Page 26 of Snowbound Regency Christmas
‘I told him that the inn was full up and he would have to stay with us.’ He sighed and looked at the cow.
‘He did tell me you said that, Papa. It was a lie?’ She tried to collect her thoughts. ‘You…you barely knew him then, Papa. Why would you do that?’
She watched his eyes and saw sudden longing. She took his hand and held it to her cheek.
‘It’s this way, dear one,’ he said. ‘That first night when you insisted he should stay, there was something in the way you looked at him.’
She remembered her concern for a man utterly wasted. What else? ‘What…what could you possibly have seen?’
Papa took a deep breath. ‘There was something in your eyes that reminded me of a time when your mother—God rest her—looked at me that way.’
‘Oh, Papa.’
‘There is this, also, which you need to know. The next day, he and I were chatting, and I asked him what he wanted for Christmas, since he was staying with us.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘I had to coax it out of him. I prodded a bit.’ He took her hand. ‘He told me all he wanted was just once for a pretty lady to see him off at the dock. Just once.’
He patted her hand as she cried, then gave her his handkerchief. ‘Give it a good blow, Rosie dear, then go pack.’ He took out his timepiece. ‘There will be a post-chaise here in about thirty minutes. I arranged it yesterday, after that unwanted letter from the Navy Board arrived. I know! I know! I am not impulsive. Well, except when I am.’
‘I don’t know where to go, what dock…’ She calmed herself and remembered. ‘He just told me he would be at the Drake tonight. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and he sails on the twenty-sixth. My goodness. I must pack.’
She hurried to the door of the byre, then stopped. ‘Papa, I haven’t even wrapped your present. There should be stockings over the fireplace. The carolers are coming by this evening. There’s no wassail.’
‘I doubt the carolers will sound any better than they ever do,’ he said, and she heard all the good humour. ‘Go on now, if you want to lose your virtue in a Plymouth hotel.’
‘Papa, you are trying me… If I have to, I’ll propose to him.’
He grinned. ‘Your mother did that, God rest her.’
‘Mama?I didn’t know that! Papa, I love you.’
Chapter Fifteen
Papa must have given the post-chaise riders extra money to urge them to race the distance to Plymouth at a spanking pace. Rosie stared out the window at the usual December gloom, with grey skies and rain, snow or sleet threatening.
She remembered the Navy Board letter stating that theAlbemarlewas sailing on the tide the day after Christmas. She had time.
In Plymouth, she directed the post-chaise rider to take her to the Drake. She already knew she would have to write a letter of resignation to Mr Gooding and thank him for her years of employment. After all, if Mama could propose to Papa all those years ago, she could propose to Andrew, too.
They stopped at the Drake, with its magnificent view of the harbour, where she saw warships waiting, with lighters and dinghies piled with nautical supplies, many from Goodings, sailing toward them to load victuals, extra rope, tar and cannonballs for the ships for war. She knew the docks themselves could not accommodate all the frigates, and some were too large to dock in shallower water. Somewhere out there was theAlbemarle. The post rider interrupted her contemplation to hand over her satchel and wish her Happy Christmas.
She had never been inside the Drake. She doubted ladies of good reputation ever walked up to any hotel desk by themselves, as she was doing. A woman with wildly curly red hair stood at the desk, speaking to a man wearing that imposing fore-and-aft hat, his boat cloak turned back to display one gold epaulet. It was all so splendid. Rosie had never felt so out of place in her life.
When the woman handed the captain a key, she turned her attention to Rose. ‘How may I help you, my dear?’
‘I am Rose Harte, and I am looking for Sailing Master Hadfield. Do you…?’
‘Thank God!’ the woman exclaimed. The woman came around the desk. ‘I am Mrs Fillion.’
‘Pleased to know you. Andrew mentioned you,’ Rose said, wondering at the woman’s excitement. ‘I know he is leaving the day after tomorrow and…’
Mrs Fillion grabbed her cloak. ‘Master Hadfield came here earlier today to register, but his captain met him on the way out. The orders were changed. TheAlbemarleis leaving with the tide this afternoon. Hurry!’
Rose dropped her satchel, picked up her skirts and ran with Mrs Fillion through that tangle of alleys, nooks and crannies that made up the Barbican. ‘He told me you might come here, but he wasn’t certain,’ Mrs Fillion gasped as they ran.
‘I love him,’ Rose said, wondering at her total lack of decorum. Was that what happened when a woman loved a navy man? She would have to ask Mary Hale about that later.
Out of breath, they came to the dock. ‘Where, where, where…?’ Mrs Fillion muttered, clutching her side as she tried to breathe. ‘Thank God, there it is, and docked. Lord bless us. We all love Master Hadfield. Did you know he is a hero?’
‘Yes, I heard something about it,’ Rosie said. ‘How will he know I am here?’
