Chapter 12
Sunny had meant to show Mantheria what an excellent stepfather he could be for Andrew.
But she did not see him in that light at all.
No, the woman that he loved thought he would marry a young debutante who was seventeen or eighteen years old—a member of the infantry—who was closer in age to Andrew than to himself.
It was exasperating. Why couldn’t Mantheria see what was right in front of her eyes?
How could she not know that he loved her and that he always would?
“Have you any particular debutante in mind for my future wife?”
Mantheria’s face turned pink from either the cold rain or embarrassment—Sunny did not know which. “I don’t know what type of woman you are attracted to.”
He ought to have stopped there, but his temper got the better of him. “I prefer women with fair hair and blue eyes.”
The woman on the horse beside him possessed both, as well as a lovely figure that drove him to distraction. He hoped that Mantheria would realize that she was his type.
“Then there is the youngest Clairmont girl, or Miss Melissa Dickens; both have excellent dowries and good connections,” Mantheria said, oblivious to his true meaning.
“If they have not caught your eye, there is, of course, the weaver heiress Miss Nix. Not as fair as the other two, but worth twice as much in the bank.”
“I am not looking for a fortune,” Sunny growled. “Nor for a child bride.”
Mantheria shrugged her shoulders. “Then, what are you looking for?”
The word you was on the tip of his tongue, but Sunny clenched his teeth.
It was too soon. Only days before, Mantheria had stated that she had no intention to rush into another marriage after making a muddle of the first one.
And if he tried to push her too soon, he would be making a muddle of his twelve-year courtship of her.
“Someone like you.”
“A wealthy widow?”
“A dear friend with whom I wish to spend every day of my life.”
Mantheria did not quite meet his eyes, focusing her gaze on the road in front of them. “I can see Tunley. We are almost there.”
They might be near the village, but Sunny was no closer to telling Mantheria his true feelings.
Mantheria urged her horse into a gallop, and Sunny’s horse reluctantly picked up speed.
If they did not find Andrew in Tunley, they would need to trade out these spent horses for new hacks.
And, if possible, cloaks to keep off the rain.
His current suit of clothes was soaked through to the skin and splattered with mud.
She did not halt her animal at the first inn, but rather at the finest one in town called the Pig and the Pot.
Sunny was half afraid that the nicer establishment would want nothing to do with the rumpled and dirty pair.
But the moment Mantheria swung out of her saddle, she was met by the proprietor of the inn, who urged a stable lad to take the reins of her horse.
“Your Grace, it is such an unexpected honor to see you!”
“Have you seen my son, Master Andrew? He was headed this way on foot.”
The man with a trimmed black mustache shook his head. “I have not. But I will send inquiries throughout the town at once. While you are waiting, allow me to escort you inside to a private parlor, and I will bring your luncheon.”
“And tea, Mr. Martin. I am parched.” She stepped into a puddle and sighed. “Perhaps a towel as well would be wise.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Sunny dismounted and handed the bridle to another young ostler and followed the pair inside the inn.
The taproom was immaculately clean, and the private parlor that the proprietor took Mantheria to was finer than the dining room of his estate.
He wished that he were not wet-through and looking rather shabby.
Mantheria thanked the proprietor and then took off her smashed bonnet.
Her hair was windblown, and the rain had brought a bit more color to her cheeks.
Sunny thought that he’d never seen her more beautiful.
He wondered if she’d understood his early words about wishing to marry a dear friend or if her mind was too full of worry for her son.
Sunny could not blame her. He was worried for the boy, too, and Andrew was not his flesh and blood.
The lad was clever, but the world was often cruel.
Andrew might not be so lucky as to escape another pair of villains after a ransom for a young gentleman.
Taking off his hat and coat, Sunny wished that there was time for him to take a bath and freshen up from all his dirt before sitting down to a meal with Mantheria. But time was of the essence. All he was able to do was to towel off his wet face and body as best as he could.
The proprietor and a maid returned to the room with a tray of cold ham, vegetables, and bread, as well as a pot of tea and cups.
“Thank you, Mr. Martin,” Mantheria said. “Any word yet on my son?”
“No, Your Grace. None of the lads are back yet. But as soon as I know anything, I will come and tell you.”
“Thank you again.”
The proprietor bowed and followed the maid out of the room, closing the door behind them.
Sunny sat down at the table and began to fill his plate.
He was too tired and hungry for good manners.
It was nearly four o’clock in the afternoon, and he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Mantheria poured him a cup of tea and then one for herself.
Sunny drained his in one gulp. He hadn’t realized how parched he was.
As soon as he set down the teacup, Mantheria filled it up again.
Sunny thanked her and then began to eat his meat and vegetables as swiftly and politely as possible. He only stopped to drain another glass of tea and looked up to see that Mantheria had only taken two bites from the food on her plate. He watched as she sipped her tea.
“You’ve ridden hard all day. Your body needs nourishment if you are to continue the search for Andrew.”
Her expression was sheepish. “I usually do not eat a midday meal—it helps one keep slim and your mind sharp.”
“On Odysseus’s travels, a storm drives their ship to a tropical island where the people eat lotus flowers.
When his crew eats the flowers, too, they forget all about their purpose and their home.
” Sunny stuck his fork into the ham and cut off a bite-sized piece.
“I can promise you that while the Pig and the Pot’s food is really good, it’s not good enough that you will forget about Andrew and finding him. ”
Her lips twitched, and Mantheria set down her teacup and picked up her fork. She speared a slice of carrot. “Perhaps the seasonings are lotus leaves.” Then she brought it to her mouth and ate it. Then she took a bite of apple compote.
Sunny watched her take several more bites of both the ham and the vegetables.
He wouldn’t have called it a large repast, but at least Mantheria had eaten something.
Chewing his last piece of ham, Sunny hadn’t realized how difficult it must be for a woman.
So much of a woman’s value in Society was based on her physical appearance.
Mantheria was lucky enough to be born with a beautiful face and gorgeous hair, but she had to work hard to stay trim.
Perhaps that was why his mother hid behind her black veils and her voluminous black crepe gowns.
Mantheria had no physical protection from judging eyes and cutting comments.
He pointed to her apple compote. “Do you know that the entire Trojan War was actually caused by the goddess of trouble named Eris and an apple?”
“I did not.”
“Eris placed an apple on a table of the gods’ and goddesses’ feast with a sign, For the Fairest. Goddesses Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite all tried to take the apple, believing themselves to be the fairest of them all.
They applied to Zeus, who wisely did not choose between his wife, his daughter, or his sister.
Instead, he suggested that a human, Prince Paris of Troy, decide. ”
Mantheria took another bite of apple. “That was clever of him.”
“So, all three goddesses tried to sway Prince Paris to pick them as the fairest of them all. Hera proposed giving him political power. Athena offered Paris wisdom and strength in battle. But Aphrodite promised the love of the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“And Paris chose beauty.”
Sunny took a sip of tea before he continued. “That’s right. Aphrodite made Helen fall in love with Paris, and she left her husband, Menelaus, and the Greek city of Sparta to follow him to Troy. Bereft and angry, Menelaus called for his brother, Agamemnon’s aid, and the Trojan War began.”
Mantheria wrapped her arms around herself. She was probably feeling the chill from her wet gown. “Foolish Paris. Beauty is fleeting.”
“But love is not. It’s more powerful than politics or knowledge. Love is the most important thing in the world.”
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
Mr. Martin entered the room with a young woman with curly blonde hair who was dressed like a milkmaid. The proprietor bowed to Mantheria. “Your Grace, Miss Betsy has something that she would like to tell you.”
The girl twirled one of her curls around her finger. “I was doing the afternoon milking of the cows, and a lad asked for some milk to drink. His clothes were fine but dirty, and I didn’t think it would do any harm to give him a bit of milk.”
“Did the lad tell you his name?”
“Noman,” the maid said, twirling her hair tightly around her finger. “I thought that he said Norman, but the lad assured me that it was Noman.”
A short laugh escaped Sunny’s lips at the boy’s cleverness.
Mantheria swiveled in her seat to face him. Her countenance appeared to be both confused and angry.