Page 22 of Bella Darcy is on the Run

"Good day, Captain Harwood," Lydia said brightly.

Bella managed a quiet farewell, but Lydia's eyes remained upon her as he made his way across the little shop and out into the street. The door had scarcely closed behind him before her aunt leaned forward. "My dear, what was all that about?"

Bella glanced towards the window. "Do we know anything about him? I saw him speaking with a most wild-looking character before we encountered him, and then he would hardly tell me what he does. Does that not seem a little suspicious to you?"

Lydia gave her a reproving look. "Bella, he was a decorated captain in His Majesty's Navy and may be a wealthy gentleman for all we know. It is hardly for us to enquire into his private business. This is a port town, and life here is a little different from what you are used to."

"He could be a smuggler."

"Bella!"

Her aunt's voice was sharper than Bella had yet heard it, and she immediately sat back.

"Do not even whisper that word around here. The Customs men will be in my cellar before we can blink, and I have far too much good wine to explain." Lydia lowered her voice. "Captain Harwood is a fine man. He has always been kind and courteous to me, and I know he supports a number of good causes in this town. Besides, he is so handsome and gentlemanly-looking that I can hardly imagine there being any great shadow in his character." She paused, then gave a small grimace. "Although I suppose I have been burnt by that particular assumption once or twice before. In any case, I have never heard a bad word spoken of him."

Bella picked another small piece from her cake. "I have perhaps read too many novels about pirates and smugglers not to be a little suspicious."

"Novels, exactly. Not real life." Lydia took another sip of tea before looking suddenly concerned. "Oh, goodness, I hope he did not take too much offence. I want him to come to dinner next week. Do you think you can endeavour to put the whole thing out of your mind and return to politeness before then?"

"I was perfectly polite, Aunt."

Lydia gave her a look which suggested otherwise.

"Well, in any event, mostly polite."

"That will have to do. Of course, that is assuming your mother and father have not descended upon us by then. Heavens, I suspect they set off the moment they received my missive."

"Oh," said Bella in a small voice. Once again, she had become so caught up in where she was and everything happening around her that she had almost forgotten the circumstances that had brought her there in the first place. She shook her head and tried to push the reckoning that was surely to come out of her mind.

As they exited the shop, they nearly walked into a small, neat man with a white beard and well-cut coat.

"Good morning, Mr Trevethan," Lydia called brightly.

The gentleman stopped and removed his hat. He was entirely nondescript except for his eyes, which were piercing and gave Bella the feeling of being examined under a magnifying glass. She took a small step back.

"Mrs Bennet." His eyes moved briefly to Bella. "And you have company. How charming."

Lydia introduced them, and Mr Trevethan bowed with perfect civility before continuing towards the harbour. They turned their feet towards home and did not see Captain Harwood staring coldly at the man from his position in the alleyway.

Chapter Twelve

The following days passed in a blur of new acquaintances and experiences as Bella immersed herself in the life of this small seaside community. She attended card parties and teas, and one particularly thrilling gathering where women of all ages and backgrounds spoke passionately about the need for women's education at every level of society, and how education was vital to protecting a woman's virtue and shaping her future for the better. She met so many new people that her head whirled with faces and names, but her mind kept pausing on the mysterious Captain Harwood.

She dreamt of smiling up at him, his fair good looks softened as he returned her gaze, and then, without warning, she would dream of racing along the windy shore after him or being tumbled together in the waves. Why should a man with whom she had so little acquaintance occupy so many of her thoughts? Was it because he was indeed some sort of villain, and her body and mind were putting her on warning against him? Or was it something else, a feeling she did not care to examine too closely? A naval captain with his hand in whatever seedy dealings took place around the harbour would hardly be considered an appropriate choice for the future mistress of Pemberley.

She laughed at the thought. He did not like her in any event, and she did not like him, so it mattered very little.

On the Friday following her arrival in Falmouth, Aunt Lydia planned a dinner which she described as a welcome in Bella's honour and went out of her way to ensure that all the things Bella liked best to eat and drink were stocked for the evening. The dining table was cleared of its usual clutter and polished to a mirror shine, while colourful paper garlands were strung across the ceiling. It reminded Bella a little of a birthday party she had once attended as a child at the home of one of her father's tenants. There was a cheerful, unstudied joy to the whole affair, and Lydia hurried from room to room ensuring that everything was exactly as she wished before her guests began to arrive.

Mrs Gossling and Miss Blaine were, of course, among the first through the door, Mrs Gosling in a dramatic concoction of fuchsia and gold, with a head piece so high that she had to duck carefully through the doorway. They were followed by a varied collection of guests drawn, once again, from every level of society. Bella was introduced to a schoolteacher with kind eyes and wide spectacles who reminded her very much of her aunt Mary, and in the next breath found herself curtseying before a grand lady whom she was almost certain Lydia had referred to as a duchess.

"None of that now, Lydia," the woman said when her aunt attempted some introduction involving titles. She took Bella's hands warmly in her own. "It is a pleasure to meet any relation of my dear Mrs Bennet."

There was also a merchant called Mr Malcolm in a fine silk waistcoat and an elderly gentleman named Mr Turnpike who wore the fashion of the past century and carried an ear trumpet. Just when Bella thought the house could not possibly hold one more person, she spotted a blond head rising above the crowd and drew in a sharp breath.

Captain Harwood. He was here. Bella could not imagine why the discovery should surprise her. Lydia had already told her that she intended to invite him, and yet after their uncomfortable exchange in the tearoom she had half expected him to stay away. He had certainly not appeared to enjoy her company, and although he was kind to her aunt, he had seemed more than a little put upon at being forced to take tea with them.

Tonight, however, he had abandoned his usual well-worn greatcoat for a sharply cut dark blue tailcoat over a pale waistcoat and crisp white linen shirt, his cravat tied neatly at his throat. The coat fitted closely at his waist and stretched across his shoulders, making him appear broader somehow, and in the candlelight his hair glowed like molten honey while his eyes seemed more intensely green than she remembered.