Page 20 of Yielding to Love

“Yes.”

“Fine.” He hoisted the colonel higher and leaned back to distribute the weight across his chest in a way that allowed him to reach for his purse, attached by a chain to the inside of his jacket. He wiggled it out and extended it toward Miss Harrington. “Give Dan a guinea.” She stepped closer and took the purse, which was still attached to him. It was almost entangling, and for a moment, he was afraid he would drop the colonel. He nearly laughed at the farce this had become, but if he started laughing, he would drop Old Harry. “Dan, take the carriage and Mercury to the stables at the inn. See to it they are cared for. And then take a room and dinner for yourself.”

“Yes, Major,” Dan said, accepting the coin from Miss Harrington, blatant relief on his face.

“You may return the earl’s carriage to London tomorrow. But leave Mercury in the stable. Tell the innkeeper I’ll come for him in a day or two, and I’ll pay any additional expenses then.”

Dan nodded, then went to tie Mercury to the carriage with a lead rope.

He turned his attention to Miss Harrington. “Show me to the back stairs.”

She was still holding his purse. He couldn’t very well tell her to tuck it back inside his clothing. And the lewd joke his brain wanted him to make was not funny.

“Just drop it,” he said. “The chain will hold.”

She let go of his purse and took up the lantern. They went around to the back of the house and up the steps, his purse slapping his thigh and the colonel drooling on his shoulder. Miss Harrington unlocked the door, and they entered through the kitchen. A starkly empty kitchen. When they emerged from it, he saw a staircase down a shadowy hall. He swore under his breath, and started toward it.

“No, Major. Not upstairs. Neville’s bedchamber is this way.”

She led him toward a chamber that should have been a breakfast parlor. He’d thought the Iversley estate, Chaumbers, was an architectural nightmare, but this farmhouse was worse. Who put a bedchamber next to the kitchen? They passed by a receiving room, its furnishings all covered with dustcloths. The house smelled musty. The deuce. This was a mistake.

He followed her into the bedchamber. She set down the lantern and swiped a dustcover from the bed. Defying his expectations, the bed was ready, made up with linens, pillows, and a coverlet which she hastily turned down. Crispin deposited the colonel carefully. Then he flexed his fingers and rolled back his shoulders. Thank God.

Miss Harrington stepped around the room removing more dustcovers, revealing a large wardrobe for clothes, a bed table, and a chest of drawers. A door in the far wall was ajar and evidently led to a water closet, disturbingly close to the kitchen. She crooked a finger at him, and he followed her out of the room.

“I had changes made,” she said, low voiced, as she pulled the door shut and moved away. “I knew Neville could not climb stairs, so I brought his bedchamber and the library down here. There is a separate chamber for a manservant. And now the dining room is upstairs. I didn’t think it would see much use.” She trailed off. “You must be starving. There are still some sandwiches if you’d like.”

He did not eat sandwiches. Every time he tried to prove to himself that no human being was intolerant of bread, he proved himself wrong. But sometimes, the proof took a few days to become manifest. And he was starving. “Yes, let us eat.”

“Oh, dash it!”

“What?” he asked, feeling a punch-drunk smile start to form. What else could possibly go wrong?

“The sandwiches are halfway to the inn. We didn’t bring in the basket.”

“Ah.” He wanted to laugh, but Miss Harrington was clearly upset.

“I am so sorry, Major. I should have warned you the house is hardly habitable. I’ve been renovating it for my brother’s return. I let the servants go, most all of them, after my father died, and dismissed the last two when I went to London to fetch Neville, when I found out it would be months. Mrs. Tabbit and Mrs. Clay agreed to return when I brought Neville home, but I had no opportunity to let them know we were coming. You must think me witless.”

“Not at all.” If she had managed all this on her own, in three or four months, he was impressed. “You had a plan, and I disrupted it.

“You didn’t disrupt it. The pox did.” She crossed her arms and scowled. Then she threw up her hands. “There are apples and potatoes in the cellar. But I’ve no butter to fry them in. Once I get a fire going, I can boil potatoes if you are willing to eat them plain with salt.”

“I would give my right arm for boiled potatoes with salt.”

She stared at him. Then smiled. It suited her much better than her scowl. “Liar. Major, you are the kindest man I’ve ever met.”

“Ha! Then I don’t imagine—” He halted, swallowing his words. He’d been about to say he didn’t imagine she’d met many men. Which was too likely to be true. It would explain why she was unmarried. “I’d like to change into dry clothes. My valise is just inside the front door. Where should I…?”

“There is a guest chamber upstairs, to the right, at the end of the hall. I believe there are linens on the bed, but if not, I’ll find you some. And there should be wood on the grate and a tinder box on the mantel.”

*

They ate apples and boiled potatoes by candlelight in the kitchen. No wine or ale, only water that Miss Harrington had fetched from a well. With dry clothes and his stomach filled, Crispin felt better capable of taking stock of their situation. While not ideal, it was workable. For one night. After that, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t abandon them, but he also couldn’t stay.

Over supper, Miss Harrington wanted to talk about the war on the peninsula. Crispin did not, until he realized how specifically her questions focused on her brother. Given their age difference and the length of the war, it must be that she barely knew Harrington. And yet, her devotion to him was clear. It was no hardship to recount stories of Colonel Harrington’s bravery and strength of command, but a little trickier to steer away from examples of his arrogance and lack of concern for the common soldiers. Crispin was careful not to embellish, suspecting she was quite capable of calling him out if anything rang false.

He asked her about her life here in Tonbridge. He feared her answers would be grim from the little he’d seen. No siblings except the absent colonel. And now two parents dead. But she told a happier tale of a pampered childhood with a beloved governess, doting parents, and close ties to people in the village. He wondered if she was censoring her memories the way he was his.