What the Heart Knows (Forevers in Fenwick #4)

Chapter One

In his private parlor at the Queen’s Barque Inn, Captain Christian Ellis Copefort reviewed several sworn accounts of profiteering witnessed during the wars with France.

The man accused of the crime lived in Fenwick on Sea, hence Kit’s reason for being here.

That his valet, George Brewster, wanted a visit with his father, who owned the Queen’s Barque, provided a handy excuse for a retired Captain’s journey to this all-but small coastal village.

Outside the parlor, loud barking announced a series of bangs, thuds, and cries of pain.

Shoving the documents into their oiled leather packet, Kit ran to open the parlor door.

A large brindled dog raced for the stairs.

Kit’s valet lay in the middle of the floor surrounded by suitcases and hatboxes.

At a nearby door stood two women. One with a pair of gold-flecked blue eyes stared over the hand covering her mouth.

Rich brown curls peeped out from beneath a shallow brimmed bonnet.

A pretty flush decorated each cheek. Her much older companion leaned against the wall.

“Mr. Brewster, are you alright?” asked the blue-eyed woman, lowering her hand from her face to reveal berry-hued lips forming a moue of warm concern.

“I’m fine, miss.”

“Niece, please.” The older woman lifted the back of one hand to her forehead. “My smelling salts. Margaret, I feel faint.” She began to sway.

The niece fished in her reticule, retrieving a small vial. Putting one arm around her aunt, the young lady applied the hartshorn.

Kit moved to help George, as the ladies had no immediate need. “Are you hurt, my friend?”

“Nay, sir. I attempted to carry more than I should at one time, and Hector, bless him, jumped on me to welcome me home.”

“Here, Aunt, let me help you to lie down,” the dark velvet resonance implored.

A note of repressed vibrancy skittered over Kit’s skin.

How different that sound from any feminine voice he could imagine.

Not simply soft and pleasant, nearly hypnotic in its quiet cadence, but also rich with a uniquely soothing timber and texture.

Giving his friend a hand up, Kit shook off the urge to follow. Then he began collecting parcels and cases.

“You shouldn’t do that, sir,” George said.

“Nonsense. Soonest done, soonest mended. You and I have much to discuss this evening.” Arms full, Kit straightened.

The young lady occupied the open doorway.

He blinked at the sight.

She’d removed her pale gray cloak and dark bonnet. A slim column of yellow muslin fell from a high waist topped with generous curves. Graceful arms stretched toward him.

He needed an embrace from those arms, needed to be held close to that lovely body where he could plumb the depths of those gold-flecked eyes.

“Thank you, good sir,” the dark velvet voice murmured. “Allow me to relieve you of those.”

Kit stared.

Beside him George gathered the last of the cases then cleared his throat.

Kit shook his head, clutching the items he carried. “No, no,” he protested. “My man and I have them in hand. Show us where to put them, please, miss …?”

“Fenneman,” she replied.

The name jolted through him, chasing off the effects of voice and vision.

“Please, set all on the parlor table.” She stood to one side of the door and gestured within.

Kit hurried to deposit his items. “Good night,” he said.

“And you, sir,” the dusk-hued voice responded. “Thank you.”

He bowed, more to evade that entrancing gaze than out of courtesy. “You are most welcome.” Turning on his heel, Kit fled.

Had he not heard her name, he might’ve lingered. Battlefronts lacked pleasing female company, and Miss Fenneman was quite appealing.

George scurried behind with Kit’s saddlebags and a small sack.

In his rooms, Kit gulped in air. He felt as if he’d just eluded pursuit by ten of Napoleon’s Imperial Guard. Leaning on the table, he shook his head. How was it possible that a woman—a not so extraordinary woman in fact—had such an effect? Given her family, forgetting her might be best.

“Are you well, Captain?” George asked.

“Fine, fine. I was simply surprised to see you toppled.” He turned a grin on his valet. “Famously, Napoleon’s army failed to fell Sergeant Major Brewster. Now you are brought low by a passel of parcels and a pup.”

George beamed at his employer. “Thank you, sir, but the war’s in the past now, and Hector’s hardly a pup.”

“Indeed. Speaking of the present, I must send you down to your father, to pay our shot. When you return, perhaps you could tell me more about Miss Fenneman and her aunt.”

George’s jaw dropped. “Lordy. Father wasn’t at the desk when I came in. He doesn’t even know I’m here. Unless you told him?”

“No, I thought you might wish to surprise him.” Kit handed a purse to his valet.

“Aye ’tis right surprised he’ll be, as will all my family.”

“Then I shan’t expect your return until supper. Now get you gone.”

“I must unpack your bags, sir.”

“George, you’ve been my batman as well as my valet. By now you know I can manage on my own.”

“Aye, sir. That I do.”

“Then go surprise your family. Spend time with them.”

“Yes, sir.” George came to attention, snapped a salute, pivoted and marched from the room.

Kit smiled. Turning his attention to stowing the few items he’d brought with him, he considered the benefits and dangers of encountering a relation—no matter how distant—of former Major Frederick Fenneman.

***

Meg blinked as she watched the door close behind George Brewster.

She’d recognized him instantly. They’d been playmates in the days before her mother died, when her father was a much kinder man.

Years’d passed since she’d more than caught a quick glimpse of George at church of a Sunday morning. Still, she recalled him fondly.

“Oooh,” Aunt Patricia moaned.

Meg tugged the bell pull. “I’ll send for a tisane, Aunt. While we wait, let’s get you to bed.”

By the time the tisane arrived and the maid left, Meg’s night-robed Aunt lay against a mound of pillows.

“Dear me, I’m sorry to be so overset, niece, I am delaying you. Your father will be upset when you return home late.”

Meg dampened a kerchief, wrung it, folded it, and placed it on her aunt’s forehead.

“Don’t worry yourself, Aunt. I can manage Father,” Meg hedged. Father—the man who loved his wife so much he could not bear being in the home where he lost her—was loving, affectionate even cooperative as long as his wants and needs took priority.

“My brother-in-law can be quite unreasonable, when he feels he has been disobeyed. Your mother often confided in me about Sir Fenneman’s volatile nature.”

Wishing she’d more than a child’s memories of her mother, Meg pulled a chair up to the bed and took her aunt’s hand.

She could not agree with her aunt. “Father has never harmed me, even though he’s changed some since the war.

Still, I wish he would treat the servants with a bit more understanding and kindness.

” He’d become much less considerate of others.

His indifference resulted in small, thoughtless cruelties. She told herself she was oversensitive.

“He never harmed your mother either. He did neglect her shamefully, as he has you.”

“As a result of what you call neglect, I’ve a great deal more freedom than many young women.” However, in the months since Father returned, she only had that freedom when he wasn’t home.

Her aunt pursed her lips. “I’m uncertain that’s a good thing. You’ve much too independent a mind.”

“Perhaps,” Meg acknowledged.

That independent mind causes endless trouble between Father and me.

I wish I could be more compliant, and I wish he’d listen less to that clerk, Brookbank.

“It was Father who insisted I learn management from our land steward, God rest his soul.” Father had done so because even as a child, she’d wished to remain at his side, so he’d taken her with him when he made rounds of the farms, consulting with gamekeepers and land stewards.

She’d continued to learn while he was away.

Upon his return, she’d gone on at length about her experiences and thanked him.

He’d listened patiently enough, but eventually had waved her to silence.

“By all means, continue the work, if you love it so much.”

’Twas the best gift he’d ever given her, until he’d added, “’Twill save me money, and I doubt any respectable folk will learn of it, given we live Fenwick on Sea, the veritable back of beyond.”

“Nonetheless, I blame Sir Frederick for your loss of a season and worse, your mother’s demise. He should’ve sent you both to me before running off to serve in the Commissariat Corps.”

“We were well cared for, and there were no other Fenneman men to take up arms in England’s defense.”

Aunt Patricia sniffed. “Not every family sent men to the army. Your mother wouldn’t have died of consumption had the two of you been with me.”

“You can’t know for certain, Aunt.”

“Fenwick on Sea is so remote. It took days for a physician to attend your mother. By then it was too late.” Tears brimmed in the older woman’s eyes.

Mother’s passing still brought Meg close to tears, and a part of her wished to blame Father. However, such feelings did no one any credit. She pushed aside the sorrowful memories. “You distress yourself needlessly, Aunt. I wish you would sleep.”

“How can I rest when you are placed so precariously? You’ve no one but a temperamental gentleman and his clerk to defend you.

Frederick is entirely too careless with you.

At the same time, he restricts you unreasonably.

Just look at his insistence you return home this evening, yet he sent no servant to see to your safety. ”

“No one in Fenwick would harm me for fear of Father’s retribution.

I shall return home as soon as I know you are well cared for here.

Before I leave, I’ll speak to Mr. Brewster about escorting you to the harbor and your vessel tomorrow.

As for Father’s anger, I doubt he’ll do much more than a bit of yelling and stomping.

” He’d withdraw some privilege or other as well.

His favorite was to deny her access to the library and the books she loved.

Her aunt turned a pleading gaze on Meg. “You’re certain you don’t wish to come with me?

I’d welcome you in Brighton, and you’d be able to have something of a season.

Already the yacht races, water parties, receptions, and balls are in full swing.

Your father is wrong to deny you the chance to meet eligible young men. ”

“I’m content, Aunt.” Meg had never wished to meet eligible partis. The benefits of marriage had been small for her mother. As Meg saw it, she’d lose more than she gained from making a match.

“Hmpf. If not for that silly legend about drinking the waters of Fenwick on Sea and finding a forever love, I’d have no hope for you. I’ve lived the life of a spinster. Believe me, no woman wants such a lonely existence.”

“I am sorry you’ve been lonely, Aunt. I promise, once father is settled in his routine, I’ll visit.”

“He’s been home for more than a month. How much longer can it take for his routine to establish itself?”

Yes, and in that time, despite a few smiles and hugs, he’s made it clear that my life is limited to his needs and wants.

However, her aunt need not know that.

Meg shrugged. “I still perform a number of tasks on his behalf. I cannot say when I will be free to visit.”

“Do what you must quickly, please. I worry about you out here in this backwater.”

Meg didn’t attempt to reassure her aunt with information about the plans to draw national attention to Fenwick on Sea.

However, the plans might evaporate. Especially if, like father, more area land owners opposed those plans.

She’d long suspected father might have personal reasons for wishing to keep Fenwick off the map.

Personal reasons that had nothing to do with status and everything to do with an evil lust for profit and power.

Lately, Father had been temperamental and often cruel, but evil?

She blamed the war for his change in temperament.

She blamed Brookbank for everything else.

That clerk was the true evil. She’d not believe it of Father.

She patted her aunt’s hand. “I’ve made you a promise, aunt. Now you must make me one and sleep. I’ll see to having supper served here so you needn’t go down to the public room.”

Aunt Patricia sighed. “I promise.”

“Good.” Meg stood and drew the curtains to dim the room. While she waited for sleep to claim her aunt, her mind drifted to the handsome officer who’d assisted with their baggage. Who was he, and what brought him to Fenwick on Sea?

Ah well, as I’ll likely never see the man again, his purpose here hardly matters.

A snuffle from the direction of the bed told Meg her aunt slept. She left for the parlor, and rang the bell pull. The day was fading. Meg wished she could remain and see Aunt Patience off. Staying would only upset Father. No, returning home tonight was her best option.