Page 70 of Holding Onto Love

Was she making any sense at all?

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “So you have been in touch with the Lieutenant?”

“No. Well, yes. But only once in a while. I saw him a couple of times in London. And he wrote to me once here. After Vitoria.” Vanessa swallowed hard. Tallying her lies and half-truths. “It must appear strange, I suppose.”

“Not so very.” Lydia smiled smugly. “He was always politer to you than to most—well, most of us weren’t always so polite to him, if you take my meaning.”

Women in camp flirted outrageously. They meant nothing by it. It was a means of coping. But she had never been able to talk salty or swish her skirts. On campaign, she had only rarely spoken with Crispin. When they did speak, he’d always treated her with respect. As if she were a lady.

“Lieutenant Taverston was not interested in me.” How often must she say that?

“Yet he found you in London. And wrote to you here? Lovey—”

“I-it’s because of Henry.” Vanessa remembered something strange that might serve as an excuse. “Henry was a physician. That is, his father was, and Henry had been apprenticed to him. Lieutenant Taverston was not feeling well one day, and Henry advised him. I think Lieutenant Taverston felt he owed Henry something.”

Lydia’s expression softened. “Your Henry was always helping like that. He was a good one.”

Vanessa started to relax, but Lydia put a hand on her arm.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I don’t know.” She couldn’t think of any reasonable excuse, so she just piled on. “I suppose I didn’t want you or anyone thinking Lieutenant Taverston favored me.”

“Well, if that isn’t the silliest thing. Lovey, it isn’t anything to be ashamed of. You’ve been a widow for four years! That’s more than long enough. Lordy, the corporal said it was past time for Lieutenant Taverston to stop fiddling around. He’s ready to write him to come claim you before Sherwood makes a bigger fool of himself than he already has.”

“No!” Vanessa shuddered. “Good God, no. Don’t let him write to Cr—Lieutenant Taverston. He isn’t going to come claim me. I cannot imagine anything more ridiculous.” Or humiliating. Crispin would be appalled. Or laugh himself sick. “Lydia, he was a friend to me. That is all. Please do not embarrass me. Please!”

“Calm down. I won’t embarrass you. I wouldn’t have said anything at all, since you seemed so determined not to. It’s only that Bitter is so convinced there is a market for his boots. And even Jon is hopeful. But if this is just Lieutenant Taverston’s charity…”

“No. It isn’t.” What had she said? About Crispin and the boots? Oh! She could not keep her stories straight. “It wasn’t charity. It might have been if Mr. Taverston bought three pairs of plain boots. But Mrs. Taverston was truly charmed by mine. And I didn’t ask her to show them to her friends. She just did. I can’t promise there is a market beyond this, but there may be.”

Good Lord. Now even she had doubts. It was a coincidence. It had to be. Reginald said Crispin had property in Binnings, but he couldn’t have known she was going there. Not even Crispin could read her mind from Spain.

“I-I thought I could write to a few friends in London who might be interested. I think Jon has reason to be hopeful. If more ladies wear the boots, more ladies will see them.”

“You have such wealthy friends in London?”

Oh! She should keep her mouth closed. “Acquaintances, only. Of course, nothing may come of it.” She wrung her hands and tried to smile.

“Well, we’ll keep our fingers crossed.” Lydia gave Vanessa a long look and seemed poised to say more. But she tossed her head and said only, “I suppose I should get back. I’ve a pot bubbling on the stove and the corporal never remembers to stir. I don’t mean to intrude on your visit but tell Charlotte I say hello.”

Vanessa let her go, not wanting to continue the conversation. How stupid she had been. She should have recognized the risk that the Comptons would find out the boots had gone to a Mrs. Taverston and make the connection to Crispin. But perhaps it wasn’t so bad. Of course, they gossiped about her. Speculated. But no one knew.

With a heavy sigh, she returned to the back room. Charlotte looked up abruptly. Her eyes were wide and her jaw slack. The book fell to the floor.

Charlotte’s head dipped. “I-I didn’t. Vanessa, I didn’t mean—I just peeked ahead.”

“And lost the page?” Vanessa asked. Why on earth was Charlotte so pale? “No harm done, Charlotte. I read a bit ahead myself the other night when—” When she’d cut the pages. Oh, God. Oh, God, no.

Vanessa dashed around Charlotte’s chair and knelt on the floor. She lifted the book hesitantly. There, beneath it, lay the slip of paper she’d used to mark her place. Intending to read a bit more in the morning. But she had not. In fact, she’d forgotten all about it. Because she had not been as engrossed in the novel as she’d been in her own daydreams. Running her fingers over the bit of foolscap again and again. Tracing the words on the bit of paper she should have burned, but never did. She snatched it up.

Charlotte could not read much. Oh, but the words were simple. I love you. Always.—J.T.

Vanessa crumpled the paper in her hand. Charlotte blinked several times and fixed her gaze on the ground.

In a small, determined voice, Charlotte asked, “What is this Lieutenant Taverston’s Christian name? Who you say does not favor you?”

Vanessa bit her lip. She’d thought they had been talking quietly, but Charlotte must have heard every word.