Page 9 of A Lady's Wager
“Something the matter, Owens?”
“Urgent business I must attend to.” He folded the newspaper and shoved it into his back coat pocket. He’d be off to London before the week was done. Of course, it would take time before all the orders were worked through, but he would be ready andwaiting the moment the Admiralty sent him their commands. Derrick gestured to the unfinished cup. “Tell them to put this on my tab, would you? I’m very sorry to leave so suddenly. Good day to you.” He wouldn’t miss the man’s prattling.
He rushed out into the winter sun, greatcoat draped over one arm. Shoving his hat onto his head, he hurried past the oddly shaped shot tower beside the coffeehouse. He needed pen and ink. Blast, he’d take a pencil. Anything to write with so he could send a letter to one of his former captains immediately. Wasn’t there a bookseller at the end of this street?
In his musings he nearly bowled over an old gentleman and two young ladies descending from their carriage. He skittered to the side before he could hit them, mumbling, “Terribly sorry. Do excuse me,” and nearly turned without another thought—until he locked gazes with a pair of hazel eyes. A melancholy cloudiness in their depths brightened as she took him in.
“Lieutenant Owens!”
His breath hitched for an unguarded second. He swept off his hat. “Miss Bradford. How lovely to see you this morning.”
“Where are you off to in so great a hurry?” The pale green gown under her crimson cloak set off her skin in a rather enchanting way that morning. Or perhaps it was the soft winter light.
Where was he off to? His mind had gone blank. Somewhere important. “The…the bookseller, I believe.”
One corner of her pink lips curled upward. “You believe?”
His face heated. “I am. Yes, I am most certainly going to the bookseller’s.” The old gentleman accompanying her watched him with narrowed eyes.
“Allow me to introduce my grandfather, Robert Colston.”
The man clutched his hand with such strength, Derrick feared he’d crush it. It took all Derrick’s fortitude not to wince.
“This is the lieutenant from theSt. Georgeyou were introduced to at the ball?” Mr. Colston asked.
Miss Bradford cleared her throat with a swift glance at Derrick. “Yes, it is.”
The man grunted a barely intelligible greeting, looking Derrick over with more severity than a captain inspecting his crew before welcoming an admiral aboard.
“I suppose we can all go in together, then,” Miss Bradford said, slipping a hand around his arm. She cocked her head with an enquiring look.
“It would be a pleasure, of course.” The mounting agitation from reading the newspaper deflated as he led her into the shop. He couldn’t very well write his letter with her about. Not with this unusual fog clouding his brain.
“I’ve been wondering when I’d see you again,” Miss Bradford said quietly. “Have you been hiding?”
He laughed. Suddenly, his task didn’t seem quite as urgent as it had in the coffeehouse. “I try not to be predictable.” The letter could wait. The mail wouldn’t leave Bristol until tomorrow, and no war had been declared yet, after all. There would be plenty of ships. What was a little delay if it meant a few moments in Miss Bradford’s cheery company?
Corah and Melinda waved to their grandfather from the steps of the Whitings’ townhouse. When the coach rolled away, Melinda leaned in. “Lieutenant Owens is rather charming, isn’t he?”
Corah ignored the knowing tone. “It is a comfort to know Richard has such kind officers watching over him.” She quickly tapped on the door, willing the footman to hurry in his door-opening duties. The flutter inside of her that hadn’t receded since their meeting with the lieutenant in the streets threatenedto creep into her voice. She would not let on to Melinda that it had affected her.
“He was joking and flattering you the entire time we were at the bookshop. Quite the flirt, if you ask me. And you should have seen Grandfather watching you.”
“He was not flirting with…” Corah gulped. “Grandfather was watching us?”
“I never know what Grandfather is thinking, but he was certainly thinking something about the two of you.” Melinda sighed. “If only he did not scowl so much.”
Corah seized her arm, ready to pull more from her cousin, but the Whitings’ footman finally opened the door and ushered them in. She let go and followed her cousin inside. What had Grandfather been thinking? That she’d rejected the notion of marrying every eligible gentleman in Bristol and its surrounding towns only to fall for a lieutenant she hardly knew?
She halted as she pulled off her mitts. No, she hadn’t fallen for Lieutenant Owens. She’d met him three times. One couldn’t fall in love after three meetings. She handed her mitts, cloak, and bonnet to the footman, then reached up to make sure her hair was in place. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know him. Richard had served under him for three years, almost since he started his time in the navy. She knew Lieutenant Owens to be a good and honorable man and that he preferred to spend his time in company of the ship’s boys and midshipmen when they were in port rather than dallying about on land. That had to count for something.
She followed Melinda into the sitting room where several young ladies had already gathered. Though she knew them all, she would not count a single one of them as a friend. She kept to quieter circles.
“Miss Bradford, I daresay you are blushing.”
Corah’s head snapped up as Miss Whiting swept toward them. “It is rather warm in here compared to outside.” She curtsied in greeting. What were the odds of this visit to the Whitings’ lasting a short while? She suspected not high.
“A great many gentlemen have arrived and made known their intentions to attend next week’s assembly,” Miss Whiting said, her brow arched saucily. “Shall we make some wagers?”
