In the Eye of the Storm

06. Oh Gentle Lady, Spare my Feet...

'Captain Carter?' I blinked up at the tall man with the mane of mahogany hair and perky little speck of a beard on his strong, otherwise clean-shaven chin. 'Is that really you?'

'In the flesh.' He swept me a bow just as snappy as the one I remembered from our first meeting. 'And blood and bones and earwax and other disgusting things I'd rather not mention, in fact.'

'I see you haven't become much more sensible since our last encounter,' I commented, a corner of my mouth involuntary twitching.

'And you not much more ladylike. Isn't it wonderful how old friends never seem to change?'

'Old friends? We only met once before.'

'And you didn't try to strangle me, Miss Linton. That makes you an old friend to me.'

The corner of my mouth twitched again. Captain James Carter was one of the few men whose company I could tolerate – maybe because most of the time, he didn't behave like a man, but like a naughty poltergeist trapped in the body of a British Army Captain.

'I heard this ball was being given as a sort of welcome home to a Miss Linton.' He cocked his head. 'Is that you? Or one of your sisters?'

'Me, actually.'

'Ah! So you've been on holiday! Tell all. Which sunny shore has been graced by the radiance of your presence, and your exquisite feminine essence?'

'Oh, shut up!' I mumbled, my ears glowing.

'I can't help it.' Theatrically, he placed a hand on his chest. 'In my chest, there beats a poet's heart! And my food is digested by a poet's stomach, and my drinking is dealt with by a poet's liver. So, where have you been?'

'France.'

What?! Why the heck did you just tell him the truth?

'La France,' he sighed. 'Did they try to feed you frogs and snails?'

'No. They shot at me.'

'The famed hospitality of the French!' He smiled at me, obviously not taking me seriously. Thank God! 'So, you're back now. Are you here with your aunt and sisters?'

'Yes. They're all here, dancing somewhere. And you? Did you come alone or–' I froze. A possibility had just occurred to me. 'Blimey! You didn't come here with your friend, Sir Philip, did you?'

'With Flip? No. Why?'

'Why? You ask why? Did you perhaps forget that he happened to fall madly in love with my sister Ella? A love which she, I might add, did not return in the least?'

He waved my concerns away. 'Ah, yes, but I told you, Flip falls madly in love with another woman every week. That's his thing, being madly in love. That, and flowers.'

'I remember,' I said in a dull voice, shuddering at the memory of the mountains of sunflowers, roses and carnations under which Sir Philip Wilkins had attempted to bury my little sister. He was a nice enough fellow, really, and quite harmless, but not the kind of person you wanted to fall in love with you or your little sister.

'I swear,' Captain Carter proclaimed, placing one hand on his poet's heart again, 'that Flip is not with me here tonight. And besides, he is currently madly in love with a Miss Eugenia Ficklestone from western Derbyshire. He is probably bombarding her with bouquets as we speak. So you see, your sister is perfectly safe.'

'Thank the Lord!' I hugged the window-curtain to me in relief. 'Not that I've got anything against your friend, mind, but...'

'You can't think of marriage and him in the same sentence without wanting to puke. I quite understand. I wouldn't like to marry him either.'