Page 47

Stepping out of the tea shop, I saw the post-coach arrive, and the world stopped, just as it does in those romance novels read by… er… by… young girls, I mean. A vision of loveliness stepped down from the coach. No man was there to hand her down, so I ran over to perform the office. That is to say, I hobbled halfway there with my unfamiliar cane and bad leg, fell flat in the mud, got back up, and hobbled the rest of the way, only to find she had stepped down perfectly well on her own.

I looked in the coach for her man, and found nothing but a girl who looked all of fourteen. She had the look of a farm girl wearing unfamiliar clothing, but I supposed she would get used to it sooner or later, and my level of awkwardness was sufficient for both of us.

While I looked around for someone to meet the ladies, my vision of loveliness demonstrated that she was made of sterner stuff than the average gentlewoman.

“Whoever you are looking for does not exist, Colonel. I would consider it a privilege, or at least less of an annoyance, if you were to stop fretting and staring at me, and go about your own business.”

By Jove, I must be half in love with this woman already. I had yet to say a single word to her, or give her a single compliment; and I thought I had better have a real one before I attempted the office, as she would probably rip me from stem to stern like Lydia.

“My apologies, madam! That was rude! Might I make it up to you by offering my services?”

She looked me up and down with a jaundiced eye. “I believe our supply of both rum and laudanum is entirely adequate, sir. Good day!”

In a panic, I attempted to redeem myself. “Your pardon, madam! Might I introduce myself and once again offer my services? I am more useful than first impressions might suggest.”

She looked at me with a jaundiced eye. A small collection of trunks came off the coach just as a young boy went by who I knew slightly.

“Simon, I believe?”

The boy gave me a knuckle. “Yes, sir!”

“If I recall correctly, you have a pony cart. Might you be able to deliver those trunks to wherever these ladies are going?”

“Of course, sir!”

The elder of the two was obviously a gentlewoman around my age, of the type that would be considered ‘plain’ by matchmaking mamas trying to knock her out of the husband-hunting competition, but I found her enchanting. This woman looked like her beauty would stand up to any rigours or trials we might face. Her dress was practical for travel, neat and trim and clean and, er… well-fitting. In fact, it was on the tight side, which did not look deliberate. A closer glance, perhaps more than a glance, showed the likely cause, as she either had a very oddly shaped stomach, or she was a few months with child.

Interesting!

Her travelling companion kept fidgeting and pulling at her brand-new clothing. She was young and as frightened by the environment as a rabbit. She was my chance!

“Simon, you appear to be a man who knows things?”

“’course!” He sounded half-affronted.

“A man in your profession would know where to find sweetmeats for two ladies?”

Young Simon did not even deign to answer. He simply caught the pennies I tossed at him and took off at a run for a shop a few doors away, then returned with a small bag.

“I really would prefer you desist, sir. If we want sweets, we can perfectly well buy our own!”

I had thought it the perfect ploy, especially since the younger girl was eyeing the bag hungrily.

The look was not missed by the elder. “Simon, is it… pray, give the coins back to this… ah… gentleman… and take this. I thank you for your service.”

She took the sweets and handed him a coin without sparing me even a glance. “Try these, Betsy. I think you will like them.”

Since I had not vacated the area, she finally deigned to look at me. “Sir, neither your attentions nor your bribery are welcome. Will you please simply desist?”

I knew at that very moment that this was the woman for me. If she had beaten me with my walking stick, I probably would have proposed on the spot, but considering my reception thus far, it seemed an idea likely to fail.

I either had to become serious, or descend even farther down the scale of flattery to grovelling. With a choice like that, it was obvious that grovelling was the order of the day.

I went down on one knee in front of her, which would have looked very fine and romantic, except I forgot about the bullet hole in my leg and the laudanum in my tea, and crashed head over heels into the mud, knocking my hat off and accidentally banging myself in the head with a sharp edge of my walking stick. I can tell you now, from first-hand experience, that grovelling, while lying in the mud, bleeding from the side of your head, is not ideal.

My angel looked at me momentarily as if trying to decide whether to help me out of the mud, or pick up my walking stick and finish the job. She eventually chose the former and, sighing in exasperation, offered me a hand up while Simon helped on the other side. It seemed she allowed me to climb to my feet to assuage my pride, but could just as easily have thrown me over her shoulder and tossed me into the coach, since it was pulling away.

When I was standing again, I made my next attack. Keep in mind that I was a colonel in the Stupid Brigade.