Elizabeth Bailey - The Captain's Return

“You need not imagine that your identity gives you any rights concerning me.”

Despite himself, Hal felt his temper rising. “What do you take me for? I have no intention of—”

“I am glad you chose to bring up the subject of your intentions, sir, because I am excessively interested to know what they might be.”

Hal tried for a calmer note. “Annabel—”

“Mrs. Lett to you, sir.”

“Oh, the devil!” he snapped, exasperated. “I am supposed to be your husband.”

“Not by any will of mine.”

www.millsandboon.co.uk

grew up in Malawi, then worked as an actress in British theater. Her interest in writing grew and soon overtook acting. Instead, she taught drama, developing a third career as a playwright and director. She finds this a fulfilling combination, for each activity fuels the others, firing an incurably romantic imagination. Elizabeth lives in Sussex.

Lord Ravensden’s Marriage, by Anne Herries

An Innocent Miss, by Elizabeth Bailey

The Reluctant Bride, by Meg Alexander

A Companion of Quality, by Nicola Cornick

A Most Improper Proposal, by Gail Whitiker

A Noble Man, by Anne Ashley

An Unreasonable Match, by Sylvia Andrew

An Unconventional Duenna, by Paula Marshall

Counterfeit Earl, by Anne Herries

The Captain’s Return, by Elizabeth Bailey

The Guardian’s Dilemma, by Gail Whitiker

Lord Exmouth’s Intentions, by Anne Ashley

Mr. Rushford’s Honour, by Meg Alexander

An Unlikely Suitor, by Nicola Cornick

An Inescapable Match, by Sylvia Andrew

The Missing Marchioness, by Paula Marshall

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

July 1812

It was what he had anticipated. But the confirmation did not make the news any more acceptable to Captain Henry Colton. There had been little hope of finding Annabel’s circumstances to be otherwise. But to hear her spoken of as Mrs Lett!

The Captain took a hasty turn about the bare room. It seemed large in its barren state, empty of all furnishings. But Hal Colton’s six-foot frame dwarfed the place.

Even in civilian clothes he was impressive, the green frock-coat of plain cut moulding across broad shoulders, and the muscle in his thigh evident under the buckskin breeches. His cravat was simply tied, and his boots decently polished. An air of command belied his six-and-twenty years, and from his bearing no one could mistake his calling, even without the dashing military moustache. Like his hair it was red-gold, in keeping, so his elder brother Edward maintained, with his temper.

He came to a halt in front of his informant. “You’re sure of this, Weem? She is indeed married?”

His batman, a stunted individual upon whose enterprise and cunning Hal had relied heavily in the past, nodded vigorously. But there was a glint of mischief in his sharp eyes, and the Captain’s blood quickened.

“What is it? Tell me at once, lunkhead, or I’ll have your guts for garters!”

Weem grinned cheekily, arms akimbo over the rough serge coat he had donned by way of disguise, together with a slouch hat now crushed in one hand.

“Lunkhead, is it? And me an intelligence agent of the highest order!”

Captain Colton started threateningly across the room, and his batman threw up a hand in surrender.

“Keep yer hair on, guv’nor. I mean to tell you it all, yer know that.”

“Then cut line! I’m in no mood for your funning.”

From the window opposite, the Captain’s brother broke in. “Have patience, Hal. After all, you’ve waited three years and more. A couple of minutes can’t make much difference.”

It made a deal of difference to Hal. And it had been by no wish of his that the intervening years had furnished no news of Annabel Howes. Ever since that appalling night, when their last hideous quarrel had culminated in his losing all claim to call himself a gentleman, the Captain had spared no pains to try to make all right. Despite being recalled to Spain, and leaving with his regiment the very next morning.

Annabel had resisted his every attempt to contact her. His letters had been returned unopened. Twice he had spent his hard-earned leave of absence in fruitless searching. Twice he had been turned away by old Benjamin Howes—first in London, and again at the family estates. No surprise there. Howes had been against him almost from the start, causing Annabel to break off their engagement.

Then had come this windfall, an estate bequeathed to him by his godfather. It was a modest place, but with a decent enough income derived from rents to encourage Captain Colton to sell out. He and his brother had driven across to look it over, travelling in the old-fashioned phaeton he had left at the family home during his long absence. It was, he averred, in good enough condition for general use.

“I’m not wasting my blunt on a new one yet a while.”

But horses were another matter. He had brought his own and Weem’s mounts back from the Peninsula, but a pair had to be purchased to go between the shafts of the phaeton. He had chosen to try their paces on this journey, rather than make it in his brother’s flashy new curricle.

Weem had followed his master on horseback from the Colton estates some fifty miles distant. His batman had known full well how important was this news to him!

“Well, Weem?”

The batman glinted up at him engagingly. “It ain’t so bad as you think, guv’nor. The lady was married, but seemingly she’s a widow.”

A huge weight rolled off Hal’s chest. He gave Weem a light buffet. “Rascal! I ought to darken your daylights!”

“Then you wouldn’t nowise hear the rest of it, guv’nor.”

Edward Colton strolled over to his brother’s side. In bearing, no two men could be more dissimilar. His frock-coat of mulberry was cut rather for comfort than for elegance. His boots were serviceable, his cravat neat, and he was as countrified as the Captain was military.

“What is the rest of it, Weem? You’re being damned mysterious!”

The Captain turned his head, and the June sun, slanting in from the window, glinted off his bright curling locks. “It’s his stock in trade, Ned. The fellow’s a sly trickster and should have been locked up years ago. I don’t know why I bear with him.”

“’Acos I gets results, that’s why, guv’nor. Does yer want to hear what I’ve got to say, or not?”

He neatly dodged a large avenging hand, and slid out of reach, cackling. But upon the Captain’s promising signal vengeance presently, he desisted and gave forth his tale.

Hal listened with growing dismay as he heard that Annabel was living in a quiet style, in a rural backwater somewhere in Northamptonshire. The village, Steep Ride, was apparently tiny, and the cottage Annabel was inhabiting was one of only three houses of any size in the immediate neighbourhood.

“She lives in a cottage? What the devil was this fellow she married—a pauper?”

“It’s by way of being on the large side for a cottage, guv’nor, judging by those o’ the labouring men roundabouts. But the lady’s place goes by the name of End Cottage.”

“Cottage!” reiterated Hal disgustedly. “In the back of beyond, too!”

“No such thing, guv’nor,” protested the batman. “Plenty o’ what you might call society round about. Only this here Steep Ride is the smallest o’ the villages. Though there’s the big house, in an estate owned by a nob by the name o’ Tenison. And o’ course in the middle there’s this Abbey what everyone talks of where that there markiss were murdered.”