None But You (Frederick Wentworth, Captain: Book 1)

by Susan Kaye

  “That might be best,” she said, with an indulgent smile. She entered the store, and he closed the door firmly behind her.

  Taking up a post between the store and the bookseller, he enjoyed the warmth of the sun for a moment. He first removed his gloves and checked his watch. Then, quite naturally, he fell into a study of his other companion, who studied the selection of books in front of the store.

  As was her habit, she’d not tied the ribbons of her bonnet and left them to arrange themselves over her shoulders. The stiff breeze caught them; first, they waved separately and then together in a staccato fashion. Moving to another display, she turned to read the titles. Again, as the sun touched her face, he could not help but notice the improvement in her countenance. At first glance, there was a look of health that accompanied fresh air and sweet sea breezes. The pink in her cheeks was more appealing than any rouge could accomplish and there no sign of the customary strained expression she wore at Uppercross. Her appearance was all easy enjoyment. He speculated that, given a few more days, he might even see her laugh again.

  Soon, she, too, removed her gloves so she might touch each book as she read the titles. Now and then she would pick one up, open it, read a bit and then return it to its place.

  “Are you looking for something in particular?” he asked.

  At first, she looked towards the store. Seeing no one, she glanced his way. “No, not really. I just thought I might find something for Captain Benwick. We talked much of the evening about books.”

  “I thank you for being so kind to my friend. I am afraid Harville is not quite up to matching wits with Benwick. Intellectually, that is.” It was more than he intended to say to her, but there it was and it could not be taken back.

  “He is an interesting young man,” she said. “Very knowledgeable about many things.”

  “Yes, James is quite a brain box. Puts me completely to shame.”

  She did not answer, but picked up a book and smiled. “John Gay.”

  It was obvious she expected him to know this Gay fellow, but it rang no bells. “Philosopher?”

  “Poet.” She opened the book and turned the pages without reading. Stopping midway, she glanced at a page and said, “You do not remember—”

  The door to the notions shop opened and Miss Musgrove stepped out, saying, “Captain, please. My sister needs you.” He joined her in the doorway, and she pointed to her sister arguing with the man behind the counter. He could hear Louisa’s voice over the din in the shop. Other patrons were neglecting their notions in favour of the show.

  “I have told you, my brother Charles Musgrove will pay. We are at The Binnacle, and as soon as I tell him, he will come and pay you.” Louisa held a packet to her bosom, undoubtedly the merchandise her brother was to redeem.

  “Well, Miss, if you’s all stayin’ at The Binnacle, I can’t trust that your brother won’t decide that he don’t need this odd bit of cloth that you’ve had cut, and head on out of town. And if he don’t come, I’ll have a devil of a time sellin’ it to anybody else.”

  “They do this for me all the time at home.”

  “But you ain’t at home, are you? Now give me the stuff.” The man held out his hand to take the package.

  “Excuse me,” Wentworth interrupted. Both turned and began to rush him with talk

  “Oh, Captain, thank you for—”

  “Are you the brother?”

  “No, I am not the brother, but how much is the lady’s purchase?”

  The merchant named his price and Wentworth settled the bill. As they left the store, Louisa thanked him for his thoughtful intervention but was still aggravated that the man could not see his way to handle the purchase as they did at home. He said nothing, but Henrietta pointed out that it really wasn’t a purchase since she had no money and that the man didn’t know them and, therefore, did not know he would be paid.

  Louisa stopped and said, “I understand, Henrietta, but it was still mortifying.” Sliding the bundle into the pocket of her cloak, she said, “And please, don’t tell anyone what happened.” Looking to her sister and the Captain, both promised their silence on the matter. The little group was all smiles when they collected Anne from the bookseller.

  There was little conversation as they returned to the inn. With nothing to distract him from his own thoughts, Wentworth contemplated a breakfast of kippers and eggs. He was adding a decent slab of ham and a generous helping of potatoes, when Anne and Miss Musgrove passed them. It was then he realised he and Louisa had slowed their pace.

  She came to rest against a low wall directly across the street from the entrance of The Binnacle. Slowly she took the packet from her pocket. “Thank you for rescuing me.” Her smile was pleasing and sincere. “I really thought I had some money when I ordered the cloth cut. But, as all of Lyme now knows, I did not. It must be in another purse. The sensible thing would have been to leave it and return with Charles after breakfast.”

  Her frank, openhearted confession was refreshing and intriguing. He wished to hear more from this Louisa. “And why did you not?”

  “You saw; it became a challenge when he would not do as I wished. I apologise for making a spectacle of us all.”

  He was glad she could see and admit her folly. “It was nothing. I am glad I was there to help.” At moments such as these, he was reminded that Louisa Musgrove was a well-brought-up young woman, intelligent and kind. Her youthful lack of experience and growing need to have her own way sometimes overshadowed the good qualities she possessed.

  “I suppose I would not have been so stubborn had the materials not been for something special.”

  She obviously wished him to ask about her undertaking. “And what might this special thing be?”

  “I am no seamstress, but I am determined to embroider a pillow or some such memento. It will serve to remind me of this wonderful trip with my family…and friends.”

  Louisa could be quite charming, and her idea of creating a reminder of the trip was just that. Reaching out to take his arm, she started to the inn. “You are the sort of man who is always at the ready when someone needs help, aren’t you?”

  Indeed, she was charming, but he would always be a little suspicious of her compliments. “I fear you make me out to be more gallant than I deserve.”

  She laughed, and leaned into his shoulder. “Never.”

  “And, I assure you, I am the one who needs help just now.”

  “And what sort of help might that be?”

  “Finding breakfast.” Their laughter mingled as they crossed the road to the inn.

  ~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~

  He’d seen Louisa to her room, and now his thoughts turned to serious considerations about breakfast. Part-way down the stairs to the first floor, he heard the voices of a man and woman. Stopping to listen, he assumed it must be Charles Musgrove and his wife, but was then surprised to recognise the voice as Anne’s. There was a disquieting addition of an unfamiliar male voice.

  She said, “No, it is quite all right. The hall is a bit dark, and it is easy to stumble. I am not hurt.”

  The man replied, “You must think me a clumsy ox. I am not usually thus.” Wentworth was intrigued. He had seen no other male guests.

  “Not at all, sir. You were no such thing. Since we are both safe and sound, I will bid you good morning.”

  “And I shall do the same, but only after I claim the right to introduce myself the next time Fate throws us together.” The sound of steps indicated they were walking away. There was nothing left for him to do. If he wished to hear the rest, he must follow. Taking a step, the stair tread groaned. He stopped. Refusing to feel guilty about following them, he determined not to sneak about. Let them see that their meeting does not go unobserved.

  Making his way to the landing, he trod more heavily than he might otherwise and took a sort of odd pleasure as he scraped and squeaked down the hallway. The pair took no notice of him and his wooden symphony as they continued down to the end of the hall. Here they
were forced to part company.

  The dining room lay at the end of the right turn, and the stables to the left. Anne pointed towards the right, and when the man turned to point left, Wentworth knew him instantly to be the man from the beach. This was the poor, grieving fellow who had taken care to make his admiration of Anne very apparent.

  Even as they parted, Wentworth was annoyed to see both were smiling. His feelings of ease suddenly vanished, and his desire for a hearty breakfast turned sour. Miss Elliot, it appeared, seemed to be gathering new gentleman friends right and left.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The new acquaintances disappeared in opposite directions as Wentworth continued down the empty hallway. Turning towards the dining room, he thought how the gentleman took a good deal upon himself in assuming that he and Anne would meet again. He also wondered if Anne had referred to their earlier meeting in order to ensure that the gentleman remembered her. Perhaps he should have quickened his pace and provoked a meeting between the three of them. Surveying the dining room, he saw that the only seat open to him was next to Louisa and across from Anne. With this particular arrangement, all he could look forward to was the fresh fish promised for breakfast. Most were already tucking in as he took a seat. Mrs. Charles was the only one who found fish for breakfast not to her liking.

  “Fish is not a food one should eat in the morning. I believe it to be upsetting to the humours. I heard of a woman who developed a very shocking case of boils, and it was all due to eating fish in the morning.”

  Wentworth laughed, amused by the idea that an item he enjoyed with great regularity, and even the time of day he enjoyed it most, should be the cause of such a painful and disobliging malady. “I do believe, Mrs. Musgrove, you can be assured that the eating of fish in the morning hours is rarely the cause of anything dire and is an excellent remedy for an empty belly,” he said, taking his first bite.

  Mrs. Charles assured him that she would be just as satisfied with a generous slice of good English ham. As he pondered the nationality of these particular fish, Louisa cleared her throat and tapped his ankle with her foot. He did not look at her but was certain the expression she wore was one of derision.

  Pots of tea and coffee were being emptied and bone-filled plates pushed aside when the sound of a carriage drew several to the window. “It is a gentleman’s carriage, a curricle, but only coming around from the stable-yard to the front door,” said Mrs. Charles, the first to the window. At the mention of a curricle, her husband joined her.

  “Somebody must be going away. It was driven by a servant in mourning,” added Henrietta. At the mention of this detail, Anne rose to see.

  Wentworth had his suspicions as to whom the “somebody” might be and stood along with Louisa to confirm them.

  “Ah! It is the very man we passed,” Wentworth said. He gave half a look to Anne as he regained his seat. Her expression gave no hint that the two were more closely acquainted than a mere nod on the sidewalk.

  “Yes, it certainly is. I remember the coat. The very one,” Louisa said, taking the opportunity to move a bit closer.

  The waiter returned with fresh pots of hot drinks and began his clearing chores. “Pray, can you tell us the name of the gentleman who is just gone away?” Wentworth asked. He was determined to learn the identity of the impertinent man in mourning.

  “Yes, sir, a Mr. Elliot,”

  All turned when Mrs. Charles cried, “Elliot!” but returned their attention to the waiter when he continued. “A gentleman of large fortune came in last night from Sidmouth.” A small murmur went up. He was certain it had more to do with the gentleman’s fortune than his unremarkable arrival from Sidmouth. “I dare say you heard the carriage, sir, while you were at dinner. The gentleman is going on now to Bath and London.”

  At the mention of Bath, he looked at Anne. She was apparently too busy rearranging the bones of her kipper to make any comment. Or, he wondered, was she contemplating this very interesting intelligence concerning the man’s destination and their presumed third meeting?

  “Bless me! It must be our cousin. It must be Mr. Elliot; it must be, indeed. Charles and Anne, must not it? In mourning, you see, just as our Mr. Elliot must be. How very extraordinary! In the very same inn with us! Anne, must not it be our Mr. Elliot; my father’s heir?”

  Louisa nudged him, eyes wide, mouthing: “The Elliot Heir.” He raised a noncommittal brow and turned back to the pratings of Mrs. Charles. Her observations concerning the Elliot family lines interested him, and he wished to hear more of them.

  “Pray, did not you hear; did not his servant say whether he belonged to the Kellynch family?”

  Excellent question, madam! Ask as many questions as the poor man will endure.

  “No, ma’am, he did not mention a particular family, but he said his master would be a baronet some day.”

  “There! You see! Just as I said! Heir to Sir Walter! I was sure that would come out, if it were so. Depend upon it; that is a circumstance which his servants take care to publish wherever he goes.” Her discovery brightened her look in a way he had never seen before. Taking the seat by her sister, she pulled a plate not her own to her, and began eating the fish. “But, Anne, only conceive how extraordinary! I wish I had looked at him more. I wish we had been aware in time who it was, that he might have been introduced to us.”

  Even the discovery that she had eaten an entire kipper did nothing to stop Mrs. Charles’s lamenting the lack of introduction to Mr. Elliot, and pondering whether he bore the Elliot countenance. Anne listened, looking occasionally at her sister while continuing to pick at the bones on her plate. She was a master when it came to listening, but he was certain she was preoccupied with her own private thoughts.

  Louisa cleared her throat. He could feel her moving closer, hoping to draw out a response from him, no doubt. Regardless of who might notice, he continued to watch the sisters.

  “If the servant had not been in mourning, one should have known him by the livery.” All was quiet for a moment. It seemed Mrs. Charles was finally through with her treatise on the gentleman.

  This last observation, again of the man’s state of mourning, seemed to be of interest to Anne, and she raised her head. But before she could make any reply, Wentworth said, “Putting all these very extraordinary circumstances together, we must consider it to be the arrangement of Providence that you should not be introduced to your cousin.”

  She was obviously puzzled by his remark, and to an extent, he was puzzled as well. His tone had been lamb-like innocence, while in his own mind the words reeked of sarcasm. But really, what right did he have to entertain resentments, even privately, prompted by nothing more than an innocent meeting in the hallway of a public house? It was well he was leaving Somerset to clear his head concerning not only Louisa, but Anne as well.

  Anne made no reply, then turned to her sister and said, “That would be unwise as father and our cousin have not, for many years, been on good terms. It cannot be doubted that an introduction would not be desired by either of them.”

  So, there is a breech that guarantees there will be no third meeting and certainly no cosy family gatherings in Bath where the two shall laugh and reminisce about their fortuitous meeting in Lyme.

  Mary’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Of course you will mention our seeing Mr. Elliot the next time you write to Bath. I think my father certainly ought to hear of it; do mention all about him.”

  He was very certain by Anne’s expression that, as far as was in her power, the Baronet would know nothing of Mr. Elliot’s travels to Sidmouth, Lyme, or any points south or west of Bath.

  ~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~

  Breakfast was finished and everyone returned to their rooms to prepare for going out. All gathered back in the dining room just as Harville and his wife, and Captain Benwick, arrived for their promised last walk about. Such timely preparations made Wentworth hopeful their departure from Lyme would have none of the confusion and frustration marking their departure from U
ppercross.

  The wind was cold and bracing as they walked down the street, making for the shore. Harville spoke of the warm breezes of the Western Islands and how he missed them in the fall and winter.

  “Yes, but there is nothing like an English spring to waken the heart,” said Mrs. Harville. “So, Captain, might we expect another visit from you this winter?” she asked. The two looked at him hopefully.

  “I cannot say definitely. I have a brother with a new wife in want of a visit.” He smiled. “Edward is getting most insistent. And, in truth, I am anxious to be off myself.” He looked towards the others as they followed along after.

  “I am surprised at your wishing to be away. I would think there is quite a lot to keep you occupied in Somerset these days,” Mrs. Harville said, smiling.

  Harville was quick with a word in her ear and then said, “The area, from your descriptions, is beautiful and we are surprised that you would not wait it out until spring.”

  “While the accommodations with my sister and brother are very elegant, I have a duty to pay to the new Mrs. Wentworth. Besides, I am curious to get a look at Edward’s new wife. By his account, she is all charm and perfection.”

  “She sounds very nice.”

  “Yes, I am anxious to meet the woman who has my dour brother using such superlatives.”

  “Captain, I insist you and I lead these landlubbers to the beach that we might all bid a fond farewell to the sea.” Louisa joined them, indicating Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove and Henrietta to be the lubbers. The three officers exchanged amused looks at the presumption of Louisa’s statement.

  Heading on, he noticed Harville dropping back to speak to Anne. Benwick joined Wentworth and Louisa. Again, as on the walk a few days previous, he missed large portions of conversation and had to be urged again and again to the present.

  The group began to move towards the pier. He was relieved when Louisa chose to join her sister, who walked alone, and turned to Harville. “We are to leave by eleven. After seeing you to your door, if I am able to urge them all back to the inn and see the vehicles loaded, we shall depart on time.”