Chapter 7
Charming strangers and new friends.
Though she did her utmost to keep her mind from it, Anne could not help but replay those extraordinary moments in the storerooms with Mr King.
Throughout the breakfast service she was so distracted that Captain Dearborn asked if she was quite well or if perhaps, she was coming down with something.
He suggested she sit down to conserve her strength, or perhaps even have Doctor Arkhurst call upon her.
To her shame, she replied that she was a trifle fatigued and would take a walk in the fresh air to blow away the cobwebs, just so she might escape the kindness of his attentions, for they made her want to scream.
Mr King did not make her want to scream, she mused, as she made her way down to the beach. It was a brisk autumnal day, and whilst the sun shone sullenly through a thin gauze of cloud, thicker banks of grey shadowed parts of the sky, threatening rain.
Anne pulled her cloak tighter around her and stood on the damp sand, newly festooned with shingle and shells.
The sea crashed about before her, sending damp air rushing over her skin as the waves returned frothing upon the shore and Anne drew in a deep breath.
For a moment she closed her eyes, and was back once more in the storeroom, the feel of Mr King’s powerful embrace, the astonishing tenderness of his kiss showing a side to this notorious man that she hardly dared believe in.
Everyone said he was wicked, she reminded herself. The town believed him to be a vile rake who had seduced an innocent girl and left her to suffer the consequences alone.
Certainly, his reputation in London had been that of a dangerous man, albeit for very different reasons.
On the fateful night when she had stolen the ruby necklace and fled, Mrs Fairway had led her to believe that Mr King was a criminal, a man who met violence with violence, but one who had his own code of honour.
She had believed the kindness she had once done him meant he would deal with her honestly, and so it had been.
Without him, Anne could hardly imagine how things might have turned out.
Yet that did not erase the criminality, nor the violence, and Anne wanted no part of such a life, such a man.
Yet she could not deny the attraction she felt for him, nor did she wish to, and where was the harm?
He was not staying in Little Valentine. In a matter of days, he would return to London, and she would hear no more about him.
What damage could it do her to indulge in a little harmless flirtation, to enjoy a few more kisses and embraces, when her life seemed suddenly so bereft of warmth, of the kind of intimacy only found between lovers?
She had seen Clementine and Lord Beaumarsh fall in love, and Beatrice and Stonehaven too.
Was it so very wrong of her to feel a tinge of envy?
It wasn’t as if she wished for marriage, for a man to come and take over her life, her business, her entire world.
Heaven forbid. But Mrs Fairway was right, the nights were closing in, and her bed was cold and lonely, as was her life once she had said goodnight to her friends and closed the door on her little apartment and knew herself to be alone once more.
A high-pitched yipping sound brought Anne rudely back to the present, and she looked around to see a small, scruffy dog barking at the waves. He chased after them as they retreated and then ran harum-scarum up the beach as if he believed they would eat him when they returned.
Smiling at the little dog’s antics, Anne looked about for his mistress and raised her hand to Clara.
“Good morning,” she called out, watching in amusement as Clara dithered.
Although she had known the young woman some time now, she knew she made Clara nervous, despite trying her best to put her at ease.
Though she did not much want company for the moment, far too ready to spend her time lingering in the dream of Mr King’s embrace, she knew it was neither sensible nor healthy to do so.
Instead, she put thoughts of the troublesome fellow away from her and strode over to greet Clara.
“G-Good morning, Mrs Adamson,” Clara said, her cheeks flushed pink from the sharp breeze that tugged at their cloaks and bonnets.
“Clara, do call me Anne, there’s a dear. I really won’t eat you, you know,” she said in exasperation, for they were not dissimilar in age.
Clara blushed, looking chagrined. “N-No. I do know it,” she added, meeting Anne’s eyes. “You must think me very silly.”
“Not in the least, only out of practice with speaking to people. Which is why we ought to hone such skills when we can. Should you like to take a walk with me?”
Clara hesitated and then gave a nod. “But what about the hotel?”
“I have run away for a while,” Anne said with a wry smile. “You see, it is not only you who find people too much to endure at times. But Mrs Fairway and Mr Cogger have all in hand. It’s quiet today in any case.”
It had been quiet, and she had not known whether to be disappointed or relieved that she had not seen Mr King at breakfast before she had fled.
“There is n-nothing amiss?” Clara asked, concern in her eyes as she glanced shyly at Anne.
“Oh, no, not in the least,” Anne replied, feeling suddenly restless and out of sorts as she felt her answer was not entirely true. “Why don’t we call upon Miss Foxworthy?”
Clara looked appalled by the suggestion. “Oh…Oh, no. I—”
“Come, come, Clara. It’s only a call. We shan’t stay above half an hour, and the walk up the hill will do us both good, and Benny there, who is looking rather plump.”
“He is not!” Clara retorted, suddenly indignant.
Anne laughed. “I beg your pardon, I meant no offence.”
“Isn’t it a little early?” Clara said plaintively instead, clearly hoping to find an argument that would stick.
“A little,” Anne said cheerfully, but strode off all the same. “Somehow I don’t think Miss Foxworthy cares much about social niceties, do you?”
“No,” Clara admitted sadly, looking both disappointed by and admiring of such wilful behaviour.
Though it took some coaxing, of both Clara and her little dog, by degrees they made their way towards Seagull Heights, the cottage which Miss Foxworthy and her brother had rented.
As it was early yet, which Clara had so hopefully pointed out, Anne decreed it quite unexceptional to walk past The Dog and Duck, for such nefarious characters as drank there were only usually present after dark.
Still, Clara looked wide-eyed at the building, which was rather a handsome, if ramshackle place, and Anne speculated about whether the owner could be induced to sell it.
Probably not, for where would all the smugglers go?
It was a pity. If her hopes for next season were everything she expected, she could think about expanding her business soon.
The idea of building a new, grand property with all modern conveniences did not dismay her and, indeed, the prospect was one that had given her many sleepless nights as her mind ran riot with ideas and concepts for how it might look.
She had already bought land to the east of her hotel, snatching it up the moment she had realised that Beau Beaumarsh had brought their little town to the attention of the beau monde.
When Stonehaven had done his part too, her certainty had only increased, and with each new booking she felt on firmer ground.
She was even now negotiating another parcel of land to the west too, though she had not yet agreed a price and felt a little anxious at using so great a part of her hard-earned savings on a venture that might yet come to nothing.
If the town did not become as fashionable as Bath or Harrogate, her dreams might prove to be built upon sand, yet she felt certain it was worth the speculation.
Lost in thought, she did not first see the figure who emerged from the inn, garbed in a heavy dark coat and large hat that covered his face.
Benny, however, was not half so shy of strangers as his mistress and surged forward, barking and dancing about the man as if protecting his womenfolk from some dreadful villain.
For a moment, Anne wondered if perhaps the dog knew something they did not, but then the fellow took off his hat and performed a theatrical bow to Benny, addressing the dog most formally.
“Good sir, forgive me for startling you so. I meant no disrespect to you nor your charming companions.” With these words, the fellow crouched down and held out his hand to Benny, who huffed and sneezed and walked in a wide circle before giving in and condescending to have his ears gently tugged and his chin scratched.
“Good morning, ladies,” the man said, glancing up at them.
Anne heard Clara’s quick intake of breath and did not blame her for it one bit as bright blue eyes met theirs.
His hair was the fairest Anne had ever seen, shining against his dark cloak so brightly that it made even the weak sunshine seem to illuminate his face, which was indisputably beautiful.
There was no other word for him, though he was a man and most decidedly so, with nothing soft nor feminine about him, except perhaps for the sensuous curve of his mouth.
He looked up suddenly, his head cocked as if hearing something in the distance, though Anne could discern nothing.
“I must beg forgiveness once more,” he said ruefully, giving Benny one last caress before getting to his feet. “But I fear I must take leave of you.”
With that, he replaced his hat and ran to his horse, which had been docilely cropping grass a small way off, before mounting with an athleticism that Clara and Anne could only admire in dumbfounded silence.
He turned the horse in a circle, grinning irrepressibly as if aware of some great joke they could only guess at, tipped his hat, and rode off at great speed.
They were silent for a full minute before Anne found her voice again.