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“I’ll only be a few minutes,” she said when she left him at the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll look for you in the yard.”
Sam shrugged into his greatcoat, put on the cocked hat he still wore even when not in uniform, and walked outside. The main entrance to the Blue Boar opened onto the i
His curricle was one of several vehicles parked beneath a long, simple, open-front structure beside the stables that served as a carriage house. Two ostlers were standing nearby, one of them gesturing at Sam’s curricle.
“Look lively, lads,” Sam said in his booming quarterdeck voice as he approached. “I need this rig made ready to go. If you’ll be so good as to harness my team, I need to be on my way.”
One of the ostlers touched his cap and said, “Clemmons, at yer service, Cap’n. This here be yer curricle?”
“It is. Now, if you’ll see to bringing ’round the horses, I’d appreciate getting this ship ready to sail.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Cap’n,” the ostler said, “but you got yerself a problem here.”
“What problem?”
“Me and Jim, here, was just talkin’ ’bout it. Looks like yer left wheel’s broke. See, this here spoke is clean split from the hub, and the next one be loose. Can’t put no weight on this wheel without bringin’ the whole carriage down.”
Sam bent to examine the wheel. Damn and blast. The wheel was shot. The ostler was right; there was no way it could be used. “How in the name of Old Harry did this happen while I was inside tipping a tankard? The wheel was fine when I drove in.”
“Yer sure ’bout that, Cap’n?” Clemmons asked. “Might’ve come loose when it hit a rut. Roads here ’bouts get right pockety with the rain.”
That was certainly true. He’d had the devil of time negotiating ruts and potholes along the last stretch of muddy road, and once or twice had taken a fairly hard bounce. It had been pouring buckets when he turned into the Blue Boar’s yard, and he’d flung the reins to an ostler while he dashed inside. He might not have noticed anything wrong in his haste to get out of the rain. But it wasn’t like him not to notice something as obvious as a broken wheel. He rather suspected it was one of the ostlers who’d been too rough in handling the curricle in the flurry of activity that brought so much unexpected custom to the stables.
“I suppose it must have been a rut,” Sam said, skewering both men with a glare that had sent many a midshipmen scurrying with fear, “though I still find it hard to imagine how I didn’t notice the wheel had split.”
“Happens often enough, Cap’n,” the second ostler, Jim, said as he tested the other spokes. “Most folk don’t notice nothin’ till it’s too late an’ the carriage turns ’em top over tail. It’s lucky we noticed it afore yer drove off an’ tossed yerself in a ditch.”
“Yes, well, I thank you for your keen eye. Now, what-”
“We can get it fixed up fer yer right an’ tight in no time,” Jim said. “Wheelwright’s just across the green. I’ll take it over meself and have a couple o’ new spokes fitted up. Shouldn’t take long.”
Sam tossed him a few coins and thanked him. Another delay meant he would likely not reach Clophill until after sunset, but it couldn’t be helped. He turned to walk back to the i
“You are looking at me with the oddest expression,” she said when he reached her side.
“Because you remind me of a girl I once knew.”
She laughed and cocked her head to one side, peeking up at him from beneath the brim of her bo
“The prettiest girl I ever saw. She was beautiful. And still is.”
“Sam! You will make me blush. At my age. But where is your carriage? I have come to see you off.”
“You will have to wait a bit. It seems I’ve got a broken wheel and it must be repaired.”
“Oh, what a bother. But at least we can spend a bit more time together. That is, if you’re not bored to death with me already.”
He took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his elbow. “I shall contrive to stay awake if you will walk with me a while. Since we’re both dressed for outdoors, and the sun is shining again, let’s see what Upper Hampden has to offer.”
Wilhelmina bit back a smile as they strolled through the carriage way toward a small village green. She had hoped he would stay. In fact, she hoped Sam would remain at the Blue Boar for the night. She wasn’t ready to give him up just yet. It was selfish, to be sure, but, dear God, it was pure pleasure just to look at him. And to remember those long-ago days in Cornwall when she thought she would die for loving him.
But this was not the gangly youth she’d once known. When he was a boy, Sam had grown tall seemingly overnight. Unaccustomed to his new long limbs, he was sometimes rawboned and clumsy in his movements. Now he had impeccable posture and a sure-footed grace-no doubt a result of years of shifting his weight against the rolling decks beneath him. And he had filled out rather nicely over the years-broad-shouldered and solid. Just the way she liked a man. In his greatcoat and hat, he was a large and formidable presence. And sinfully attractive.
Wilhelmina never played games with herself where men were concerned. There was no sense in denying it: She wanted Sam. One night together might heal a world of hurt between them. She could be honest with herself about it, but she was not ready to be that forthright with him. If there was any seducing to be done, Sam would have to take the lead. She did not want him to see her as a seasoned courtesan, skilled at seduction. That would only serve to reopen old wounds. No, it would have to be a simple coming together of a man and a woman who’d once loved each other.
They had made a good start today in coming to terms with all that had torn them apart, and kept them apart, for so many years. There was still much to be said, and, God and Smeaton willing, time to say it. Afterward, if they gave in to a mutual attraction-and there was no doubt it was mutual; no one knew how to read a man’s interest better than Wilhelmina-it would be a final act of healing. A closing of the circle of their lives.
Then he could go off to his Miss Fullbrook and make his offer.
In the meantime, she would enjoy being at his side, having her arm in his, as they explored what little there was to see in the tiny hamlet of Upper Hampden.
It was a pretty, picturesque village enveloped on all sides by dense woodlands, now brilliant with the colors of autumn. Houses were scattered in clusters off the central green, mostly black and white half timbered, some with thatched roofs, some with red tile. An ancient weather-beaten cross stood in the center of the green, flanked by two enormous beech trees, their bright red and darker orange leaves spreading in wide masses of graceful branches over the green.
They spoke of inconsequential matters as they walked past a bakery, a cobbler, a blacksmith, a grocer. They spoke of favorite books and plays as they wandered out to a nearby mill, sidestepping puddles and mud, and of Sam’s travels as they entered the lych-gate of St. Mary’s, the broach-spired old church at the north end of the village.
Wilhelmina found tales of Sam’s life at sea fascinating, and realized that having been impressed, which must have been frightening and frustrating, had ultimately been the making of him. “You speak with such pleasure about your days aboard ship,” she said as they meandered through the churchyard. “But it ca