The Wedding Ring Quest - Carla Kelly

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to know how her heart broke when the lieutenant informed her of his need to marry a lady with money. Rather than yielding to bitterness, she had pined in sorrow, then suffered in more silence when she learned of his death at Salamanca two years later. By then, Lieutenant MacDowell had his own widow and a son who would never know him. Funny that she had never thought to blame Bonaparte.

      ‘It appears Boney has meddled in all our lives.’

      Captain Rennie said it softly. Mary opened her mouth to tell him about Reginald, then closed it, choosing not to become as pathetic as Malcolm Barraclough. She decided he looked a little disappointed and wondered how many midshipmen and lieutenants he had counselled through the years. The captain had been kind to take an interest, but the hour was late and the Cumberland sausage had well and truly adhered to the serving platter.

      ‘How did he meddle in your life, Mary? Call me nosy—I want to know.’

      ‘I nearly became engaged to a lieutenant in the light artillery, until he decided he needed a wife with an income of her own,’ she said. ‘I gather that uniforms are expensive.’

      ‘Cad,’ he said. ‘And?’

      ‘He found someone else rather quickly, so I do not think he was truly invested in me,’ she said, finding it less difficult to talk about than she would have thought. ‘Perhaps it was for the best.’

      ‘I trust he died on some battlefield,’ Ross told her. ‘Serve him right.’

      ‘Actually, he did, but he left a wife and infant. Don’t be so flippant, Captain.’ She hadn’t meant for that to come out with real force, but it did. Maybe she had cared more than she knew. Maybe she should have talked about Lieutenant MacDowell to another human being and not kept it all inside her.

      ‘I am sorry,’ he replied. ‘Callous of me. No one is unscathed, I shouldn’t wonder.’

      ‘Captain, I think...’ she began, then stopped, wanting to change the subject. She was silent a moment, and the enormity of Mr Barraclough’s parting words sank in. ‘Dear me, York.’

      * * *

      Ross hadn’t known his cousin long, but her sudden frown told him the obvious: this little lady bent on finding a ring in a fruitcake had probably never ventured any farther south than Carlisle. And for God’s sake, had someone bullied her into traipsing around for fruitcake? She was a lady alone on the Royal Mail. He smiled inside. At the mercy of bores like Malcolm Barraclough? The smile left. And maybe a sea captain? Did she have enough money? Was he ever going to feel free of responsibility that had descended like a sodden mantle around his shoulders when he strode his first quarterdeck? Perhaps not. Perhaps he didn’t want that peculiar sense of stewardship to vanish now.

      ‘Cousin Mary, it appears you have to go to York. Could you use some company?’

      Chapter Six

      Mary frowned. She knew where York was on her uncle’s atlas. For years she had considered it high adventure to flop on the sofa when no one was using the sitting room, prop open the atlas on her stomach and imagine herself in exotic locales like London and Brighton. The prospect of actually venturing farther south from Carlisle into England was something she had not considered when she let Mrs Morison and Aunt Martha cajole her into retrieving the dratted Christmas cakes.

      It’ll be simple, she thought with some chagrin, remembering Mrs Morison’s words. You’ll probably find the ring in the first cake you pick up. You’ll be home in no time.

      ‘Hmm, from the look on your face, Cousin, I think you hadn’t planned on voyaging in foreign waters,’ her cousin told her.

      ‘No, indeed.’ You must think me a complete ninny, she thought, considering the obvious competence of the man looking at her with such a pleasant expression. Might as well admit it. ‘I can imagine what your opinion of me is,’ she said, eager now for him to quit her sitting room, because she felt like a fool. ‘You’ve sailed into real danger for more than twenty years and I’m frightened of the prospect of York!’

      Mary couldn’t even look at him. He startled her by touching her chin until she had no choice but to look into his eyes. And quite blue eyes they were.

      ‘My opinion of you is merely that you have never been to York and it is a large city.’

      He said it so kindly that her embarrassment vanished and her charity returned. ‘I suppose it is a little odd for someone to be canvassing the countryside for fruitcake,’ Mary said, then laughed out loud. ‘I think it’s odd!’

      ‘No more strange than a post captain traipsing about for Cumberland sausage.’ He glanced at his son and lowered his voice when the boy muttered something in his sleep. ‘Personally, I could have stayed another day in York when we passed through earlier this week. My current sailing master told me about a shop in York that makes excellent blood pudding.’

      ‘You’re hopeless!’

      ‘I know.’ He didn’t touch her hand, but he stood closer. ‘Let us accompany you to York and retrieve that pesky cake.’

      She wavered, then decided, with a shake of her head. ‘You have just been there. I’m no navigator and I expect you are, so you know better than to backtrack to York. You’re so thoughtful, Captain Rennie, but I can find York, Apollo Street and this old gent pining for love of Miss Bruce.’

      ‘It’s no hardsh—’

      ‘Yes, it is,’ she interrupted. ‘You tell me this is your first actual holiday—’

      ‘Shore leave.’

      ‘—in twelve years.’ She glanced at the Cumberland sausage, supine in its solidified juices. ‘You’ve obviously been planning this...shore leave for eons.’ She held out her hand to him. ‘Cousin, don’t worry about me. I hope you have a happy Christmas on land. Goodbye.’

      The look of disappointment in his eyes surprised her, she who never elicited much response from her own relatives, much less one on such a distant branch of her family tree as the captain. She also knew he would recover, because that was what men did.

      Captain Rennie shrugged. When he turned to pick up his son, he took a side step to get his balance. Mary shot her hand out automatically to steady him, her hand firm against the small of his back.

      ‘Thank you,’ he told her with no embarrassment. ‘Sometimes I still overset myself.’ He picked up Nathan.

      Mary released her grip on the captain, deciding not to be embarrassed by her quick reaction if he wasn’t. She touched Nathan’s hair, brushing it back from his forehead. When he opened his eyes and blinked, she touched his cheek. ‘I hope you have a lovely Christmas, too,’ she said softly. ‘Don’t let your papa eat too much sausage all at once.’ She gave it a thought, then shrugged and kissed Nathan’s forehead.

      Mary held the door open for the captain, watching as he carried the child from her room. He stood there a moment, then shook his head and turned around.

      ‘Cousin Mary, I never told the innkeep that I needed a separate room. He’s thinking we’re slinging our hammocks in here with you, because we are all Rennies.’

      ‘My goodness.’ She gestured to the sofa. ‘Put Nathan down in here again and make your arrangements.’

      He did as she said, then grinned and knuckled his forehead like a common sailor as he backed out. ‘Suppose there are no spare rooms?’ He winked at her and it took years off his weather-blasted face. ‘Come, come, Cousin, it’s nearly Christmas, and we know how troublesome landlords are at that season!’

      ‘You, sir, are a rascal,’ she said firmly. ‘Find a room at this inn.’

      He did, returning quickly with a key in hand. He stood by the sofa, looking down at his son. ‘You know, Mary, I have it on good authority that parents will often stand as we happen to be standing and just gaze at their sleeping children. That has never been my luxury. Pardon

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