Page 59 of The Return of the Rake

King nodded. “We can only hope Robert died and left her to return home to her family,” he said but then the carriage turned a corner and, attention diverted, he cared nothing for the tales of other men, as he glimpsed the great wall that surrounded Hatherley Hall and its grounds.

The carriage wended its way slowly, for the road was steep as it wound past Hilltop House and then Willow House and soon, they were passing the church and the vicarage. King felt a swell of affection for the Reverend Honeywell and smiled ruefully when he considered what the old man would think of his plans. He’d never had a father in his life, not one that counted, but Honeywell had tried to guide him, had been a friend and a comfort when he could, and King realised his opinion mattered to him. He hoped the old man would approve. Not that it would stop him if he did not.

Finally, King’s smart, glossy black carriage clattered over the cobbles as it progressed into the town. People looked up as they passed, for there were few visitors at this time of year and each new arrival was a curiosity and a morsel of gossip to be chewed over at mealtimes. A private carriage and such fine horses would not only be marked, but recognised too, for they knew now who owned such a luxurious equipage, and some would likely never forgive him for it. This thought only made King smile, imagining just how deeply his plans would stick in their throats if Anne was brave enough to join him in them.

When the carriage finally halted outside The Mermaid’s Tale, King climbed out, looking up at the pretty building with satisfaction. There were no geraniums left to give a splash of colour, the cold weather would not allow such displays, but the place looked as neat and elegant as always.

Tommy moved to follow after him, but King turned back. “Stay put, lad. We’re staying at The Ship this time.”

Tommy’s face fell and King smiled, aware he’d heard of the splendid meals Mrs Fairway cooked and had been eager to swan about town in his new togs and with a full belly, smirking at his good fortune all the while.

“Don’t worry, Tommy. You’ll get your chance, but it wouldn’t be proper to stay here. Not this time.”

“Why not?” Tommy demanded, for he had not yet taken to the notion that it was not his place to question his master.

King shut the door, leaving Repton to explain that a fellow could not court a lady whilst staying under her roof without having the gossips set fire to their tongues. Not that he cared what folk said about him, but he’d not have Anne embarrassed for the world. He might be a poor catch for such a fine lady, but he’d not disgrace her more than his being who he was would do. That was quite sufficient, after all.

Walking in through the front door of the hotel, King’s spirits lifted, a future he’d never dared to picture suddenly before him in dazzling colours. The now familiar scent of lemon polish, and the trace of her perfume that seemed to linger on the air throughout the hotel, made his guts clench with longing. He hurried to the desk and, with a surge of impatience, smacked the bell several times, hoping she would come running with a scold upon her lips for whoever had summoned her so peremptorily.

Before Anne appeared, however, Captain Dearborn emerged from the dining room, his expression one of such relief that King suspected he knew what had occurred before the man spoke.

“Thank God,” Dearborn said fervently, speaking in hushed tones. “I feared you would not return for days. There are redcoats everywhere, and… and a body was discovered this morning, washed up upon Camber Sands.”

King glowered at the man, glancing about to ensure they were not overheard. “What of it? It’s nothing to do with us. Just keep your head and no one will so much as look at you.”

Dearborn looked abashed and nodded but ran a hand through his hair. He was pale and tired, as if he had slept little in the days since King had left town. “I know. I know you are right, only… only I feel so…”

King reached out and shook the man. “For the love of God! You have rid the world and that poor woman of a curse. Moreover, you had no ill intentions towards him personally, it was self-defence. I thought you were a soldier. Surely, you’ve killed before?”

The captain stood taller, a more familiar glint of pride sparking in his eyes. “That was war,” he said stiffly. “I never killed a civilian.”

“Well, bully for you. It’s a new skill,” King said, impatient now, for he did not like discussing such things in a public place. Yet he saw Dearborn’s shock at his words and knew it was not good enough. He rubbed the back of his neck, unsurprised by the captain’s sharp retort.

“Not one I wish to cultivate, I thank you.”

“No, I know,” King said with a sigh. “I beg your pardon. It’s a bloody awful thing, I know it is. But you did nothing wrong. You meant him no harm, and I was the one who convinced you to cover it up. Your conscience is clear.”

Dearborn snorted. “If only that were true. I… I just feel such guilt towards his poor wife. For all that he was a blight on her existence, she is all alone now. She has no family, no one to support her. Her rent is paid until the end of the year, but after that, she has nowhere to go.”

King nodded. “We’ll find a way to help her. Mrs Adamson will think of something, through her club perhaps. Isn’t that what it’s for, to help women?”

The captain nodded but still looked distressed. “A sensible notion. Mrs Adamson is just the person to help her. I only wish I could do something myself.”

“Then do so. Keep an eye on her.” King hesitated, knowing he had his own reasons for remarking it. “She looked at you like you’d hung the moon, you know.”

Dearborn looked surprised by this, and remarkably pleased.

“She did?”

“She did,” King agreed solemnly. “And she needs a kind, decent fellow to take an interest in her after everything she’s been through.”

Dearborn turned pink. “Oh. Oh, no. I mean. How would it look. Surely…” He hesitated, looking torn. “You don’t think it’s too… too terrible a thing for me to even consider… I mean, it would look very bad if anyone ever…”

“No one will ever,” King said briskly. “Only you and I know, and I’ll never drop you in it, you may be certain. Think about it. You might suit each other very nicely.”

Dearborn let out a breath and nodded before offering King his hand. “I trust you,” he said. “And you may rely upon me.”

“I shall,” King said, relieved when the man took himself off. He turned back then, intending to ring the bell again, when he realised Anne was standing watching him. He wondered how long she had been there and felt a qualm of unease, but she smiled at him and he relaxed, assured she had not been listening in.