. They died within a year of each other. I remember them quite well. Better than my younger brothers and sister do.”
“I think I had the easier time of it,” he said, twirling his spoon around his soup but not eating. “I did not know what I lacked.”
She placed a hand on the table between them. “But we had family members galore to support us. You had almost no one.”
“My grandmother, until I went to sea,” he said. “Then I suppose the officers and mids became my family.” It sounded so lonely.
“Where is your home, then?” Across the table from Lieutenant Owens, Melinda pointed downward with her spoon. What could she mean by that?
“Wherever I can find a place that suits me and won’t get me run out the door.” He stared at her hand, and for a moment she wished he’d take it in his again as he had when he greeted her, just so she could feel the tingling run through her fingers and up her arm.
“How sad to not have a home,” she said. “I would have been lost without Kirkby Park and Bristol.”
“Perhaps someday someone will convince me to find one.” His voice had lowered, slowed. “Until then, I shall have to keep searching.”
“Corah, dear,” Aunt Mary said. “Is there something wrong with your soup?”
Corah straightened. When had she leaned toward the lieutenant? “Not at all.”
“You’ve hardly touched it.”
Her face must have gone a similar shade to the wine sauce in the nearby dish. So that’s what Melinda had meant by her gesture. Corah mumbled her pardons and hurried to finish so the footman could clear away bowls. Every time she looked up, someone watched either her or the lieutenant. Mercy. Now they’d all come to the wrong conclusions.
When she met her grandfather’s stern gaze, a rare flash of satisfaction glistened in his eyes. Rather than deepen her embarrassment, it made her pause. Would he nudge her toward Lieutenant Owens if he thought the man had caught her interest? For once she did not mind the notion. And if he approved, dared she hope it would mean staying in Bristol and not going to London? She caught the lieutenant studying her with a grin. Could there be any drawbacks to this unexpected situation?
“YOU WERE RATHER FRIENDLY WITHMiss Bradford last night,” Mrs. Stewart said at breakfast.
Derrick choked on the bite of ham he’d been attempting to enjoy and reached for his glass. She’d noticed? Of course she had. Nothing slipped past Mrs. Stewart’s attention.
“Shall I expect an announcement in the papers?” she asked.
Derrick’s insides twisted tighter than an anchor cable. A wedding. Is that what they expected? He’d known Miss Bradford just more than a week, not counting all he’d heard from her brother. It felt as though he’d known her for longer, but they couldn’t understand that. Neither could they understand that once her grandfather learned his situation, Derrick wouldn’t be permitted to walk through the door of Kirkby Park ever again.
“I think not,” he said when he’d sufficiently recovered. Marriage. How could someone in his circumstances think of matrimony? Of course he had some funds. They wouldn’t be destitute. But with war on the horizon and no home of his own, he couldn’t begin to consider it.
“No?” Mrs. Stewart tilted her head. “The family seemed pleased at your interactions. To catch the eye of a girl who hasturned down every other suitor…” She let the sentence trail off into a sip of tea.
“I cannot marry. Not now and possibly not ever.” Derrick rose from the table, leaving his plate unfinished. It was as though a round shot had planted itself in his gut. “Please, Mrs. Stewart, do not encourage that line of thought with Mr. Colston or his family.”
“Is it marriage you fear? Or something else entirely?” She spoke carefully. “Miss Bradford is the best of girls.”
He knew it. Every time she smiled at him, every time her eyes lit up as she discussed her books, every time her hand reached his direction, his heart wanted to believe that maybe there was something more in his future than lonely cabins in dank lower decks. That maybeshewas in his future.
But he couldn’t be hers. Mrs. Stewart wouldn’t understand that. No one would.
A footman entered with a tray of mail for his mistress, and Derrick hurried toward the door. His pulse raced, his head spun, and he needed fresh air.
“Wait, Derrick.” Mrs. Stewart held up a folded piece of paper. “This is for you.”
He stared at the square, stomach leaping to his throat. The sender hadn’t noted his…or her…identity on it. He walked back, grumbling. Of course it wouldn’t be from her. She was too proper for that.
Derrick tore it open, half expecting another invitation from Mr. Colston. The man needed more opportunity to make sure this lieutenant was worthy of his beloved granddaughter. Perhaps Derrick should save him the time and assure him this lieutenant was most certainly the most unworthy and fickle of buffoons.
Owens—
The girls picked their names. It appears Miss Bradford selected yours. I thought you’d like to know.
