Read Online Practical Widow to Passionate Mistress by Louise Allen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Louise Allen
Ads: Link
confronting it. ‘I am agog to know what happens next, but that is the end of the chapter and time, I think, for dinner. I’ll send Johnny down with yours.’
It was more difficult to move about now the ship was well out into the bay and receiving the full strength of the swell. Meg found herself putting out both hands to fend off from each side of the passageway in turn and smiled to find herself staggering about like a drunk.
When she reached the stairs— companionway, she remembered to call it—she took a firm grip of the rail and then slipped as her foot skidded on the worn wood. Immediately a hand cupped her elbow and steadied her.
‘Ma’am. Have a care.’ There were two gentlemen standing behind her; one had reached to steady her.
‘Thank you, sir. I have not yet got my sea legs, I fear.’ He kept hold of her arm as they climbed and Meg glanced up at him, recognising his face. He and his companion were merchants, she had decided when she had seen them at breakfast. They certainly did not appear to have wives or families with them. Both men were well dressed, in their thirties, perhaps.
‘Thank you,’ she repeated when they reached the next deck where the food was being served, but it took a pointed glance at his hand before he released her.
‘Gerald Whittier, ma’am. And this is Henry Bates.’
‘Mrs Brandon.’ Meg began to feel uncomfortable at the way they stood so very close. She scanned the long tables between the hanging lanterns for Signora Rivera or some other lady. ‘If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I must organise dinner for my husband.’
‘Oh, yes, he is a cripple, is he not?’ Whittier observed. ‘We saw him being carried on board. Difficult for you, ma’am, being all alone with him in that state. Perhaps you would care to join us for dinner?’ His smile made her uneasily aware of the warmth in his eyes. ‘We would be delighted to entertain you.’
I am sure you would. ‘My husband, Major Brandon,’ Meg said with all the frost she could inject into her voice, ‘is not crippled, but wounded.’ She glanced up and down their immaculate civilian clothing. ‘My husband is an officer and a hero.’ Whittier flushed at the scorn in her voice, but stepped back as she swept past him.
There, the colonel’s lady could not have been so haughty. She found a seat between a clerk who had a book propped up on the table before him and a fat woman and her husband whose occupation she was quite unable to guess.
As she ate she kept a wary eye out for the two men, but, when they made no move to join her and took a table on the far side, she gradually recovered her equilibrium. Perhaps she had been over-sensitive and had read more than a somewhat unconventional invitation into Mr Whittier’s words. But she was still angry at the way he had described Ross.
‘Anyfink wot you want, mum?’ It was Johnny, standing at her elbow.
‘Yes, you may carry some food down to the major, if you will. I am not very steady on my feet in this sea.’
‘Wot would the major like, mum?’
‘Everything, and lots of it, he has a good appetite,’ she said, smiling at the boy. ‘And ale.’
‘He’s a big ’un, he is,’ Johnny said. ‘My ma would say she’d rather feed him for a day than a sen’night.’ He scurried off in the direction of the serving table.
Meg was so amused by that she decided to save it up to tell Ross. Perhaps she might tempt that elusive half-smile out again.
She lingered a little, then went up and out on to thedeck to give Ross some more time alone. He was probably thoroughly tired of her company, although if he was up and about tomorrow he would probably find some congenial male passengers and would not need her efforts to entertain him. If he did, then perhaps it would prove her wrong about his dark, fatalistic mood. Perhaps, after all, he had merely been exhausted, in pain and bored.
She wandered up towards the bows and leaned her elbows on the rail. It was quiet on
It was more difficult to move about now the ship was well out into the bay and receiving the full strength of the swell. Meg found herself putting out both hands to fend off from each side of the passageway in turn and smiled to find herself staggering about like a drunk.
When she reached the stairs— companionway, she remembered to call it—she took a firm grip of the rail and then slipped as her foot skidded on the worn wood. Immediately a hand cupped her elbow and steadied her.
‘Ma’am. Have a care.’ There were two gentlemen standing behind her; one had reached to steady her.
‘Thank you, sir. I have not yet got my sea legs, I fear.’ He kept hold of her arm as they climbed and Meg glanced up at him, recognising his face. He and his companion were merchants, she had decided when she had seen them at breakfast. They certainly did not appear to have wives or families with them. Both men were well dressed, in their thirties, perhaps.
‘Thank you,’ she repeated when they reached the next deck where the food was being served, but it took a pointed glance at his hand before he released her.
‘Gerald Whittier, ma’am. And this is Henry Bates.’
‘Mrs Brandon.’ Meg began to feel uncomfortable at the way they stood so very close. She scanned the long tables between the hanging lanterns for Signora Rivera or some other lady. ‘If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I must organise dinner for my husband.’
‘Oh, yes, he is a cripple, is he not?’ Whittier observed. ‘We saw him being carried on board. Difficult for you, ma’am, being all alone with him in that state. Perhaps you would care to join us for dinner?’ His smile made her uneasily aware of the warmth in his eyes. ‘We would be delighted to entertain you.’
I am sure you would. ‘My husband, Major Brandon,’ Meg said with all the frost she could inject into her voice, ‘is not crippled, but wounded.’ She glanced up and down their immaculate civilian clothing. ‘My husband is an officer and a hero.’ Whittier flushed at the scorn in her voice, but stepped back as she swept past him.
There, the colonel’s lady could not have been so haughty. She found a seat between a clerk who had a book propped up on the table before him and a fat woman and her husband whose occupation she was quite unable to guess.
As she ate she kept a wary eye out for the two men, but, when they made no move to join her and took a table on the far side, she gradually recovered her equilibrium. Perhaps she had been over-sensitive and had read more than a somewhat unconventional invitation into Mr Whittier’s words. But she was still angry at the way he had described Ross.
‘Anyfink wot you want, mum?’ It was Johnny, standing at her elbow.
‘Yes, you may carry some food down to the major, if you will. I am not very steady on my feet in this sea.’
‘Wot would the major like, mum?’
‘Everything, and lots of it, he has a good appetite,’ she said, smiling at the boy. ‘And ale.’
‘He’s a big ’un, he is,’ Johnny said. ‘My ma would say she’d rather feed him for a day than a sen’night.’ He scurried off in the direction of the serving table.
Meg was so amused by that she decided to save it up to tell Ross. Perhaps she might tempt that elusive half-smile out again.
She lingered a little, then went up and out on to thedeck to give Ross some more time alone. He was probably thoroughly tired of her company, although if he was up and about tomorrow he would probably find some congenial male passengers and would not need her efforts to entertain him. If he did, then perhaps it would prove her wrong about his dark, fatalistic mood. Perhaps, after all, he had merely been exhausted, in pain and bored.
She wandered up towards the bows and leaned her elbows on the rail. It was quiet on
Similar Books
