Chapter Twenty-Six

V anessa stepped into Sherwood’s Tavern bearing three letters. To Will, she wrote little except to explain that she was aiding a bootmaker in an effort to expand his business and so had directed Lady Andini and Lady Posonby to post letters to her through her attorney. To them, she rewrote the letters she had previously given up on sending and added requests that they support a small bootmaker who employed wounded soldiers. She assured them they would not be disappointed.

Yes, she was relying on their charity. But they would be pleased with the results, and she was hopeful they would wear the boots around London and spread the word.

“Mrs. Wardrip!” Sherwood emerged from the backroom, displaying his gap teeth in all their glory, a dirty rag in his hand. “How good to see you!”

“I have letters to post.” Then she realized how rude she was being, so she smiled. “It’s good to see you as well.”

She dug them from her reticule and gave them to him. He scanned the directions and then looked up.

“You’re writing to nobs?”

In London, she would have frosted him. But in Cartmel, blatant nosiness was simple friendliness.

“Acquaintances. If they remember me, I hope they might be persuaded to buy a pair of boots from Jon.”

He nodded with enthusiasm. “That would be great. Hold on. I have a one for you. Came yesterday. I was going to bring it to you—”

“Oh, no, you mustn’t put yourself out. I’m always coming into town for one thing or another.”

He looked disappointed. “Just a minute then.”

He went into the back, taking her letters with him, and returned quickly. She recognized Will’s handwriting.

“Thank you, Sherwood. Good day.”

She stepped out into the sunlight and opened Will’s letter. She scanned the polite greetings to find the nub. Then her heart skipped a few beats.

Mrs. Wardrip, Henry’s mother, had passed. This, after Dr. Wardrip had died sometime last year. The estate, which was not much but included a house that was to be sold, had been placed in trust for Kathryn Wardrip, Henry’s sister.

Absently, Vanessa fingered the only jewelry she now wore, the thin gold chain, the one Henry had given her with its small sapphire pendant. For sentiment’s sake, she’d also strung onto it the ring her brother Freddy had pressed into her hand. Memories bore down hard.

Vanessa remembered Kitty as a baby whom she had seen once, perhaps twice. Henry adored her. But Dr. Wardrip never brought her around to the Culpepper house. She must be thirteen or fourteen. Poor child.

Will said he would be remiss if he did not recommend contesting the will to achieve for her Henry’s portion. Please advise how you would like me to proceed.

She turned around and went back into the tavern.

“Sherwood, I need to see my letters again. I have to add something. Pen and ink, too, if you please.”

He fetched them for her. She found Will’s letter, dipped the pen in the inkpot, and wrote on the outside near the wax seal: Received your letter re: Kitty. ABSOLUTELY NOT.

“Thank you, Sherwood. Good day.”

She wandered out, feeling maudlin. What did Will take her for? Someone who would rob an orphan? She could not send condolences to Kitty. The girl would know her only as the harlot who had stolen away her brother and sent him to his death. She headed toward her cottage; all pleasure drained from the day. The prettiness of the fields she passed failed to cheer her. She was nearly halfway home when she saw Charlotte coming up the road. Rather quickly. She picked up her own pace. Pray nothing was wrong with the children or Dan.

“Charlotte?”

“Vanessa! You’re heading home?” She pressed a hand to her chest and panted a moment. “You have a visitor. A man.”

Vanessa balked. Who? Who could have come? “What do you mean?”

“He passed by, and I was outside and he tipped his hat and asked if that was your cottage and I said yes.” Charlotte drew a breath. “I don’t think he would’ve said his name, but I introduced myself.”

“Charlotte!” Introducing herself to strange men?

“Mr. Frederick Bastion, he said. Just like that. Proper. Like you.”

“Bastion?” Why did that name sound familiar?

“He said he fought with Henry in Portugal and came to pay his respects. He has some memories and a couple of Henry’s things.” Charlotte looked at her hopefully, as if this were the man she must be waiting for, who would whisk her away.

“I-I’m trying to remember him.” How would a fellow soldier know where to find her?

“Hard to believe he was an infantryman though.” Charlotte tugged at the tight waist of her dress. “I’ve never seen such a horse.”

Ah .

“Was he very tall and blond? Thin?”

Charlotte giggled. “Like a fence post.”

Crispin. She hoped nothing was wrong.

“I remember him.” She started walking again. Faster. Charlotte trotted alongside.

“Handsome fellow.”

“Yes. Yes, he was.” She changed the subject. “I wrote to the ladies I knew back in London. I think they will buy boots.”

She babbled on until she could think of nothing more to babble about. Charlotte dove back in.

“Is Mr. Bastion married?”

“Yes.” Thank goodness. An easy out. “I recall his wife. Lovely girl. There were two children, too, if I remember rightly.”

Charlotte’s face fell. Vanessa walked even faster so that they both grew breathless and could not continue conversing until they reached Charlotte’s house. Ahead, Vanessa could see a horse grazing in front of her own cottage. She could see what Charlotte meant. That had to be the fabled Mercury.

“Should I come with you?” Charlotte asked.

She probably should. But Vanessa decided going into her cottage alone with a man could not scandalize Charlotte any more than the conversation she and Crispin would have. And she was tired of stepping so carefully all the time to protect a reputation for propriety that she did not deserve.

“Oh, no. It’s fine. He’s not dangerous.” Ha! “And I want to hear what he has to say about Henry.”

She left Charlotte staring after her and tried to walk more sedately the last many yards. Closer, she saw him. Lolling at her gate.

“Mr. Bastion?” she said coming up to him, heart in her throat.

He turned and grinned, then bowed. “Mrs. Wardrip.” His manner of greeting told her nothing was wrong. She almost floated with relief.

“Why do I know that name?”

“Do you? He’s Reginald’s mentor. Or perhaps a colleague. I hadn’t an alias planned, and it was the first name that popped out on my tongue. How would you know—”

“It’s a long story. Come inside, will you? I’m so pleased to see you, I’m about to hug you and Charlotte is still watching.”

“I would say that is the nicest welcome I’ve ever had, but Jasper hugged me so hard when I got back to London I think he dislodged something.”

Vanessa laughed from pure happiness. She opened the door and ushered him inside. Three days ride, yet he smelled of soap. Soap and horse. She did hug him. Hard. But she pulled away startled.

“Crispin, you’re skin and bones! What’s wrong?”

His face tightened. “Nothing is wrong.” He stepped back and shook his head as though shaking off annoyance. “I had a touch of cholera. It went through the regiment. Three men died. While I got two months’ leave.”

“I’m so sorry.” Looking closer, she recognized he did look peaked.

“Well.” He shook his head again. “I’m not here to discuss my health.”

“I don’t suppose you are. Come in back. Would you like tea?”

“I would actually.”

He followed her and sprawled in one of the chairs while she went to the hearth and stirred the embers.

“It will be a bit before it’s ready. I’m sorry. I don’t leave the fire going when I’m out.”

She laid on a bit of fluff, blew on it, then fed in the kindling, mindful of Crispin’s eyes on her back. When the fire was burning well, she set the kettle over it and turned.

“You are a marvel, Vanessa.”

“Because I can start a fire?” She felt an ache, starting in her chest, that spread all the way to her toes.

“Among other things.” He patted the table. “Sit with me.”

“Would you like a bit of toast?”

“No. Sit with me.”

She pulled two teacups from her countertop and came to the table.

“All right, Crispin. Why have you come?”

“Do you miss him?”

“Of course, I miss him. But it doesn’t matter.”

“Vanessa, he is dying.”

She dropped the cups, fumbling one onto the table but the other fell to the floor and shattered.

“Dying inside, I should say,” he continued. “Outwardly, he’s hale enough.”

She sat heavily into her chair. “That was cruel. Cruel. Don’t try to manipulate me. I will not stand for it.”

“You still love him.”

“Crispin, this is unnecessary. Nothing has changed.” She rubbed the damp from her palms onto her skirt.

“Except that Jasper has finally come to his senses.”

“You told me once that you would not plead his case.”

“I told you once that he was your responsibility now.”

The words stabbed at her.

“That was a jest. Even if it was not, Jasper is a grown man. I am not responsible for his actions or his care.”

He chewed his lip. She could practically see him choosing tacks and then discarding them.

“Just say what you want from me, Crispin.”

“I will. In a moment.” He drummed his fingers on the table. The kettle began to boil. “Tea?”

She rose to prepare it. Then brought the pot, another cup, and a small bowl of sugar to the table.

“It needs to steep,” she said, sitting back down.

“Just talk to him. Once.”

“No.”

“It cannot make things worse.”

It could. She wanted far too desperately to say yes. To see Jasper again? To talk to him? She would not have the strength to leave him twice. And fundamentally, nothing had changed.

She poured out weak tea and passed the sugar bowl to him.

“Charlotte would have offered honey. I prefer it now. But I only have sugar.”

He dropped a lump into his cup and swirled it.

“Take another for Mercury. You’ll wear that poor creature out.”

He smiled at her, took a handkerchief from inside his jacket, wrapped two lumps into it, then slipped it back. She waited for him to speak again, but he was waiting for her. She broke first.

“No, Crispin. I cannot.” I must not .

“Then I will play my last card.” He took her hand and squeezed it gently, somehow drawing her eyes to his. “Do it for me.”

She pulled her hand away.

“Crispin, don’t. I know how indebted I am to you—”

“No.” His eyes darkened. “Friends do not tally debts. I ask you, as a favor , to speak one last time to Jasper.”

She shook her head, tears filling her eyes.

“Vanessa.” He whispered her name, so gently her tears started to spill. “Vanessa, you know what my brothers mean to me. I cannot bear to see him hurting like this. Please.”

“Oh, God,” she said, half crying and half laughing. She told him he could not manipulate her, but he could. “I can’t win this.” She would talk to Jasper. It was, after all, what she wanted also.

He leaned back and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes.

“Thank you, Vanessa. Thank you.”

“He can’t come here,” she said, clearing her throat. She stood again and found a napkin to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.

“London?”

“There are too many memories there.”

“All right.” He closed his eyes, then opened them. “Do you know where Binnings is? It’s not too very far.”

He surprised a gasp of laughter from her. Maybe he had planned this all since Corunna. “Now you will tell me you have a cottage there.”

He started. Good.

“I-I do.” He gave her a quizzical look, but she decided she would not say anything. Let him wonder for a change. “In fact, I sent Mercury to Binnings for stabling. I was planning to come see you regardless.”

“Mercury was at Binnings? How did you get here from London?”

“By post chaise to Binnings. How did you think? Vanessa, it’s well over two hundred miles to London!” He shook his head at her, grinning in a mocking way. “Mercury is a horse, not a Pegasus.”

“Very well,” she said, embarrassed by the foolish image in her head of Crispin traveling day and night on a miraculous steed to come find her for Jasper. “I’ll come to Binnings. When?”

He counted fingers. “A week from Saturday. That will give a letter time to reach Jasper and Jasper time to reach Binnings.”

“Not much time.”

“He will sprout wings if he must. I’ll send a carriage for you on Friday.”

“No.” By this evening, Charlotte would have described Vanessa’s visitor in detail to Lydia, who would know it had been Lieutenant Taverston. If he were to sweep her off in a coach, they would all congratulate themselves. “I will go by stage on Saturday.”

“You won’t get there until late. It will be better if you are there—”

“So you can orchestrate the grand reunion? I think not. Crispin, I’m not staying alone with you overnight in your cottage.”

He blinked. “Is that a serious concern?” Before she could reply, he said, “If so, I will hire someone. A chaperone of some sort. I do know the rector’s wife rather well. But that won’t allow you and Jasper much privacy.”

“Perhaps that’s a good thing.” But perhaps not.

“I’d like you there before Jasper so that you won’t walk into a space he will already control.”

“You make it sound like a battlefield.”

“I hope it will not become one. But if it does, I’m offering you the high ground.”

“And where will you be?”

“On the property somewhere. But not orchestrating.”

“And servants?”

“A caretaker and his wife, who can cook if I ask. Reginald has brought a few gardeners in to spruce it up for me, but they’re not there all the time.”

That surprised her. “It’s quite small then? Your cottage?”

“Oh, no. It’s vast. A family retreat at one point. But it was sold, then repurchased so that I would have something to inherit. Reg says it’s in a bit of disrepair, but I haven’t been out to see it yet; I stayed overnight in town. I suppose I’ll have to hire staff and do something with the place.” He made a face. “Or deed it over to Reg when he has a brood.”

She refrained from saying that might be sooner than he anticipated.

“Fine.” If she was yielding to Crispin, she might as well surrender unconditionally. “I’ll be there Friday.”

“Chaperone?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“May I send a carriage?”

She thought a moment. It would be so much more comfortable than the stage.

“Send it to Paxton Downs. To the inn there.”

He nodded. “Good. This will be good. I’ll get a letter off to Jasper right away.”

“Send it from Binnings. Not here.”

“Certainly.”

He drank his tea then poured himself a second cup and dropped in a bit of sugar. Then he leaned back in his chair and smiled, drumming his hands on his knees.

“I’m dying to know how you guessed I had a cottage in Binnings.”

“It wasn’t a guess.”

His eyebrows flickered. He whispered, “Who are your sources?”

She laughed. She poured another cup for herself. And told him everything he had missed.