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He liked Clarissa Debenham. He enjoyed her company. He certainly did not want to hurt her, but neither did he want to leave the sea and live the life of a landlubber, not here or anywhere. For all the deprivations and trials it brought, the sea was his life.
Perhaps a gentle warning? But what if she had no intention of attaching herself to him? She would be even more hurt, or insulted, and he would feel like a fool.
Alistair flung himself down in the old shabby chair by the window and looked out. The tiny cottage, although comfortable and perfectly adequate, was rather neglected but the view made up for that. He could see the sea from here and now he fixed his eyes on it as if it would help him solve this puzzle.
Perhaps it would be best if he simply mentioned his plans to return to the navy as soon as possible, that he had no idea of remaining here longer than necessary? Yes, that might do it. Then, if she was falling a little in love with him she would be forewarned, and if she wasn’t, then she wouldn’t be upset by his presumption.
Pleased with this compromise, Alistair leaned back in the old chair, arms folded behind his head and stuck his feet up on the little table before him. The trouble was Alistair had never been able to settle down anywhere, not since he was a boy in Portobello. His home life had been unhappy to say the least and the thought of being in that sort of situation again kept him moving from place to place. The navy was ideal for him and when he was ashore there was never really time to put down roots, even had he wanted to. He would see his sister when he was able to, and he always enjoyed the visits, but they were very different people and he thought they would probably not get on as well if he were there more often. She had been quick to find herself a husband and a home and have children, whereas he . . .
Alistair was a rolling stone. Or an ocean wave, perhaps.
He always wondered if his father had been of a similar disposition and being forced on land to work and live had soured him. He was a miserable man, cruel in word and deed, but over the years that Alistair had been at sea himself he’d met many old sailors who’d known his father and they told stories of a man he hardly recognised. No longer in the navy of course, one old fellow had been a cabin boy on a ship with Alistair’s father and he told tales of a far different person to the bitter man Alistair had known. In his youth his father had apparently been happy, travelling up and down the coast, until a fall from the crow’s nest had injured his back so severely he was rendered unfit for life on board.
He’d taken work with a cobbler and although the sitting didn’t help his back pain it paid enough to keep his family from want. But it didn’t sweeten his temper. Alistair had received many a backhander from the man, mainly when he tried to protect his sister from the same punishment. His mother had come from a far better life and ran off with his father for the sake of love. When that love was soured she grew more and more stooped and unhappy, withdrawing into her own thoughts. It was impossible to imagine them ever as a young couple with not a care in the world, believing that nothing mattered but their love.
His parents were dead now and his sister had her own family and was living in Hampshire. His mother’s family, when they discovered she was dead, seemed keen to make amends and had started Alistair out in his career with the navy. He was content and he had no desire to test his luck by setting up house with a wife and bairns as his father had. Love was a fleeting emotion and not to be trusted.
Was he lonely? He supposed he was, but he had his friends to keep him company and if he craved a child to dandle on his knee then there were plenty of his friends’ children. No, all in all, Alistair was very contented with his lot and despite his growing affection for Clarissa Debenham with her blue eyes and soft fair hair, he had no intention of changing it.
CHAPTER FOUR
Clarissa was alone in the schoolroom, cleaning the board and tidying up after the children. Mr Marly had already left and she was happy to have some time alone with her thoughts. It seemed she had so much more to think about these days. Her dream of one day having her own school was still there. But it was being pushed into the background by a vision of a tall Scot with dark eyes who she could not get out of her mind.
A timid knock on the door surprised her and she thought she may have imagined it but she went to check. There was a young boy standing there with a rather large box.
“Miss Debenham?”
“Yes. What is it?”
“A parcel for you, miss, from Mrs. Frobisher’s Drapery.”
Now she knew where she’d seen the boy before; he was one of Mrs Frobisher’s many sons, who helped out at the store. But what on earth was he doing here?
“I think there’s some mistake. I didn’t order anything.”
She started to close the door but he pushed the box at her. “No, miss. A gentleman paid for it—it’s a gift, like.”
She blushed and took the box without another word except a muttered thank you. Putting the box on her desk she cautiously removed the lid and the tissue wrapping. There was a note in an envelope and she opened it with trembling fingers.
Dear Clarissa,
Please accept this to replace the bonnet I so carelessly ruined. I’ll be waiting outside after school and I hope to see you wearing it.
Alistair.
For a moment her heart sank and she thought it must be the preposterous bonnet in the window, with the cherries, but when she took it out she saw it was a much more elegant concoction, with blue ribbon almost the exact shade of her eyes and a tasteful selection of dried flowers. Of course Mrs. Frobisher hadn’t been able to resist embellishing her creation with a feather that curled over the brim.
Of course Clarissa couldn’t possibly accept it; it must be returned at once. Still, since no-one else was here it couldn’t hurt to try it on.
She carefully placed the bonnet on her head, tucking her hair under it at the sides, and then tied the blue ribbons in a neat bow under her chin. She smiled at her reflection in the glass of the window; she looked like one of those confident girls who came to holiday in Lyme, always dressed very elegantly, who charmed all the locals. Even the feather seemed to flatter her.
She looked once more in the window and it was as if she saw a different girl there—the sort of girl who would wear such a bonnet—the sort of girl who was cheerful, who hadn’t a care in the world. She sighed and carefully removed the pretty bit of nonsense and put it back in its box. She would tell Alistair he must return it in the morning.
He was waiting outside and smiled when he saw her awkwardly carrying the large box.
“Let me take that. But why aren’t you wearing it?”
“I can’t possibly accept it, Alistair. Surely you can see that? People would think . . . My father would be horrified!”
