“I’m sorry, Willie.”
“Don’t be. It was a fling, nothing more. I would never have married him.”
A fling. She had the occasional fling. But would she want to have one with him?
Sam wondered where the devil that idea had come from, and quickly put it out of his mind. It must have been that kiss. He ought never to have kissed her. He was on his way to make an offer to Mary Fullbrook that very evening. Now was not the time to be kissing another woman and thinking of flings, even for old times’ sake.
And yet…
Chapter Four
A movement across the square caught Wilhelmina’s eye, and she looked up to see a man rolling a wheel toward the Blue Boar. It must be Sam’s wheel. Damnation. So soon? Things were going so well between them-he had kissed her!-and she hated to think of him leaving now.
Sam noticed the wheel, too, and said, “Ah, no doubt that is mine. It must have been an easy repair to be done in just over an hour. We should head back to the inn so I can be on my way to Clophill at last.”
“And Miss Fullbrook.”
“Her, too.” He stood and took her hand to help her up, then frowned at the greatcoat they’d been sitting on.
“Oh dear,” she said. “I hope it is not ruined.”
He picked it up and shook it out. “No, it has been through worse. Just a bit creased here and there, nothing serious.” He did not put it on, though, but draped it over one arm instead, offering the other to her.
“I’ve enjoyed our afternoon, Sam,” she said as they walked back to the inn. “Are you sure you cannot stay? We could have dinner together. I do not have high hopes for the food, but the company would be welcome.”
“Ah, Willie, I wish I could. It has been a delightful surprise to see you again, and finally to have a chance to talk with you, really talk, not just polite conversation. But I am expected at Clophill. I am late enough as it is. I’m sorry, my girl.”
For the merest instant, she had an urge to plead with him to stay, but she did not wish to appear so abjectly, and un-characteristically, needy. The broken wheel had been a blessing, the perfect excuse to keep him with her a little bit longer. But there was nothing now to stop him from leaving. She forced a smile and kept her voice even. “No need to apologize. You must not disappoint Miss Fullbrook and her parents.”
She accompanied him to the stables, skirting puddles of mud that had been churned up by the tracks of carriages, creating a crisscross of deep ruts in the yard. Wilhelmina almost slipped more than once, and held on tightly to Sam’s arm.
One of the ostlers stood with the wheelwright, examining the wheel. Sam released her arm and walked over to join the two men. “Is it ready to go?”
“Yes, it’s good as new, Cap’n. We can-” The ostler stopped, his eyes grew wide, then angry. Raising his voice, he shouted, “Benjie Lovitt, yer young fool, get them animals outa my yard!”
Just then, two enormous pigs came running into the stable yard, with more speed than one would expect from such behemoths-and on muddy ground, too-followed by a young boy waving and shouting for them to stop. Wilhelmina barely had time to form the thought that mud was apparently second nature to the pigs when one of them came to a screeching, sliding halt, smack into Sam’s wheel, knocking it to the ground, then crushing it beneath its hooves as the pig stepped over it. His porcine partner in crime simultaneously plowed straight into Sam, knocking him off balance so that he lost his footing and fell backward on his bum.
It had happened so fast, Sam seemed stunned speechless as he sat in the mud, his eyes round with disbelief. Wilhelmina pressed a hand to her mouth to hide the laughter that threatened to overtake her. The ostler continued to yell at the boy, who continued to yell at his pigs as he tried to round them up, though they seemed more interested in exploring the carriages lined up in the yard. The wheelwright began cursing about the state of the wheel he’d taken such care to repair. Every ostler and stable boy came out to see what all the commotion was about, some of them shouting at the boy, some trying to help him control the pigs, and others doubled over in laughter. And Grissom came running out from the inn yard, arms flapping, aghast to find his customer in the mud, and began shouting at all and sundry for causing harm to the good captain.
It was a scene straight out of a farce, Wilhelmina thought. Or a Hogarth painting.
“Get those bloody animals away from my curricle before they do any more damage!” Sam’s booming voice finally brought a halt to all the shouting. Seated in his mud puddle, he bellowed out orders to the boy, the ostler, and the wheelwright, in an authoritative voice that brooked no reproach, making it clear he was not amused, and that they had better look sharp in rectifying the situation.
Wilhelmina thought this must have been what it was like to be dressed down on the quarterdeck by Captain Pellow. What a formidable man her Sam had become. Formidably desirable, even plopped down in the mud.
Grissom helped Sam to his feet and launched into a stream of obsequious apologies. Sam dismissed them with a wave of his hand as he gazed down in disgust at his ruined pantaloons and coattails. Finally, he looked up and caught Wilhelmina’s eye. Her hand still covered her mouth, for she was having trouble suppressing the mirth that gurgled up from her throat. Sam glanced down again at his mud-covered clothes, then back up at Wilhelmina, and broke into laughter. That was all she needed for her own merriment to burst forth, and the two of them stood in the stable yard and laughed and laughed.
Grissom, his glance darting from one to the other, offered a tentative chuckle. When their laughter had eased a bit, the innkeeper jumped into the breach and said, “Come inside, Captain, and let’s get you cleaned up. The wheel can be repaired again, though I’m told it will take longer this time since more spokes are broken and the rim is bent. Blasted pigs! Begging your pardon, Your Grace. It’s getting on to dusk, so you’d better stay the night, sir. I’ll see about a room for you and have Mrs. Grissom see to your clothes. We’ll find you something clean to wear in the meantime.”
Sam directed Grissom to retrieve his portmanteau from the boot of his curricle so he could change into his own clothes. Wilhelmina accompanied him back to the inn, where she found Smeaton in the hallway, eyebrows raised in question. Wilhelmina nodded and shot him a wink, then turned her attention to the innkeeper’s wife, wild-eyed with outrage at what had happened, muttering under her breath about that wretched boy and his pigs. She offered to give up her own bedchamber for the captain, as there was only one small attic room available. But Sam would have none of that and accepted the tiny room with gratitude. “I am accustomed to cramped quarters on ship,” he said, “so any hole in the attic will suit me fine.”
Mrs. Grissom thanked him and took his muddied greatcoat and hat, promising to have them cleaned. “And I’ll send up a chambermaid to take away your dirty clothes. We’ll take care of ’em, don’t you worry. You’ll have ’em back all cleaned and dried by tomorrow morning. Now, if you’ll follow me…”
Before heading off for his attic room, Sam turned to Wilhelmina and smiled. “Looks like I’ll be able to share dinner with you after all.”
“I’m glad, Sam.” It was too soon to part. She wanted a few more hours with him. That was all. Just a few more hours. It was selfish of her, but there it was. Miss Fullbrook would have to wait another day for her offer. For tonight, Sam would belong to Wilhelmina. Or so she hoped.