The Captain's Disgraced Lady. Catherine Tinley
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had lodged many times in the King’s Head and the landlord recognised him and his colleague immediately.
Ignoring the landlord’s effusive greeting, Harry informed him, curtly, that they required overnight rooms, as well as the use of the parlour.
Wringing the corner of his apron, the landlord explained haltingly that the parlour was in use, that two ladies—a mother and daughter just off the packet from Calais—had need of the parlour for an hour while they awaited their carriage and—
‘Tosh!’ said Harry. ‘Why, we have shared the parlour before, with many fellow travellers! We shall speak to these ladies and all will be well! Come, Evans...’ he nudged his portly, sandy-haired friend ‘...follow me!’
Knowing his way about, Harry led the way unerringly to the parlour. The landlord stayed at the end of the hallway, still clutching his apron for comfort. Ignoring him, Harry scratched on the parlour door. His friend, experiencing sudden qualms, baulked.
‘Dash it, Harry, we need not intrude. Perhaps we should have stayed in the taproom. The beer is the same there!’
Harry brushed off his concerns. ‘Nonsense, Evans! I have a fancy for the parlour and its fire. I will handle this—trust me.’
On hearing the command to enter, Harry opened the door. He paused to survey the scene. On a chair beside the fire sat a faded, middle-aged lady with fair hair and gentle blue eyes in a pale face. Standing beside her chair was a young woman, who—
Lord!
She was strikingly beautiful. Her height was average, but she seemed taller—something to do with the air of suppressed energy about her. She was as dark as her mother was fair, with glossy brown curls, a stubborn chin and expressive chocolate eyes, framed by thick black lashes. His own eyes swept over her, noting the confident stance, white neck and shapely figure. A vision!
He smiled—a smile his friends would recognise. They called it the Dazzler, for the effect it had on young ladies.
He made an elegant bow. ‘Ladies! Allow me to present myself! I—’
‘You have made a mistake. This is the wrong room.’
‘Pardon me?’ He blinked.
‘I said...’ the young lady spoke slowly, as if he had trouble understanding ‘...this is the wrong room. You should not be here. This room is taken.’
Beside him, Evans gave a snort of laughter, quickly suppressed. Harry’s spine stiffened. He would not be made to look a fool in front of one of his lieutenants!
‘This room,’ he returned, speaking equally patiently, ‘is a public room. It is not a private parlour. Therefore—’ he stepped forward ‘—we will join you.’
‘You must know,’ she insisted, through gritted teeth, ‘I cannot physically remove you. Hence I must ask you, if you are a gentleman, to allow my mother and me the private use of this room.’
‘An interesting dilemma. For you cannot know if I am a gentleman or not, as we have not even been introduced. I am—’
‘I do not wish to know who you are! I wish only that you leave this instant!’ Incensed, she stamped a little foot. Her mother, who had been becoming increasingly agitated, chose this moment to intervene.
‘My dear Juliana, they are doing no harm. They have been out in the rain, like us, and perhaps also need the warmth of the fire.’
Two points of high colour appeared in Juliana’s cheeks, as she heard her mother’s words. They were gently uttered, but delivered a public rebuke, nevertheless. Harry almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
She was not to be defeated. ‘Very well, you may remain. We shall remove ourselves to the taproom!’ She swept towards them, all grace and haughtiness. ‘Mama, we shall allow these men to have the parlour.’ She clearly expected her mother to follow.
‘Oh, no! My dear, please!’ Juliana’s mama shot a look of entreaty at the soldiers.
Harry knew himself to be defeated. He spoke coldly. ‘There is no need for you to leave. We shall retire to the taproom.’ He bowed politely to the older lady. ‘I shall cause you no further distress, ma’am.’
He turned to Juliana. ‘Miss.’ It was the shallowest of bows, designed to show his disdain.
She responded with the slightest nod of her head, mirroring his iciness, but her eyes blazed.
Evans, who had been squirming in agitated silence, made his bow to the two ladies, then followed his friend out of the room. They closed the door behind them.
‘Well!’ Juliana exploded in a flurry of movement, pacing up and down the parlour. ‘What an insufferable man!’
‘Now, Juliana—’
‘So rude! So arrogant! Thinking he could just burst in here, uninvited—’
‘They did knock, my dear. You bade them enter.’
‘No, but—well, yes, I bade them enter, but only because he knocked. I did not bid him to stay!’
‘It is not seemly to draw attention to yourself in such a way.’
‘Oh, stuff, Mama! What should I do? Allow people to dominate me? Never!’
‘We could have shared the parlour with them, you know.’
‘Mama, you know you could not have rested properly with strangers in the room!’
‘But you must not appear hoydenish, Juliana. We are in England now and it is important you are not noticed.’
‘I care not if I am noticed or not. But I will not stand by and have your comfort disturbed by some boorish soldiers!’
Mama sighed. ‘I do not mind, Juliana.’
Juliana put her hands to her head in exasperation. ‘You know I am right, Mama. Why do you say you do not mind, when we both know that you mind very much?’
Mama had no answer to this. Looking at her confused face, Juliana relented. Taking Mama’s limp hand, she spoke kindly to her. ‘Mama, you cannot always please everyone. Sometimes you must think of yourself. Why, you are so kind, so yielding, that you would be insulted by every demi-beau and dunned by every tradesman in Brussels! How I used to hate it, when I was younger, watching them be rude to you or try to cheat you with false accounting. If I were a boy I’d have called them out over it! But you are so good, Mama. They sense your weakness.’
‘I do not believe those young men offered us any insult or inconvenience, Juliana. Oh, how I wish you would think before you act!’
Juliana was only half-listening. She moved to the window and stared out, lost in thought. ‘I swore when I was twelve I would grow up and take care of you.’
She would never forget the day she had made that vow. She had entered their little sitting room in the rented house in Brussels, to find her mama crying, sheets of paper with numbers on them scattered across the table. Twelve-year-old Juliana had been shocked. ‘What is wrong, Mama?’
‘Oh, Julie-Annie,’ her mama had said. ‘It is just these bills—tiresome grown-up things. I think the butcher has made a mistake with his reckoning again, but this time I have not the funds to pay the difference.’
‘What difference, Mama? What do you mean?’ Juliana had never been interested in the accounts before. Mama meticulously counted out the money every month and gave some of it to the landlord, some to the butcher, some to the other tradesmen. It had always been that way. Juliana’s father, a soldier, had died of a fever when Juliana was just a baby, so there had only ever been the two of them.
‘It says here that we had a haunch of venison, which I know we did not, for I would surely remember if we ate anything so extravagant. Well, I know we had only the bacon and the squabs this week, and the mutton for stew.’
Juliana was shocked.