Page 93 of Holding Onto Love

Part 7

Holding Onto Love

September 1813

Cartmel

Chapter Twenty-Six

Vanessa stepped into Sherwood’s Tavern bearing three letters. To Will, she wrote little except to explain that she was aiding a bootmaker in an effort to expand his business and so had directed Lady Andini and Lady Posonby to post letters to her through her attorney. To them, she rewrote the letters she had previously given up on sending and added requests that they support a small bootmaker who employed wounded soldiers. She assured them they would not be disappointed.

Yes, she was relying on their charity. But they would be pleased with the results, and she was hopeful they would wear the boots around London and spread the word.

“Mrs. Wardrip!” Sherwood emerged from the backroom, displaying his gap teeth in all their glory, a dirty rag in his hand. “How good to see you!”

“I have letters to post.” Then she realized how rude she was being, so she smiled. “It’s good to see you as well.”

She dug them from her reticule and gave them to him. He scanned the directions and then looked up.

“You’re writing to nobs?”

In London, she would have frosted him. But in Cartmel, blatant nosiness was simple friendliness.

“Acquaintances. If they remember me, I hope they might be persuaded to buy a pair of boots from Jon.”

He nodded with enthusiasm. “That would be great. Hold on. I have a one for you. Came yesterday. I was going to bring it to you—”

“Oh, no, you mustn’t put yourself out. I’m always coming into town for one thing or another.”

He looked disappointed. “Just a minute then.”

He went into the back, taking her letters with him, and returned quickly. She recognized Will’s handwriting.

“Thank you, Sherwood. Good day.”

She stepped out into the sunlight and opened Will’s letter. She scanned the polite greetings to find the nub. Then her heart skipped a few beats.

Mrs. Wardrip, Henry’s mother, had passed. This, after Dr. Wardrip had died sometime last year. The estate, which was not much but included a house that was to be sold, had been placed in trust for Kathryn Wardrip, Henry’s sister.

Absently, Vanessa fingered the only jewelry she now wore, the thin gold chain, the one Henry had given her with its small sapphire pendant. For sentiment’s sake, she’d also strung onto it the ring her brother Freddy had pressed into her hand. Memories bore down hard.

Vanessa remembered Kitty as a baby whom she had seen once, perhaps twice. Henry adored her. But Dr. Wardrip never brought her around to the Culpepper house. She must be thirteen or fourteen. Poor child.

Will said he would be remiss if he did not recommend contesting the will to achieve for her Henry’s portion. Please advise how you would like me to proceed.

She turned around and went back into the tavern.

“Sherwood, I need to see my letters again. I have to add something. Pen and ink, too, if you please.”

He fetched them for her. She found Will’s letter, dipped the pen in the inkpot, and wrote on the outside near the wax seal: Received your letter re: Kitty. ABSOLUTELY NOT.

“Thank you, Sherwood. Good day.”

She wandered out, feeling maudlin. What did Will take her for? Someone who would rob an orphan? She could not send condolences to Kitty. The girl would know her only as the harlot who had stolen away her brother and sent him to his death. She headed toward her cottage; all pleasure drained from the day. The prettiness of the fields she passed failed to cheer her. She was nearly halfway home when she saw Charlotte coming up the road. Rather quickly. She picked up her own pace. Pray nothing was wrong with the children or Dan.

“Charlotte?”

“Vanessa! You’re heading home?” She pressed a hand to her chest and panted a moment. “You have a visitor. A man.”