at Gibraltar, where they docked for enough repairs to limp them home. ‘Spoils of war, Mrs Black, and nothing more.’
Apparently satisfied, Mrs Black continued her own knitting and Verity returned to the sock in her lap. Considering discretion the better part of valour, Joe pretended to be asleep.
* * *
When they arrived in Whistler, he happily escorted Mrs Black from the mail coach and wished her well with her upcoming blessed event. She touched his heart by kissing his cheek and thanking him for his role at Trafalgar.
‘Please tell Mrs Everard how mindful England is of her family’s sacrifice,’ she said.
‘I will,’ he said and that was no lie.
He helped Verity down next because the coachman had announced a noon stop. He laughed inside at the contrition on her face and waited for her apology, which wasn’t long in coming.
‘Captain, I had no idea she would assume we were married,’ she whispered. ‘I never had a chance to mention our engagement and I didn’t want to embarrass her.’
Her lips nearly tickled his ear and he found the sensation beguiling and far from unpleasant. ‘No fears, Verity,’ he said. ‘If the others on the coach continue their journey, we have no choice but to continue the charade.’
‘It’s perhaps regrettable, but no hardship,’ Miss Newsome said. ‘We looked even more casual than an engaged couple, didn’t we?’
‘Decidedly ramshackle on my part, but I have to say that your shoulder is comfortable.’
‘And your arm around me equally so,’ she said quietly. ‘But that is travel on the mail coach, eh?’
The charade continued, because the round man remained aboard.
‘There is one problem with lying,’ Verity whispered as they tried to make themselves comfortable for the continuation of the journey.
‘Only one?’ he teased.
‘Wretched man,’ she said with some feeling. ‘We have to remember our lies so we do not misspeak.’
‘Heaven forbid,’ Joe said, enjoying this journey more by the minute. Blockade life bored him so badly that even this gentle misdemeanour amused him excessively. Still, a man should explain himself.
‘When we followed Villeneuve and the Bucentaure from Toulon, and thence to Trafalgar, you could have sliced our enthusiasm with a sharp knife and made a sandwich of it,’ he whispered. ‘Every one of us happily traded the boredom of the blockade for sea action.’
‘Even my brother?’ she asked without a falter.
‘Especially Davey. He was eager for action. That is life at war.’
Her tears did not surprise him. He put his arm around her and touched her head until she rested it on his shoulder this time. Her bonnet poked his eye so he removed it and placed it in her lap. Nothing was easier than inclining his head against hers and giving her his handkerchief.
He met the sympathetic looks of the new riders on the mail coach with honesty, or as near as. ‘I am Captain Everard. I served at Trafalgar and my dear...wife’s brother died under my command,’ he said. ‘Forgive us, please.’
He would have told the simpler lie, but the silent little man had not quitted the coach. What else could he do? The engagement of convenience that had seemed so plausible and foolproof in the Newsomes’ sitting room had not lasted for the smallest portion of the journey.
The other riders nodded in sympathy and spoke quietly among themselves, content, apparently, to leave the Everards alone. The round fellow gave them a benign glance and settled back with his book again.
‘Dear wife?’ his incorrigible helpmeet whispered after she blew her nose.
‘Only the best for me, my heart,’ he whispered back, wondering where this gleeful streak was coming from. This earned him a little dig in his ribs, which further strengthened the reality that not one single midshipman on the Ulysses would recognise this side of their Captain. He would have to tell that to Verity when they had a moment alone.
Verity had relaxed against his shoulder, which touched his heart for some strange reason. Maybe she trusted him; more likely she was simply tired.
* * *
As the afternoon wore on, he became aware that the mail coach was travelling slower and slower. A glance out the window explained the matter. The rain that had started falling after their noon stop had turned into sleet and then slush.
Slower and slower, and then a stop. He looked out again, surprised at the gloom, then realised that he had returned to sleep as well, Verity tucked close to him and his head against hers.
He sat up carefully, not wanting to wake her. He heard the relief in the coachman’s voice when he announced they had arrived at Chittering Corner, where they would stop for the night. The other riders left the coach quickly, leaving them alone, which bothered Joe not a bit. With any luck, the silent rider had found his destination, which would simplify the rest of the trip. He gave his head a mental slap. What about the others who had heard his ‘dear wife’ remark?
Please, Lord, let them be from Chittering Corner and walking home now, he thought. It wasn’t too much to ask.
Joe touched Verity’s shoulder, feeling shy even though they had spent most of the afternoon cuddled close in sleep. She woke up and looked around, but stayed in his loose embrace.
‘Where are we?’
‘Chittering Corner,’ he said. ‘This is our stop for the night.’
‘Somehow I thought we would travel through to Norfolk.’
‘Unlikely, even in good weather,’ he told her. ‘Your strength does not lie in geography or navigation. I should have found that out before we became, ahem, engaged.’
She smiled at that, a sleepy smile that touched his heart again. Her eyes were heavy-lidded anyway, a feature he had not thought to find so attractive.
‘Let us venture inside and seek a couple of rooms,’ he said. ‘I can make arrangements.’
Joe stepped from the mail coach and felt the mud ooze over his shoes. Whoever cleaned shoes in this inn would be busy tonight, he decided. Luckily it was but a few steps to the inn, somehow appropriately named the Noah’s Ark. He held out his arms for Verity.
‘I’ll carry you,’ he said hopefully in his captain’s tone of voice.
It worked. She took one look and didn’t argue. She put her arms about his neck and let him carry her the short distance to the Ark. The coachman’s assistant slogged behind with luggage.
The inn was crowded with other travellers from early coaches and he wondered if there would be a room for Verity. He knew he could sleep anywhere. Oh, no. He saw familiar faces smiling at him, even leading him
