Chapter Nineteen
“—singed up to my ears!” Cooper made long sweeping gestures with his hands around his head in a poor imitation of a fire. “If Reeves hadn’t been so quick with a pail of water, I might have been bald for life! He needn’t have dropped the pail on my head, though. Rather unsporting.”
“You’re welcome.” Seth smirked.
The open-aired Landau carriage trudged a slow pace through ground still damp from the previous night’s rain, but the sun shone through a cloudless afternoon sky.
It had been ages since Seth last went to the Ringwood Harvest Festival, and never with such lovely company.
Facing forward, Cassandra sat between him and Cooper.
Her pastel pink bonnet obscured her face from view.
On the opposite bench sat Mr. Sanderson, Lady Jasmine, and in the middle, Trevor—who hitched a ride to see his mother in town.
Cooper had Lady Jasmine laughing for most of the ride, with Cassandra annoyed with her brother’s antics on principle.
Squeezed against Seth from his knee to his shoulder, the rocking of the carriage occasionally brought her closer.
He struggled to keep his thoughts clean with her body pressed to his, his nose teased with the lavender scent of her hair, her skin.
As she turned her head, he could see the full expanse of her throat, pale, elegant, and he longed to place his lips there again.
Unable to tend to his own needs while laying in bed with her the night before, he was going mad with want.
It took unbelievable restraint to fight his instincts to take, to claim, to make her his in truth.
Now that he knew Cassandra wanted him—and how it felt to have her under his body, half-naked, and the sounds—blazes, he needed to get it together!
Seth repositioned his legs uncomfortably and tried to think sobering thoughts.
Downtown London… the war… Lord Bolderwood.
That last thought was like a pail of cold water poured over his burning hair.
Seth knew the man well enough to know he didn’t bluff.
The best course of action would be to get ahead of him, control the narrative, and confess to Cooper first.
Well. Maybe not everything, but certainly his intentions.
A long courtship would be impossible to endure. No, he would dispense with it altogether and ask for Cassandra’s hand. He wanted the freedom to take her to events alone, with no chaperon watching their every moment to make sure he didn’t misbehave.
Seth wanted to misbehave.
As the carriage wheel hit another bump in the road, Cassandra briefly balanced her hand against his knee in a touch that seemed accidental, but Seth knew better. A corner of his mouth lifted.
Maybe Cassandra wanted to misbehave too.
Lady Jasmine studied him with a raised brow.
“Another life he’s saved,” Trevor gloated. “I’d expect nothing less from the Nemesis of Napoleon.”
Seth shot him a look of reproach.
“Remember what we said about being quiet, Trevor?”
Trevor snapped his mouth closed and nodded.
Cassandra laughed next to him, a beautiful, twinkling sound. “The Nemesis of Napoleon?”
His eyes met hers for a second before he turned away, the back of his neck burning as the men in the vehicle laughed at his expense.
“Ordnance Extraordinaire!” Cooper cackled.
“Protector of the Peninsula!” Mr. Sanderson chimed in.
The coachman half turned his head. “Hellion from Hampshire.”
Lady Jasmine roared with laughter.
“Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?” Cassandra asked.
“Because it’s humiliating,” Seth grumbled.
“I was sworn to secrecy under threat of death,” Cooper said.
“I have the entire set,” Mr. Sanderson whispered to Trevor, without lowering the volume of his voice. “Take good care of yours, they’ll be worth a fortune some day!”
“Oh, yes. Please monetize my misery further,” Seth muttered.
“I think it’s your turn for a story, Mr. Reeves,” Cassandra said.
“Yes!” Lady Jasmine cheered. “Tell us how you got so famous!”
Seth took a deep breath and steeled himself before responding.
“In my battalion, there was a young ensign. Where others were loud and boisterous, Charles Thomas was quiet. Introspective.” Seth watched the trees roll by, old hurt clenching at his heart as he spoke the man’s name for the first time in years.
“He always had a pencil in hand, scribbling away. I assumed he was writing letters home. I hadn’t known until the third publication that he was writing stories with my name on them.
” He sighed. “All of it greatly exaggerated, of course. He wrote them to entertain his comrades over a campfire. I don’t think he expected to be such a success.
From what I understand, he made a small fortune off of the pamphlets. ”
“Where is your writer friend now? Living in a mansion by the sea?” Lady Jasmine asked. Cooper shook his head in a quick, jerking movement. Eyes widening, she gushed, “I’m so sorry. My mouth gets ahead of me. I truly didn’t mean to offend.”
Seth slumped against the cushions at his back. Cassandra placed her hands on her knees, and her small finger brushed against his leg with a subtle, grounding movement. “It’s all right,” Seth said after some time. “Ensign Thomas was a good man. It’s good to remember him fondly, from time to time.”
There was no going back. He stole another lingering glance at Cassandra, finding her regarding him with a gentle, understanding smile. Nestled next to the woman he loved, surrounded by friends, old and new, it was time to move forward.
Red and yellow brick houses lined the crowded cobblestone streets of Ringwood.
Wooden signs swayed with the light breeze over permanent store-fronts, all but smothered by the massive outdoor street market erected through the town.
Merchants called out their wares over the sounds of fiddles and tambourines as musicians played in the town square.
Warm scents of baked pies and roasted meat filled the air.
Children squealed with laughter as they barreled around him. Boys chased each other with sticks while girls tended to dolls made of corn husks, tied together with yarn. Well-dressed aristocrats mingled with dust-drenched farmers returning from the fields.
Several paces ahead, Lady Jasmine pulled Cassandra by the arm through the market booths. Cooper and Mr. Sanderson stopped to inspect hunting knives. Mr. Sanderson balanced a blade in his hand, crinkled his nose, but gave a polite smile as he returned it to the display table.
Seth trailed behind them, routinely stopped by townsfolk who recognized him.
As a child, he would often run away here—if he got that far.
Many knew him from their work at Hollingsworth Manor and developed a soft spot for him.
They fed him and provided him with a safe place to sleep until Margaret inevitably came to fetch him.
As he finished his conversation with the town butcher, Seth noticed Cassandra had extricated herself from her friend. Instead, it was Cooper on Lady Jasmine’s arm. His face carried a note of surprise as she pulled him away, mischief written plainly in her smile.
He searched for Cassandra’s bonnet in a sea of hats. A flash of pink dipped into the apothecary, and he followed her inside. The bell above the door gave a welcoming jingle. At the counter, the shopkeeper glanced in his direction, but a paying customer reclaimed her attention.
On simple wooden shelves, glass bottles and jars housed herbs, tinctures, and soaps.
In a section toward the back, Cassandra removed the lid from a glass container, lifted it to her nose, made a face before closing it and repeated the process with the next jar down the line.
The next one appeared to be more favorable, as she lifted it to her nose twice and twisted the jar to read the label.
He stepped in lightly, leaned in close, and whispered into her ear.
“Anything you like?”
The tin lid of the jar clattered to the ground as she jumped, turning to him with a scowl. He bent to pick the lid up and handed it to her.
“What do you think of this?” she asked, presenting the jar to him.
Inside was a pale-yellow gel. An herbal scent of pine, earth, and beeswax cooled his nostrils.
“Rosemary,” Seth read the label. “It’s not really feminine, is it? What’s wrong with the scent you use now?”
“It’s not for me.” She reached for the jar, but he held it above her grasp and her lips pulled into a pout.
Seth read the label and grinned.
“Were you about to purchase pomade for me, Miss Cooper?”
“No.” Her face fell further. “It’s out of budget.”
“Just as well.” He clucked. “A lady should never purchase a personal gift for a gentleman she fancies.”
“Ah, but you’re not a gentleman,” she reminded him, a corner of her mouth lifted.
“You didn’t deny that you fancy me.” He leaned over her. “Will you apply it for me? Run your fingers through my hair?”
“If you’re nice,” she said coyly.
“I can be quite nice, Miss Cooper.” He lowered his voice. “But I think you’ll like me more when I’m wicked.”
“I would like you more if you wouldn’t talk like this in public.”
“You’re right, I’ll talk more like this in private.” Her breath caught as he whispered, “You really like that.”
Decision made, he turned to the shopkeeper and called out, “Mrs. Mercer, I’m taking this!”
Cassandra hid her burning face in her bonnet as heads turned in their direction.
“I thought that was you, Seth Reeves.” Mrs. Mercer shuffled over to them. A middle-aged woman with hair more white than blonde reached up to hold his head in her hands, twisting it gently to get a good look at him.
“I’d recognize those eyes anywhere. My, how you’ve grown! Come home for the Hunting Party, have you? If you ever tire of mingling with those blue bloods, you’re always welcome to your old room behind the bakery. It could do with some dusting, but—”