Page 7 of A Captain, a Corpse, and Miss Bridges
“More my stupidity,” he answered, though he duly obliged them both with a few stories of his time in the navy.
The rest of the visit passed easily. The captain was the perfect guest; he declared the biscuits the best he’d had in years, the tea exceptional, and even suffered through one of Mrs Bridges’ digestive tonics with a smile on his face.
His company was so pleasant that Flora forgot both his social status and the time, until she realised that dusk was beginning to draw in outside the window.
“I must return to Brackenfield before dark,” she said, rising from her chair. She did not add that the true reason for her haste was a lingering dread of arriving home to find the great house swallowed in shadow. It sounded rather silly to admit that an heiress was afraid of her own inheritance.
“Allow me to walk you some of the way, Miss Bridges,” the captain jumped to a stand as she did.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Flora protested at the exact same moment as her grandmother declared, “What a wonderful idea; it’s on your way back to the village.”
And that settled the matter. Flora found herself near-pushed out the door by her grandmother into the mild evening air.
“Thank you again, Captain,” she ventured, as they set off down the lane.
“It is the least I could do, especially since your grandmother insisted the salve was a gift.”
“I expect she wished to show her gratitude for your defence of king and country,” Flora replied, wondering why she sounded so stiff and formal. She willed herself to relax but every fibre of her being was painfully aware of the tall, dark, and handsome man walking beside her.
“It was nothing so noble as that,” he gave a self-conscious chuckle. “I was just a young man, in search of adventure and out to prove myself to my father. The defence of king and country was incidental.”
“I’m sure your father was proud, at least,” Flora offered, her reticence unfurling in response to his cheerful openness.
“In his own way,” the captain conceded. “Though, when I returned, I realised it was not he I needed to prove myself to, but rather myself. Now that I have done that, I’m left wondering where next.”
Flora glanced up at him from under her eyelashes, a little startled by the sadness in his voice. There were depths to Captain Thorne beneath his cheerful façade, impeccable manners, and well-polished Hoby boots.
“They do say that act one always ends with a question,” Flora volunteered. As she had only recently learned this idea from one of the books in the library in Brackenfield, she crossed her fingers in hope that he would not ask her to elaborate.
“That’s true,” he replied, sounding much cheerier. “Do you enjoy the theatre, Miss Bridges?”
His question reminded her once again of the deep chasm of circumstance that divided them, but Flora ignored her anxiety. Instead, she opted to answer with the same openness he had afforded her.
“I’ve never been,” she admitted, with a shy smile. “I’ve never even thought to go.”
She hesitated, then added mischievously, “And if you’d met me a month ago, Captain, you wouldn’t have thought to ask me, either. You’d have handed me your coat and asked for a pressing.”
He looked at her, his expression so clearly shocked that she couldn’t help but laugh. He recovered quickly, adding to her laugh with one of his own—warm and genuine.
“We press our own coats in the navy, thank you,” he assured her. “Though I don’t doubt you’d do a better job of it.”
“I’m sure your efforts would be admirable, Captain,” she answered, feeling a flicker of relief at his answer. She doubted many other men could have met her confession with boasting of their own ironing skills.
A silence fell between them then, though it was comfortable. Flora idly admired the foliage of the hedgerows as they prepared for their winter slumber, whilst also counting in her head the steps left until they reached the gates of Brackenfield.
“How do you know Sir Ambrose?” Captain Thorne ventured, just as they turned the final bend on the road.
Flora flushed; perhaps she should have begun their walk by explaining herself, rather than force him to bring up the topic.
“He is trustee of the estate I inherited from my grandfather,” she said on an exhale, rushing to explain herself. “I am sorry that you witnessed my outburst, Captain. I don’t usually wish death upon people.”
“If anyone was to inspire someone’s first fit of bloodlust, it is he,” Captain Thorne replied, his blue eyes once again twinkling with amusement—even in the gathering dusk.
Flora’s shoulders sagged with relief; Captain Thorne was proving to be a most understanding conversationalist.
“He has an iron grip on the purse strings of my inheritance, until I reach my majority,” she confessed, slowing her step as they finally reached the gates of Brackenfield. “And he has most definite ideas of what a young woman should and shouldn’t do.”
“He was always a tyrant,” the captain agreed, much to her delight.
