Mary Nichols - The Captain's Kidnapped Beauty

She bade him good morning as if it were the first time they had met that day and he felt obliged to play along with that, asking her how she did and if she had enjoyed the concert the evening before. He was bidden to be seated while she completed the invoice. He watched her as her pen glided over the paper. She seemed composed, the ultimate businesswoman, but he noticed her hand shook a little and realised she was not impervious to him. Why that pleased him he did not know. She was most definitely out of bounds and the episode in Hyde Park was an aberration and he must not continue to dwell on it.

The horses, he discovered, when she handed him the invoice, cost as much as the coach, but he did not doubt they were worth it. Nor did he doubt that Gilpin had made more than a fair profit, but he did not begrudge him that. He was prepared to pay for quality, as so many others were, a fact testified by the man’s success. Altogether his bill came to two hundred and forty pounds ten shillings. He filled in the full amount on the bill of exchange and gave it to Miss Gilpin, receiving a neat receipt.

Henry had been to a cupboard and extracted a bottle and two glasses. ‘Will you join me in a drink to celebrate?’ he said, pouring cognac. The man seemed utterly unaware of the dangerous currents passing between his customer and his daughter.

Alex took a glass of brandy from him and they stood toasting each other, watched by Charlotte, who found herself studying him again. Although he had changed his clothes, he was still wearing dark blue and white, but far from making him look sombre it emphasised his magnificent physique. She felt herself unwittingly remembering how she had stood enveloped in his arms and how warm and comfortable it had been and, afraid her rosy cheeks would betray her, hurriedly looked away.

His glass empty, Alex put it down, bowed to them both and took his leave, having promised to bring the coach back for servicing when it required it.

Davy was already on the box ready to drive off. ‘Right, off to Briarcroft,’ he told him. ‘We will call on my mother first.’

Charlotte watched him go from the window, conscious of a feeling of anticlimax, of wishing she knew more about him. He had an air of aloofness and a cynicism that sat ill with his courtesy and compassion. He had ridden hard to save her from those men, then berated her for riding alone, as if it was any business of his. Just what was his business? She knew he was a seafaring captain and belonged to the Piccadilly Gentlemen, but that was all. He had vouchsafed nothing about his family. For all she knew he was married and had a brood of children. Would a man buying a travelling coach not include a wife in the transaction, if only by mentioning her tastes? He had done nothing like that. And he had arrived at Lady Milgrove’s with Viscount Leinster when she would have expected him to bring his wife if he had one. But perhaps the wife lived in Norfolk and did not like town ways. What, she told herself sternly, had it got to do with her? She turned away from the window to answer a knock at the door. In answer to her ‘Enter’, a man in working garb and clutching a soft felt hat in his hand came in to stand before her.

He bowed his head. ‘Miss Gilpin, I am Martin Grosswaite, here as promised. What would you like me to do?’ He did not, as she expected, ask to see her father who was in the paint shop, where the artist they employed was about to begin putting a coat of arms on a chaise before it was varnished. She surmised her father had told him to speak to her.

She entered his particulars in the register she kept for employees and then conducted him to the upper floor to be introduced to the head carpenter and set to work. Then she went thoughtfully back to her office. Martin Grosswaite had been perfectly polite and had answered her questions in a straightforward manner, but there was something about him that troubled her. It might have been his craggy face, but she was not one to be disturbed by ill looks, or it might have been his pale eyes, which darted about as he spoke and never once looked directly at her. It made her feel uncomfortable.

She shook her foolish thoughts from her; he had been nervous and anxious to please, that was all, and if he did not please it was easy enough to dismiss him. And with that thought she sat down at her desk and pulled the sales ledger towards her.

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