A Most Unfortunate Happenstance (Supposed Scandal #6)

Chapter 1

CAPTAIN JOHN CALDER

Only a fool would travel through a storm on horseback.

A fool or a man so bent on returning home after years of war he hadn’t noticed the storm clouds gathering.

I was at least one of those two, and I hoped it was only the latter.

I leaned forward, placing Scout’s thick warm neck between myself and the worst of the wind and torrents of water, then I loosened my hold on the reins.

I couldn’t see more than a foot in front of us, and I trusted his senses better than my own.

He’d seen us through battles and storms before.

The distance to the next town would have been negligible on a fair-weather day, but unless the wind and rain gave up in the nearly instantaneous manner in which it had arrived, it might take Scout hours to make it that far.

Hours in this rain wouldn’t bode well for me, not with my history of the Walcheren fever.

The last thing I wanted was for Harriet to see me for the first time in six years as an invalid taken down by a relapse of that particular brand of the ague.

I hadn’t spent those years facing death by sickness and French muskets only to look weak in front of her.

I should have waited one more day.

Scout came to a halt. I squinted through the rain, hoping to see a roof line, but there was nothing.

The wind had overwhelmed him and once again he waited for guidance from me.

I gave him a kick with legs that complained more than they should have—more than they had in over a year.

I cursed under my breath. I had ignored the heaviness in my arms, telling myself it was only the weight of my rain-soaked overcoat, but that kick shouldn’t have sapped what energy I had left.

I cursed again, not caring about the energy I expended doing so.

Why wasn’t I done with this infernal disease?

I’d had bouts with the fever off and on since fighting on the Dutch coast, my last so long ago I’d thought I was done with it.

Perhaps I would have been, if it weren’t for this blasted storm.

I dropped the reins and leaned forward again onto Scout’s neck. With a shaking hand, I pulled Harriet’s glove from my pocket and held it to my heart. If I died from the ague days before we were finally able to meet and plan a future together, it would crush her.

What would happen to Applewood? Father wouldn’t return for it—his third wife was settled quite happily in the Americas. My half-siblings might, but blast it, as much as I wanted them back at Applewood, I wanted to be there with my wife when they returned. What an absolute disaster.

I had to survive.

I kicked Scout again, hoping to spur him on faster, but my strike was so weak it would be a miracle if he felt it.

I let my eyes drop closed. I couldn’t see anything anyway.

My world became the pounding of rain and Scout's muscles stretching and jostling beneath me, reassuring me that he was still moving even if I couldn’t hear the clomping of his hooves.

My head sagged lower until the cacophony of the storm gradually faded into a quiet softness.

Even the cold dissipated as I sunk deeper into Scout’s neck.

I knew I was sliding—I felt it—but it took me a split second to wake up enough to jerk myself back upright onto the saddle.

I blinked the rain out of my eyes and shook my head, forcing myself back into harsh reality.

The roar of the storm rushed back into my ears.

I still held Harriet’s glove in my hand.

I shoved the well-worn leather back into my pocket.

It was a symbol of Harriet’s promise and trust in me.

Others had come into my life and believed in me after Harriet—General Blackwell, my fellow soldiers and friends on the battlefield—but she had been the first and only to believe in me after Father left for America with his new wife.

He’d left me alone, just old enough to pretend I was capable of caring for our Calder family estate, even though the economics of running Applewood were abysmal.

It needed too many repairs, and many of the tenants had left for the war.

The prospects for Applewood were grim. But he still shouldn’t have left me.

He shouldn’t have separated me from Arthur and May.

But as Father had said when he left, “Applewood has been in our family for seven generations. I won’t be the one to sell it.”

He took my two half-siblings, what funds were left, and started a new life without me.

Harriet was the first ray of light after a dark year of loneliness. I wouldn’t carelessly drop that glove on the side of this forsaken road.

I’d been in worse scrapes than this while fighting Napoleon. I wasn’t injured, and I had no one but myself to see to safety. I clicked my tongue to keep Scout moving forward and focused on the future waiting for me—the future that had kept me plodding forward in even the worst of circumstances.

Applewood in spring.

Applewood, restored to its former glory and filled with the laughter of a family again— laughter from the family I would form.

Applewood with Harriet, her dark hair catching the sunlight through the branches of the orchard—a fulfillment of the promises she’d wanted to give before I was in any position to receive them.

If I was luckier than I deserved to be, there might be some farmland with a house along the way where we could take shelter.

But the deep coldness settling into my bones and my stiff and trembling hands were a none-too-gentle reminder that thus far, this day had not been a lucky one.