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‘I’ve no idea.’ Anna leaned back against the cushions with a sigh. ‘He stormed off when I said I wouldn’t go to Scotland with him. He thinks I’ve changed my mind about his proposal.’
‘Have you?’
‘No!’ She was surprised by the strength of her own conviction. ‘I love Samuel. I want to marry him, no matter who he is.’
‘Thank you for defending me.’ Clarissa looked genuinely grateful. ‘I know I didn’t deserve it.’
Anna pursed her lips, the words causing her a sharp pang of guilt. She’d handled the whole situation badly. She’d been trying to help and be conciliatory, but maybe she’d jumped to Clarissa’s defence a little too quickly. In Samuel’s eyes, it must have looked as though she’d been siding with her over him. Going after him to the water gardens had been a mistake, too. She ought to have given him a chance to get over the shock and calm down first. Perhaps then he wouldn’t have been so adamant about Scotland.
‘You deserved having someone to stand up for you.’ Anna smiled reassuringly. ‘No one should be made to feel the way you have, especially not by their families. You need a chance to work out what to do with the rest of your life.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ll want to do something, surely?’
‘But there’s nothing to do.’ Clarissa sounded confused. ‘Nobody will want to marry me now, especially when I tell the truth. They’ll think that I’m barren.’
‘There’s more to life than marriage and babies. You’re free to do whatever you want.’
‘But my family won’t approve of my doing something.’
‘I’m not suggesting you take to the stage...’ Anna rolled her eyes ‘...although that would be quite exciting. As for your family, they don’t get to decide, especially after the way they’ve treated you. It’s your life, Clarissa, you should decide how to live it.’
* * *
It was all very well, Anna thought, pacing up and down the hallway some time later, her telling Clarissa that she was a free agent. If only she could say the same! Instead, she’d spent the past three hours twisting her hands together, anxiously awaiting some sign of her fiancé’s return. She hadn’t bothered with luncheon, since Clarissa had gone to lie down and the continued worry meant that she’d lost her appetite anyway.
Finally, she couldn’t bear the pacing any longer, scooping up her bonnet and cloak and marching back out of the house instead. If Samuel wasn’t coming back, then she’d have to go and find him, if only to make sure that he was all right. Hopefully then she could reassure him and maybe hint a little about his grandfather, as much as she could anyway. Not the exact details, but the fact that she’d been sworn to secrecy. Maybe then he’d understand that her reticence about Scotland wasn’t because she’d changed her mind.
She strode determinedly across the lawns and through the woods to the water gardens, crossing the bridge and following the path he’d taken that morning. It was still early afternoon and she found herself wishing that she’d had something to drink before leaving. The sun was high in the sky and she was getting thirstier by the minute. If memory served, however, the path led to the village less than a mile away, which fortunately proved to be correct. As she approached the houses, she saw the welcome sight of a tavern on the outskirts. There were loud voices coming from inside, but surely she could get a quiet glass of water, too?
She entered the tavern by the side door, making her way along a dark, wood-lined corridor into a taproom. The voices were coming from around the corner, where a group of men were singing at the top of their lungs. From what she could gather it was a kind of sea shanty, a not particularly polite story about a young woman called Kitty...
Her jaw dropped as they embarked on the chorus and not just because of the lyrics. A sea shanty? They were more than a hundred miles from the sea. Why would they be singing one of those unless... She crept around the side of the bar, her heart stalling at the sight of a familiar face. Samuel? To her horror, he was standing in the middle, his arms draped around two other men’s shoulders, swaying from side to side and making enough noise for a dozen drunk sailors.
She stiffened, grinding her teeth at the sight. The only positive was that at least he didn’t look angry any more. On the contrary, he seemed completely relaxed, a broad smile on his face as if he hadn’t a care in the world. And after she’d been so worried about him, not to mention the guilt! She hadn’t expected the transformation to happen so quickly, but apparently it didn’t take long to change from responsible sea captain into debauched aristocrat!
She took a few steps backwards without looking and collided with someone coming the other way. There was a muffled exclamation, followed by commotion as a tray of drinks fell to the floor with a clatter.
‘Anna?’
She looked up as she heard Samuel call out her name, their eyes meeting briefly before another voice bellowed from the direction of the front door and a large man, flanked by two only slightly smaller, younger men, burst into the taproom, towing an extremely nervous-looking woman behind them.
‘You!’ The large man lunged forward at the same moment as one of Samuel’s singing companions lowered his head and charged and then all hell seemed to break loose. Fists started flailing, chairs flew through the air, wood splintered and more cups clattered onto the flagstones. Anna didn’t wait to see how it would end, fleeing out onto the street and back towards Staunton.
How could he? Tears blurred her vision as she ran across the fields and through the woodland. It had been barely four hours since Samuel had inherited the title and already he was drunk and brawling. So much for not wanting to follow in his father’s footsteps! So much for honourable behaviour! The scene was everything she’d been afraid of and worse. He wasn’t the man she’d thought he was and she’d been tricked again! Well, he’d accused her of changing her mind about his proposal and now she had—and she had no intention of staying around to discuss it with him, either. She was going to go back to Bath and her shop as quickly as possible and forget any notion of being a countess. It had been a ridiculous daydream from the start! She would be Mrs Etton instead, the person she might have been already if she’d been using her common sense. If she’d only agreed to his proposal in the first or second or even fourth place then she would never have spent any time with Samuel, never been so foolish as to trust him, never fallen in love or felt as wretched as she did now.
* * *
Samuel rolled onto his back and clapped a hand to his forehead. What the hell had happened to him? He felt as if he were back at Trafalgar with the after-effects of the smoke and noise from hundreds of guns still assaulting his senses. His eyes stung, his head ached and his throat felt as raw as if he’d just drunk a bucketful of seawater.
Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, wincing at the onslaught of daylight, and then pushed himself up to a sitting position. According to his aching head it was entirely the wrong thing to do, but at least it gave him a better opportunity to survey his surroundings. Not that that helped since he still had no idea where he was.
He clambered off the bed—what was he doing in bed?—climbed shakily to his feet and stumbled across to sit on the windowsill. Judging by the scene of activity on the street below he was in some kind of tavern. Which made sense because he vaguely remembered having entered such a place after...
After what? For some reason just thinking about why he’d come there made him wince again. Something had happened. Something he’d wanted to forget. Something about... He groaned, memory returning with horrible clarity. Lady Staunton had deceived him. There was no baby, no other heir, no way to hide from the fact that he was now the Earl of Staunton and...
Anna. A bolt of panic shot through the nausea. He’d argued with Anna and then stormed away from her. Worse than that, he’d seen her here afterwards while he’d been singing a less than salubrious sea shanty. He’d seen the disappointment on her face, too. It had been a long time since he’d had it directed at him, but he’d recognised the look at once. His mother had looked at him like that repeatedly over the years, usually right before she turned away.
