by Cheryl Bolen
For the next fifteen minutes rain pounded on the coach as it rattled over the streets of the metropolis, and the four of them ate. Charlotte was too grateful to be embarrassed over Eddie’s insatiable appetite. The poor darling had been starving!
By the time the crowded terraces had given way to countrified landscape, Eddie started bouncing around in his seat. “Mama?”
“Yes, love?”
“I have to winkiepiddle.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I think I understand,” a grinning Mr. Fenton said.
For which Charlotte was profoundly grateful.
“Leave it to me.” Their host pounded against the roof of the coach, and the carriage soon halted.
Charlotte met Mr. Fenton’s gaze and sighed. “I hate for you to have to get wet.”
“I have the same needs as your son.”
When he and Eddie returned a few moments later, Eddie was all smiles. “My new coat is vastly warmer than my old coat, Mama.”
“A very fine coat it is,” Mr. Fenton said. “I shouldn’t wonder if people won’t take you for a soldier when you’re wearing it.”
Eddie sat up taller and beamed, never for a moment doubting the veracity of Mr. Fenton’s observation.
Charlotte felt wretchedly guilty for having stolen the coat, but had she to do it all over again she would have done the same thing. If her ship ever came in, she vowed she would go back to that shop on The Strand and repay the shopkeeper. With interest.
“When I gwow up, I’m going to be a soldier. I’m going to be in the cavalry.”
“That’s because my bwother loves horses.”
Mr. Fenton gave Eddie his full attention. “Is that so? Do you ride?”
Eddie scowled up at his mother. “Mama says I’m too little.”
The gentleman nodded. “You are a wee bit young.”
“Will this coach change horses during our journey?” Eddie asked. “Mama says they get too tired to travel all day.”
“Since we got such a late start, we’ll be stopping for the night, so they’ll get a nice long rest while we’re sleeping, but tomorrow we shall need to change the horses.”
“Can I watch?” Eddie asked.
“Of course.”
“Where will we sleep?” Susan looked from her mother to Mr. Fenton.
He answered. “We won’t know the name of the place until we arrive, but we’ll find a posting inn in the town of Bury St. Edmunds.”
Eddie gave him a quizzing look. “What’s a posting inn?”
“It’s a large place that offers rooms to rent for a night for both people and horses, and they also offer food,” Charlotte answered.
“But I cannot sleep without Augusta!” There was panic in Susan’s voice.
Mr. Fenton’s brows lowered. “Who’s Augusta?”
“Her doll,” Charlotte said. She squeezed her daughter’s shoulder softly. “Of course you’ll be able to sleep, love. You and I and Eddie will all share a bed, and we’ll be as cozy as can be.”
“But I want Augusta. I never sleep without her.” Susan attempted to stomp her foot even though her legs were too short to reach the floor of the coach.
Now was not the time to tell her daughter she would never again see Augusta. Susan would have to learn to settle for another doll. One day. Was Augusta special because she was Susan’s only doll or because Edward had given it to her?
Slowly but painfully, they were losing every tangible thing Edward had left them. And slowly and painfully, it tore Charlotte’s heart to shreds.
“Think of what fun we’ll have at the posting inn! It will be an adventure.”
“I want to go to my own house,” Eddie said, working his lower lip into a pout.
“Oh, but soldiers must get used to sleeping in new places,” Mr. Fenton said. “Sometimes they even have to sleep with their horses.”
The lad looked up hopefully at his mother. “Could I sleep with the horses?”
“Not on a cold night like tonight. The three of us are going to bury ourselves under the covers in a nice warm bedchamber at the inn. In fact, I cannot wait to get there.” Charlotte pulled each weary child close beneath the thickness of the rug, and before long, the movement of the coach lulled them to sleep. Eddie’s head rested in her lap, and Susan’s sweet little face pressed into her ribs.
“I pray the roads hold until we make Bury St. Edmunds,” Mr. Fenton said, his voice low.
“Me too,” she whispered. In this kind of relentless rain, the roads could soon be mired in impassable ruts. And then what would they do? She began to regret that they had finished all the food in the basket. What if they were trapped in the coach for days?
In situations like this, she appreciated the presence of a man. Even if he was a stranger.
“So, will you be meeting your husband in Lincolnshire?”
She did not answer for a moment. “I’m a widow.”
“I’m sorry. It must be difficult raising the children on your own.”
She nodded solemnly.
“Might I know your name?”
“I’m Mrs. Leeming.”
“I see. And when did Mr. Leeming die?”
“Last year,” she said in a low voice, then looked up at him. “What about you, Mr. Fenton? Will you be meeting your wife in Lincolnshire?”
“Alas, I’ve never been married.”
“Then you’ll be visiting family?”
“Indeed I will. I haven’t seen my family in many years and am greatly looking forward to seeing them again, especially given that my mother has not been well.”
“I’m certain that having you home will be the best possible tonic to improve your mother’s condition.”
“I hope you’re right.”
She wondered what had kept him from home for many years but did not want to pry into his personal matters.
“So, are you originally from Lincolnshire?” she asked.
“No, that’s where my sister makes her home now that she’s married. This will be the first time I’ve seen her new home—or met her husband.”
“So she’s newly wed?”
He shrugged. “Fairly so.”
“No nieces or nephews yet for you? You seem so good with children.”
“Thank you for saying so. I’ve not been around children very much. Actually, my brother has a son and daughter, but I’ve not met them either. As I said, it’s been many years since I’ve seen my family.”
“I am sure your niece and nephew will adore you.”
“I’m not altogether certain I will see them at Christmas. My sister-in-law can be a bit difficult, I’m told. She may not be able to be induced to leave her house to travel to my sister’s at Christmas.”
“How troublesome for your poor mother!”
He nodded. “Indeed. Especially since she’s quite devoted to her little Hellions—her special name for her grandchildren.”
Charlotte laughed. “I can well understand. I could call mine that sometimes. Especially Eddie.”
“He’s delightful.”
“Thank you.” She sighed and softened her voice. “You have been very kind, and I’m most indebted to you.”
“Reserve your judgment until we reach Lincolnshire. If we do,” he said grimly as the coach came to a stop and he peered through the foggy glass.
Chapter 3
He swiped at the window to clear it and was relieved to see the yellow glow of lanterns illuminating a sign for the Lamb and Staff. They must have arrived at Bury St. Edmunds. And without a single mishap. “I believe we’ve reached our destination.”
Neither child had awakened. “Pray, don’t awaken the children,” he added. “They must be exhausted.”
He briefly left the coach to instruct the coachman to procure rooms, and then he returned to find that the children were still fast asleep. “Allow me to carry the lad.” Philip whisked Eddie into his arms. Even though he was shorter than his slender sister, the sturdily built boy had to considerably outweigh her. M
rs. Leeming gathered up little Susan, then stepped down from the carriage.
Despite that it was still raining in great torrents, the coachman had managed to angle the coach under the entry arch in such a manner that they were able to stay relatively dry when moving from the interior of the carriage to interior of the inn via a doorway in the arch.
Their driver met them inside the door with their room keys. “The missus and children are to be in Room 232, and you, sir, are across the corridor in Room 231. The stairs are located behind the tap room.”
Raucous noises from the tap room awakened the children. Eddie looked up at Philip and started to cry. “I want my Mama.”
“I’m right here, darling,” she said soothingly. “We’ll soon be in our room. It will be great fun.” The lad pouted when he saw that his mother carried his sister.
“Would you prefer to walk?” Philip asked. He hated that the boy disliked being carried by him.
Instead of answering, Eddie eyed the room full of strange cackling men, and his grip on Philip’s neck tightened. The poor lad was frightened.
The narrow wooden stairway that led to their chambers was only dimly lit from a single sconce, and each ascending tread creaked with the barest step. He could only imagine how frightening it must be for these children who had probably never before left their home in London.
When they reached the corridor, it was frightfully dark. Could the innkeeper not have sent a chambermaid with a candle? He set down the lad and attempted to insert the key into the door for 232, but it was not easy, given that he could not see what he was doing. It took several tries before he succeeded.
His temper flared when he finally pushed open the door and saw that the room was in complete darkness. No attempt had been made to start a fire on this, the coldest night of the year. “This is not acceptable,” he snapped. “We’ll find another place.”
He once more lifted up Eddie and spoke in a soft voice. “The next place will be much nicer than this one.” The boy clung tightly to him as they descended the dark stairwell, and poor little Susan began to whimper. “I want to go home.”
“I know, love,” her mother said in a soothing voice. “But everything will be fine. Soon we’ll be warm and cozy.”
Philip hoped to God they were.
Downstairs, he settled the Leemings on a bench in a well-lit corridor while he went to find his driver, whom he located in the tap room. “The Lamb and Staff won’t do.” He put an arm to the man’s shoulder. “You’ve been to Bury St. Edmunds before?”
“Aye. Many times.”
“I want the nicest inn in this town, and I’m happy to pay for it.”
“That will be the White Lion, but I must prepare you. On a rainy night such as this, it can be hard to find vacancies at any place.”
It had always been Philip’s experience that anything could be obtained if one’s pockets were deep enough. He just hoped he wouldn’t be forced to play his trump: his aristocratic title. He rejoined the Leemings, and it was quite some time before their coach was brought around. “Our horses had been put to bed for the night,” Philip explained to the children.
Eddie giggled. “Horses don’t have beds, silly.”
Philip shrugged. “Don’t tell them. They think a pile of hay is their bed.”
Eddie giggled again. “And, silly, they can’t understand it when you talk to them.”
“I wonder if they have warm blankets on a cold night like this,” Susan said.
“Perhaps they just snuggle together for warmth,” Mrs. Leeming suggested.
“Like we were going to do,” Susan said, disappointment in her voice.
The very idea of someone to snuggle with in a big cozy bed on such a miserable night had much merit. Funny, during all those years he’d slept alone in the Peninsula, away from his family and without a woman of his own to love, he’d not felt as bereft as he felt at this moment.
He found himself really looking at Mrs. Leeming. At first, he envied her riches, not material riches which she most certainly lacked, but the love she had for her children and the love they had for her. That was incalculable wealth that no fortune could ever purchase.
He continued staring at the woman. The longer he looked, the more he came to realize how truly lovely she was. Her hair had dried, and now he was certain it was blonde. Dark blonde. When she was a girl, it must have been as fair as Susan’s was now.
Her wavy tresses framed a face as innocent and perfect as that of a Madonna painted by an Italian master. Her dark blond lashes swept down as she stroked her daughter’s hair, her full lips gently pressing into the crown of Susan’s head.
Philip found himself drawing in a breath.
Mrs. Leeming was a little smaller than average, though it was difficult to judge her figure since it was buried beneath so many layers of heavy woolen clothing. But even those many layers could not disguise the swell of her breasts. Their rise and fall affected him in a most disturbing way. He found her exceedingly desirable.
Such selfish instincts made him feel wretched. His initial interest in Mrs. Leeming had nothing to do with his own personal gratification—other than the gratification one derives from helping those in need. He’d merely seen a woman and two helpless children who could use his assistance, and offering them aid in no way inconvenienced him. If anything, it assuaged his disappointment that he’d been unable to help Edward Hale’s family.
As she sat there lovingly stroking her children, he was unable to purge from his thoughts the vision of lying in bed beneath warm covers with this woman by his side. Nothing on earth—not even the longed-for reunion with his family—could be more welcome.
Of course, he would never act upon this ever-increasing need she awakened in him. He was a gentleman. He’d promised to act like a gentleman. And this woman was most certainly a well-bred lady. He would never do anything to diminish her opinion of him.
But, God, he wanted to!
She looked up, and their eyes met. He felt like a lad caught cheating at an exam and looked away quickly.
The drenched coachman finally came and summoned them.
The White Lion looked much nicer than the Lamb and Staff. Charlotte hoped she could afford it. It was an old red brick edifice of three stories which, judging by its fresh paint, appeared to be well maintained.
Mr. Fenton sent the coachman to procure rooms, but he soon returned with a dejected look when he opened the coach door. “There’s but one room left.”
“Did you inquire if fires have been built in the rooms?”
“Aye, sir. They ‘ave. After all, this is the finest inn in all of Bury St. Edmunds.”
“Then take it,” Mr. Fenton commanded.
“But, sir. . .”
“If I have to, I’ll sleep in the tap room. Or I can go back to the Lamb and Staff. These children need a warm bed.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We can’t, Mr. Fenton,” Charlotte protested. “Please, let’s try another place. This isn’t fair to you.”
“Madam, I’ve spent the last decade in the Peninsula. I’ve slept in much, much worse.”
Her eyes rounded. “Then you’re a soldier?”
He nodded.
“So was my husband.”
He caught the coachman’s gaze, inclined his head, and the door shut.
“I’m . . .” she hesitated. “I’m not sure I can afford lodgings at The White Horse.”
“Have you stayed in an inn before, Mrs. Leeming?”
“Many years ago, but I wasn’t responsible for paying for it.”
“The prices are regulated. You’ll be able to afford it.”
She was quite certain she would have heard of it before if prices were regulated. She had the oddest feeling Mr. Fenton was fooling her. Was he going to make up the difference between the rate at the Lamb and Staff and the White Lion?
He was being awfully kind to her and the children. She knew nothing about him. He was a complete stranger. Was he deliberately trying to make her
beholden to him in order to seduce her? Or worse?
At the memory of catching him staring at her back at the Lamb and Staff, her cheeks stung. She knew that look. It was the way a man looked at a woman when he desired her. The memory of the naked hunger in his dark gaze accelerated her heartbeat.
Surely he would not attempt a seduction in her children’s presence! Only a man gripped by depravity could think of anything so despicable. Nevertheless, she vowed to avoid ever being alone with Mr. Fenton.
She hated that this past year of hardship had destroyed her ability to trust her fellow man, but she had experienced only one act of kindness in the year since Edward had died, while being constantly crushed under the cruelty of mercenaries. She thought fondly of the Duchess of Fordham’s generosity.
It was kind, too, of the duchess’s brother to have a care for the family of his fallen comrade in arms. In her grief, Charlotte had not caught the name of the duchess’s brother. He was a captain. That much she could remember. Regrettably, she did not know the names of the men with whom Edward served.
His letters were always full of words of love for her and the children, memories of their special times together, and assurance that all was well with him. He did not want to worry her with tales of his battles or the woes of a soldier’s life.
The coachman returned, and Mr. Fenton insisted on carrying Eddie to their new chambers. She felt wretchedly guilty that her family would be sleeping in relative splendor whilst Mr. Fenton’s lodgings were questionable, but she could not deny that she was grateful for a warm room on a freezing night like this. Just making it from the coach to the inn gave them a thorough soaking from slanting rains.
A chambermaid wearing a freshly starched white apron awaited them with a candle and showed them up a well-lit stairway to the second floor. Their chambers—a parlor and adjoining bedchamber—were at the end of a long wooden-floored corridor.
Mr. Fenton inserted the key and opened the door to the parlor where a wood fire blazed in a room of goodly proportions. Its wooden floor was centered with a circular floral rug upon which a long chintz sofa was situated to face the fire. The carved wood chimneypiece featured a footed case clock. Charlotte thought the room wondrously cozy.
