Chapter 2
Bess Hooper brought Titus an extra-large slice of warm apple pie when he returned to the Duck and Spoon. Her sharp eyes studied him, as avid as they had been in the morning. “How did you find Widow Fleming?” she asked.
That little widow is no light skirt, if that’s what Bess wants to know. What the devil is wrong with people?
“I found her to be courteous and careful,” he replied warily.
The innkeeper’s wife chuckled. “Sent you away with a flea in your ear, did she? Coulda warned y’.”
It wasn’t at all what he expected. His brows shot up. “Why didn’t you?”
Bess shrugged. “Starched up and virtuous is the widow. Doesn’t stop men from trying their luck. I always wonder how long she’ll hold out, a woman alone like that. Poor as she is.” She wandered off shaking her head.
Titus’s peace didn’t last. When the last table cleared, Tobias plopped down across from him. “Can’t blame the women y’know. They’re just curious. A widow alone like that is always going to draw men to try their luck.”
“She struck me as proper. Prim even.”
Tobias nodded. “She is that. As good as a widow can be. Could loosen up some. Always serious. I expect any woman would be, though—on her own without two farthings to do for her boy. Tis all she can do t’feed him, a growing lad like that. Works hard with that lace business.”
“Lace?” A widow’s pension, thirty pounds a year, might stretch to rent and little else.
“Sells it to Burgess. Damned hard on the eyes, lacemaking. Pity in a pretty young thing.” He glanced sharply at Titus. “Is that what you were doing? Buying lace?”
“Not even close. I knew her husband.”
“Soldier, were you? Officer I’ll warrant.”
Titus nodded. “Dragoons. Major, not that it matters now.”
“Shoulda told me. I took the king’s shilling and marched for twenty years,” Tobias said. “Next ale is on the house.”
Tobias fetched a flagon of ale. “So, was th’ woman happy with the what-not?”
“She sent me on my way sharpish before she opened it,” Titus said rubbing his chin. “She’d have made a good sergeant.”
Tobias found that to be hilarious. “I bet she would. Lot o’ those army women learned how to give orders.”
A disturbance at the door drew Tobias away. Customers came first, and these two were a cut above if Titus could judge by their Hoby boots and the quality of their coats. They approached a table near his, but one of them spied Titus before they could sit.
“Don’t I know you?” the stranger asked studying him carefully.
His friend joined him. “Captain Brannock is it? Didn’t we meet in that little scuffle off the coast of Santona?”
“Santona” brought a memory, one Titus was unlikely to forget. He stood. “Major now if half-pay, and I remember it well, Lieutenant Weatherall.”
“First Lieutenant or would be if I was still navy,” Weatherall said. “Do you recall Captain Somerville here?”
Titus studied their companion. “Yes, of course. The action was brief but memorable. I didn’t often get an opportunity to deal with the navy,” Titus chuckled.
“How could any of us forget those Frenchies running like scared rabbits when your squadron came out of the woods from two sides. Scared damn rabbits,” Somerville laughed. “I presume you got the, erm, delivery to Wellington’s headquarters safely.”
“It may have been short a bottle or so more than the two we drank on the shore that night, but yes indeed. It was delivered.” Titus gestured for them to sit. Tobias Hooper smiled contentedly as he took their orders.
“I certainly didn’t expect to see you in the South Downs,” Titus said.
Somerville laughed. “I grew up here. My brother, Sir Peter Somerville is the local magistrate,” he said and clapped Weatherall on the back. “Justin here is now our schoolmaster.”
“What are you doing in this part of England, Brannock?” Weatherall asked.
“Duty among soldiers,” he replied. He told them his story.
“Odd they’d leave something like that behind,” Somerville said.
“Aye. There’s probably a story behind it, but I’m not privy. The painting came to me via a junior officer. I didn’t know Fleming well. I didn’t much like what I did know, truth be told.” Titus studied his ale for a long moment.
Neither of his acquaintances spoke, thinking no doubt of the many ways a man could part from what he loved at war. Titus took a deep drink and broke the tension. “In any case it has been delivered, and I’ll be on my way tomorrow.”
“What then?” Somerville asked.
Titus opened his mouth to answer but the man went on, “How are you occupying your time now that you’re back?”
“Not doing a damn thing worthwhile.”
“Moping around your family’s pile searching for your lost purpose?” Somerville asked. “I felt the same.”
“Something like that. My brother is Earl Astlough now and preoccupied with the estate. He gives me projects, but they feel like charity. He urges me to take control of my own property, some nice acres in Lincolnshire left by a great uncle.”
“At least you have property! Why don’t you?”
“The land is fine. The manor is sound enough, too, but dreary, shabby, and in need of repair. Worse. It is empty. Just empty. I have no heart to do it.” He swallowed and told them the rest, “Estabelle, my brother’s wife, told me I need a wife, and says I’ll never find one in Norfolk.”
“A woman’s answer to everything,” Weatherall said. They shared a companionable laugh.
“I tried London for a bit. An earl for a brother opens doors. But society didn’t suit, not with the poverty I saw on the streets. Damaged, starving soldiers were the worst of it. At least in Norfolk we’re trying to care for our own.”
Somerville studied him closely. “Do stay a bit, Brannock. You might like the South Downs.” Weatherall cast Somerville a puzzled look but didn’t speak.
“I could use company for certain,” Titus replied rubbing his chin. “Tobias will be happy to give me a room for a few days at least.”
“My sister-in-law is hosting a house party just starting at the manor, I could use an escape now and then,” Somerville said.
House party? No thanks. Before Titus could think of a polite response, Weatherall added, “Besides, the South Downs is as pleasant a piece of earth as you’ll find on our fair island. You should stay a while.”
The innkeeper who had been hovering near strode to the door, drawing their attention. “Mrs. Fleming, may I help you? Tea in the private dining room perhaps?”
At the sound of the widow’s name, Titus rose to see the woman with a small boy holding her hand. His eyes met hers, deep blue and alive with intelligence and anxiety. He couldn’t look away.
* * *
What on earth must he think of me? Tessa shrank under the man’s intense gaze. She took a deep breath for courage.
“Mr. Hooper, would you please ask the gentleman if I could have a word with him?” Tessa blushed. Approaching a strange man was not ladylike—not that she had any remaining pretense of being a lady.
“Which gent?” Tobias asked. She noticed belatedly that he had been sitting with Sir Peter Sommerville’s brother and Mr. Weatherall.
“The, erm, stranger,” she replied.
The gentleman—she didn’t recall his name though he surely gave her one—pulled himself together and approached.
“May I be of assistance, Mrs. Fleming?” he asked.
He looked vaguely familiar, but she still couldn’t place him. Her cheeks flamed hotter. “I’m sorry, we’ve not been properly introduced.”
He gave a slight bow. She feared mockery but saw nothing but concern in his expression. “I apologize. Our circumstances prevented proper introduction. Titus Flavius Brannock, lately major in the 11th Dragoons. Now simply Titus Brannock. At your service, ma’am.”
I prevented proper anything. I all but chased him away.
His words fell into place, and she lifted her chin to look at him again. Of course, Major Brannock. “You were in Colonel Foster’s battalion. Our paths didn’t cross often,” she said.
“No ma’am, but I recall seeing you pass by a few times in winter quarters.”
The silence that followed became uncomfortable, but Tessa couldn’t think what to say standing as she was at the door to the tap room with two of Normanton’s influential citizens looking on.
“You have questions. I can see that. Perhaps we should take Hooper up on that private room,” he said.
Tessa gazed around. The room might be too private. “If you wouldn’t mind, there is a small tea room close by. It might be more…”
“Appropriate?” the major suggested with a twinkle in his eye.
She glanced at Mr. Hooper. “No offense, but—”
“None taken. You ladies like yer cozy comfort.” The innkeeper patted her hand as a grandfather might.
She led the way in awkward silence. Irene’s Tea Salon would be fairly private this time of day but still proper. Besides, Irene Foster would take Robby so she could speak freely.
“May I have a Chelsea bun, Mam?” Robby asked when they neared the door.
Her heart sank. Even a few pennies were dear, but she brought this expedition on them.
She stepped inside and had a few whispered words with Irene, the proprietor.
Irene shot a curious glance at the major but she led Robby to the back with no questions.
Tessa and Brannock took a seat at a small table by a sunny window with pretty curtains and a jar of wildflowers on the table.
“Major, I—” she began, clasping her hands to keep them from fluttering.
“Please no ‘Major.’ I’m plain Mr. Brannock, now.” He smiled up at the young girl, Irene’s niece Carrey, who came to ask what she could bring them. He ordered China tea and a plate of pastries before she could object. “And don’t forget a Chelsea bun or two for Master Robby,” he added.
“But I can’t—” Tessa sputtered.
“Surely a treat from a gentleman is innocent enough, particularly as an apology for disturbing your peace yesterday.”
He upset it more than he knows.
She was at least relieved not to worry about paying for their tea.
“Now, what is it you wished to discuss. Earlier you couldn’t get rid of me fast enough,” he said.
No point in beating around the bush. She removed the little bundle from her reticule and unwrapped it on the table. “Where—that is how did you acquire my miniature?”
He paused, staring at it, obviously choosing his words. “Someone brought it to me after you shipped out.”
“But—who?” she stuttered.
“The officer who took your quarters after—after you left. Honestly, I don’t recall his name,” Brannock answered.
“But where was it? How did he come to have it? It was lost. I don’t understand,” she said staring down at her own image.
When he didn’t answer right away, she peered up at him. “Do you not know? Is the answer terrible?” She couldn’t imagine how it could be worse than she already knew.
Kind eyes met hers. Brannock swallowed deeply. “Not so terrible. He told me he found it against the wall under a cot.”
She stared down at the table again, eyes blurring. After a few moments he spoke softly. “Do you have any idea how it got there?”
She shrugged, hesitant to speak. You’re made of sterner stuff, Tessa. What difference will it make? Tell the man. He was kind enough to bring it.
“I wondered where it fell after Rob threw it at me,” she said at last. “I couldn’t find it.” Brannock looked ready to ask more questions. She rushed ahead. “It was damaged. ‘Useless,’ he said, and should have been discarded long ago.”
“Burnt.”
She nodded. “Rob knocked it into a campfire. By accident he said.”
Brannock raised one eyebrow, skeptical, but had the good grace not to voice it.
She shrugged again. “It was worthless. He was right. It ought to have been discarded.” After a sigh she added softly. “It should never have been made.”
She wiped her fingers across the picture, and gazed back up at him. “It looks as if someone tried to clean it. Was that you?”
Color, faint but unmistakable, ran up his neck to his cheeks. She found that endearing. He nodded.
“I brushed it a bit. It seemed a pretty thing that deserved better.”
Her throat tightened. “But I left Spain in 1813 when we were in winter quarters, almost four years ago. Why now?”
“To be honest, I meant to discard it when the officer handed it to me, damaged as it was. I don’t know why I tossed it in my trunk, but I did. I forgot about it until a few months ago when I was finally cleaning my things out, discarding things I no longer need.”
He chuckled. “I put more back in than I left out. There was your miniature. I thought that, if I found it hard to dispose of objects from back then and the memories, perhaps someone would care about a painting they had troubled to have created.”
Do I? Do I want those memories? Her hands closed over the miniature; she wrapped it back up and put it away. “Thank you, Mr. Brannock. You are very kind.”
She sipped her tea and found it cold. Her escort requested a fresh pot.
Searching for a topic she asked, “How did you find me?”
His answer was simple enough, and he gave no indication of the amount of trouble it must have taken.
She murmured thanks again, and this time savored the luxury of warm, strong, China tea.
Brannock had made short work of the sweets.
He pushed the plate in her direction, offering her a lemon biscuit. She took one and nibbled it.
After a moment he spoke again. “Did you commission it?”
She choked on the biscuit and needed a deep gulp of tea.
She was too disconcerted to lie or evade the question.
“Yes,” she rasped. “The first time I was left behind in Lisbon soon after we were married. It was a gift. Foolish waste of money.” She prayed he would drop the subject.
Rob had shouted at her over the expense.
Blessedly he did, sensing her discomfort. Even better, Robby bounced back just then, crumbs from his treat on his cheeks. She rose and hugged him, and Brannock rose as well.
“We best be going, Robby. Mama has a stop to make before we go home.”
“To fetch the money Mr. Burgess owes us?” Robby asked.
She bent to whisper, “We don’t speak of that in front of people,” and then kissed his cheek.
She rose, thanked the man, and walked away with as much dignity as she could muster. She could feel his eyes on her back all the way down the street. The miniature in her reticule bumped against her side.
I’ll burn it. Destroy it completely once and for all, along with the memories that do me no good at all.