Page 6 of A Captain, a Corpse, and Miss Bridges
She paused a moment, smoothing her skirts with nervous hands, before she pushed open the door and entered. She tried to affect an air of calm, though as her eyes met Captain Thorne’s twinkling blue eyes, she felt a blush again creep over her cheeks.
“The captain was seeking something for an old shoulder injury,” her grandmother explained, now busy setting the kettle on the stove.
“Oh?” Flora raised a brow, curious.
“I’ve recommended a salve of St John’s wort, comfrey, and rosemary,” Mrs Bridges answered.
Flora nodded in agreement as she ran through the list of herbs in her mind.
“Perhaps some lavender too?” she suggested, as she moved to take over preparing the tea.
“What does lavender do, Miss Gardiner?” the captain queried, his interest genuine.
“It smells nice,” Flora replied, feeling a little foolish. “A nice scent encourages regular use.”
Her grandmother gave a harrumph of disagreement as she seated herself at the table, which Flora ignored. There was no point sending the man home with a jar he refused to open.
As she bustled about the kitchen fetching cups, milk, and some of the nice biscuits, Flora could feel the captain’s eyes on her. She didn’t blame him for his curiosity—he had, after all, witnessed her wishing death upon Sir Ambrose only hours before.
Conscious that fate had now offered her a chance to redeem herself, she arranged the tea things with what she hoped was a serene, ladylike expression.
“Thank you, Miss Gardiner,” the captain said as she poured for him.
“Have you two already met?” Mrs Bridges asked, glancing shrewdly between them.
“Miss Gardiner was visiting with Sir Ambrose when I called earlier—though we didn’t have time to be properly introduced,” Captain Thorne answered. Flora thought his answer very gallant—for he had left out the part where he had witnessed her thoroughly disgracing herself.
“Indeed you didn’t,” Mrs Bridges huffed. “Or she’d have told you her name is Miss Bridges.”
Flora focused intently on the teapot, though she could feel the captain’s eyes upon her.
“Forgive me, I must have misheard,” he said politely.
“There’s nothing wrong with your hearing,” Mrs Bridges replied, far too cheerfully. “Miss Gardiner is a new moniker that has been thrust upon Flora, one which only Sir Ambrose feels the need to use.”
“It’s a little complicated,” Flora said quietly, sliding into her seat.
“All that matters to me is that I address you by your preferred name,” the captain said warmly, holding her gaze.
Flora noticed her grandmother glance sharply between them. She hoped no ideas were being ascribed to the poor man, beyond a surfeit of exceptional manners. His determinedly pleasant smile deserved a medal, given the circumstances of their first meeting and now this cryptic conversation about her name.
“What brings you to Plumpton, Captain?” Flora asked quickly, though she already half-knew the answer from their earlier meeting.
“I’m visiting an old friend, Lord Crabb,” he answered, just as she’d hoped.
Flora cast a pointed look at her grandmother. That name alone neatly illustrated the social chasm between them. CaptainThorne was a guest of Crabb Hall. Flora had once scrubbed the floors there.
“But you’re staying at The King’s Head,” Mrs Bridges said with a sly little smile to her granddaughter.
“I was invited to stay at Crabb Hall,” the captain admitted. “But I declined. I’m only lately discharged from service and not quite domesticated enough to live with a family.”
“You like your freedom,” Mrs Bridges nodded approvingly. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“Some would disagree,” he replied easily. “I’m told the best way to find my land-legs again is to get myself leg-shackled.”
Again, Flora studiously avoided her grandmother’s gaze and hastily changed the subject.
“How did you come by your injury, Captain?” she asked, as she moved to refill his cup. “I’m certain you have a tale to share of your heroism at sea.”
