Convenient Christmas Brides: The Captain’s Christmas Journey / The Viscount’s Yuletide Betrothal / One Night Under the Mistletoe. Louise Allen
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took a moment. Every time she thought of the humour of the situation, Verity laughed a little longer. At last her good humour dwindled down to a hiccup, which set off the Captain again, for some reason. When he was finally silent, Verity looked at him lying there relaxed and felt her heart grow oddly tender.
She knew next to nothing about Captain Everard’s life, except that it had to be an exceptionally difficult one, with constant war and deprivation. Impulsively she reached out and touched his leg, which she instantly regretted. What a forward thing to do.
He only opened his eyes and smiled. ‘This is nice,’ was all he said.
‘We should tell amazing lies more often, I suppose you will say,’ she teased.
‘I’m no liar and neither are you.’ He started to sit up, then rethought the matter. ‘I suppose I am fair amazed how people assume this or that. Everyone assumes we are married. Tell me, Miss Newsome, do we look married?’
His question set her off again and she laughed. ‘We rather do,’ she said when she could speak. ‘Look at you, flopped there!’
‘No, no, I mean before now,’ he said. ‘I suppose we are of roughly the same age and there we were on the mail coach, sleeping like puppies in a pile.’
‘I suppose,’ she agreed, deciding to stop fretting over their situation. They would be in Norfolk tomorrow and he would have finished his obligation to his late second lieutenant.
She noticed a slip of paper under the door and picked it up. ‘Here we have the dinner bill of fare,’ she told the Captain, whose eyes were closed now.
Heavens, whoever put this here must have heard a lot of laughter, she thought, which made her smile instead of worry what anyone thought. We are only one night in Chittering.
‘Read it aloud,’ he said, without opening his eyes. ‘If anything contains beets, that is an automatic nay from me.’
‘They’re good for you,’ she said, which earned her one open eye and a sour expression. She read the bill of fare. They debated a moment over shepherd’s pie or roast beef and decided on the pie, with barley-broth soup first and custard last.
His eyes closed. In a moment he was snoring softly, which touched Verity’s heart; he evidently felt comfortable. His arms were stretched out, his hands open. She saw no tension in him.
Feeling shy but hungry, Verity covered him with a light blanket and went downstairs with the menu. She reminded herself that she had always been forthright and no-nonsense and nothing had changed. Still, she had to steel herself to approach the innkeeper and hand him the menu.
‘We would like these items,’ she said.
‘At six o’clock?’ he asked, smiling at her, which told her all she wanted to know about who had put the menu under the door and heard their laughter.
‘Yes, please,’ she replied, ready to be formal, but governed by an imp of her own. ‘You’re probably wondering what was so funny.’
‘Not at all, Mrs Everard,’ he told her and she saw something wistful in his eyes now. ‘War is war. Sometimes you need to laugh.’
His artless comment brought tears to her eyes, but they weren’t tears of sorrow, for a change. She felt a kinship she had not anticipated and good will, which reminded her forcefully of the season, which sorrow had dismissed as too much to manage this Christmas.
Happy Christmas to me, she thought, and Happy Christmas to Captain Everard.
With a gentle hand on his arm, Verity woke him when dinner arrived. She had covered him with a blanket, and must have removed his muddy shoes and pulled his legs up on to the bed. Under cover of the blanket he touched his trouser buttons, relieved she had not gone so far as to unbutton him. He thought a moment, almost wishing she had.
Hands behind his head, comfortable as seldom before, he watched from the bed as the maid arranged the food on the table and stepped back, proud of herself. It was that kind of an inn, apparently. Verity gave her a coin and sent her on her way. Joe was struck how gracefully Verity performed that small service.
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