Page 33 of In Want of a Wife
But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
“Excuse me,” a younger man said, approaching their table.
Lily instantly straightened, and she was lost to him—the woman he had discovered during their time together was lost behind a front of aloofness. He wished she didn’t shut herself off.
Rafe turned. “Yes?”
“This is going to sound bizarre, I am sure… but you aren’t Lieutenant Rafe Davies, are you?”
Now it was Rafe’s turn to pull away. He had been called out in the past and could tell when a fist was about to fly in his direction. But this man was smiling, so it wasn’t anything half so bad.
“That depends, I guess.”
Lily kicked him under the table again. This time, there was no giggle or nose scrunch, just a burning glare.
“My brother served with you on theHMS Hopkington.”
The man beamed back, mistaking Rafe’s scowl for something akin to pride. It wasn’t. He spent his days actively avoiding thoughts of what he and the rest of the crew endured on that ship.
“Mr. Davies?” Lily prompted.
He cleared his throat, nodding briefly before reaching for his ale and gulping it down. The glass slammed down onto the table when he was done, and then, and only then, did he finally meet the stranger eye to eye.
“I am, and I wish not to speak of it further. Goodbye.”
“Mr. Davies,” Lily hissed.
The man made his apologies and left, leaving Rafe there with an empty glass and a broody soon-to-be sister-in-law.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he growled back.
She sat up straight, brushing the hair away from her eyes. “You could be civil.”
“I don’t feel like entertaining strangers with war stories.”
“Very well.” She sighed, then pushed back from the table and threw her napkin onto her cleared dinner plate. “Then I will do my best to leave you alone. Good night.”
Words were trapped in his throat again, which happened too much around Miss Abrams. Along with a clawing panic in his chest as he watched her weave through the crowded dining room to retire upstairs. It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t see her again.
Whatever it was that she brought out in him, he hated it. He had never acted so much a fool around a woman in his life. He reached for the roll on his plate and tore it two, gnawed a piece off, and flagged down the barmaid for another ale.
Perhaps he was only made to live his life at sea.
The man was infuriating.
Lily shut the door behind her a little too loudly, cursing under her breath. Why she ever thought she could be friends with him when he acted like a spoiled child was beyond her. She was thankful it was Henry and not Rafe she had agreed to marry.
Imagine Rafe’s letters. It would be nothing more than a few brief sentences highlighting what he had consumed for breakfast.
They would be nothing compared to the biting wit in Henry’s letters that won her over.
She blew out a big breath, drawing herself to the center of the small bedroom. It was nothing grand. A small bed with a serviceable quilt and pillow. A washstand and a small mirror. The curtains on the windows were thin, brown broadcloth. The wide pine floors wereworn by years of travelers. She lit candles and poured fresh water into the washbasin.
This journey was the first she had ever taken alone. It seemed a shame it would end soon. But there was more good to come, surely. After waiting years, she was finally moving forward, toward something. And that wasn’t insignificant.
If Rafe didn’t wish to see her, then Lily wouldn’t beg for his attention. If he wished to speak to her, then he could do so kindly, or else he could spend the remainder of the trip alone. She was an interesting woman, worthy of attention.
Why no one else thought this, was confusing.
