The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(26)

His eyes widened and focused more firmly on hers. “Javan Benedict?” he exclaimed. “Colonel Javan Benedict?”

“Oh no,” she said at once. “I don’t think—” She broke off, frowning. “They never call him that,” she finished lamely. And yet it would explain so much: his travels, his injuries…

“Well, it is an uncommon name,” Fredericks pointed out. “I would be surprised if it weren’t him. How is he?”

“Convalescing, I believe,” Caroline managed. “Are you acquainted with him, Colonel?”

“Only by repute.”

“Who is he?” Serena asked with much more blatant curiosity than Caroline felt comfortable betraying. “What happened to him?”

“Oh, he commanded a crack unit under Wellington for a long time. Special duties, often behind enemy lines by all accounts. Was very good at it, too, or so I heard. But his luck ran out eventually, and he was captured. Months later, he escaped, but he was still direly wounded and he sold his commission almost immediately. Wellington himself regarded it as a severe loss, I’m told, but couldn’t convince him to stay.”

“Goodness,” Serena said in awe. “A hero in our midst and we’re listening to stupid and frankly ugly gossip about him! I shall make it my business to turn that on its head.”

“Don’t,” Caroline blurted.

Serena blinked at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t think he wishes to be discussed at all,” Caroline said with difficulty, “let alone be recognized. Even the servants he brought with him never refer to him as Colonel Benedict. Neither does his sister. He obviously wants it that way. If it is him.” It was. She knew suddenly that Fredericks was right.

“I suspect Miss Grey is correct,” Colonel Fredericks said apologetically.

“Incognito,” Serena murmured. “Who am I to upset a hero? My lips are sealed on the subject.” She smiled at Caroline. “At least I can stop worrying about you at that place now.”

*

After parting from Serena, Caroline walked round to the circulating library and borrowed a novel and a book on botany, a subject on which she knew little. She then walked through the street market to the harbor, wondering if she should meet the Benedicts at one o’clock, or spend the afternoon searching for an inexpensive new gown to alter or to make up for herself.

The trouble was, she mistrusted her motives for this sudden desire for new garments. Of course, she disliked her dull old gowns—who wouldn’t? But working for the Earl of Braithwaite, her dress had never concerned her. Why now, when she was employed by the most casual of families who barely noticed what they wore themselves? She refused to think of a reason, merely repeated to herself that it didn’t matter. And it didn’t. She just fantasized a little about appearing not to be dull. Just for an hour or two…

As though she’d conjured his reality by refusing to allow thoughts of him into her head, Javan Benedict stood by the harbor wall, gazing out to sea. She recognized him easily from behind, even in his unfamiliar tall, beaver hat. There was something in his straight posture, in his stillness. It couldn’t have been anyone else.

Her step faltered. There was no trace of his family nearby.

She hesitated. She had long made the decision in her mind that if she came upon any of the Benedicts in town, alone or singly, she would merely wave—if she couldn’t immediately duck out of sight. He didn’t see her. He had no idea she stood behind him. She had only to spin around and walk smartly back to the market, or swerve left and walk down the row of fishermen’s cottages where Lord Tamar had his studio.

But why should she change her plans? Just because one man stood more or less where she had intended to. There was room for both.

I’m fooling myself, she acknowledged as she walked on toward the harbor wall. I was always going to do this. Not that she expected a particularly warm response.

She stood beside him, looking out to sea, over the fishing boats tied up, to the larger vessel drifting past in the distance. The sea was a brilliant, frothy blue, reflecting the sunny sky. The whole view could have been one of Lord Tamar’s more beautiful paintings, only the salty spray was damp on her skin and the scent of the sea strong in her nostrils.

Although she’d meant to greet him politely, she said nothing, merely stood beside him until she was aware of his head slowly turning and taking her in. At least he didn’t swear, although he did turn back to the sea again.

“Is it normal for you just to stand there, oozing comfort?” he said at last.

She flushed. “I hope it’s not normal for me to ooze anything at all. But if it helps, I’m content.”

He didn’t respond, merely gazed out to sea for a while longer, before he asked, “Was your business in Blackhaven successful?”

“I have ordered new boots and I breakfasted at the hotel with Lady Serena—Lady Tamar,” she corrected. For some reason, it seemed too much information to mention Colonel Fredericks. “Have you sent Rosa shopping with Miss Benedict?”

“I sent them on to the ice parlor without me. Once was enough for me, even for the pleasure of watching Rosa’s face as she eats.”

“Two ices in one day! You are an indulgent parent.”

“Well, I was never very moderate myself. I sympathize.”