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His chest grew tight. “At Mrs. Stapleton and her daughter?”
“I think he terrifies Theo’s mother,” she confessed. “Theo is able to stand up for herself, although I’m sure she does not like it above half.”
“I doubt she would,” he said dryly.
When Becky left, he found himself wondering about Theodosia Stapleton again, his thoughts steering to admiration. She was quite remarkable, and if he was a young man in the district looking to be leg-shackled, then he would snap her up.
But he was not.
And remembering that assessing look in his niece’s eye, he had no plans to be. Really, inscribing another letter to Adam Edgerton would be best to think on right now. Deal with thoughts that held a degree of reality.
Not distractions that could never—wouldnever—be.
Chapter 11
The remainder of that first week passed in a constant supply of rain events, so it was well into ten days of the captain’s prescribed stay before news of Stapleton’s additional guest finally made its way to the village. Theo was not sorry, for the time had allowed the captain to get some much-needed rest without the distractions of visitors, save for some interviews with builders. But the time had also allowed her to see that while he might never complain, the confines of his stay were not a little dull. She sought to amuse him as best she could, in a manner that neither raised questions of impropriety nor raised her feelings beyond what they ought be. She couldn’t help feel compassion for him, though, for his enforced stay with those with whom he shared little in common.
One would think the general might be persuaded to talk and exchange reminisces, but her grandfather’s gout had flared again, and he was disinclined to partake in matters which alleviated the discomforts of anyone but himself. The solicitor, too, had other pressing matters, and there were few others who could both understand Captain Balfour’s past and be trusted to keep his identity a secret.
The lack of disclosure about his name would end badly, but there seemed little point in making his true name known when it would likely result in a trail of constant visitors, which was not to the liking of any of Stapleton Court’s inhabitants. Theirs was a place of quietude, and none of them had ever liked the feeling of being at the mercy of whatever person took a notion to drop by.
Pity the poor captain whose work might have led him to prefer to socialize.
She knocked on his door, carefully balancing the tea tray.
“Enter.”
With a twist of the doorknob, she entered the room, only to catch a glimpse of a pale scarred chest and muscled shoulders as he exchanged a shirt. She instantly averted her eyes. “Oh, sir! Forgive me! I did not know—”
He put his back to her. “No, forgive me. I thought you were Mr. Siddons.”
“He is sick with a cold, otherwise I never would have—oh, I should go.” She quickly shifted to place the tray atop the nearest table.
“Please, don’t leave.”
Sounds of hastily dragged-on clothing reached her ears. She peeked across the room at the mirror, saw he indeed now wore a shirt. And that he was watching her watching him. Her cheeks heated. “I really must—”
“Please, don’t. At least, not until you have moved the tea things closer.” He smiled apologetically. “I cannot reach them over there.”
“Of course.”
She placed them on the table beside the bed.
“You are all solicitude. Thank you.”
“I’m afraid it isn’t me you should thank. It’s Mrs. Brigham, our cook. She thought you might find this welcome, especially given the drop in temperature overnight.” She poured a cup and handed it to him. “I trust you are keeping warm?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good. I shall leave you in peace.”
“I really wish you would stay. At the risk of sounding ungrateful, the lack of conversation is most dull. Mr. Siddons might be a good servant, but his conversational skills leave a lot to be desired.”
“But it would be considered improper.”
“Only by those who know. And who are they? Please, Miss Stapleton, you do not strike me as missish. Won’t you take pity on a man in pain and allow him to talk with someone who is interesting?”
She hesitated, then finally nodded, and—ignoring the wayward feelings in her breast stirred up because he thought her interesting—asked if he would like the curtains adjusted, whether he’d like the window opened, and finally took the seat farthest from him.
