Page 31 of A Captain, a Corpse, and Miss Bridges
“In all my years pulling pints, I’m yet to see a man find the answers he wants at the bottom of a glass.”
The voice of the bushy-bearded proprietor cut through James’ ruminations.
“I’ll pour you another,” he continued, with a nod of distaste toward the flat pint. “You’re already miserable enough without stale ale to sour you further.”
James did not protest the offer. He pushed a few coins across the bar and was soon rewarded with a fresh pint to stare into. Tentatively, he took a sip, surprised that it didn’t taste as bitter as his own thoughts.
He was angry and he told himself he had every right to be. Flora had kept something vital from him. He had thought she trusted him. He had thought… well, blast it, he had thought wrong.
It was a galling discovery for a man unused to being deceived. He had commanded ships, held men’s lives in his hands, and never doubted his judgement. And now a slip of a girl, with big dark eyes and a sweet smile had undone him entirely.
“I was going to ask if I could join you, Thorne, but they say misery loves company so I’ll assume I’m welcome.”
James looked up to find Lord Crabb slipping wearily onto the stool beside him.
“A pint of your finest, Angus,” the viscount called to the barkeep. “And another for my friend.”
“There’s no need,” James protested, gesturing toward his almost-full glass.
“I’ll have to start charging rent on the chairs if people will insist on lingering over one drink for hours,” a loud grumble from Angus put paid to James’ protests.
“It’s wild out there,” Lord Crabb continued, shrugging off his coat. “Though high winds and lashing rain are safer than being in my drawing room with my wife at present.”
“What have you done?” James asked with an arched brow. Lady Crabb was all that was ease and grace, so he assumed the cause of friction to be his friend’s fault.
“Nothing,” Crabb answered with perfect solemnity. “Merely agreed with her. A husband may listen to his wife complain about her mother until the cows come home, but the instant he dares echo the sentiment—”
He drew a finger across his throat in illustration.
“I’ll be lucky if she lets me back inside before Twelfth Night.”
“Well, I’ll probably be in this spot until then, so you can keep me company,” James replied, lifting his pint in a morose toast.
“Something happen?” he asked curiously, squinting at James over the rim of his tankard.
“It’s nothing,” James muttered, staring into his drink.
Crabb gave him a long, knowing look. “Come now. I’ve been married long enough to know the signs. A man brooding over a woman always looks the same—tragic, noble, and about as pitiful as a dog left out in the rain.”
“Now that I think on it, I didn’t actually invite you to sit down,” James retorted, though seeing his friend’s resoluteexpression he glumly continued. “It’s Flora—I discovered that she deceived me.”
“Flora?” Crabb nearly spluttered into his ale. “I’ve never once heard her name linked with the word deception in all my years in Plumpton. Not once. If there’s a soul more without artifice than Flora Bridges, I’ve yet to meet them.”.
“Deceived is too strong,” he said stiffly, already regretting his words. “She withheld something—something very important. She ought to have told me.”
Crabb narrowed his eyes over the rim of his tankard. “On what basis do you feel sheoughtto have told you?”
On the basis that I want her to be my wife. The answer came to James at once, though he did not, of course, utter it aloud. He was only two pints in after all.
“I gave her no cause to doubt me,” he said instead, his voice clipped.
Crabb let out a long sigh, setting down his drink with deliberate care. From the gravity of his expression, James realised that he was in for a lecture. And from the slight twist of guilt he felt, he realised that he probably deserved one.
“I am sure you did not,” Crabb began by agreeing with him, before then beginning his argument. “But there are very few people who have ever given Miss Bridges cause to offer her trust freely. She has been whispered about her whole life—her grandmother, her parentage. Only recently did she learn that she grew up in the shadow of a grandfather who refused to acknowledge her. Life has taught her to protect herself from others and that sort of habit takes years to unlearn—and it’s not overcome in a fortnight, however dashing the captain.”
Silence fell. James stared into his pint, guilt now pressing heavier in his chest than before. He felt wretched when he thought of the cold manner in which he had left Flora earlier.
“So, you think me dashing?” he said at last, attempting levity.
