Chapter Twenty-Five

T he stairs seemed a lot steeper on the way up than they had done on the way down. And Harriet’s feet felt curiously detached from the rest of her body, as though her knees didn’t exist, but she made it to the top without disgracing herself and falling down in a heap. Luckily, the “best room” happened to be the first on the right, so she pushed open the door and slid inside, supporting herself on the wall. She didn’t want to admit it, but standing up so hurriedly had done strange things to her equilibrium and support by something solid was a necessity.

Whoever had brought Theo up to bed had left an oil lamp burning on the dressing table, so at least she was able to see to undress. The nightgown Mrs. S had pressed on her earlier lay on the chair by the bed, so Harriet picked it up and sat down heavily on the chair in its place. Undressing while uncertain of which way up the room should be was going to be a major undertaking.

A tiny tap on the door broke the silence. The sudden fear that this might be Jack and that he’d decided to try his luck with her after she’d been so incautious as to allow him to hug her flooded through her. One glance back at the bed told her this couldn’t be him. No man would try to press his attentions on a lady with a child in the room.

“Madame?” A small voice, barely above a whisper, young and unsure.

With an enormous effort, Harriet summoned up the schoolgirl French M. Bulot had attempted to improve. “Oui?”

“Voulez-vous que je vous aide? Madame m’a envoyée.”

It must be the little maid, Marie-Héléne. Harriet struggled with the strongly accented French. Did it mean the girl had come to help her? With a wary glance at Theo, she kept her voice down. “Entrez.”

Marie-Héléne opened the door a crack and slipped inside, a timid look on her face as though facing a strange English woman was on a par with facing a dragon. “Je peux vous aider?” She held out her hands.

Definitely she was offering help, and Harriet was not about to refuse. Undoing this gown and her stays by herself was not going to be easy, what with the way her head was spinning. She’d let herself get too carried away with the effect the wine had been having upon her confidence. And what was more, she was uncomfortably aware that she’d said rather too much to Jack about Ben. She’d have to think about that later. She couldn’t possibly consider it right now when all she wanted to do was get out of this gown and her borrowed stays. “Merci.”

Fifteen minutes later she was tucked up in the big bed wearing the flannel nightgown, beside the sleeping Theo, and Marie-Héléne had extinguished the oil lamp and departed. But sleep felt far away, which in itself was odd as tiredness had washed over her as Marie-Héléne had helped her prepare for bed. Now the maid had gone, she lay wide awake with sleep flown out of the open window.

Confusion reigned. She’d let him hug her. He’d gone onto his knees in front of her and taken her in his arms and she’d let him. Why? All those years of Ben and she’d never succumbed to tears, never turned to anyone for support, not even her beloved Bertha, and yet, she’d done so with a man who was tantamount to a stranger. And liked it, what was worse. She’d liked the feel of his strong arms around her, holding her pressed so close against his chest she’d been able to feel the pounding of his heart. And it had been pounding, as though he was feeling the same anxieties as her. She’d liked the feeling of safety that had surged through her as she’d nestled close.

But she’d been tipsy. No, that was a polite underestimation. What she’d really been was drunk. Her cheeks flooded with heat. She’d allowed a man to see her drunk, something Ben would have hated. He’d always said that women couldn’t take their drink and she’d proven him right. He’d said that if women, by which he meant her every time, had too much to drink, they lost their inhibitions and became loose moraled. And she’d done just that. She’d allowed herself to be held by another man. A man who was not her husband, and she’d liked it. If that wasn’t loose morals, what was? Everything Ben had ever said echoed inside her head, rattling between her ears. She was a bad woman and he’d been right all along. She’d done bad things last night. Wherever he was, he’d be laughing at her, jeering, poking his finger to jab her in the shoulder, raising his hand, taking off his belt…

Ben’s sneering face appeared before her. His darkly curling hair, just like Theo’s, his heathery green eyes like Lyddie’s, but his mouth, curling and cruel, nothing like theirs. “You slut,” he shouted at her as she cowered on their bed. “You shameless trollop. I know what you’ve been doing while I’ve been away.” Spit flew from his lips and the smell of brandy on his breath was overpowering as he leaned towards her, pushing his face into hers. “You’re no longer to speak with that French fop, Bulot. From now on, he only sees Theo in the music room or I’ll be taking my belt to him as well as you. Bertha can deal with the boy’s lessons. You’re to stay out of his way. Do you understand?” The room whirled around her as he grabbed hold of the front of her nightgown and it ripped at the shoulder. “I won’t have my wife the talk of Bath, with her name bandied around the drawing rooms coupled with that Frenchman’s.”

She cowered further. “I’m sorry, Ben. I didn’t think.”

He shook her, his face suffused with fury. “That’s your problem. You never think, do you? If you thought a bit more you might be a better wife. You disgust me.” He threw her across the bed and turned away. “I’m going out. You’d better think about what you’ve done while I’m gone. I’ll want a better apology than that when I get back.”

And he was gone. Only she wasn’t quite sure what she’d done, only that it had been wrong. She’d thought Ben would have been pleased that she was improving herself by learning more French. She’d thought Ben quite happy with M. Bulot, who was a funny little man with such strongly accented English it was hard to follow what he said. Small, skinny, over forty and rather effeminate in his ways, but also witty and kind and fun to talk to. Had Ben really thought she’d been flirting with him?

The image drifted away, thank goodness, and she turned to peer at Ben’s son, curled up beside her, his dark curls spread on the pillow. It had always been a great relief to her that although Theo looked like his father, he wasn’t like him in temperament. Thank goodness, also, that when Ben had been on his infrequent visits home, he’d wanted the children to stay in the nursery. Especially Theo. Lyddie, he’d tolerated and treated as his favorite the few times he’d seen her, which explained why Lyddie missed him so much now. She’d built him up as the fantasy father she craved and set him on a pedestal of bravery, little knowing what he was really like, poor child.

Harriet rolled onto her side, her thoughts wandering back to Jack. How very different he seemed to Ben. A little like the way Ben had been when they’d first married. Although, not that much. Ben had always been demanding of Harriet’s full attention… and total obedience. He’d not liked it one bit when she’d grown large with child, and made it obvious that he found her unattractive. She’d suspected back then that he was keeping a mistress somewhere, or at least visiting a house of ill repute, but she’d never dared to say a word. A husband could do as he liked and it was for the woman, who could do no such thing, to put up with it.

Might Jack be like that, too? She’d apprised that look between him and Mrs. S. Had it been more than friendship? Did something lie between them, some shared feelings? He’d said this was a respectable house, so it couldn’t be a bawdy house, but that didn’t stop the proprietor from taking herself a handsome lover. Were they lovers now? Was Jack at this moment lying in the arms of their hostess? And wouldn’t that make him no different to Ben?

She heaved a sigh. Perhaps it was all her fevered and suspicious imagination, fueled by the wine and the embrace. Perhaps he might be different.

What was she doing? Daydreaming, even though it was dark night, of a man she could never have. A man she felt sure she didn’t want. Did she? And he wouldn’t want her. Men like Jack married an heiress for her fortune, or their mothers arranged it for them. They didn’t choose penniless widows with two children to support. She’d better put that right out of her head.

Impossible.

What would it be like if he were here, now, instead of Theo. If he were sleeping beside her so peacefully just as her son was. Or maybe not sleeping at all. A little shiver of anticipation vibrated through her. Perhaps he would lean over and kiss her, take her in his strong arms again, let her feel the beating of his heart against her breasts, run his lips over her bare skin…

No. Absolutely not. She must not think like this at all. It was the effect of all that wine. She must remember that all men were like Ben. That all they wanted was their own gratification and a meek and mild-mannered wife who would do as she was told and let them slake their lust. Men of any other sort did not exist, much as she would have liked them to. Jack would be just like that.

Just like Ben.

*

Jack, too, spent a restless few hours with thoughts of Harriet foremost in his mind, but eventually he fell asleep and dozed fitfully until daybreak, his dreams tormented by visions of Harriet in various compromising positions. He rose at dawn, half an hour before breakfast was due to be served, took his time washing and shaving, then descended to the same parlor they’d occupied the night before.

Theo and Harriet were already seated at the table, Theo tucking in with gusto to a spread of different pastries and Harriet delicately nibbling at a slice of bread spread with apricot conserve. Her pale cheeks and serious expression might well mean she was suffering the aftereffects of her injudicious imbibing of the night before. Jack had drunk as much himself, or more, but he was used to it, and this morning, after his shave, he felt quite the new man.

However, she glanced up with a little smile as he came in. “Good morning to you, Jack. As you will see, Mrs. S has been more than generous in equipping the breakfast table, but you’d best hurry yourself or Theo will have cleared it. There’s coffee and hot milk in the pots.”

Jack pulled up a chair and helped himself to several pastries and a slice of crusty bread.

“Shall I pour you a coffee, Cap’n?” Theo asked. He had a milky mustache from the glass he’d been drinking.

Jack nodded. “As a potential cabin boy, I think that ought to be one of your duties. Thank you. And good morning to you both.” He eyed Harriet. “I trust you both slept well?”

Theo beamed. “Like a log. I didn’t even wake up when Mama came up. Can we stay here a few days?”

“I’m sorry, but no. We have to take our cargo back to Cornwall this morning. After breakfast we’ll row out to The Fly . We should be back home by nightfall, if we’re lucky with the winds.”

Theo pulled a disappointed face but kept on going with his food. A wonder the boy was so small and skinny, but Jack wasn’t so old that he couldn’t remember being constantly starving as a boy himself. He was probably on the verge of a growing spurt, and all the fresh air of the Cornish coast and sailing was making him hungrier than normal.

“Will the crossing be as rough as yesterday’s?” Harriet asked, sipping her coffee, the eyes that regarded Jack over the top of the cup wary. Probably wondering if she’d get a revisitation of her breakfast later, if the sea got rough.

He shook his head. “A little lumpy, but hopefully nowhere near as bad. And if you remain on deck in the fresh air, you should be less affected.” He wanted to ask her about last night; if she was all right, how she felt now she’d cried it out of her, but he didn’t dare. Not in front of Theo, at any rate. He drained his coffee cup and poured a second, noticing the furrowing of her brow. “I’d drink a couple of glasses of water, if I were you. It’ll help your headache.”

Her eyes flew to his. “How do you know…?”

He grinned. “An easy guess after last night.”

Color rose to her cheeks. “I must apologize for my unseemly behavior.”

Theo pushed the last of his bread into his mouth. “Might I get down now, Mama, and run down to the harbor to look at the boats?”

She looked a question at Jack. “Will he be safe?”

Jack nodded. “Plenty of English sailors down there if he gets into any trouble.”

She nodded. “Very well. But don’t go too near the edge. Don’t talk to any strangers. And don’t get into any trouble.”

Theo planted a kiss on his mother’s cheek, saluted Jack, and was gone.

Jack stood up. “We won’t be far behind him. I’ve just to settle up my dues with Mrs. S, then we can leave.”

Harriet’s blush deepened. “Oh no. I hadn’t even thought of having to pay for our room and breakfast.” The hunted look returned with a vengeance. “I have no money with me. A nightgown does not lend itself to carrying one’s reticule.”

Jack felt his own cheeks warm with the realization that he’d put her in an embarrassing situation. “I’m sorry. I should have said that I would be settling this myself. I don’t expect my stowaways to pay for themselves now I’ve virtually kidnapped you to France.”

Relief flooded her face. “Thank you.” To be followed by what looked like the realization that having a strange man pay for one’s accommodation in a foreign inn probably wasn’t the done thing. “Oh no. I would rather you didn’t.”

Jack reached his hand across the table and set it on hers. For a moment, she tried to snatch hers away, but he hung on. “Harriet. I promise you that no one will ever know that I paid for your billet. Let me do it and we’ll have you back home in no time. This will all be a bad dream for you.” Only it had been anything but a bad dream for him.

She raised her eyes to his. “You are sure? You will not tell your mother? I should hate for her to know. She might think I was…” Her voice trailed off. She probably didn’t want to put into words what she thought his mother would think. Even though she was well aware his mother herself was not of the most respectable in Cornwall.

He rose to his feet and pulled her up with him. Impulse seized him and while he still had her hand in his, her lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. “Have no fear, Harriet. I have nothing but the most honest of intentions.”

Her look of relief was fleeting. No doubt she was pondering his words.