Page 19 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine

An old soldier, the major was perhaps on the high side of sixty, with iron grey hair and an upright bearing. His companion was younger, perhaps forty at most, his tanned, handsome face pleasingly weather-beaten. His eyes, however, were a deal colder, and he looked at Beau with obvious mistrust. Beau did not wonder at it. His title and his looks often set other men’s backs up, making them feel they had something to prove even when they did not, and he ignored the man’s offhand greeting, settling himself down at the table.

“Bring us another bottle, Anne, there’s a good girl,” the major requested of Mrs Adamson. The lady acknowledged the request, allowing the familiarity, which seemed fond rather than insinuating.

“I believe you have met my eldest daughter, my lord?” the reverend said, emptying the last of the bottle on the table into a fresh glass.

“I have had that pleasure, yes,” Beau said, a little taken aback that the man would admit to it, for the circumstances of their meeting were rather improper.

“A lovely young woman,” the major said approvingly. “But of course Lord Beaumarsh has met her. Vomited over her feet, didn’t he?” he added, slapping his knee and giving a bark of laughter as if it were the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

Beau winced, and wished the fellow to the devil, but he could hardly pretend it wasn’t true, as the major had witnessed the entire thing. “I believe she has forgiven me,” he said, a little stiffly.

“Oh, no doubt. Never holds a grudge, does Miss Honeywell,” the major added, wiping his eyes. “Must admit, I thought you a shabby devil for serving her such a trick, but her father here swears you really were taken ill, not drunk as a wheelbarrow as I had supposed. Nothing worse than a dicky tummy. I’ve had my fair share, you know. After the Battle of Seedaseer—that’s in Mysore country, you understand—I had the worst attack of my life. Thought I would die in that infernal heat and—”

“Good God, Hancock, give it a rest,” Captain Dearborn said, though not unkindly. “I’m as ready as any man to be impressed by your war stories, but leave out the unsavoury details, for heaven’s sake. Beaumarsh here is not a military man and won’t appreciate it.”

The major blustered and apologised, though rather pedantically pointed out that he had given no unsavoury details yet. Beau simply smiled, very aware of the subtle rebuke the captain had offered him. The reason for his less than warm manner became obvious, however, as Mrs Adamson reappeared, and the captain’s eyes lit up. He jumped to his feet, hurrying to take the tray she carried, laden with another bottle of wine and plates of sandwiches and small savoury tarts. As he moved, Beau perceived he limped badly and then noticed the walking stick propped on the back of the man’s chair.

“Here, let me,” the captain said, taking the tray from Mrs Adamson, who gently chided him, assuring him she was quite capable of managing without expiring of fatigue.

“That’s beside the point,” he said sternly, and placed the tray down on the table.

Giving Dearborn an impatient glance, Mrs Adamson returned her attention to the rest of them. “Do tuck in, gentlemen. Reverend, Mrs Fairway made the roast beef and horseradish sandwiches extra hot, just as you like them. The rest of you, consider yourselves warned,” she added with a smile, before leaving them alone again.

The major watched Mrs Adamson leave the terrace, his eyes wistful as he followed the sway of her lush hips. “Ought to be married,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “Not working her fingers to the bone in this place. If only I were twenty years younger.”

“Indeed,” the captain said, his tone a little snappish.

“Oh, I would certainly like to see her happily married with a family, but I rather think she enjoys running this place. She’s made a terrific success of it, after all. A pity we don’t have more customers of his lordship’s rank to make it fashionable for her,” the reverend said, surprising Beau, who might have thought a clergyman would believe a woman’s job was as a wife and mother and nothing more. But then, he was Miss Honeywell’s father, and she was hardly a conventional miss, was she?

Beau sipped his wine, discovering it was excellent, crisp and light with faint traces of honey and chamomile. Captain Dearborn changed the subject, turning the talk to Napoleon, which got Major Hancock so riled up that the reverend was forced to change it again and asked him about his roses. These were infested with aphids and so did little to soothe the old fellow. Still, the talk moved on to fishing, then to a rather fine French brandy that Honeywell had got his hands on, and then onto discussions about the eruption of Mount Tambora, which had caused so much devastation in the Dutch East Indies.

Before Beau knew it, the sun was going down, glowing gold and turning the entire sky the most extraordinary colour. He watched it slowly sinking, disappearing beneath the horizon as the men chattered and laughed, realising with some surprise that it had been a most enjoyable evening. Mrs Adamson had come and gone, lighting candles on the tables, and bringing more food, and several more bottles. Beau wondered how much they’d drunk between them, for he never seemed to have an empty glass, and regarded the reverend with dawning respect, for the fellow had kept up with them all and did not appear even a little disguised.

“Well, I’d best call it an evening. My little Penny will be waiting for me and wanting her supper,” the Major said with a fond sigh.

The reverend caught Beau’s eye and smiled. “His cat,” he explained.

“I’ll go with you,” the captain said, unbending sufficiently to give Beau a polite nod and bid him a good evening as he followed the major, leaning heavily on the walking stick as he went.

“Excellent fellows,” the reverend said with a smile, upending the last bottle into his own glass once Beau had refused it. “Jolly good company.”

“They were,” Beau admitted.

“You look surprised. You perhaps suspected such an out of the way town would be filled to the brim with provincial nitwits?” Honeywell observed, his keen eyes studying Beau.

Suddenly, Beau knew where Miss Honeywell had inherited her shrewdness from. Here was a fellow who missed nothing and was a good deal sharper than he made out. He could well imagine the unsuspecting inhabitants of Little Valentine lulled into thinking he was an amiable buffoon when the truth was quite different.

“Guilty as charged,” Beau replied with a shrug.

The reverend chuckled. “Well, do not let me disabuse you of the notion. We do have a sufficiency of provincial nitwits, I assure you, but people will surprise you if you allow them to.”

“Like your daughter,” Beau replied with a trace of bitterness before he could think better of it.

“Precisely like Clementine,” the reverend agreed, either not noticing the edge to his words or allowing them to pass without comment. “She is a remarkable girl. Do you know as many people in this town turn to her for help or advice as do me? They hold her in the highest esteem, and rightly so. I sometimes wonder how I created such remarkable daughters. I must give the credit to their mother, I believe. They are all quite extraordinary in their own ways, but Clementine is very much like her mama, God rest her soul. Such a clever and capable woman, she was, and such a capacity for love and compassion. She always knew just what to say when people were in distress. I miss her quite dreadfully,” he added with a sigh that was so heartfelt, Beau felt a little uncomfortable at the emotion on display.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Beau said diffidently, wishing they could go back to speaking about roses, despite his knowing nothing at all about the subject.

The reverend dragged out a large handkerchief and blew his nose with vigour before smiling at Beau. “Forgive me. It’s the wine. Makes me maudlin. If I had a few more glasses, it would be another matter. Life and soul then, you know, but I’ve drunk just enough to be sentimental. It’s a wondrous thing, though, to find a woman like my Mary. To share even a part of my life with her was the greatest good fortune and I shall never stop being grateful for that. And then to have my three girls to fuss over me,” the reverend sighed and blew his nose again.